24. Twenty Two
Twenty Two
Cecil
Ihoped that being honest with Creed would lift a weight from my shoulders.
The weight has only doubled, and it’s slowly crushing me. My brother has been angry with me plenty, but the look he gives me now is nothing short of disgust.
It took nearly two hours to answer all of his questions; some more difficult than others.
It started simply: He wanted to know where The Sanctuary was, how many men would attend, why women weren’t allowed, and how I felt amongst the very people that wanted him dead. Those questions were easy enough to answer.
The Sanctuary was the original Divine Church in the desolate fields of Louisiana, new buildings being added as the workforce expanded.
The number of members has quadrupled since I’ve been declared a Brother.
Their mission has reached the masses, and people are flooding to join in fear of being viewed as a sympathizer.
You might think aiding a Damned is a lesser offense, but you’d be wrong.
There is only one form of discipline if you reach the Sanctuary, and that is certain death.
As for women, they’re deemed too weak to join. Too emotional, too empathetic, too naive. Their purpose was to stay home and aid their men; cooking meals and cleaning house while their husbands bleed out children.
Besides, they’re the “Brothers.” It can’t come as a surprise that their views on gender equality are severely outdated.
As for working alongside people that would kill my brother without a second thought: it was infuriating. But the hope of eventually bringing them to their knees was enough to keep up the charade.
Which had brought Creed to his next question: How many murders have I witnessed?
I told him the truth… I lost count.
That answer had him stepping outside for fresh air.
Once he returned, I hesitantly explained my position as the Reaper.
My role was hunting down the Damned to end their life.
The profiles Eden had found in my room were my targets—people of all ages, genders, races.
The wrath of God knew no discrimination.
When he asked if I had murdered people, I couldn’t bear to answer. The look we exchanged was one of a grim understanding.
The shame I feel is foreign. My moral compass is typically stowed away, buried beneath obligation and an oath of protection.
Night has long since fallen, and my body is heavy with exhaustion. I pop my knuckles one by one, allowing Creed to study me. His frown is unwavering.
“Why tell me now?”
Out of all I’ve admitted, this might be the thing that sends him over the edge.
“Eden is involved,” I reply steadily, attempting to keep my face calm in hopes he might mirror it.
He does not.
“Involved how!?” Eyes flaring, his signs are jerky with trepidation.
“They were going to kill her, so I had to think of something.” I pause, faltering. “I told them that we could use her.”
Before I even have the inkling to flinch, a fist connects with my jaw and I fall back. The chair clatters between my legs and my head bounces off the tiles.
“What the fuck, Creed!?” I shout into the air, raising onto my elbows. He stands above me, chest rising and falling rapidly, his fists balled at his sides.
Never in my life did I think I would be intimidated by my brother, but it’s a day of firsts.
“Let me explain,” I sign, rising wearily. If it weren’t at my expense, I would be proud of the force behind that hit.
I take a step back for good measure.
“I needed to find an excuse to keep her alive. They were going to kill her.”
His face screws up in confusion. “Because she doesn’t talk?”
I shoot him a look of disbelief. “You must know that there’s more to it than that,” I say. His face falls, less angry and more unsure.
“Like what?”
Like a summoning, a wail reverberates throughout the whole house. Clapping my hands over my ears, I bare my teeth. Creed’s expression flickers into one of concern, and he takes a step towards me.
“What is it?” He asks hastily, eyes darting around the room.
I open my mouth, and his gaze zeroes in on the movement. “Eden,” I rasp.
He’s out of the room in an instant, and despite the agony, I’m quick to follow.
With the bedroom door swung open, the hall light serves as a spotlight.
Her back is bent into an impossible arch, pale fingers ripping at the sheets beneath her.
A vein in her neck protrudes, the deep purple a stark contrast to the flush of her face.
Though her eyes are closed, her mouth gapes, an endless scream swarming the room like angry hornets.
She hardly stops for air, and she does not wake. Red oozes from her nostrils.
It feels as though my brain has been sucked into a vacuum. I can hardly think. However, Creed has already made it to her bedside. His hands hover above her, unsure.
“Wake her,” I sign, forcing my fingers to obey my mind. “Carefully.”
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he begins to shake.
Whatever nightmare has its claws in her, it’s not relenting without a fight.
The noise has turned to ringing in my ears, buzzing throughout my skull.
With a stumble, my back hits the wall and I sag against it.
Through it all, I keep my eyes on the two of them.
Suddenly, Creed rushes into the bathroom and appears seconds later with something held in his hand. He approaches the bed and thrusts his arm forward.
The house is silent once more. Like it never happened at all.
Body bowing on a heaving breath, Eden falls back onto the mattress. Without the intrusion of her shrieks, everything comes back into clarity. Clutched in Creed’s grasp is a small glass cup.
Rising to my feet, I hold the door jamb for support. Water coats Eden’s pillow and face, washing away the streaks of blood. Her expression is one of bewilderment, eyes wide and trained on my brother.
A sob breaks the silence.
I take a step forward, but Creed is already lowering himself to the mattress. Grabbing her wrists, he tugs her to his chest and guides her arms around his neck. It takes but a moment for the girl to relent; she climbs into his lap, staining his t-shirt with her tears.
I wonder if this is how she and I appeared in the truck earlier today, clinging to one another.
Then I wonder why I care.
Creed stands and breaks my ruminating. Hoisting her into his arms like a child, he heads for the door.
I don’t attempt to stop him, or ask where he’s going, and he doesn’t look back at me.
I’m left alone in the dark, replaying the scene in my head.
The poor girl is absolutely fucked from all she’s been through—of course she’s having night terrors. With any luck, they won’t last, otherwise we’ll be suffering from some serious headaches.
Well, I will, anyway.
My eyes widen, realization dawning. Creed was completely unaffected by Eden. Because he can’t hear Eden.
Finally, some good fucking news.