Chapter 43
Garron
I push through the front door. It sticks before it gives way.
The smell hits me first. Bleach. Heavy and sharp and it stings my nose.
The inside is too clean. Not the kind of clean you do because you care, but the kind of clean you do to scrub away the filth.
The floors shine. The wooden pews are polished to the point they almost glow under the fluorescent lights.
Crosses hang on every wall, each one a little bigger than the last, like they’re trying to outdo each other.
A few people stand around chatting. Men in stiff shirts, women in long skirts with their hair done tight. Their voices stay low, polite, like they’re all afraid of saying the wrong thing. I nod at the ones who glance at me. Most don’t nod back.
All I can think is how the fuck did Agatha ever breathe in here.
They must have dulled her shine, pressed her into something small, something obedient, something that isn’t her.
The woman I know doesn’t whisper. She doesn’t bow her head.
She laughs loud and cuts with words sharp enough to bleed.
Knowing she was forced into this… it twists something in me.
This place is beneath her. Always was. Always will be.
Michael and Debra are a few steps ahead of me. They split at the end of the hall. Debra slips through a narrow door to the left. Michael heads down a flight of stairs. I hesitate, then follow him.
The basement smells worse. Bleach and sweat mixed together.
The space looks like a gym and a Bible had a baby.
Checkered tile floors cover the space, a few toys are shoved in the corner, and a giant wooden cross is nailed right above a chalkboard that’s been filled with scripture. Folding chairs line the walls.
I don’t make it far before an older man steps in front of me. His hair is gray at the temples, but his eyes are sharp.
“Can I help you? I haven’t seen you here before.”
I drop my gaze, making myself smaller. “This is my first time.”
He sticks his hand out. “I’m Pastor Williams.”
“Garron.” I take his hand, let him feel the strength in my grip, but not too much. Just enough to make him think I respect him.
“What can we do for you, son? What are you looking to gain by joining us today?”
“Clarity,” I mutter. “I grew up close to here. Lately, I’ve been feeling lost. Something is missing.”
His smile grows. He looks like he’s just won a prize pig at the fair. “And what do you think is missing?”
I pause, pretending to struggle. “I’m not sure. But I worry if I search for it on my own, I’ll end up in sin.”
He pats my shoulder like he’s known me forever. “You’ve come to the right place, son. The Lord always welcomes the lost back into His fold.”
He guides me deeper into the basement. His voice swells until it fills the basement, echoing off the walls like a sermon.
“The world out there is a disease. It tells men to kneel at a woman’s feet, to bow to her body, to feed her vanity.
That is the devil’s whisper. God gave man the rod and the crown.
A woman’s place is beneath him. She was made from Adam’s rib, carved from his side so she would remember her dependence. Not his equal. Never his equal.”
I nod, keeping my face blank, though my hands itch.
My jaw aches from how hard I’m biting it.
All I can think is that he’s talking about her.
About Agatha. Like she should have been ground down to dust under some man’s boot.
Like the fire in her eyes is a sin instead of the only honest thing I’ve ever seen.
She wasn’t made to be beneath. She was made to stand over the ashes of men like him.
He doesn’t stop his monologue. “And children—especially the daughters—are born wild. Born sinful. They must be broken young, or else they grow sinfully. Sons can be guided, but daughters must be bent until their spines remember who they belong to. They are not to laugh louder than a man. They are not to question. They are to serve. That is their blessing and their burden.”
He stops at a doorway. Inside, Michael sits with a handful of men. Bibles open and pens scratching in notebooks. They look up when we enter.
“Brothers,” Pastor Williams says. “This is Garron. He’s come searching for clarity.”
The men murmur welcomes. Michael barely looks at me before turning back to the page.
I sit in the back. Williams starts the “study.” He doesn’t read; he lectures. “Vanity is a deadly sin. Lust eats the soul. Sex is not for a woman to enjoy. Sex is for a man to take and for bearing children. If a woman finds pleasure, then she is walking away from God, and that must be rooted out.”
My stomach tightens so hard it feels like a fist. The words sit heavy and slow in the room, and I watch the men as if through a film. They don’t even flinch, let alone argue. Some scrawl notes. Michael’s mouth is small when he smiles, a tight approval.
I want to do ugly things right where I am. I want to stand up and put my hands on him and test how wet his brain will be once met with a fist. I hold myself back because it’s not the right time yet. But it will be.
Williams continues, droning on about how girls must be groomed young, broken in spirit.
“Teach them to serve,” he says. “Teach them to keep their mouths closed. If you do this, then the daughters will not grow in sin. They will wear meekness like a shawl and be proud to lay it on their shoulders,” he says.
The men clap when he finishes as if he’s done them a kindness.
Finally, Williams closes. “That is all for tonight, brothers. Go home and guide your wives. Show them God’s hand through your hand.”
Michael is dismissed first. Williams pats his shoulder. “Show our new friend around.”
He leads me up the stairs. His boots are heavy on the wood. I follow, my fists shoved in my pockets so I don’t do something stupid.
“So, tell me about yourself,” I say casually.
He shrugs. “Not much to tell. My wife is Debra. We’ve been with the church since I was eleven. She was eight when her parents brought her.”
“You got kids?” I ask.
For a second, something flickers in his eyes. He smirks. “We had a daughter. But she’s gone now.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, keeping my tone soft. “That must have been hard. At least she’s with the Lord.”
Michael laughs. “She’s not dead. Just dead to us. And she won’t be getting into Heaven. She’s a sinning whore. I tried to raise her right, but the devil got inside her. The poison was too deep. Couldn’t break her no matter how hard I tried.”
My fingers curl tight, nails cutting into my palms. I want to smash his head against the wall.
“Sometimes they’re just born bad,” I manage to say, my voice even.
Michael nods. “Exactly. Not even Pastor Williams could help her. Or the youth pastor. He’s the one leading the women’s Bible study now.”
I raise a brow. “Isn’t it usually a woman who leads the ladies’ study?”
Michael snorts. “And let them get ideas? Rise up against us? No. We need them meek. They only need thoughts of serving us.”
I keep my mouth shut. We stop at the door Debra went through earlier. Michael knocks once and opens it.
The air inside is heavy. The room looks like a classroom.
Desks lined up in rows. A woman sits in each one, head down, hands folded like they’re in school.
At the front, a man yells scripture, his face flushed, his hand chopping the air with each sentence.
He points while spitting the name Catherine, and a woman in the second row flinches.
“Stand,” he snaps. She obeys before you can call it a choice. Her shoulders tremble like someone who’s been told to hold a pose for too long. The man steps close, his voice is sharp and loud for the whole room to hear.
“You mock the household,” he bellows. “You spread slander in the market. You laugh loudly when a woman should bow. You draw the eye of men with your immodesty. You teach the girls to look up instead of down. You lead them from the path.” He spits each accusation like it’s scripture.
“You whispered against Mr. Mitchell’s counsel.
You did not keep your place in the last meeting.
You smiled at a stranger on the street. Vanity.
Pride. Questioning the order God put in place. ”
Then he grabs her arm, bends her over the desk, and flips her skirt up. Her thighs shake as he raises a yardstick. He smacks it across her ass, and she cries out.
“God sees your sins!” he roars. “Your body will learn what your soul refuses!”
Another strike. Then another. Her sobs fill the room. “Let this be a lesson. Teach your daughters humility. Teach them to hold their tongues. Let the house be a place of order.”
Finally, he lets go. She stumbles back to her seat.
With the “lesson” now done, he dismisses them with a wave that is almost tender. “Go,” he intones. “Return to your husbands. Make the table ready. Keep the children in line. Remember the Lord’s will.”
This is not only cruel, but it’s deliberate.
It’s engineered. They find something minor, blow it up into sin, and then use religion to re-script the women into silence.
The damage is both public and private. A woman who goes home after this will carry the humiliation.
She will be policed by neighbors and children and the echo of the pastor’s voice.
That is how control starts. Not with a single monstrous act, but with a thousand small ones stacked on top of each other until the whole thing looks natural.
The women file out without a word. Eyes low. Not a single one looks at him. Debra is the last. She stops in front of Michael.
“Michael.”
He tips her head up with two fingers, kisses her forehead. “Good study, love?”
“It was, dear. Thank you for asking.”
“Mine was good too. Debra, this is Garron. He’s thinking about attending services. Garron, this is my wife.”
I reach out my hand. Debra glances at me, then at Michael. Her smile is small, thin. “Nice to meet you, Garron.”
Michael shakes his head. “Sorry. Debra isn’t permitted to touch another male.”
I pull my hand back, acting embarrassed. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t know.”
“It’s alright,” Michael says. “You’ll learn. The church will show you how to care for a woman properly. Anyway, it’s late. Debra needs to have dinner on the table by five.”
“Of course,” I reply. I nod at Debra. She lowers her eyes and follows him out.
When the door shuts behind them, I let myself breathe again. My mind locks everything in place. Every door. Every window. Every hallway. The layout burns into my memory.
I won’t forget it.
Not when I’m coming back.
And not when we’re tearing it all down.
But first, our Little Horror needs to tell us what Michael meant about the pastor trying to break her too.