Chapter Seven #2
He doesn’t say a word. My eyes have adjusted, and I realize we’re surrounded. Men. Women. Even children. Some are stern, others have a hint of pity in their gaze. But not a one moves to help me.
Joshua sets me down in front of a small, wood building backlit by the late afternoon sun. It can’t be much larger than a closet, with a massive padlock dangling from a heavy metal hasp on the outside of the door. Zeke waits for us, arms folded, a king ready to dispense judgement.
“Prophet, Nova spoke without permission and tried to convince me to call the authorities.”
Zeke digs into his pocket and comes up with a set of keys. “Nova knows the rules. And yet, she continues to break them. This is unacceptable. As the arbiter of justice, I sentence her to four days in the box.”
The very idea that he’s the arbiter of anything turns my panic into anger.
“Fuck you, asshole. My name is Grace Stone, you’re a kidnapper, and your cult is going straight to hell.”
Zeke grabs my arm with such force, my knees buckle from the pain. “Five days,” he growls as Joshua yanks the door open.
The heat hits me first. A wall of it, hotter than any oven. Inside, it’s blindingly white. Thick cloth is stapled to every wall, the floor, even the ceiling. No bed. No chair. Only a dented plastic jug of water and a camping toilet shoved into the corner.
It’s so small. I’ll go mad in there. I’ll die in there.
“Don’t. Please,” I beg, my voice cracking into pieces. “I’ll be good. I’ll do anything. I promise.”
“I told you actions had consequences,” Zeke says as he shoves me inside. “After this, you will never fight me again.”
The door shuts with a bang.
I hurl myself at the wood. Kick. Punch. Slam my shoulder into it until fire shoots down my arm. It doesn’t budge.
Sweat stings my eyes. A bead of it crawls down my spine. The air is heavy, thick, and suffocating. I’ll roast alive in here.
Then it starts. A low hum. Subtle at first, then swelling until the walls themselves vibrate. My teeth buzz in my jaw. My ribs ache. It feels like the sound is inside me, trying to claw its way out.
I scream obscenities—at Zeke, at Joshua, at every last twisted member of the Blessed Flock—until my throat is shredded raw.
No one answers.
No one cares.
No one comes.
I don’t know if it’s been hours or days. Time is an endless circle, twisting and turning until I can’t remember anything but this.
The heat scorches me alive until I’m gasping, clawing at my own throat, desperate for air. Then the cold seeps in, turning my sweat to ice, leaving me shivering so hard my teeth ache. There’s no in-between. No relief.
The constant, white glare burns through my eyelids no matter how tightly I squeeze them shut. I try covering my face with my hands, curling in the corner, but it finds me there too.
And the sound. God, the sound. It’s vibrating my very soul, crawling inside my chest and throwing my heart off its rhythm. Sometimes it fades, only to be replaced by Zeke’s voice. He reads from his fucking book, and his tone is so calm, so tender, so comforting, I find myself wanting to listen.
Nova. My Nova. Your sacrifice will save us all. You are the chosen. Surrender, and the pain will end. You will know only peace. Only love. Only your divine purpose.
The first few times I heard his voice, I cursed him. Spat venom through a dry, cracked throat. Now? I don’t have the strength. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. My lips split when I try to speak.
The jug of water is almost empty. I tried to ration it, but I must have failed. I don’t remember. My stomach twists, hollow and aching, but hunger is nothing compared to this endless thirst.
I think about AJ. Belle. My friends. My students. The sound blurs the memories until there’s nothing but pain and despair and endless fear.
“AJ. I love you. Please…find me.”
“What is your name?” The words filter through the fog in my head. I roll onto my back and blink my dry, bleary eyes. Is that…Zeke? Or another cruel trick of the lights and the heat and the inescapable sound?
“Your name!”
“Nova,” I whisper. I know that’s not right, but I’m so tired, so weak, it’s the only answer I have.
Zeke snaps his fingers, and another man appears at his side. “Bring her back to her room. She has learned her lesson.”
Giving up my name shattered my soul. But in return, I got a shower, a plate of food I barely tasted before it was gone, and sleep. The trade wasn’t close to fair. If only I’d had a choice.
Even after a night plagued by terrifying dreams, my ears still ring. My body aches, and I can’t muster the strength to sit up—let alone get out of bed—when Zeke comes in with my breakfast.
“Blessed Day, Nova.”
“Blessed Day, Prophet,” I whisper. The words taste like ash and despair.
“I trust your time in the box has brought you clarity.”
“Yes, Prophet.”
With every little submission—calling him Prophet or following one of his rules—I break a little more.
“Good.” He sits on the edge of the bed, but doesn’t touch me. Thank God. I don’t believe for a minute that rape is forbidden here. It’s a cult for fuck’s sake. His doctrine says he’s allowed four wives. How long until he tries to make me one of them?
“We are a family here, Nova. Families eat together.
They pray together. And they work together.
You will spend the next two days resting.
After that, you will be allowed to take breakfast and dinner with the flock.
Brother Malone or Brother Vincent will retrieve you from your room, bring you to the dining hall, and return you here when the meal is done.
“You will spend the rest of your time learning the Doctrine. In one week, I will test your knowledge. If you pass, you will be assigned to the greenhouse with my wives. There is much planting to be done before winter.”
My breath hitches. Other people. Even if it’s just meals. Even if it’s only work. The chance to look another woman in the eyes—to whisper one word, to find one ally—it’s more freedom than I thought I’d ever have again.
Zeke frowns, his expression cooling in an instant. “If you violate a single rule, Nova, you go back to the box. Do you understand?”
Tears swim in my eyes. He knows I’m not totally broken. Not fully his. I have to be more careful.
“Yes, Prophet.”
Once he leaves, I curl into a ball and pull the blanket over my head. “My name is Grace Stone. Zeke Nichols will not destroy me.”
The words sound so hollow. I don’t know how to make myself believe them. I’ve watched enough true crime shows to know my fate. Before long, I’ll shatter completely.
Cults don’t break people overnight. They grind them down. Strip away every scrap of identity until there’s nothing but obedience.
Zeke has another two years, ten months, and…I can’t even be sure how many days. Not anymore.
If I survive—if Grace survives—until Zeke kills me, it’ll be a miracle.