42. Ophelia
OPHELIA
I finger the piece of red string, then tie it in the tightest knot I can manage.
If it represents the bind between me and the Prophet, it needs to be that way, because even though I’ve made my physical break from him, mentally and emotionally and spiritually, I’m still very much tied.
Sometimes I wonder if I hear him because I’m frightened he’s still out there, looking for me. It’s been over a year, and I’m sure if he was going to have found me and brought me back, he would have by now. It’s easy to tell yourself something, but it’s not so easy to truly believe it.
The Prophet most likely believes I’m dead—lost in the wilderness somewhere, probably eaten by wild animals.
Even if he doesn’t believe that, trying to find me again would be foolish.
Though we don’t know his real name, he’s still a wanted man for abducting a young girl.
The police could still arrest him and lock him up for the rest of his natural life.
“Done?” Roman asks.
I draw in a breath and hold the knotted string back out to him. My hands are shaking. I tell myself it’s normal to be nervous—what girl wouldn’t be, in my position? A part of me is trembling in anticipation, too, though.
He takes the string back from me and hands me the scissors.
“Position the blades, close your eyes, and say the words ‘I release myself from your power’ three times before you cut the string.”
I do exactly as he says, then snip the string in two.
“Good girl,” he praises me, and I swear I feel myself becoming wetter. “Hold still.”
I remain in position as he moves around me with the smoky bundle of herbs, muttering things under his breath. With all three of them wearing masks now, and the room flickering in candlelight, I can’t help but feel as though it will work this time.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod, too nervous to speak.
“One last thing. What’s your safe word?”
“Anchovies,” I answer immediately. I’ve been repeating the word to myself over and over so I won’t forget it. I know how important it is to be able to tell them to stop if I need to.
Cain goes to the door of the water tower and opens it, revealing the trees beyond. It’s almost a full moon, so the world is lit in a silvery glow.
“You need to head away from the college,” Cain says. “We can’t let anyone else hear us and interfere.”
My heart is in my throat. “I understand.” I think of something. “What if I get lost?”
Those days of wandering through the wilderness after I’d run from the commune suddenly come back to me.
How terrified I’d been that I was going to die.
How hungry I’d been. How I’d been covered in insect bites and scratches and scrapes.
I know this isn’t the same, but it’s impossible for me not to think about it.
Malachi steps in, his voice coming from behind his white mask. “We won’t let you get that far away from us.”
“We don’t plan for you to escape,” Cain growls.
A shiver goes through me. I’m really doing this. I’m going to let three masked men chase me through the woods at night, and when they catch me…
My mind flitters across all kinds of tantalizing, erotic possibilities, and the understanding that I am one hundred percent going through with this solidifies inside me.
Dirty little whore, the Prophet’s voice hisses in the back of my mind. Even hell is too good for the likes of you.
Shut up! I want to scream back, but I know I’ll look crazy in front of the guys.
Maybe I shouldn’t care. This whole thing is crazy, after all.
Three men, the Prophet continues. Dirty slut. Your flesh will be scorched for eternity, blackened and peeling so no one will ever want you…
I glance at the Preachers. “I need to go. Now. I need to run.”
Roman steps forward. “Go.”
With a burst of energy, partially pushed on by the Prophet’s voice, I sprint for the door.
On my feet are my white slip-on ballet shoes, and they’re not designed for running, but it’s not as though I’m actually going to run a marathon or anything.
I burst out of the water tower, and I’m in the fresh air, the chill of the night on my skin.
My nipples pucker beneath my dress and goosebumps rise on my arms. I’ll warm up quickly enough, I’m sure.
I glance over my shoulder at the door, and my throat closes on an unreleased scream.
These aren’t the men I thought I knew watching me.
Instead, there are three big—huge in Cain’s case—men wearing masks, with their arms crossed over their chests and heads cocked to one side.
I can’t see their expressions because of the masks, but I can feel the electric danger coming from them, and I realize, perhaps too late, that I might not know them as well as I had thought.
Pivoting, I just run .
As I’d been instructed, I veer away from the college and instead run deeper into the woods.
I don’t need to pretend I’m scared. My last glance at the Preachers was terrifying. They had looked dark and malevolent, with the looming water tower standing guard over them, like some sort of entity.
It’s dark, and I’m alone. My dress whips around me as I run, and my breath heaves in and out of my lungs. Around me are the night sounds of the forest—animals I can’t identify calling to one another.
I strain my ears for any indication that the Preachers have come after me yet.
Three big men crashing through the woods shouldn’t be hard to hear, but there’s nothing.
My stomach flips with fresh nerves. Are they still waiting?
Trying to give me a decent head start? I hope they don’t let me get too far ahead. Anything—or anyone—could be out here.
Fear is like ice in my veins, but I push on. I remember what they said about this needing to be as real as possible in order for it to work, and I’m definitely scared. Not of them yet, though. I’m still thinking of them as the men who are going to save me.
What if they are wrong though and they do lose me?
What if I run too far, despite what they said, and then I’m wandering like I did after I’d left the compound?
I still have nightmares about that time.
I’d never truly known what it meant to be hungry and thirsty before then.
I’d found a stream and drunk from it, but the water had made me sick.
I’d thought I was going to die, and honestly, in that moment, I’d have welcomed it.
But somehow, I’d recovered and had pushed myself on, walking in a kind of fevered dream until I’d eventually been found.
This isn’t the same, though. It’s not as isolated here. There are roads nearby, and I am sure I’d be found before too long, and anyway, I’m here because I chose to be.
And I’m not alone.
The snap of a foot on a twig comes from my right. I inhale a sharp breath and whip my head in that direction. Is someone there?
The norms of behavior almost have me calling out, ‘hello,’ but deep down, instinct has me remaining quiet and gives me the urge to huddle into myself and become smaller so they’re less likely to find me.
A rustle of bushes sounds in the opposite direction, and I spin around.
Are they stalking me? The thought gives me a shiver of fear mixed with desire.
The idea they are watching me, and hunting me, is unbearably erotic.
Have they been able to move so silently that I haven’t heard them catch up to me?
Or am I hearing something else entirely?
Whore. The voice is there again.
What if the noise in the bushes is him? The Prophet.
It’s a thought shaped of nightmares and dread, so I run faster, harder.
As if I’m escaping him and not just the three masked men hot on my trail.
My feet pound over uneven ground, and I hear an owl hoot somewhere, the sound sending icy tendrils of anxiety skittering down my spine.
My heart beats wildly, and I keep going. Am I heading in the same direction—away from the college—or did I get turned around when I paused to listen to those sounds?
Suddenly, something lunges out from behind a tree.
Arms wrap around my waist from behind and lift me, my feet losing contact with the ground.
A scream peals from my throat, and I batter at the arms holding me.
It’s all happened so fast, I haven’t even noticed what mask the man is wearing, but from the size of the arms gripping me, I believe it’s Cain.
His big body jams against mine, his cock hard against my spine.
“Run, little girl,” he growls and sets me back down again.
With a cry, I do just that. I stagger forward, almost falling, but somehow managing to put one foot in front of the other. The silvery moonlight guides my way, but now I’m more conscious of movement in the forest around me. The trees have eyes, and I’m being watched.
What if there are others out there? Another horrifying thought eases its way into my mind. What if someone else has taken the Preachers’ masks, and now they’re the ones chasing me?
I’m not sure I need to freak myself out any more than I already am, but this new source of terror lodges its way into my throat.
No, that’s not how this works. They wouldn’t let that happen; they’d kill anyone who tried.
God, why am I doing this to myself? These thoughts need to stop.
Having the three of them chasing me through the dark woods is scary enough.
In fact, it’s way scarier than I’d ever have imagined.
Any sense of knowing them, of being sure of them, evaporated the minute they stood at the door and I saw them together that last time.
I’m sure they’re close. What are they going to do when they catch me?
How rough are they going to be with me? I’m still so inexperienced, and I’m not sure what to expect.
Will they hurt me?