Chapter 4
W hen I told him I was willing to join him, that I accepted, he finally revealed his name: Jacob. I’m assuming he has the name because that guy was supposedly the forefather of the Israelites.
You can’t make this shit up.
He wants to make a new world, and I’ll be damned if I have any part of it. I have to get out of here, no matter what happens.
But that also means surviving.
For Amelia, I’ll do anything.
And that means I have to escape.
Which means following along… for now.
After Jacob unlocked my manacle, he guided me upstairs to the first floor, still keeping my hands bound by rope.
“It’s only until I can trust you,” he affirms, meeting my eyes with his sincere ones that almost, almost , bring my guard down. “I’ve had… problems before. With trust.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Are there others? Maybe we could all escape. We could overpower him?—
“This is the kitchen,” Jacob says, breaking off that line of thought before it gets too far. It’s a simple space, with wooden floors, wooden walls, and old, rustic décor around pale cabinets and ancient gray appliances. This could have been a hunting cabin.
But he was hunting people like me. Not animals.
“And this,” he says, waving a hand, “is the living room.” Just as rustic and simple as the kitchen, it’s honestly… homey.
There’s a fireplace filled with flickering embers and heat that beckons me closer. A flannel blanket covers the brown couch. Wooden beams hold up the ceiling, where an antler-style light fixture hangs and illuminates the space.
“I’ll take you upstairs, where you’ll spend much of your time when I’m not here,” Jacob says, almost sounding apologetic.
Meanwhile, my mind is racing again. When he’s not here? So there’s really a chance for freedom?
My hopes are dashed when he latches a new manacle to my leg, this one attached to a chain that seems to span the length of the second floor.
“So you can’t leave,” Jacob explains. “Apologies, Amy, but I can’t risk losing you. Not when I’ve only just found you.”
Panic rises anew in my veins. It takes everything in me to keep my breathing steady. No… I have to get out of here. I have to?—
“And this is your bedroom.”
More wood. More rustic bullshit. There’s a queen-sized bed with flannel blankets and furs, coupled with gray sheets. Worn wooden nightstands flank the bed, while a rug with crochet-style stiches decorates the floor beneath.
“My bedroom,” I breathe. “So we sleep separately?” At least that’s something.
Jacob smiles then, the gesture almost faint. “For now. Until I can trust you more.” The smile is gone as soon as it appears.
The only problem was that not trusting me meant fucking killing me. So I had no choice but to comply, to obey. Not if I wanted to escape.
“If you disobey, Amy, I’ll have no choice but to cleanse you. Remember that.”
“You… you mentioned your knife. H-how would you…” I trail off, not sure I want to know.
“Let’s hope you don’t find out.”
Hearing a bark, he pauses. Is that a fucking dog?
Rapping feet near, starting somewhere on the first floor and hurrying up the stairs until a golden lab-pitbull mix reveals itself. It’s the most dog-looking dog I’ve ever fucking seen, and of course it’s owned by a serial killer. Are you fucking serious?
“And this,” Jacob says, gesturing to the animal, “is Matt.”
“Matt,” I repeat numbly. “As in Matthew?”
From the fucking Bible.
“Correct,” he affirms. “Now then, I have business to attend to, so you’ll be here during the day while I’m gone.” His eyes narrow. “The doors are locked from the outside, and all the windows are barred, so don’t get your hopes up about escaping.”
I gulp. “Y-yeah. I get it.”
He brightens. “Good. I’d suggest spending the day going over my teachings. I have some on the dresser for you to read.”
He’s so… hot and cold. It’s like his mood switches on a dime depending on what we’re talking about. Jesus.
“Listen Amy,” he says slowly, turning just before he departs the room. “Despite what reservations you may have about me and this place, I know you’ll come to love it here. I know you’ll come to really see the truth, just as I do.”
His voice is so sincere, so kind, that’s it’s so hard to keep a straight face. His tone is like a silken caress against my skin, his endearing eyes so sweet.
Coupled with all his tattoos and the boyish ensemble, he almost looks attractive. And maybe that’s the scariest part of all. That I find him attractive in general. I should hate him, I should think he’s a monster.
Focus, Amy. He is a fucking serial killer.
When he leaves me alone, dog in tow, locking the front door behind him, I decide to investigate the fuck out of my newfound prison. Talk about some Nancy Drew type shit.
There’s no way I’m just going to sit in here and read when I could be figuring out a way home.
Looking out the window first, I see it’s indeed barred. Outside, an endless expanse of red, orange, and yellow-colored trees spread as far as the eye can see. Fall is in full force here. But the question remains where here actually fucking is.
I even spot a field near the house with cows and other farm animals. So he made this into a little homestead.
And I’m trapped on the second floor, if this chain is anything to go by. Shit, shit, shit.
Okay. Don’t panic , I tell myself as my chest begins to tighten. I need to focus if I stand a chance of escaping.
Leaving the bedroom, I make my way down the creaky wooden hallway and to the next door, finding a bathroom with all the fixings you’d expect. Within the next door, I find yet another bedroom. It’s similar to mine, but this one is bigger and has a bed for the dog on the floor.
What strikes me most is the collection of moths on the wall near a desk. It’s… similar to mine. No, it’s exactly like mine. Oh my God.
That’s my collection! The Black Witch moth, the American Dagger, the Cecropia. One by one by one I count yet another bug I’ve collected. Did he steal these? Why?
Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, I slowly make my way into the room.
I’m not really sure what I expect in here. Dead bodies? An array of weapons big enough to kill a small army? But there’s… nothing. It’s just a plain old bedroom with creaky floors.
And more of my specimens. Rats, a deer fetus, and other little animals lay in jars against the wall closest to the door. He stole these. What the fuck!
I have to confront him about this eventually.
Speaking of floors, I slowly make my way to the staircase, a blossom of hope swelling in my chest, until it’s cut short by the chain going taut. I can’t go down, not even if I wanted to.
Frustrated by my lack of progress, I return to my own ‘room’ and look for the writings he mentioned. It’ll give me something to do, even if I hate just passing all this time reading.
I find them on the dresser where Jacob mentioned. Picking up the journal, I can’t help but admire that it’s leatherbound.
Opening the book, I narrow my eyes at the symbol of Jesus Christ, a cross, sketched on the first page with haphazard scribbles. One word is repeated over and over and over beneath the drawing. Sanctify.
Flipping the page, I swallow hard.
It’s endless. The word never stops being scribbled from one end of the page to the next. Top to bottom. Sanctify, sanctify, sanctify, sanctify.
The next page after that starts…
I grew up in a loving home, despite what some may assume. A mother who knew her place, a father who knew his. And sometimes he was rough with her, but that’s just how things were meant to be.
It was they who instilled in me such values I now hold. My father was a preacher, a Baptist, and he led me to salvation. Yet I always craved more.
When I joined the priesthood myself at the ripe age of twenty-five, I thought I was going to change the world for the better. But those boys didn’t know the truth, didn’t know the depths of our Father’s love for us. No, Jesus Christ and our Creator desired more than merely praying for forgiveness and living with good morals where we could.
They desired sacrifice. They desired atonement.
And this begins with blood…
This guy was fucking crazy. But I kept reading, since there was nothing else to do. Maybe getting some insight into his mind would help me get out of here, get back to Amelia and my life .
…. With blood comes life. Blood is the way, the truth, and the life, for Jesus himself shed blood for tears when he mourned; for Jesus himself shed blood for our sins.
And God, our Father, demands sacrifice to him to atone for our sins.
It’s not that I do not believe Jesus Christ’s sacrifice was not the ultimate one. It’s that I believe we are not absolved from the law just because he fulfilled it. For the Lord even states that we must still obey the law, which also calls for blood.
And so… I provide Judgment to those on Earth. I provide each sinner an option: follow the Lord, or perish and atone. Punishment for disobeying, for sin, must be carried out. And sometimes… the only way to truly know God is to shed blood as his Son did.
The ramblings of a madman. I couldn’t deny there was some… interesting theory going on here, but I would have no part of it. He clearly was taking this whole religion thing way too far. I mean hell, we already knew that from him kidnapping and killing people.
It was sick. All of this was fucking sick.
Having had my fill of the journal, I slowly back away from the dresser until my legs hit the bed behind me.
Sleep. That would take me away from here, at least for a little while. Maybe if I’m sleeping when Jacob returns, he’ll leave me alone. But that’s just wishful thinking.
I climb under the covers, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
Dreams come as darkness swallows me.