42. Thirty Nine
Thirty Nine
Cecil
It’s been weeks since I’ve last stepped foot in the Sanctuary.
The grounds glisten with morning dew, and only a few other vehicles are parked in the field—intentional on my part.
I’ve been dreading this meeting with Curran since the moment I agreed to it.
The less people around to witness it, the better.
Savoring the last drag of my cigarette, I peer out toward the horizon.
The Sanctuary is secluded, but it’s hardly a necessity.
Everyone knows who, what, and where the Brothers are.
You might be asking yourself: how are kidnapping and murder legal?
Well, they’re not. But if those who hand out sentences are the same ones serving them, do you think they’re quick to condemn themselves?
If you were to make a venn diagram of the Brothers of Divinity and the powers at be, it would be a circle. We remain an unspoken truth, both the boogeyman and God’s greatest servants, depending which side you’re on.
And I’m on both.
Stepping inside, the fall of my steel toed boots echo down the empty corridor. My mask slips into place, and I void myself of as much emotion as I can. Shoulders back, chin high. Even my fingers are rigid, not a twitch in sight.
Curran is waiting for me at his desk, and I don’t bother knocking before I enter.
He shoots me a look of disapproval, and the petty part of me relishes it.
There’s much he controls, but only because I allow it.
As I’ve gotten older, and bigger, I find that his respect for me stems from some amount of fear.
As it should.
“Punctual as ever,” he remarks, beady eyes watching my every move.
I don’t bother responding, choosing instead to take the seat across from him.
There’s a steaming mug of what I assume to be coffee in front of him.
Reaching below his desk, he brandishes a near empty bottle of spiced whiskey and adds a splash before taking a long sip.
“Getting right to it, then?” I jut my chin towards his mug.
“It was a long night.”
Is alcoholism a sin? Probably. But being a hypocrite coincides with being a Divine.
He offers me the bottle, and I wave my hand dismissively, though a stiff drink would make this conversation more manageable.
He takes another sip before placing the mug on the table with a clink.
“So,” he begins, gaze penetrating. “Where’s the girl?”
The mention of Eden already has my stomach clenching. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to remain neutral when it comes to her, and I don’t fucking like it.
“On my property. Same place she has been.” My voice is steady, leaving no room for interpretation. Bushy eyebrows hike up, and he looks positively perturbed.
“She sleeps under your roof?”
For this to work, I need to convince him that I have complete control—that I’m not afraid of her. After all, it’s fear that fuels his prejudice. If I can convince him that I’ve got her wrapped around my finger, he might be more agreeable.
“Worried about me?” Mirth dances in my eyes. “Trust me when I tell you that she has been thoroughly contained. There’s little she’s able to do. Even then, I doubt she would.”
His eyes soften in awe. Eating right out of my palm.
“Oh?”
I nod, humming my confirmation.
“Have you broken her?” The hopeful lilt to his question makes me want to wrap my fingers around his turkey neck, but I have to set it aside. Curran views her as evil, so I have to speak as if she is.
“Let’s just say she’s a lot more agreeable than she was the last time you saw her.”
Curran looks like he might burst at the seams with glee, unable to control the grin that stretches his lips. He leans across the desk, drawn by the prospect of torture.
“How did you do it?” He asks lowly, like we’re two school boys sharing secrets.
I consider the question, looking to the ceiling and feigning amusement. It takes a great deal of mental gymnastics to place my smirk. The idea of forcing Eden into submission makes my blood boil. Unsure I’ll be able to divulge the lies without betraying myself, I keep it vague.
“There’s more than one way to get a woman to do what you want. Even infected with the Darkness, she can’t help but ache for my approval.” Injecting my words with venom, I taste them on my tongue. It’s nauseating.
A bark of laughter bursts from his mouth. “You are truly diabolical, Bastien. I never should have doubted you.” He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. In order to match his smile, I envision myself bouncing his head off the desk.
Once upon a time, his cruelness surprised me.
The first meeting I ever had with him was when I was twenty.
He had heard of my eagerness to please, and my unparalleled work ethic.
So what did he do? He put my allegiance to the test. Ordered me to kill an elderly man that had been diagnosed with dementia.
They called it "Darkness induced hysteria". Said the devil himself was stealing the man’s memories. That his sickness was a curse.
He was the first person I ever killed. On the drive home, I threw up on myself. The only solace I found was knowing that maybe I ended some amount of suffering. And it was another day of safety for my brother.
In the back of my mind, I think of Eden and the shame she carries for taking lives.
How might she feel if she knew all that I’ve done?
So lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize Curran is talking.
“...wanted to run past you.”
I blink and clear my throat. “Sorry?”
Curran grumbles in exasperation, taking a swig from his mug. The slurping sound makes my nerves tick.
“I said, I’m glad to hear that, because I have an idea I wanted to run past you.”
Alarm bells go off like a gong in my mind, rattling me to my bones.
“What’s that?”
Curran leans back in his leather chair, fingers laced over his chest. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, and that can only ever mean one thing.
“Our annual Night of Indulgence is next weekend,” he reminds me. I nod.
“So what if you brought our new toy as a special guest? To…” His mustache twitches. “boost morale.”
Fuck that. Fuck no.
I’m white knuckling the arms of the chair. I lower them to my lap, out of sight.
It’s a terrible fucking idea, but I can’t outright say that. Maybe, if I come at the angle of a safety hazard, I can talk him out of it.
“I’m not sure that would be a great idea. You saw what she’s capable of—”
“Didn’t you say you have her under control?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then what’s the issue?” He’s angry now, words clipped. His eyes narrow, and I see it for what it is. A challenge. If there’s one thing the Reverend hates, it’s defiance.
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” I supply lamely, defeat already settling on my shoulders.
“Then you better make sure she obeys.” He claps his hands together. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have paperwork to tend to.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed. I open my mouth to say something else, but I can’t look desperate. I can’t even afford to look like I care.
I’m about to exit his office when he calls my name. I stop, turning my head in his direction. He doesn’t bother to look up from the stack of papers before him.
“Be sure that she looks… nice.”
“Yes, sir.”
He can go fuck himself.
“This is a horrible idea,” Creed signs wildly. He paces back and forth between us and the front door, effectively blocking our path.
I can’t help but to defend myself. “It wasn’t my idea.”
Eden stands at my side, expression perfectly blank. To a stranger, she’d look calm and collected. But I know better. Her fingers are interlocked in front of her, and each nail is jagged from incessant biting. Better than her lips, I guess.
Curran’s suggestion to dress her nicely fell on deaf ears. She’s wearing a pair of light wash jeans and a simple long sleeve black shirt. If I had it my way, I would’ve dressed her in a garbage sack just to spite him.
“You’re going to get her killed,” Creed insists.
Eden looks like she’s going to be sick.
His frantic steps hasten, so I step forward and grip him by the shoulders, giving him a rough shake. The whites of his eyes are clearly visible when he turns his attention to me.
“The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll return.”
It takes another five minutes of convincing before we’re heading to the Sanctuary. Driving there with Eden in my passenger seat feels wrong on every level imaginable.
The bravery she wields is unmatched, but she shouldn’t have to be brave at all. At every turn, I let her down.
Her knuckles pop with the force of her writhing. I reach to cover her hands with my palm.
“You stay by my side, and I’ll protect you. I swear.”
Her eyes are glued to the windshield, and I wonder if she’s angry with me. I wouldn’t blame her. But then, slow and tentative, she flips one hand and laces our fingers together.
My heart stops. Restarts. A ridiculous reaction to handholding. Then again, nothing that involves Eden thus far has been normal.
It’s past dark when we arrive, but the Sanctuary is well lit with the festivities.
Cars flood the grass, hoards of people making their way towards the entrance.
I have a feeling Curran boasted to anyone who would listen about the special guest of the night.
He’s probably tickled pink with the turn out.
Every year, the Brothers host a Night of Indulgence.
AKA- a night where members sin, and then are automatically absolved of such sin, just because they say so.
The tradition dates back to when the Brothers were first established, sometime in the early 1800s.
The story is that the Lord himself grants them one night a year to get all of their darkest desires out of their system, expelling any Darkness from their souls.
It couldn’t be that one of them came up with an excuse to get their dicks sucked and money gambled. Of course not.
Men travel hours to attend. The Divine are all over the globe, but the Sanctuary is a homebase of sorts. Allegedly, it originated right here in Louisiana, at this church.