Desecrating Solomon: Book 1 of 3 (Desecration Series) (4 page)

Chapter Four

Chaos went to that quiet grave inside and waited for him to return. In all the six years she’d silently contemplated this day, not one of them had ever been this. The physical pain was a welcomed distraction to the pain in her soul. So many whys, whats, whens, whos. Why had Master hurt her so badly? What did it mean? When was this phase over? Who would tell her what to do next?

She had been told nothing. What if she did the wrong thing?

Bring back our sacrifice.

That was the only directive. No other details. She couldn’t let him call the authorities either. No one was to know.  No one was to know what was coming, no one was to stop it, it was too important. For the entire town and its vicinity.

Chaos braced when Solomon drew close again. Why hadn’t she been prepared for this part? His touch. In her pitiful state, her body was weak with vulnerabilities. He’d held her hand. It had been kind and gentle and warm. She recalled her body’s panic when he would let go. She would need to be careful. So very careful with him. The only thing she knew about him from Master was that he was going to be a very powerful sacrifice. Was he special like her? Did he too have gifts?

“I’ve only got aspirin and acetaminophen,” he said softly.

To hear his words or feel them, that’s what Chaos struggled between. She remembered to nod her consent while considering his voice. It seemed to have a bewitching power. Almost like Grandmother’s. Chaos allowed it to soothe her mind. It would help her to heal quicker. She’d experienced physical discipline so many times, this leg of the procedure was mundane and boring. Mostly because it required her to be still. She was good at it but hated it. And given the extent of the damage, she’d be still far longer than she was accustomed. Her entire body felt three times its size and there wasn’t a place on her that didn’t beg for respite from the pain.

Master had always been an expert at hurting without hitting. And if he chose to hit, he could do it without marking. He could crack without breaking, beat without bruising, bruise without bursting. He could crush the spirit without ever breaking skin or bone, that was his specialty. 

But this time… it felt or seemed like Master had done it all. She felt broken everywhere. Her body, her mind, her spirit, even her heart. He was so very exceptional at breaking. Even though she practiced long and hard to strengthen herself against it, he was able to. He hated hurting her, he’d told her so, many times. But his love for the world was greater than the will of his flesh. And for that, he’d suffered both of them to endure what was holy and righteous unto the redemption of the cursed. 

She allowed Solomon to lift her head and she managed to swallow. But the pain it brought made her entire body lock up.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he said.

Why should he be sorry? Chaos hated the sounds of agony she kept making. She hoped it stopped soon and she hoped he wasn’t always this strange. She didn’t like being cruel, but she would if necessary. Whatever she needed to be and do to accomplish the mission was the only thing she should concern herself about.

She just needed silence and solitude for about twelve hours and she’d be fine. And not dwell on the questions with no answers or the questions that brought the bad fears and the bad pain. There were too many swarming around the edges of her mind.

“Is it okay if I still ask you a few questions?”

Her nod came before Chaos could really think. How was she supposed to rest while indulging him in his endless questions? Maybe it was a distraction her body knew she needed. She flinched inside when he carefully took her hand again but then the warmth calmed her immediately. Master used to wrap her in wet hot sheets after a discipline and she’d eventually learned comfort from it. Until the sheet dried. Then it was like another form of discipline, nearly suffocating her. Grandmother called it swaddling.

“Does the person who did this to you… live near here?”

Chaos squeezed twice. She didn’t like lying but she’d not jeopardize the mission.

“Does he live in the next town?”

Again she squeezed twice.

“Two towns over?”

Why was he so enflamed with where this person was? Again she squeezed twice.

“So this relative must be visiting from a very far place.”

She gave one squeeze, finding that acceptable.

“Is he near here now?”

She squeezed twice.

“Did he leave to go back home already?”

She squeezed once, glad to be finished with that topic.

He let out maybe a frustrated sound, or was it relieved? She waited in the silence, focusing on the feel of his hand. It was twice the size of hers. Bigger than Master’s she was sure. Much gentler. Part of those bewitching powers like his voice. She reminded herself that she was chosen to secure the sacrifice. If that meant allowing herself to be bewitched, so be it.

“I think you should rest now while I find my phone charger.”

She squeezed his hand hard.

“I’m not going to use it to call anybody,” he hurried.

Then why did he need it?

As though hearing her concern, he said, “Just in case there’s more trouble.”

She relaxed only a little.

“I’ll let you sleep now. I’m not leaving, I’ll be here the entire time, okay?”

She found his parental traits almost fascinating in that second. Again her body did the opposite of what her mind said and squeezed twice.

“Okay, okay,” he whispered, closer now. “I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep?”

She squeezed once and already her body began to relax with that prospect. On an instinctual level, she felt safe with him. Physical trauma could be very peculiar she’d learned over the years. Making you do and say things you didn’t mean. Shameful things.

Chaos wasn’t sure how long she was lying there, trapped in the nightmare. It was the one with the ants where she was tied to the ant bed being slowly eaten alive. She was pretty sure it came from the baby possum. Master liked making jewelry with animal bones. They walked and walked a lone highway every Sunday looking for road kill for his projects. God had given all animals to man for using as he pleased, Master had said. But this time, the animal they found was a baby possum and it wasn’t all the way dead. “Looks like somebody strayed from the flock,” Master had mused, making Chaos pick it up and put it in the sack.

Later, she was made to put it on the giant ant pile and watch to make sure no other animal came along and took their find. Chaos was only nine, and she was named Chosen then. She hadn’t had much training yet and she was angry with Master. “It’s hurting him! You said only dead animals for this, he’s not dead and he’s crying!”

He’d laughed at her as though she were delightfully funny. “He’s going to die regardless, Chosen. And those aren’t tears, they’re soul fluids.”

Soul fluids. The term had enraged her and she told him what she thought of it. “That’s mean!” she’d yelled at him. Then when he laughed louder, she sealed her fate with, “And you’re stupid!”

It was the first time she’d seen Master angry at her. The first time she’d felt his secret techniques. He hurt her on the inside of her body without it ever showing on the outside. She’d never felt such pain from mere fingers. He hurt her in her head, her neck, her back, her stomach.

After Master taught her a lesson, she was made to pick the carcass out of the ant pile and place the bones in the sun for the final phase of cleansing. Then she was shown how to drill holes in the bones. Master poked the lobes of her ears with a big needle and made her wear the dead possum’s ear canal bones. “Maybe this will help you to listen,” he said.

Eventually, Chosen came to cherish the bones. They were odd and ugly and difficult to discern at a glance. Just like her. They were twins in that respect—animal and human, bonded as one. When Master wasn’t around, others laughed at her and called her Possum. Secretly, she didn’t mind. Even liked it. Until she made the mistake of telling Master that her name wasn’t Chosen, it was Possum. In a rage, he ripped the bones from her ears and crushed them under a rock. “It was blasphemy to love animals more than God,” he’d said. She knew better than to disagree. She’d only nodded to avoid more obedience training. Only when she was alone, in the dark corner of her cell did she mourn the loss of her only friend.

Of course it was all silly. To be friends with a possum’s ear bones.

During the Waking training she’d had the first nightmare. Master was patiently spraying her naked body for hours with a special hose. The icy water spikes pierced her skin while she hung in the shackles. It had felt like angry ants on fire. She’d lost consciousness and dreamed she was tied to the ant bed with the baby possum. She couldn’t move or speak, but she was alive. All she could do was cry and they didn’t care or notice because it was just soul fluids. The ants ate her like ants are supposed to, ate her until there was nothing left, while she died slowly and quietly like the possum had. 

It was a tormenting nightmare because as real and terrifying as the pain was, the dream was the only connection she had left with the animal. She wasn't sure how but the possum had become a part of her. A
her
she didn’t really know but… maybe wanted to.

But for the first time, the nightmare was different. While she cried quietly and screamed silently, somebody heard. A person knelt next to her that she couldn’t see and took hold of her hand. It was a he. A he that hummed so very softly.

The terror melted away along with the ties that held her down. She floated up into the air, into the warm sunlight where there were no ants, no fear, no pain. Just the sun’s rays, cradling her and the baby possum.

And that voice. She realized finally that it was familiar. Maybe the voice belonged to the sun because it possessed the same warmth. It was soft, yet strong and sure, like the rays after a storm. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard or experienced.  

****

Exhaustion claimed Solomon and he lay his head on the bed while holding her hand. At some point the sound of her whimpers woke him. She needed more medicine but when he’d try to unlatch her hand from his to get up and get it, her grip turned desperate.

Staying put, he sat there, feeling helpless and useless. He realized then that she was dreaming. No doubt about what happened to her. The bright idea to sing came to him. But what song? There was only one he knew entirely and it had at one time been his favorite.

Keeping his voice low so as not to startle her, he sang it. And to his shock, it seemed to be working. He could feel it with every second, her small fingers slowly relaxing. When she seemed to be resting, Solomon stared at her lopsided face, his gut clenching as usual. Out of ideas, he decided to do the one thing he’d given up on. Going over each body part he’d called out to her earlier when assessing the damage, he prayed for it. At this point, it couldn’t hurt.

After playing Saint Peter, he managed to slide his hand out of hers and stood. She’d be hungry when she woke. And if she wasn’t, she’d need to eat regardless. He should go take care of Miss Mary now while she slept. By then the stores would be open and he could run and get supplies and suitable foods. He ate out of cans for the most part but that was because he had no reason to use his culinary skills. Those were intended for special occasions, and since he’d lost his fiancée there’d been none of those.

Before turning away, Solomon stared at the nameless woman one last time. He felt a rush of emotion at the fact that he’d found her. Saved her. At the fact that he’d heard her calling him. At the fact that God had let him hear it. He often felt like his fiancée had called him while enduring whatever happened to her. It was only half a year since he’d managed to put down the rabid obsession of finding at least her remains. He just… needed something to
finish
it.

And here lies this woman in his cabin not long after he made his peace with God over it. All the why, why, whys had been beaten to death. Why didn’t God tell him where his fiancée was, show him, or help him find her? Why? What had Solomon ever done to deserve that?

It was eating him alive. But his uncle finally knocked sense into him one day. Literally. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more, the fact that he knew how to throw a punch or the fact that he did. And at
him.
But Solomon had more than asked for it. He’d insulted his own dead mother while drunk and cursing God up and down.
“He took her like He took my mother. To torment me! To kill me and keep me alive to live dead! She did this, she let that bastard do this and your stupid loving God allowed it!!”

Solomon could still see it plain in his mind how his uncle calmly stood up from the kitchen table and decked him right in the mouth. Flat on his back, his uncle’s face was still clear as day before his, finger pointing at him. “That was for your mother. God can handle his own, but don’t you ever speak that way about my sister, you hear me? She loved you more than her own
life!
”

His words caused everything to boil over in his heart, and the tears he could never shed finally came. That was the day things changed. He couldn’t really point to any one thing as to how or why, but for the first time since Solomon could remember, there was something heavy gone from inside. The angry heavy. It had been there from childhood and it was just gone. He no longer wanted to kill his father, he no longer wanted to kill himself, he no longer wanted to kill, period. There was just this… sense of ease where the biting turmoil had been. He wouldn’t call it peace but it wasn’t hell anymore.