The Sect (21 page)

The church was a two-story building, hidden behind dense trees. From the outside, it reminded me of a reformed movie theater. Faded rectangular shaped marks on the brick building indicated posters were once affixed to the exterior.
 

The lobby was nearly gutted, save for the red carpet and a few tables, chairs, and lounges strewn about. I could hear the vibration of Reven’s voice on the microphone, resounding from another room.
 

It was clear that the place was a multiplex with maybe two or three viewing rooms. After we all removed our coats and boots, storing them in the utility closet inside the lobby, we moved on. We were led to the room behind a glass counter toting several pamphlets and leather bound books on display.
 

The room was split with stairs leading to a stadium-style seating arranged on a decline, leading to the small stage. Fifteen to twenty men and a handful of women dressed in their best casual business wear were seated in the front rows closest to the stage. The rear of the room was on level ground with several unoccupied couches and chairs. Most of the couches were convertible beds.
 

My housemates began to take their positions on the other side of the aisle near the front of the room. When I moved to follow, Noah grabbed my hand and shook his head.

I cast a look of inquisition his way, but he didn’t notice; his eyes were trained to the projection screen on the stage behind Reven.
 

Reven adjusted his head mic as he paced the stage back and forth, engaging the crowd as he spoke about fulfillment and unrequited desires. He further discussed the sexual oppression enacted by the government and organized religion. He went on to claim that the audience should be above the law and the norms posed upon those he stated that were undeserving, because they didn’t work as diligently. He pointed to the row my housemates were seated in and claimed that it was the congregations job to save them—in turn, saving themselves—and they could do so by using them for their own needs to obtain atonement. “In using the helpless, the unworthy and the self-imposed misfits, you exalt yourselves,” he said, “as it should always be.

“Take, for example, our newest recruit.” My picture flashed on the screen and my heart dropped out of my chest. “Keaton Mara, daughter of Sherilynn and Arthur Mara. This is a woman who came from privilege—a woman who shunned it all because she couldn’t handle the repressed world. She is a conundrum. She has the mentality of a repressed individual and lived in the proverbial kingdom that many of you do. She is a very special woman, and today you will all witness her initiation in a different way than you have before. Tonight you will all witness her rebirth.”

The spotlight shone on me, blinding me. I was marched up to the stage and forced to stand alongside Reven. My eyes adjusted to the light, taking in the scene of many men and women, dressed in an array of dark colors. Most were middle-aged with a sprinkling of a few young men and women. They leered at me as they sipped on whatever was inside their tumblers. Some suggestively grazed their hands over their crotches.

I immediately tried to run, but was halted when Noah grabbed me from behind.

I didn’t give up my fight. I screamed and kicked, using everything I had to escape.

Noah’s grip firmed, forcing me over to the sawhorse newly brought to the stage by one of Reven’s nameless men. He ripped off my dress and bent me over despite my fight and tied each of my limbs to the legs of the bench. I was forced on tiptoes, my weight unbalanced and painfully rested on the leather bench.

“First, I’m going to soften you up,” Noah sneered. “Shouldn’t be a problem since you obviously have a very hard ass, don’t you, princess?” He retrieved my most hated weapon, a cane.
 

Weakness took hold as did pain. I couldn’t cope as I usually did because with every hit, I tried to make sense of it. I wanted to cling to Noah as an adversary, his words and actions sometimes said that he could be. Turn after turn, I was proven wrong. No longer sure of what to think and unable to grasp onto happier thoughts that became harder and harder to remember, I felt every single hit.

Energy I barely had was expended to remain conscious. I gave them no fight when I was untied and directed into another bound position. My legs were bound with my knees tucked under and my legs spread. My arms were tied behind my back from my elbow to my wrists. My bra and panties were cut away, and I was forced to kneel in the nude while facing the screen in front of me.

 
A large rope scraped against the back of my head, tugging at my restraints and making me feel the pressure and helplessness of my position. I looked over my shoulder, noticing the rope extended up to the ceiling into a darkly shadowed area.
 

“Do you know why your rebirth is going to set a precedence? Because you, Keaton, are a very disobedient, infuriating individual.” Reven’s voice loomed around the room, no longer amplified by the head mic he’d worn. He stood directly in front of me, staring down at me with contempt. “It’s a simple concept. If you please me, your life here becomes paradise. Don’t you want my affection? Don’t you want paradise?”

I started to laugh, low and soft from my belly. Every little tremble ensured I felt the pain Noah had given me. Nevertheless, the laughter was unbearably hard to stop for one reason alone; he couldn’t have been serious. Many would’ve called me an idiot for walking away from what I had. If he wanted for nothing, neither did I. I left it all because it became pointless. No matter what amount of money or love my parents provided me with, they couldn’t save me from a monster.
 

As he stepped closer, his hazel eyes bore through me as though I was transparent.

“You should’ve taken someone else if you wanted someone eager for your version of paradise,” I snarled. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anything to do with you and your crazy sex cult. You think you can see through me? You can’t. I can see right through you, Reven. You know why? I looked into the eyes of the devil, and he was much scarier than you.” I laughed again and couldn’t stop it. The fit hit me hard and I found it easy to fall into insanity.
 

He moved around my body, grabbed a fistful of the back of my hair, and tugged, jerking my chin up. From his position over me, he gave a look to the crowd—a nod of acknowledgment as if my actions proved the things he said about me. A picture appeared across the screen. A picture I avoided viewing. “Negating your need to constantly trounce upon every sliver of forgiveness I grant you, you want what you claim you don’t.”

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I shook my head.

That taps of his shoes pounded hard against the stage, echoing with a head-thumping volume as he walked behind me. The rope began to creak, changing the position of my body. As it loosened at my back, it released my legs from my tucked position, forcing them to straighten and widen as I was lifted. The direction of the rope changed, revealing that I was bound by more than one rope tethered from the ceiling; I was also bound to the walls on either side of the stage.
 

Suspended in the air, my legs were sprawled out into a near split. My arms hung down against my spine in an agony inducing position. The rope binding me burned my skin, ensuring I couldn’t move a single limb. When I tried to elongate my neck, the searing pain of the rope tightening around my neck made me whimper.

He pointed to the screen, viewing it with a skewed smile. “The D.C. area experienced a record-breaking winter in January. Shelters are overrun and so many of the lost souls calling the streets their homes have froze to death.”

January? I was taken in October. Had I been gone that long?
My lip began to quiver as my sobs resounded in the air.

“It’s a shame how forgotten they are. When they die, no one is left to claim them, and their remains are burned. Their ashes are placed in a small cardboard box and placed on a shelf. Forgotten.” He lifted my chin in an attempt to force me to view the picture on the screen. “No one came to claim Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Clark. A well-decorated man who survived Vietnam. He was supposed to be buried at Quantico; yet, he remains on a shelf, forgotten.”

 
The man who protected me for months and taught me how to survive was honest with me. The only person who showed me his vulnerability and truly took care of me was gone. “Stop,” I sobbed.

“Look at his picture. See how he froze to death. See what could’ve happened to you.” He sloped forward allowing his breath to batter at my lips. “Look at his picture,” he said again, his voice commanding.

Blinking through the tears, I lifted my eyes to view the screen. I saw the picture of Jeff; grey, dead, and frozen. Closing my eyes, I cried at an intemperate rate.

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to watch the screen as horrid pictures of my fiancé with a bullet wound in his head, lying in a pool of his own blood, were shown. Next, a picture of his little sister appeared, barely recognizable from the 12-gauge shotgun wound to her head. “Not even the most skilled mortician could’ve made them some semblance of what they once were.” He fingered the tear that ran down my cheek. “You take the blame for the death of Reese and Phoebe Morgana. At current, you blame yourself for Jeffrey’s death. You think they died because you were a coward.”

Shutting my eyes, I cried harder; my body shook against my restraints.

He brushed his lips against mine. His fingertips gently raked across my naked skin, skipping against the rope binding. “Don’t you want to be free from your own sins?”

“No,” I sobbed.

The pads of his fingers scraped against my naked sex, making me jolt in surprise. “Because I’m in an uncharacteristically forgiving mood, I am going to give you a taste of what your compliance could offer you.”

“Please…don’t,” I cried, my voice broken and soft.

Placing one hand over my mouth, he moved by body to turn toward the crowd. The rope creaked and swayed, turning with my new position.
 

With Reven’s other hand, he gently ran the back of his hand against my labia. My body responded, quivering with want, dividing itself from what I wanted. His index finger slid up my slit, sliding back and forth, erecting a burn of desire between my thighs. He urged a finger gently inside. My core welcomed him, tightening and surrounding him with my wetness. His breath released in an elongated way as his head tilted forward until his forehead met mine. His thumb ran circles around my clit, making it swell and harden against his touch.

My entire body quivered, fighting between pain and the smallest hint of pleasure. My eyes searched the immediate area looking for Noah to stop it and do what he promised, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Reven withdrew his fingers and spread my arousal on my lips. “That’s barely a taste of what I can make your body do. When you obey, and I claim what is mine…” Sucking in a wavering breath, he grabbed the back of my head roughly; he kissed me with a hungry need, tormenting me.

He abruptly stopped, leaving me with a detestation so deep-rooted it reached beyond the mental.

He walked to the metal table and retrieved a hunting knife. My eyes widened in alert. Fear I’d never felt before forced my body into a rigid state. Locking his gaze on my face, he gently reached behind my back. The cold, blunt end of metal chilled my spine. With a rip, the rope broke apart, releasing the bindings from my lower half. He continued cutting through knot after knot, releasing me rope by rope from the agonizing restraints. When my feet touched the ground, my legs lacked the ability to hold up my weight. He caught me, holding me upright. The closeness of my naked form against his fully clothed one left me vulnerable.
 

“You’ve completed your initiation. Welcome to Rebirth, Keaton.” The audience announced their pleasure at the scene and clapped. It was a noise that worsened my pounding headache. Reven brushed his hand down the back of my head, his eyes holding to a gentleness he’d never displayed toward me before. “Do you see what I can give you if you worship me?” he whispered against my lips. “If you want to thrive, you will stop running from me. The meek, the obedient, and those who exalt me gain a permanent place at my side. Have I cleared up which path you should be on?”

“Yes,” I answered, my voice soft and hoarse.

 
“Tomorrow, you will begin the first in many final phases.” He left the stage, leaving me without a chance to question what he meant.

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