Chapter Thirteen
Phebe
I felt the weight of my eyelids before I even opened my eyes. It was hot, and my hair was sticking to my face. My cheek was stuck to whatever I was lying on. It smelled like leather.
I moaned as soon as I tried to move. My head ached and my temples throbbed. I lifted my hand to my head and rolled onto my back. I inhaled a sharp breath when that little bit of movement caused nausea to creep up my stomach. I tried to stay still, praying it would go. But I had no such luck.
Scrambling to my knees, I opened my eyes and winced at the sun creeping into . . . wherever I was. My hands fumbled around me, and I realized I was in a truck. My fingers found the lever of the door. I yanked it open and dropped my feet onto the dirt ground.
I had barely felt the warm, sticky air on my face when I had to curl over and expel whatever was in my stomach. I held on to my hair as I purged, my eyes watering. When the need to vomit had ebbed, I stood up on shaky feet. The world spun, and my head felt clammy. I closed my eyes to stop myself falling over. I rested my back against the side of the truck and concentrated on my breathing. The minute I did, I thought of her. My face scrunched up in agony. But I welcomed the pain that came. It was my punishment, my reward for letting her down . . .
“Where is she?” I asked Martha. My skin was still wet from my shower and it was late. Too late, really, but I had done well, and so Brother John had given me permission to seek her out. I had earned thirty minutes of uninterrupted time with her.
A rare gift.
“She is in her room,” Martha said, still dressed from the night’s mission.
“Thank you.” I walked down the hall.
“She received her first touch this eve.”
I stumbled to a stop and felt a deep fissure split down my heart. It was not imagination—I actually felt it break. A true physical pain.
“Who?” I whispered, fighting back the lump from my throat. The tears came to my eyes regardless. I had known this day was coming. I knew it was deemed a blessing, yet I could not feel the joy in my heart that I knew I must. All I could think of was little Sapphira.
She was eleven years old.
“Prophet David had sent some men here for a visit. One of them chose her from the lineup.” Martha came closer and laid her hand on my shoulder. Her smile was bright. “I can see the pain on your face, but she has won the prophet’s favor tonight.”
I nodded numbly, knowing what I should be feeling. Yet I could not. I was aware the devil must have entered my soul to make me doubt our prophet and the ways of our faith, but I could not rejoice.
“I must go to her,” I said.
“Phebe, I love you. But you must sever the tie you have held on to. It is causing you to feel a burden you should be free from.” I looked at Martha’s face and saw only sympathy. “I was there with you, through it all, as you were with me. I have let go. Now you must.”
“I cannot,” I said softly. I laid my hand over my heart. “I have never been able to comply.”
I turned from Martha, and with heavy feet, walked to Sapphira’s room. I held my hand at her door, bracing to knock, but my hand remained suspended in the air. My breathing came too fast. What awaited me on the other side of the door?
I entered the dimly lit room; only a single candle burned in the corner. Her bed was empty.
“Sapphira?” My heart was in my throat.
A gentle sniff came from beside her bed. Numbly, I let my feet lead me, and I found her in the corner of the room, her arms around her knees. Her long blond hair veiled her face, the ends curling on the floor.
“Saffy?” I whispered, using my affectionate name for her, my tears thickening at the sight of her so tiny on the ground.
Saffy lifted her head. Even in this soft glow, her dark eyes were huge and round . . . and filled with pain.
“Phebe?” she said, too quietly. I stepped closer. Her beautiful face scrunched up, and sobs burst from her throat. Instinctively, I flew to her side, called by her pain, and took her in my arms. Her slim body fell into my embrace, and her tears soaked my dress.
“Shh.” I tried to soothe her, rocking her gently. But I knew it was no use. I had been here too. I remembered that day as though it had occurred just recently. So I simply held her. I kissed her head as she expelled all her tears. I smelled her hair, trying to memorize the scent. I squeezed her tighter, memorizing how much she had grown since she was last in my arms—too long ago.
I tried to savor everything about this moment.
“Shh,” I soothed again and felt a morsel of relief when Sapphira’s sobs ebbed and her breathing calmed.
“Saffy.” I guided her head from my chest and smoothed the hair back from her face. Her porcelain skin was mottled with redness, and her eyes were puffy and raw.
“Sweetheart,” I said, looking into her searching eyes and feeling my own vision glimmer. I closed my eyes, chasing away my tears, and looked down upon her again. I forced a smile. “Martha told me.”
Saffy edged closer to me, and I held her tighter. I did not think she would speak, too many seconds stretching in silence, until she said, “It . . . he hurt me.”
Those words. Those simply spoken words, packed with such a heavy confession, were my undoing. I felt the fabric of my soul rip apart as I held her in my arms, helpless to do anything to help. “I know.” I pressed a kiss to her head. Saffy placed her hand on her lower stomach. “I . . . I did not like it as Brother John said I would.”
I did not think I could take it. I did not think I could ever move from this spot. I could not let her go. I could not be sent away from her anymore.
But I knew I had no choice.
“I know,” I said again. The pathetic words tasted like acid on my tongue. “But . . . but it will get better. Next time will not be so bad.”
Sapphira stared at me in panic. “I do not want there to be a next time. Please, sister, I cannot . . . I do not think I can . . .” Her bottom lip trembled. “Please . . .”
Sister . . . The word cycled through my head.
“I want to come and live with you.” She got to her knees, her little, beautiful face before mine. She had matured since I had been here last. Her face was losing her childish features and morphing into a young woman’s. I ran my finger over her cheeks, smiling through my tears when I saw the spray of freckles dotted on her nose. A few lay on her cheeks, one larger one to the side of her eye.
It was beautiful . . . she was beautiful. So perfect in my eyes.
“Please,” she begged again. “You are my sister. We are blood, Phebe. Let me come and live with you. I will be good.”
This time I could not hold back my tears, and they fell, hot and salty, down my cheeks. “I know, my sweetheart,” I said with as much strength as I could muster. “But it is not the way. Brother John and Prophet David would never allow it.” I brought my forehead closer to hers and closed my eyes. “If I could I would take you to my home and keep you safe.” I smiled, picturing that heaven in my head. “I would care for you, and read to you at night until you fell asleep in my arms.”
“What would you read?” She laid her head on my shoulder.
“Whatever you wished,” I said, stroking the hair from her face. I kissed her head again and felt her body grow heavy with tiredness.
“I would like that,” she said sleepily. “I . . . I miss you, Phebe. I want you with me always. But when I ask, they tell me to be patient.” She shook her head. “I am not so good with patience, I think.” She sighed, nudging her cheek into a more comfortable position. I squeezed her as tightly as I could without hurting her.
“I . . .” I clenched my eyes together, ridding them of water. “I miss you too, sweetheart.”
I could not take the pain in my heart. Such devastating pain. I needed more drink. I needed to forget. The drink, the potion, made me forget.
I opened my eyes and wiped away the water clouding my vision, preparing to search for more alcohol. When my focus improved, I took in the sight before me. A thick covering of trees surrounded wherever I was. My eyebrows pulled down in confusion, and I swallowed the dryness from my throat. Nerves built inside me as I tried to remember why I was here.
This was not Lilah’s home. It was not New Zion . . .
Meister. Ice trickled down my spine and my heart kicked into an erratic beat. Had he found me somehow? A faint clattering noise came from somewhere behind me. I froze, my muscles strained.
I steadied my breathing as I worked up the courage to turn. I was not sure I could move, but I had to. If it was Meister, he would not leave me alone for long.
I turned and looked cautiously through the windows of the truck, using its body as a shield. A few yards away was a small wooden house, with what looked like a fire pit, and a couple of chairs beside it. The front door was open
Another clattering noise drifted from inside.
Fear ran thick in my veins as I tried to see through the windows. I could see someone moving inside, but could not see beyond blurred shapes and the reflection of the rising sun off the glass pane. I tried frantically to think of last night, of the days leading up to this moment. But my memories were scattered and difficult to pin down. The pounding in my head made it almost impossible to think straight.
I glanced around me, looking for a path, a way out, when suddenly, I heard someone approaching the front door from inside. I crouched against the side of the truck, my heart racing. I peered over the hood, and in the gloom of the hallway I glimpsed a pair of booted feet, then denim-clad legs. A hand, holding three full trash bags . . .
. . . and then he stepped out into the light.
AK.
I sagged against the truck. He brought the bags to the truck and threw them into the back. There were many bags there already. He wiped his head with his forearm. I could not take my eyes from him, from his large frame, his many tattoos, his dark hair in disarray.
AK pulled a cigarette from his back pocket and brought it to his mouth. The smell of smoke drifted on the breeze. He moved to the driver’s side door, opened it and reached inside. He pulled out the leather that had cradled my head as I slept. It was his vest, the one that showed he was with the Hangmen. He put it on over his tank and looked around. I didn’t have time to pretend I was not hiding before his gaze met mine.
I pushed away from the truck and brushed my fingers through my hair. I looked down and saw for the first time what I was dressed in. Soft black pants, which were too big but held up by the string around my waist, and a black tank with the devil on the front. On my feet were sandals.
AK’s boots crunched on the gravel as he walked around the hood of the truck and stopped before me. I kept my head down.
My face set on fire when I realized I was standing next to the vomit on the ground.
“How you feeling?” AK’s deep voice cut through my embarrassment.
I lifted my head and saw the concern in his eyes. I opened my mouth to give him the rote falsehood that was my usual answer to such questions. But something within me would not let me speak such things. The way AK watched me, the way his dark eyes penetrated mine, I knew he would sense the deception. So I answered honestly, “Terrible.” I felt my stomach sink at how weak I had become.
“No doubt,” he said. “Come in. I’ve finished cleaning it now. Wasn’t gonna bring you in until I’d got it livable again.”
I watched AK’s back as he walked away. He stopped near the front door and turned. “The sun’s almost up, and with the motherfucker of a hangover that’s gonna be coming your way, I wouldn’t wanna be standing out in the sun too long.”
I looked up to the sky, to the cloudless morning and the bright sun beginning to spread its rays. The bright light felt like daggers in my eyes. I walked toward the small cabin. It looked different to AK’s home—smaller and less refined. Yet it still held a kind of charm.
Arms folded across my waist, I walked across the threshold of the house. The walls were wooden, as were the floors. The floor was gleaming and smelled fresh, of lemons. To the right, there was a kitchen area with a small table. The white cabinets looked old and chipped, but they too were freshly cleaned.
Faded sofas sat to the left, with a table in front of them. There were three other doors that led to somewhere else. I edged in further, noticing more. The walls were bare but for several heads of animals that were mounted on plaques. I stepped closer to one of the walls. Several faded spots marred the old wood. Square and rectangle shapes, where there had clearly once been pictures or paintings of some sort. But they were gone now.
I caught a flicker of movement from my right. AK was walking out of one of the doors. He saw me at the wall, and his face clouded with something I could not decipher. He turned and walked to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. He poured it into a glass. “Sit at the table,” he said.
Still not knowing where we were or why we were here—why I was here with him—I did as I was told. As I sat down, I placed my hand over my stomach, fighting back the need to purge. I wondered if AK kept any alcohol in his kitchen, hidden in a cabinet somewhere.
A glass of orange juice was placed before me. AK moved to another cupboard and took out a small bottle. “Take these with the juice,” AK said, sitting down in the other seat beside me and placing two blue pills on the tabletop.
“What are these?” I took hold of the juice with shaking hands.
“Gonna help with the head,” he replied. “Take them.”
I forced the pills down my throat with the juice, then put the glass down when I could stomach no more. The silence was thick between us. The few times I found the courage to look up at AK, he was watching me. And his expression looked angry. His skin was marked with scratches, red and thick, on his cheeks, neck and chest.
I had no memory of it, but I had a sinking suspicion it had been me who caused him such injury. “Your marks?” I asked, filled with dread. “Was . . . was that me?”
AK raised his eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”
Embarrassed at the confirmation, I shook my head. I was silent for a minute, then I asked, “Where are we? Why are we here?”
AK pushed his fingers though his hair. I could not tear my gaze from his strong eyes and his handsome face. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, you need to sleep. You still got the liquor in your blood. And it’s gonna be a real fucking bitch when it’s all gone and it brings the fucking pain.”
My pulse raced at the thought of not having the drink. I liked the drink. It numbed me from the thoughts that were always swimming in my head. I liked how it made me feel. “I need it.” My eyes roved around the kitchen, searching.
“Ain’t none here, and ain’t none coming. Dry as a fucking desert.” His voice was harsh, his tone daring me to contest. But I was tired, and my headache was growing worse. AK rose from his seat. “Come with me.”
Knowing I had no other choice, I followed him through one of the doors into a bedroom. There were two small, narrow beds; between them was small table holding a lamp. “Take whichever you want. I got fresh sheets and all that shit on there. Stopped at a store on the way while you slept in the truck. Got food too. We won’t need anything more until we’re done here.” I understood what his words meant. He was to keep me here, where there was no drink and none of Meister’s potion. Just him and me and the thoughts I never wanted to acknowledge.
I did not think I could do it.
Feeling drained, pulled by the lure of the bed, I walked to the one farthest away and nervously sat on the edge. AK hovered in the doorway. “I’ll bring you food. But sleep for now.” He leaned against the doorframe, his muscles bulging in his arms. He was so tall he took up the entire space. “It ain’t gonna be pretty over the next couple of days. You’ve been on a seven-day bender and for that, you gotta pay the price.” My jaw clenched with a sudden flash of anger. He had no right to keep me from drinking if that was what I so wished. He must have seen my anger in my face as his expression darkened. “There ain’t none here, bitch. And I wouldn’t try and fucking cross me. No one’s gonna take your shit, especially me. Took on much worse fuckers than you. We’re miles from anywhere, and there won’t be no one coming here but me and you.” He spread his arms. “Welcome to hell.”
With that, AK turned around and shut the door. I glared at the space he had been occupying, wanting to follow him and protest. But my mind reminded me of things he had already done for me, and I did not move. He was a hard and dangerous man, yet strangely, I felt no fear around him.
Called by the comfort of the mattress, I rolled back the exceptionally neat covers and climbed inside. The frame creaked under me, and I closed my eyes. I must have been tired as I did not remember falling asleep.
And for once, I did not dream.
I did not think of her.
*****
When I woke, it was to purge into the bucket beside the bed. The room was darker than before, so I knew that night had fallen. I emptied my stomach of the food and liquids AK had been waking me to eat during the day, my body unable to keep them down.
I groaned as I managed to thrust myself back to lie on the bed. I stayed still, holding my breath, until the room fell back into focus. I felt drained and sick and every part of me ached. I was thirsty, and when I looked at the table beside me there was a full glass of water and two pills waiting for me. AK had been giving them to me throughout the day. They helped some, but not enough.
Nothing would be enough.
I concentrated on moving my limbs as I brought myself to a sitting position. I took the pills, drained the glass and realized I needed the bathroom. It took me a full minute to convince myself to move. There was no sign of AK as I exited the bedroom and went down the hall. I used the bathroom, then looked in the mirror above the sink. Dark circles ringed under my eyes. My cheeks were sallow and gray.
I looked a mess.
I had to turn away when a sudden grip of emotion took hold of my heart. Who was this woman?
I had no idea anymore.
I walked slowly into the kitchen, my body protesting with each step. I filled another glass of water, and when I turned, caught the orange glow from a fire outside. I did not want to sleep any more, and I craved fresh air about as much as I craved another drink, so I went outside. AK was sitting on a chair next to the fire pit. The flames were high and the moon was bright, casting a glow around AK, who was staring, lost in thought, at the crackling burning wood.
I didn’t know whether to approach him or leave him alone. I stood for a moment, debating what I should do. Eventually, I stepped closer, strangely unwilling to turn away.
There was a second chair beside him. Still clutching my glass of water, I sat down, exhaling in relief as my pained body found some semblance of comfort.
Without meeting his eyes, I said, “Thank you for the pills and water.”
AK did not speak. I looked at him to make sure he had heard me and found him watching me. His head was lying back against the chair, and one of his hands was across his chest. He nodded silently.
I studied the small wooden home in this light, and found myself feeling more at peace than I had in a long time. Out here was quiet, and as hard as it was for me to admit, it was free of Lilah. It was free from her scar and worse, seeing her with Grace. Seeing her stroke Grace’s hair and kiss her head. Reading to her as she fell asleep, safe.
It freed me somewhat of the pain I could only calm with bottle of alcohol.
“I like it out here,” I said, searching for a distraction from my thoughts. “Is this home yours?” AK tensed beside me.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. I faced him, confused by the tone of sadness in his voice. AK turned his head away from me, looking out at the trees on the opposite side of the clearing.
“AK,” I eventually dared ask. “Why . . . why am I here?”
As I had noticed he did whenever he was nervous or unsure of broaching a topic, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long, deep drag. He blew out the smoke into the warm night. “You weren’t yourself. You needed to get the fuck away from the club so you could stop with all the drinking shit.”
I bit my lip in embarrassment, racking my now more-alert brain to remember something from this past week. I had flashes, intermittent memories. But as I gazed upon AK’s scratched skin, I felt my face drain. Images of me and him in his kitchen came to my head. I was against the wall, and he . . . he . . .
“We fucked,” I said. It was not a question. I knew it to be true. I brought one hand to AK’s face. He kept still, but his dark eyes remained on me as I traced the marks, the prints exactly fitting the size of my hand. “And I hurt you.”
“You weren’t yourself,” he repeated tightly. I thought he would knock my hand away, dispel my touch, but he did not. I stared into his eyes, and he stared back into mine. “Why?” I asked, baffled. “Why would you bring me here? I . . . I am no concern of yours.” I lowered my eyes in an attempt to block my building tears. The lack of alcohol was bringing forth the emotions I had long kept locked away, deep within me. “I am not of consequence to anyone but Lilah, I suppose.” My stomach dropped. “And though I do not remember, I am presuming she did not agree . . . with how I have been lately.”
“I got my reasons, Red,” AK said, using that name he had called me when he saved me from Meister. I faced him again, and something swirled in my stomach at the way he regarded me. His dark eyes were soft and kind. “Question is,” he said, turning his body further toward me, “why did you turn to the drink on the first place?”
My heart beat so quickly I could hear its rhythm in my ears. I took a long drink of water, feeling the flames heat my cheeks. I knew, of course. I knew why I had turned to drink. The pain I had lived with since I was twelve years old. The pain that time had not lessened but had only cut deeper with each passing day.
But I could not tell AK what haunted me most. I could not bear the judgment I would receive for what I allowed to happen.
I was a failure, and now I paid the price.
The drink took that away.
So I bared another regret.
“I watched. I watched them trial her. I watched Judah declare her a heretic of our faith. I watched as she cried and received lashes, as the crowd booed her and called her a whore. Then I . . . then her eyes met with mine.” I sobbed, choking, seeing that day as if I were still living it. “Her eyes met mine, and within them I did not see fear, but resignation.” I only realized that tears were falling down my cheeks when I looked at AK and his image was blurred. I blinked them away and shook my head. AK watched me. Watched me with those same kind dark eyes.
“The day you took me to her . . . ” I closed my eyes and replayed how her scarred face lit with light when her blue eyes fell upon me. “I did not know she had harmed herself, AK. I had no idea that she could not bear children due to her ordeal.” I gripped tightly to the glass in my hands, noting idly that the water was swishing from side to side. I was trembling.
AK clearly noticed. “You don’t gotta tell me no more.”
“No,” I protested. “I . . . I have to.” Now that I had spoken, I could not stop. I needed to say this out loud. “I remember them taking her away when she was a child, AK. I remember crying that my sister, my best friend, had gone. But I believed that what they said of her was true. That her beauty was given by the devil and that she was a blight on our faith. And I believed that the prophet would save her. AK, I remember rejoicing that she would be exorcised. I . . . I was happy.
“But that day, when she was tried and I saw her again, more beautiful than I could have imagined, I saw in her eyes that the Rebekah I knew was gone. That something had robbed her of life, the light I knew she had once possessed.” I cleared my throat. “Then I followed her to Perdition Hill and saw what the men of my faith had done to her.” Pain stabbed at my heart. “I saw this, AK. My baby sister. My best friend as a child. When I saw her at her home, revealing she was scarred and unable to conceive, I could not bear it. I . . .” I took a deep breath. “I found the bottle on Ky’s porch, and it made me forget.” Deeper, darker thoughts threatened to break through, but I pushed them away. I could not cope with them all right now. “I did not want to be aware of anything. The drink took it all away.”
“You were a victim of that fucking cult too, you know?” My head snapped to him in surprise. Something passed over his face, and in a move that shocked me even more than his understanding, he raised his hand and brushed the tears from my cheeks. His palm opened, and I rested my head against it.
“I was not a victim,” I said when my tight throat would allow. “I was complicit I watched my sister get hurt and did nothing. I am no better than those who hurt her.” I was talking of Lilah, but I saw something else in my head. I was complicit in something much, much worse. Something unforgiveable.
“You’re wrong, Red,” he said, and though his words found a corner in my heart to burrow in, I could never believe that they were true.
AK held me as I cried. I did not understand why he did, but I took comfort in his kindness. No man had bestowed on me such grace before. I opened my raw, swollen eyes. AK was still watching me, like a guardian angel.
A devil with angel eyes.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Red. Liquor is a good servant but a fucking cruel master. You keep going the way you were, and you’ll be more than fucked.” He slid his hand from my face, and I instantly missed its warmth. Sitting back in his chair, he gestured to the house. “You’re here to make sure liquor becomes your bitch again. Not the other way around.”
Despite the weakness in my body and the emotions dripping from my heart, I found myself smiling at his strange use of words. Perhaps he found it amusing too—I was convinced that under his handsome dark demeanor, I saw the tug of a smile.
A yawn tore from my mouth, and tiredness crashed into me at full force. “You need sleep,” AK said. I completely agreed. “Sleep as much as you can over the next couple of days. If you sleep you won’t feel as bad.”
“You have dealt with this before?” I asked, and by the subtle flinch of his head, I knew it was true. His expression said it all.
I left AK by the fire. As I entered the house, I glanced through the kitchen window at the mysterious man that had somehow become my compass in this outside world.
His body slumped in his chair, and his head was in his hands. For a minute, I thought I saw his shoulders shaking as though he were breaking apart into tears. But I was sure it was just the trick of the light. AK was a strong man with, I believed, a beautiful heart. I was sure nothing could make him crumble. I wished I had a morsel of his strength.
In minutes, I was in my bed and drifting to sleep. My burdens felt slightly lighter somehow. And there was only one man to thank for that: the devil’s man with angel eyes.