Chapter Five
The morning air is cool and feels nice upon my skin. Overhead, the sky is blue and filled with thick puffs of cloud. A lone hawk circles in the air above us. And in that moment, I wish more than anything, that I could be up there alongside him, flying far, far away from this place.
“Brothers and sisters,” Raymond calls out, his voice echoing around the compound. “We must once again gather to bear witness.”
Tied to a rough wooden pole in the middle of the yard is a girl. A young girl, of course. She can't be more than fifteen or sixteen. I don't remember her being brought in, but then, surprisingly, a lot of people came to the Ark to join Noah's Children. The lost. The lonely. Those who just need to find a place where they fit in and feel like they belong.
It took me a long time to see it, but Raymond preys on the desperate and the needy. Those who have no other place to go. And while we girls are forced to stay at the Ark – even the Fruitless – others are free to leave when they choose to. Those – like my parents – who Raymond deems have no value to our community. Which is Raymond-speak for those who either can't sleep with him or provide him with a daughter he can sleep with.
From behind my veil, I look at the crowd gathered around the center of the yard. The faces in the crowd I see around us are frightening. Zealots. True believers. They want to see the pain inflicted upon this young girl. They want to hear her scream. See her blood. They want to see her suffer.
Except of course, for some of the young girls who are being victimized by Raymond and his men – their “wives.” While some of the “wives” definitely fall into the true believer category, I can see in their faces that some of them obviously don't.
Like me, some of these girls have been dropped off by drug-addicted parents who sold their little girl as they chased the next high. I recognize the all-too-familiar shadows upon the faces of those girls.
The eyes of those girls are downcast and the expression on all of their faces is a mixture of fear and sadness. Perhaps, they believed that the girl tied to the pole would escape. That they saw her as a beacon of hope that maybe one day they too would find the courage to try and escape within themselves.
And maybe seeing the girl tied to the post, waiting to receive her punishment dimmed those hopes. Snuffed them out. Maybe seeing the girl, dragged back by the Shepherds, killed their hope of ever getting out of the hell they are being forced to live in.
“Brothers and sisters,” Raymond addresses the crowd. “This young woman, wife to Elder Arnold, doesn't seem to think much of us or the life we've built for ourselves out here.”
The crowd responds with boos, hisses, and cries of outrage. Raymond – although it's the exact reaction he wants – looks suitably grim. Maybe even a little sad about the situation. I've come to learn that Raymond is quite a talented performer. He's a chameleon – able to blend into any situation. He's able to be all things to all people – and yet, manages to convince them that he's genuine and sincere.
It took me a long time to see through his lies and deceit, but with the help of some of the books on psychology Danny had given me – not to mention a lot of long conversations with him – I finally see Raymond for what he is. He's a predator. A deviant who preys on people – especially young girls. He belongs in prison.
“This young woman ran away from the Ark,” Raymond says. “Ran away from us. But most of all, she ran away from her husband.”
The crowd responded with more hisses and jeers – much to Raymond's delight. Beneath the dirt that cakes the girl's face are bruises and cuts. The Shepherds had roughed her up a little before bringing her home. And knowing those bastards the way I do, I don't doubt they had their way with her as well.
Tears cut streaks through the dirt and grime on her face and her body trembles as she cries. My heart goes out to her and I want to help her, but I know I'd be inviting my own beating if I did. And as one of the Fruitless, I know what my punishment will entail. As much as I want to help her, my sense of self-preservation is greater. I was used and violated every day for years with Raymond and have no desire to let myself ever feel that sense of violation again.
“God's law demands that this Hannah be punished for her sins,” he says. “For her transgressions against us all.”
The crowd around us cheers wildly and I feel the knots in my stomach tightening. The bloodlust and desires for vengeance that saturates the air around us is thick. Raymond is whipping the mob into a frenzy – a mob that is demanding blood to atone for this made up sin.
I wish, not for the first time, that I had the strength to put a stop to this. That I had the courage to step in. But I don't. And I'm ashamed of myself for it.
“Brothers and sisters,” Raymond calls. “Hannah must be held to account for her actions. But as God's law demands, it is her husband who must first hold her accountable to him.”
Elder Arnold stepped forward, an ugly sneer on his face and a whip in his hand. My eyes well with tears and I open my mouth to speak – to put a stop to this madness – but then close it again without saying a word. I lower my eyes and shake my head, disgusted with myself for not being a good enough person to say something – anything – to stop this.
Like he's encouraging the crowd at a football game to cheer, Raymond walks around the yard, whipping them into a frenzy. That's what this is to Raymond – a show. This is his arena and his fans are this bloodthirsty mob and he exhorts them to cheer, to blindly allow this young girl to be beaten. Bloodied. He is giving them what they think they want.
This is nothing more than theater for Raymond. Theater that blinds the people to what it really is – Raymond exerting his control over their minds.
The crack of the whip and a split-second later, the sound of the girl's ear-piercing shriek make me jump and set my heart racing. I look over and see an expression of excruciating pain upon her face and blood already staining the back of her shirt. Elder Arnold reaches back again and I avert my eyes, not wanting to witness Raymond's perverse display of “justice.”
Again and again, the crack of the whip echoes throughout the yard. The crowd has quieted, but the look of zealotry in their eyes hasn't lessened. The girl's shrieks have stopped, and she hangs limply from the pole, the back of her shirt flayed open, bloody gashes from the bite of the whip criss-crossing her flesh.
“Enough,” Raymond finally says. “God's justice has been served. Well done, Elder Arnold. Take Hannah to the Reflection Room where she can ponder her misdeeds and ask for God's forgiveness.”
The two Shepherds who'd brought her in, untie the girl and drag her limp, seemingly lifeless body, away. Raymond stands in the center of the yard, looking around at the crowd, shoulders back and chin high, as if daring anybody to challenge him.
Like anybody would. Everybody in that yard knows all about what happens to those who challenge Raymond. Some end up being lashed until their spirit is broken. And others just – disappear. Raymond's control over Noah's Children is absolute and he rules with an iron fist. He does not tolerate dissent or those he deems to be non-believers or who aren't pious enough – meaning, those who do not bow and scrape at his feet and worship him.
The smile that crosses his face is almost reptilian and even from where I'm standing, I can tell that he's aroused. It's all I can do to keep from throwing up – which would be sure to earn me a few lashings of my own.
He beckons to a blonde girl – Cassandra, I think her name is. She can't be more than sixteen herself, but is one of his “wives.” She happily bounces across the yard to him and takes his hand, looking up at him as if he is Christ himself. A memory of being her age floats through my mind and makes me shudder. I fight back the wave of nausea and focus on the dirt beneath my feet instead.
“Brothers and sisters,” Raymond calls out. “Let us take the rest of the day to reflect on what we have just witnessed. Let us think about how we can better watch out for one another. How we can help cleanse some of the – weaker – in our community of these impure and unnatural impulses they have. We can discuss it in chapel tomorrow.”
He turns and puts his arm around Cassandra, leading her back to his cabin. As they step inside, he turns around and looks straight at me. A slow, greasy smile crosses his face and he winks at me as he closes the door behind him. No doubt, to inflict some form of horror upon the girl.
Ashamed of myself for feeling the way I do, I walk back to my cabin, glad that I'm not the one in Raymond's cabin with him.