Deep Redemption (Hades Hangmen 4)

As the guards dragged me to the punishment room, as they strung me up like Jesus on the cross, as they beat my body until I was sure I would soon be dead, all I could think was that Judah was wrong.

Hung up on this wooden cross, dying slowly with every punch to my ribs, chest and stomach, I felt no light in my heart. I only felt darkness consuming my soul. I only felt hatred forcing my heart to keep beating.

I felt evil flood my veins. And for once, I didn’t try to resist it. I embraced it. Gone was Prophet Cain; in his place, was a devil reborn.

One that bore no resemblance to the man before.

Chapter Eight

Harmony

I paced the cell as day faded to night. The door to my cell opened, and Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth sneaked through. “Has he returned?” I asked hurriedly.

“No,” Sister Ruth replied, and I felt my heart fall with dread.

“What are they doing to him?” I asked. Rider had been quiet for days and days. I missed the man that spoke to me so sweetly those first few days in my cell. I held my hand to my chest and shut my eyes. The man that held my hand was sweet and full of grace. But over the past few days, he had grown distant. Something was torturing his mind. He never confided what that was. He never confided much of anything.

Not that I shared my heart either. The secrets that were becoming harder and harder to bear.

And now he had not returned from his punishment. I felt another wave of dread in my gut. Something was not right. I could just feel it.

The sound of low voices came from outside my cell. I looked at Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth in alarm. They ducked out of the cell and I rushed to the corner where I normally sat. I listened intently as the sound of the prophet’s guards came from the hallway. I prayed that Rider was with them. I listened hard to every move, and heard Rider’s cell door opening, then a thud, as if someone had been hurled to the floor.

My stomach lurched with nausea. Rider.

I waited impatiently for the guards to leave his cell. When I was sure they were gone, I pushed the loose stone from the gap. Rider’s room was dark, but I saw him lying in the center of the floor. I was too far away to see if he was okay. I began to panic; I could barely see him moving. I could not even hear him breathe.

“Rider,” I whispered loudly, hoping he would hear my call. But he did not move. “Rider!” I called, louder, but not even a flinch of acknowledgment came from him. I squinted my eyes trying to see more, but I could not.

I tried for what felt like an eternity to rouse him. When Rider still did not stir, I jumped to my feet and began banging on my door, all worry of punishment fleeing my mind. “Brother Stephen! Sister Ruth!”

They rushed to open my door. “Harmony, quiet,” Brother Stephen begged, nervously looking out of my cell window.

“It is Rider,” I said quietly. “He is not moving. I think he is really hurt.”

Brother Stephen glanced at Sister Ruth and my stomach sank further. “He is, is he not? They have hurt him badly.”

Sister Ruth reached out and touched my arm. “He is not conscious. He is not awake. He”—she winced—“I am not sure he will come back from this. He is beaten very badly, Harmony. Maybe too much. I cannot tell.”

“I need to see him,” I said firmly. “Help me get in to see him.”

“Harmony—” Brother Stephen shook his head.

“No.” I cut him off. “He has been here for me. I . . . I care for him, greatly. I will not see someone else hurt. I cannot . . . ” I confessed, unable to finish my sentence. Sympathy flooded Sister Ruth’s gaze, and her shoulders sagged.

“Solomon and Samson have just been called away. The prophet has called an emergency meeting.” Hope filled my chest. Perhaps I could get to Rider without being caught. “But I do not know how long they will be, or if they will come back alone.” I heard the warning in her voice.

But I did not care. She must have seen that in my face.

She left the room. In seconds she was back, holding a brass key. “Come,” she said hurriedly. Picking up the hem of my dress, I followed her into the silent hallway and to the cell next door.

Sister Ruth opened the door and let out a gasp. I brushed past her. My hand flew to my mouth when I saw Rider on the floor, battered and bruised, his body awash with blood. Tears built in my eyes, but I chased them away to turn to my guardians. “Get me buckets of clean water and rags. We need soap too.”

“Harmony,” Brother Stephen said worriedly, but I raised my hand.

“I do not care if I am punished for this. What does it matter anyway? The prophet needs me alive, and I will not leave Rider this way.” I moved to Rider’s broken body. “I am sure he would not leave me in this state if it were me. And I know you know this to be true. You have listened to us talk. You have heard the kindness of his soul.”