“Out.” I hold the door open.
“But we were supposed to—”
“Out.” I keep my tone even as they rise and pull on their flimsy coats. I don’t recognize them, but I’ve probably met them before. The plastic surgery, fillers, and never-ending parties and coke have turned them into different people. Ruined and twisted, just as my father intended.
They hustle past me, their stripper heels clacking on the walkway outside. Noah has already disappeared upstairs. I follow and find him in his guest room, Felix purring in his lap and Gregory perched on his shoulder.
“I can’t.” Noah’s voice is thick, but he doesn’t shed a tear. Crying had been beaten out of us long ago. “I can’t burn him.”
“I know.” I sit next to him and give Gregory a look. His colors have faded, but he still appears mostly the same. He blinks at me, first one eye and then the next, as if to say “hello, youngster.”
Noah runs his finger down Gregory’s back, the pebbled skin reacting to the touch.
I sigh. “I’ll do it.”
Felix meows, his orange eyes large as he watches me.
Noah shakes his head. “I can’t burn him. I won’t. Not alive.”
“No.” I watch as he continues stroking Gregory. “The Prophet may think he’s all-powerful, but he won’t be able to CSI the cause of death on a lizard.”
Noah chokes on a laugh. Felix meows mournfully. Everything in the room grows a little sadder.
I hold out my palm. Gregory climbs onto it slowly as Noah turns away.
This won’t be the first time I’ve shed innocent blood in the name of the Prophet.
And I know it won’t be the last.
Chapter 12
Delilah
A knock at my door has me hurriedly throwing on my white dress. Chastity walks in as I wrap my wet hair up into a towel.
“How do you feel this morning?” She peers into my eyes, one at a time.
“I’m okay.” I’m better, actually. The food last night seemed to give me new strength, and the drugs have left my system entirely. No more weird light and shadows.
“Your wrists?” She pulls them up and inspects my bandaging.
“Still ache. Neck does too.”
“Your …” She glances at my lap.
“It only hurts if I touch it.”
“You mustn’t touch it.” She looks at the camera, then back at me. “Not like that,” she whispers. “If Grace found out…”
The thought of touching myself intimately in this place makes my gorge rise. “I just meant in the shower when I was washing.”
“Oh.” She smiles, the scar along her forehead pulling a bit, and seeming somehow redder. “That’s okay.”
“How did you get that—”
“Head Spinner!” Sarah hisses through the crack in my door.
I rise and toss my towel into the hamper next to the bathroom and dart into the hallway, falling in line as expected.
The Head Spinner raises an eyebrow at me and rolls her baton in her palm as she approaches. When she glances at my wrists, she seems to reconsider smacking me, and continues walking down the row of girls in white.
“This morning, your education will be in the viewing room.” She spins on her heel, her habit swirling, and walks back to the front of the line. “I expect each of you to give these films your full attention. The Prophet has handpicked them for your edification.”
We follow her to a new room, one with three risers, like a movie theater, and a motley assortment of chairs on each.
“Sit,” she instructs and presses a button on the wall that lowers a white screen at the front of the room.
Abigail stands at a small table to the side, her gnarled fingers hunting and pecking at an ancient laptop. I settle into a striped green chair that smells faintly of weed. It reminds me of college, fun, and Georgia. I swallow the memories and get as comfortable as I can.
After a brief argument between the Head Spinner and Abigail on how to properly use the media player, the screen flickers to life, the projector overhead sending a beam of light through the dimness.
A clearly homemade video begins, narrated by a man with the creepy Old South accent that only truly exists in small wealthy enclaves or timeworn movies.
“The world is a dangerous place,” he tells us. Images of war, riots, and violence clog the screen as the narrator continues, “Man has fallen from the place God intended for him. From Eden, thanks to the original female sin, to now—we have never been able to show God the love and the reverence he deserves.” The image changes to one of the Prophet, his arms wide open, standing in front of the huge entrance to the Heavenly Ministries Church. “Until now. Finally, God has anointed one person to be his emissary to the fallen. The Prophet. By following him, we are reborn. By following him, we will live our lives as God intended. And only through perfect obedience to him will we receive our eternal salvation.”