The Church (The Cloister Trilogy 3)

“No!” he screams as I rear back and kick him right between his legs.

The women around me yell with glee and pent-up fury. We are his fate, his justice. We are revenge for all those who have come before.

His chest convulses as he cries. I hope he drowns on his tears, drowns from the sorrows he’s forced on so many others.

“That’s nothing.” Jez smiles down at him. “When they’ve all had their fill, I’m going to cut off that pathetic thing between your legs and shove it down your throat.”

More raucous yells pierce the day as I back away. Jez gives me a quick nod as I turn and hurry to the golf cart.

My heart beats easier, my terrifying need for retribution temporarily sated.

Flooring the pedal, I race away and hope I’m not too late.

Chapter 32

Delilah

I skid to a halt in front of the Cathedral. No guard on the front door, but the place seems locked up tight. I don’t let relief in. Not yet. Not until I see the children and know they’re safe.

Stepping off the golf cart, I hurry to the large double doors. They don’t budge. Skirting around to the side, I try to find a window, but they’re all high off the ground and barred. I suppose the Prophet wanted privacy for his personal harem.

A faint scream filters through the woods. I shiver. It’s the Prophet. He’s suffering. And I don’t give a damn. I walk along the front, then turn the corner of the large building. A small lawn separates it from the woods all around. My steps are silent on the dormant grass. Up ahead, there’s a door and small walkway that leads to a paved area with a dumpster.

I check the door. Locked. But there’s a black button next to it that has to be a bell. Do I ring it? I scan down the long expanse of the stark building. I have to be midway along, likely at the kitchen. If anyone is inside, it would likely be a Spinner or a child. If it’s a guard, I’m screwed. If it’s Rachel… I’ll deal with that.

Steeling myself, I press the button tentatively. After a few seconds, I remind myself that there are dozens of innocent children inside—children that Rachel wants to destroy. So I lay on the bell harder, pressing for a full minute before letting go. No one comes. I’ll have to find another way in.

Returning to the grass, I move away from the kitchen entrance, but a squeak cuts through the quiet. The door is cracked open, a little boy of no more than five doing his best to keep the heavy metal panel from closing again.

I dash back and push it all the way open, ease in, then close it behind me. We’re in a tiled kitchen, everything stainless steel and industrial, the scent of harsh dish soap and lingering onion on the air. I pull him behind a prep table and drop to my knees.

“Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.” I put my fingers to my lips for a moment, then whisper, “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, his dark eyes so like Adam’s. “Mommy isn’t here.”

“Is someone else here?”

He nods. “A woman. The one with the sticks.”

“Sticks?”

“Dynamite,” my mind chimes in.

“She told us all to stay in our rooms and that our mommies would be here soon. But I heard…” He looks back at the door and the bell above it. “Am I in trouble?” His eyes water.

“No.” I pull him to me, wrapping his small frame in my arms. “You did good. So good! What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Ezekiel.” He sniffs.

I know him. He’s Ruth’s son. God, I hope she made it out of the Prophet’s house. Pulling him back to face me, I say, “I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to open the door again. You run out to the woods and hide, okay? Don’t come out until you see someone in a police uniform.”

“Police?” He cocks his head.

I forget how stunted these children are, how sheltered. “Like the ones at the church who stand along the aisles. Blue uniforms and badges.” I tap my chest, then reconsider. “But not them.” I shake my head, because I know I’m confusing him, so I try something else. “Do you know your letters?”

He nods, a smile dawning on his face for the first time, his two top teeth missing. “Yes, I’m learning how to read. First one in my class.”

“Good.” I grab his arm. “That’s great. When you see someone wearing a vest with the letters ‘FBI’ on it, you can come out. Or if they say ‘FBI’ then you can come out. It’s like hide and seek, you know?”

“I’m the best at hide and seek.” His smile grows bigger.

“I know you are.” I turn him around and lead him to the door. “One more thing. I’ll be sending more children out this door, okay? Make sure they hide with you. Like a big game. And none of you come out until the police arrive. FBI.”