“What?” I say before I realize it.
The elder sister slaps my desk again so hard the stick now snaps in half. But it doesn’t bother her even the slightest. She just stares at me point-blank.
“Do not raise your voice at me, captured. I am your teacher, and you will respect that position. Just as you must respect any other position here in the commune.”
“Not mine,” I rebuke, folding my arms. The other girl throws me a scared look, almost as if she’s trying to warn me for what’s to come if I continue resisting. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Why I have this sudden urge to fight back. But it’s probably her story that did it.
The elder sister leans over my desk, her face creeping closer and closer until I can smell the fishy breath that makes me want to lean back. But I don’t. I stay put, solid as a rock in this chair.
“You’ve met the elders already, haven’t you? The ones that guarded your small, concrete suffering hut?”
The mere mention of the concrete makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“They are keen to keep troublemakers such as you in check. They’d gladly throw you back into that suffering hut. So will you choose to behave, or are you going to be difficult?” she asks with a threatening undertone.
I nod a few times. I can’t even say a word. That’s how scared I am of the prospect of being back in that cage.
“Good,” she says, adding a dirty smile. “Now, where was I?”
She returns to the slides, pointing out all the things she thinks are important, like where all the huts are on a map, the important community buildings such as the dining hut, the clothing creation hut, and the showers. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any sort of shower in my own hut. So I raise my hand.
“Yes?” the elders sister says.
“Are we … allowed to shower in our own huts?”
“No, dear, there’s no shower in your hut,” she says, laughing a bit as if the question is funny. “The shower hut is where you will clean yourself.”
Odd.
“This here is where everyone will eat,” she says, pointing at the dining hut. “You will not eat without permission. Those are the rules.” She eyes me down specifically as she reaches for her bag and fishes out an apple with a bite taken out. “This is a sin. Sins are to be punished. Do you want to sin?”
“No,” I say condescendingly.
“I hope we’re clear then.”
“Very,” I reply with a brazen voice, and she throws me another.
“Over here is the prayers hut”—she points at the screen again—“which is where you will offer your prayers twice each day. Now should you come across any elder or even helpers who needs your assistance, you will offer it, as you are an initiate and you stand in service to those around you.”
“Until I become a wife,” I taunt, cocking my head.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Yes. The ritual of the wife will eventually be bestowed on you. Once you have familiarized yourselves with our customs and the Holy Land.”
“And then we make babies …” I mutter.
She eyes me down again but doesn’t say another word, which makes me feel like I’m pushing it again, so I shut up for now and stare at the other girl instead, whose dread manages to spill over to me just with one single look. We’re alone in our misery, alone … but together. And for some reason, right now, I want nothing more than to hold her hand and squeeze it tight.
But I can’t. She’s across the room, on purpose, because that elder sister did not want us to sit together, probably to prevent us from supporting each other. Because support means taking back power. It means survival instead of breaking down.
It means a revolt. And they will do anything to nip that in the bud.
I’ll remember every single inch of this place, every tiny rule they have, and every person I meet here … so that when I escape, I know exactly who to blame for my gruesome trial.
I raise my hand. The elder sister points at me, and I ask, “Are we the first captured here?”
She shakes her head. “No, dear, so don’t try anything.”
Guess they’ve got this going like one oiled machine.
“Why did you take us?” I ask. “Aren’t your people enough?”
She gives me that disingenuous smile again. “In order to function as a commune, our family needs fresh blood. Fresh wombs.”
I shiver. She makes it sound as though we’re being thrown to the wolves … or used as incubators.
“To prevent the children from getting sick, of course.”
To prevent them from being inbred bastards. Got it.
“Why us? Why not any other woman?” I continue.
“Because you are special,” she answers, which is not really an answer to anything. “And because a patriarch has shown a special interest in you.”
My eyes widen. It’s him. She’s talking about him.
“Who? What’s his name? Can I see him?” I ask, leaning over my bench.
She cocks her head. “No, girl, and don’t you get any ideas in that tiny head of yours.” She taps the top of my head with half of the broken stick. “You are special but not that special. The patriarch will let elders and their wives know when the time comes what he wishes to do with you. Until then, you will follow the Family’s rules and schedules.”
She turns around to face the screen again.
“Let’s talk about sins. Sins are not allowed. What are sins? Violence, trying to escape.” She throws me a stern look. “Gluttony, not doing your share of the workload, envying your brothers and sisters for their hut or their love, and defying the Lord’s will.”
I’m sure she means those arbitrary rules and rituals.
“And above all … do not ever defy a patriarch or the president. Oh, and before I forget, you are never to enter the temple without their explicit approval.”
“The temple?” the other girl mutters, raising her hand slightly.
“It is the Holy Place where the president and the patriarchs live. It is off-limits to anyone but the patriarchs’ most trusted elders.”
What a bunch of bullshit.
“Now, off you go. Back to your huts. An elder sister will escort you back.”
We get up, but I can’t stop to wonder whether the reason the women are picking us up is because the men can’t be trusted. I mean, they’re responsible for guarding the whole area, yet they don’t come anywhere near us. It’s as if they’re afraid … afraid they might commit sin. I’m pretty sure they’re not allowed to touch us … yet.
I’m not exactly sure what to expect, except that I’m to become someone’s wife. But what does the ritual entail? And what does it mean to be a wife?
I have so many questions that I’m too afraid to ask … because I honestly don’t want to know the answer. I just want to go home. But that’s not an option. Maybe I’ll be stuck here forever.
“Go on.” The elder sister pushes me out the door.
Out here, it’s survival mode for me. All I have is the other girl, the captured who’s walking right beside me. She’s the only person here who understands what I’m going through, who’s probably also questioning what the heck is going on here and what strange community we’ve ended up in. This girl is my only tether to the real world, the world I belong in, the world we were both snatched away from.
I glance at her, and she glances back. A look says more than a thousand words ever will, and when I reach for her fingers, she reaches for mine. No hand-holding, just touching, hoping no one will notice, hoping no one will care enough to correct us.
I just want this one physical connection with someone who knows how I feel. Just this one thing … it means the world to me, and I know she can tell because her eyes well up with tears every time she takes a small glance.
We both continue walking in the same direction, following an elder sister who guides our way. I’m waiting, pacing my steps, wondering when the time will come when the elder sister will tell us to stop and change roads. The moment that I’ll lose this small connection to reality.
But it never comes.
Instead, we’re both waiting in front of the same hut as the elder sister unlocks it and opens the door.
“In you go. A map of the Holy Land is in your drawers, should you need it. We’ll come and get you when it’s time.”
We both go inside, and she closes the door on us, locking it too.
I stare at the girl, and she stares at me.
The moment seems to last forever.
I’m afraid to say a word, to even open my mouth. Are they watching? Will they punish us if we do? I have so many questions, so many things I want to say to her. So I ask the one, single thing that’s been on my mind since the moment I saw her.
“Was it you? In that dark, concrete cell?” My teeth clatter as I speak the words.
She licks her lips, tears running down her cheeks. And when she nods, the whole façade of this place seems to drop off my shoulders.
I run toward her and hug her tight. It’s what I’ve wanted to do since we both came here, but I never had the chance, and when they took her, I never thought I’d see her again.
“You’re alive,” I mutter.
“I’m surprised too,” she replies, wiping away her tears with her sleeve.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve done something to stop them,” I say.
“It’s not your fault,” she replies. “Besides, it’s not as if you could escape them either.”
That’s true, though I don’t like that it is.
I lean back and look her in the eyes. “What’s your name?”
“April.”
I smile. It’s a beautiful name. “I’m Natalie.”
“Natalie … I wish I asked before, but I just … forgot.” She shrugs.
“Me too. But we were stuck in a hellhole. Anyone would forget.” I let out a big breath. “At least this place has windows. And we have beds. And a toilet.”
“A toilet?” Her eyes light up as though she’s been given a gift for Christmas, which is a sad thing to realize.
“Yeah, there’s one in the back. Well, it’s more like a latrine, but it’s better than a bucket.”
She laughs. “Oh, man … I can’t believe I’m actually happy about a proper toilet.”
“Mmmhmm …” I take my scarf off my head and lay it down on the table, letting my hair cascade down. “It’s how they keep us down and force us to submit.”
She swallows and nods.
“Maybe that’s why they took me away,” she says. “Because I already grabbed the clothes and put them on. A sign of obedience.”
“Exactly,” I say, and I sit down on the chair and stare at the empty water carafe standing on the table. “I guess they know exactly what they’re doing. Even though it took me a bit longer, we all eventually break.”
She lowers her head and looks away. “I was the weak link.”
“No, every one of us has their own strengths and weaknesses. Yours is survival,” I say, playing it off because I didn’t mean to hurt her.
“What do you think they’ll do with us? That initiation, when does it end?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they want to tell us. Information is power.”
“Right.” She sits down too.
“Where did they take you? After they took you from the cage, I mean?” I ask.
“Another hut. But there was no one there. I was all by myself.”
“What about food? Drinks? Sleep?”
“Same as here. But they kept bringing me food. I’ve never been to that dining hut.”
I sigh. That’s too bad because I was hoping she’d provide some information I could use to my advantage.
“Do you think there are more of us?”
I grab the carafe and get up. “More like when will there be more of us.”
I pour in some water and set it down on the table along with two glasses. We both drink in silence. I’m not sure what else I can say as long as I don’t know how to get us out of this situation.
Suddenly, the door opens. I look up. More women step in, but none of them seem surprised we’re here.
“Hello,” one of them says.
“Hi …” I reply, putting down my glass.
“Hello,” April says, equally unsure.
It’s two of them in total, and my eyes immediately go to the bunk beds that are lined up on the far side of the wall. Four beds. Four women.
They immediately close the door behind them and put their bags down on the cabinet. One of them walks to the kitchenette to grab a glass and fills it with water from the carafe I’ve set on the table.
“Thank you,” she says. “I was so thirsty.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, and I clear my throat. “What’s your name?”
“Emmy,” she replies cheerfully.
“Holly,” the other one says, holding out her hand. When I grab ahold, she shakes mine vigorously, and I fight hard to release it from her grip.
“What’s yours?”
April and I say our names in sync.
“Such lovely names,” Holly says.
“Finally, we’re not alone anymore,” Emmy says, taking off the shawl around her head. Glistening, red hair appears from underneath. “It was getting so gloomy with just us two.”
Holly puts her hands against her side. “That’s no way to talk, Emmy.”
“Sorry,” she says, giggling. “I just think it’ll be so much fun with these two.”
“Hmmm …” I hum, trying to make sense of what’s happening here.
These girls weren’t accompanied by an elder sister. They had a key. And they’re way too happy to be here.
“You aren’t … captured, are you?” I ask.
Emmy pauses and stares at me. “We are all loved by God, no matter where we came from. And I am your sister now, Natalie.”
Sister.
I shiver.
Holly tries to kiss April on the cheeks, but she leans back in her chair, visibly shaken.
“It’s custom here to kiss our sisters hello and goodbye,” Holly says.
April still denies her.
“Well, then … suit yourself.” Holly marches toward a bunk bed and climbs up the stairs so she can lie down on the top one and stare at us from above.
“You’ll get used to us sisters being around you. You’ll learn to love it,” Holly says with a giant smile on her face that creeps me out a little.
“I doubt that,” I reply.
I don’t hide the sarcasm in my voice.
These aren’t the teachers that punished me earlier. These are young girls, like me, and I get the sense they aren’t very high up the proverbial food chain.
“No, I think you will love it,” she says, a serious tone in her voice. “Everyone does.”
It almost sounds like a threat. It’s probably not a coincidence these two came to live here with us. They’re probably watching us to make sure we don’t do anything stupid.
I glance at April, who doesn’t seem amused either as she watches Emmy move around the hut, cleaning up the whole place as though it needs to be spick and span before guests arrive.
“Who are you then? Elders?”
Emmy laughs. “No, silly. We’re fellow sisters like Holly said.”
“So you’re going through initiation too?”
“All women of age are initiates before they get married,” she says as though it’s common info that we should’ve already learned.
“So you’re not married then?” I ask.
“No, silly. Husbands and wives move into their own huts. But we’re still bunked up with you girls for now,” Emmy says.
“Are you from our world or …?” April asks.
Emmy stops waving the broom around, and there’s a peculiar, judgmental look on her face that I can’t quite place. “Everyone is.”
Doom and gloom settle on April’s face. Maybe I should’ve warned her. Double-faced people can’t be anything but duplicitous. It’s in their very nature.
“Were you born here in the Holy Land?” I ask, without looking at either. I feel so ridiculous naming this whole community the Holy Land, but I have to play along in order to fit in.
“Yes,” Emmy replies.
The glass I’m holding almost breaks in my hand, so I release it just in time.
Born here, but they are our age. That means this whole “community” thing has been going on for a long time. How did I not know about this? Does anyone in the outside world know, apart from a few journalists and newspapers?
“Why do you ask? We’re no different from you,” she says.
“Right,” I mutter, and I look away.
“We’re all sisters here, waiting for our ritual to become wives.” She giggles gleefully as if it’s something to be excited about, but the mere prospect gives me the chills.
Ritual.
I wonder what it entails. If it’s more than simply putting a ring on a woman’s finger and calling her your wife. Maybe that’s why I never married a guy. The mere prospect of being reduced to nothing more than someone else’s belonging makes me feel like shit.
I am more than who owns me. I am more than the sum of my belongings or the people who surround me. And I am more than the scars on my body say I am.
I get up and turn away, sick to my stomach that I have to even think about it, let alone have a whole discussion. These people are nuts.
I go to the toilet and hold my belly. It aches right around the edge of where they once cut me, as though my skin wants to remind me of what it went through to get here. That I could’ve died …
I hold my breath for a moment.
“Are you okay?”
I’m whisked around by Emmy, whose eyes widen when she spots me touching my own belly underneath the dress.
“Oh, my …” she mutters as I quickly lower the dress.
“You have a scar … there,” she adds.
Fuck.
I was hoping she wouldn’t notice, but it’s too late now.
“Doesn’t matter.” I sigh, pushing past her.
“It does matter. You’re not untouched?” Her words resonate through the hut, and everyone’s looking at me now.
Untouched.
I think I know what that means.
Running my tongue along my teeth, I contemplate how I’m going to answer this ridiculous question that she has no right to ask. But if I don’t reply, they’ll surely report me to the elder wife … and I’ll be punished. So I say, “No.”
Both Emmy and Holly suck in the air as if it got knocked out of their lungs.
“What are you doing here then?” she asks, jaw dropped. “The ritual is only for the untouched.”
I close my eyes and try not to lose my shit, but I’m so close that I could scream in her face right about now. “I don’t know, Emmy,” I say as I turn around. “You tell me. Because I sure don’t understand any of this. None, whatsoever.”
I walk toward the door, but she follows me.
“But the men have never gathered captured without them being untouched. This has never happened before. Why?”
I shrug. “Some guy took an interest in me, I guess. Don’t ask me. Ask them.”
“Some guy?” she repeats. “No, that has to be from way up, if it’s ever allowed.”
I raise my brow at her, and her face completely tightens.
I don’t have to say another word, so I don’t.
Instead, I open the door and walk out.
I’m so glad those two left it unlocked, probably on purpose to test us, but I don’t care. I need the fresh air in my lungs because I can’t fucking breathe in that hut.
Why am I even here? I’m nothing to these people. I don’t belong here, yet they want me.
He wants me.
It’s all because of him; the man who took me from that joint where the Family was holding a speech. This Family. The one I’ve now been forced to become a part of just to please him.
Why? Why did he choose me? What on earth does he want from me?
Images of the symbol flash through my mind, and I can’t escape the thoughts circling through my head. Why did I have a cloth with that symbol on it? It can’t be a coincidence. This can’t all be a coincidence. There has to be a reason he took me.
“Hello, Natalie.”
The familiar dark, brooding voice instantly makes me turn my head.
I want to hurl.
Instead, tears well up in my eyes.
It’s him.
He’s here.
