The Whipping Girls Page 14

  Close…so close.

  I try to touch it, but my arm moves only a fraction before something traps it with a dull, far-off clink.

  The voices above me dip and rise like swells in the middle of the ocean deep.

  “…blood rate’s dropping. Give her some…”

  “…two more units of blood…”

  “…don’t think she’s going to—”

  And then another voice. Familiar.

  “Do what you must.” A cool hand strokes my forehead as my eyes flutter in an attempt to focus on the person attached to the other end of a long white sleeve spotted with blood. “And find comfort in the knowledge that her sacrifice will not be in vain.”

  My blurred vision rakes up.

  Brown, shoulder-length hair.

  Pale eyes the color of a winter sky.

  And that faint, mocking smile.

  The priest looks down at me, and his smile fades when he sees I’m conscious.

  He strokes my forehead, my cheek, brushes his knuckles over my cracked lips. “My Lord waits for you with open arms, child. Go to him.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Hunter

  A week later

  Movement catches my eye. I look up and give Zee a small smile when she steps into my office with a plate balanced on her hands. She bows, grinning impishly at me when I take it from her, and then disappears downstairs like the hounds of hell are chasing her.

  I no longer close my office door. It’s become too annoying to have to keep opening it for Kane or Zee. Where Clover used to view the door as a challenge, Kane told me I was being a stuck up bastard by locking it the whole time.

  Kane comes in a second later, a cup of coffee dangling from the fingertips of one hand. He perches on the edge of my desk, takes a sip, and points at the plate.

  “Don’t eat that.”

  I glance at the innocuous sandwich Zee brought me and then back up at him with a crooked eyebrow.

  “PB and jelly.”

  I shrug and reach for a quarter.

  “With sardines.”

  My mouth twists, and I shove the plate away. There’s a lot to be said about my current state of mind if I couldn’t even smell sardines in the air.

  “You hear back yet?” Kane asks, taking another sip.

  I sigh and give him a nod. “Tomorrow, if all goes well.”

  “How much?” Kane starts looking around my desk. I open a drawer and take out a joint, handing it to him. It’s better than him smoking cigarettes in my house, and he keeps bitching that it’s too cold to smoke outside.

  Winter has settled like an icy mantle over my cabin. I’m expecting our first snowfall any day now. I have no preference for one season over the other, but I do love the first snowfall in winter. The white blanket it casts over the land. When I stand at my office window and look out, I can’t see the Church’s spire — it blends seamlessly with the spiky tops of snow-dusted pines.

  It’s one day in the year I can imagine that I never met MJ. That we never took her and Zee back to the compound.

  The next day, of course, the snow has shifted, and I can no longer ignore the obvious; I’ve been harboring a deviant at the edges of my property for years, a knowing participant in his sick rituals and debaucherous games.

  Kane told me all about our time at the church. It seems a lot happened after I got that dose of mugwort and sage Father put in the pyres on his field. I chalk up some of the stuff he claims to have seen to the psychedelic blend he’d inadvertently smoked, but the gist of it is enough to make my blood boil.

  In a way, however, I’m relieved Clover didn’t have to experience it. She decided to end her life before anyone — me or Father or Kane — could have a say in the matter.

  I don’t believe in the afterlife. But what Kane and I will do to Father and his Church will at least serve as vengeance for Clover’s life, Zee’s baby, and Kane’s unborn child.

  Although I know the fault is mine as much as Father’s for Clover’s suffering, I prefer to view my actions as having good intentions.

  I know for a fact the same can’t be said of Father.

  “Hunter?”

  I turn to Kane, my mind reeling in the past to understand what he’s expecting from me.

  “How much?” he asks again.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “That much, hey?”

  I snort and take the half-finished joint from him. “How far is your friend with the detonators?”

  “I’m picking him up tomorrow.”

  “He’s coming with?”

  Kane shrugs. “He has to — he’s setting the charges.”

  I sit up so fast my chair topples over backward. “I don’t want anyone else involved. I told you—”

  Kane lifts a hand, effortlessly cutting me off. He leans forward, snags the joint from my fingers, and smokes it with his hand covering most of his face.

  “He was a sniper in the military. Knows more than a thing or two about explosives and shit. He wouldn’t elaborate, but I trust him.” Kane shifts a little, blows out an impressive stream of smoke, and his eyes flash up to mine. “He said we’d probably just fuck it up and blow ourselves to kingdom come.”

  He crushes out the joint in an ashtray. “His words, not mine.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Clover

  My pain ebbs and flows. Miraculously — ha! — when it’s at its worst, that’s when the priest and his secret smile appears. He injects me, strokes my forehead, spouts religious texts at me, and then disappears.

  My days are endless. Night only comes when I close my eyes. I imagine I’m in a hospital, but one of those church ones because there are crucifixes every which way I look and nurses in quaint, peaked hats.

  Strangely, I’m surrounded by kids — most not older than fifteen. They’re silent, except for the odd bout of sobbing, and have eyes emptier than a black hole.

  Whenever I try to speak to one of them, a nurse will come by and lay a gentle hand on my arm, asking me to desist.

  Sometimes I do…and sometimes I call her a cunt. It depends on my mood, and where my pain levels are at. But they always just give me a pitying smile — as if picturing me burning to a crisp in eternal hellfire — and glide away to go and change someone’s bandages or something.

  My belly is gone. Or, at least, the baby inside it isn’t there anymore; I fucking hope my belly is still there. The pain comes from there. For the past however long I’ve been here, I’ve been too goddamn chicken shit to peek under the sheets.

  Sometimes, I have the urge to ask them what happened to Kane’s kid. But I never do. Any answer is one I don’t want to hear.

  I’ve never been one to dwell on my mistakes. And I know I fucked up bad. Real, real bad.

  But I still wonder about Hunter. Does he know I’m here? That I’m alive? I assume it was him that discovered me, but then what? I don’t remember anything after the overdose, except that beatific cessation of everything bad, and painful, and emotionally unbearable.

  If he knows I’m here, will he ever come to fetch me? Or has he abandoned me to my fate — whatever the fuck that is — as punishment? I wouldn’t blame him. I don’t think I deserve to live after what I did.

  Maybe, when I get out of here, I’ll do a proper job of killing myself, I dunno.

  If I ever get out of here.

  I’m a little disappointed, actually. I was convinced Hunter cured me. So was he, I’m sure.

  Will he ever know he failed?

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Hunter

  The forest hums and purrs around us. Day is giving way to night, and there’s a clamor around us as the nocturnal animals wake and the diurnal animals make a mad dash for safety.

  I’ve always loved this time of day. I think nothing of seasons, but the twilight hours of every day fill me with a sense of awareness, especially when I’m in the forest. With nature surrounding me, I feel at home; peaceful, serene, as if I belong.

  It’s a fe
eling I never knew until I moved to this home. A feeling I’m now familiar with.

  A feeling that’s abandoned me since I lost Clover.

  I guess I don’t deserve to feel one with anything ever again, even nature. Mother has turned her back on me, denying her loving embrace.

  “Didn’t peg you as a terrorist, Kane,” the man laying belly down beside me with a pair of massive binoculars mumbles.

  I glance at him, frowning slightly. I don’t know what to make of this lanky stranger with his white-blond hair and quicksilver tongue. At first sight, I thought he was a retired underwear model with his designer clothes, perfectly styled rag-a-muffin hairstyle, and immaculate teeth. But when he zipped open his duffel bag on my kitchen counter, that all changed.

  Turned out, he could get C4 for us too — I didn’t have to sell off half my shares in Apple anymore now that I wasn’t buying through my contact.

  Kane hadn’t said much about this Lars guy, or how he knew him, just that he trusted him.

  And, since I trusted Kane with my life, I guess I had to extend the same courtesy to this man.

  “I’m doing the world a fucking favor,” Kane says, equally quietly.

  “Don’t have to ask me twice,” Lars says. “If Cora didn’t keep me so goddamn busy, I’d be doing some cleansing myself.” Lars puts down the binoculars and stares at Kane. “I’m just glad to see you’re finally off your cartel binge.”

  Kane grimaces but doesn’t say anything.

  “Can we go in tonight?” I ask, steering the conversation back to the here and now. As much as I’d love to delve into Kane’s past, I’m itching to end this.

  “Not a chance,” Lars says, turning to me. There’s a sneer on his face — it’s there whenever he looks at me — and I don’t have a fucking clue why. I was nothing but polite when he arrived, but he didn’t even bother shaking my hand. Kane he hugged so hard and long, I started getting uncomfortable. Kane too, obviously — because he’d pushed Lars away with a touch of color to his cheeks. “Gotta scope out the place, make sure—”

  “Seven guards. Three patrols. They switch out every four hours. I have their shift timetable in my office.”

  I expected at least a spark of reluctant admiration, but I get nothing except a calculating stare. “Been planning this a long time, haven’t ya?”

  “Years,” I say, simply. “Now, are we—?”

  “You may know this place like your own dick,” Lars cuts in, lifting his binoculars again, “but if I’m going in, I need to make my own notes.”

  “You don’t have to go in.”

  The man sets his binoculars down, looks as if he’s calming himself, and snaps his eyes to Kane. “Why don’t you take your friend for a walk?”

  I’m up a second later. I know I didn’t imagine the emphasis he put on his words, but I know I’m overreacting. Instead of waiting for Kane to stand, I leave our recon spot and slip away between the trees.

  This is taking too long. I expected Father’s demonic church to be a scorched husk already. I can’t live with the knowledge he’s so close to me. That he’s still alive after he tore away the only two women I’ve ever loved.

  But shy of storming the church myself, I have no option but to wait for Kane and his friend to do their thing.

  I’m back at my cabin half an hour later. As soon as I open the back door, Zee’s in front of me, eyes wide and an expectant smile plastered on her mouth. She sags when she sees I’m alone.

  “He’ll be back soon,” I say, ruffling her hair as I pass.

  The next moment she’s clinging to me. I stare down at her in shock and try to extricate myself from her grip. “Zee?”

  “Where’s Clover?”

  I jolt at the sound of her rough, disused voice. “What did you say?”

  “Where’s Clover?” She turns her face up, blue eyes swimming in unshed tear.

  My throat closes, and for the longest time, I can’t find any words. Zee begins to shiver, then shake.

  “Tell you what,” I say, clearing my throat, “How about I make you some hot chocolate?”

  “Father has her, doesn’t he? He’s going to take her baby, just like he took mine.”

  “No,” I murmur. “Clover, she’s…she’s dead.”

  Zee stares at me a moment as if processing my words, and then the tears come. I scoop her up, trying to shush her, but she’s fucking inconsolable. I take her through to the living room and sink down on the sofa, cradling her in my lap.

  My shirt’s damp with her tears before she eventually stops. She’s still fast asleep in my lap when Kane and Lars return from their stakeout.

  Kane stops dead when he sees us on the couch, his eyes flickering up to mine.

  “She asked about Clover,” I murmur.

  He comes closer, gently taking her from me. Lars steps closer, watching Zee with a peculiar fascination before Kane heads upstairs.

  “She got a bone disease or something?” Lars asks, staring after Kane.

  “Not quite,” I say.

  “Then what?” Green eyes study me, weigh me.

  “She was still a virgin when a satanic priest raped her and then took her child from her.”

  Lars’s eyes are wide. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “Yeah, welcome to Mallhaven.” I stand, brushing myself off. “Birthplace of the fucking Anti Christ.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Clover

  I took my first steps today. An IV drip on a squeaky set of wheels accompanied me, but fuck, at least I got to see where the hell I was. I wasn’t in the least surprised when I stood on a balcony and looked out over the church in Shadow Fox Grove. Strange; I didn’t see this building when I was here last. Then again, I was running for my life, and this big square building I’m in is screened by a wall of pine trees.

  It’s cold outside, but I stand in the brisk air until I’m shivering. I have no idea where Hunter’s cabin is, or if I would even be able to see it from here, but it’s all I can think about.

  He’s all I can think about.

  There are so many things I wish I could say to him. I want to apologize, of course. But I want to set him straight, too. Tell him that, as much as I’m to blame for this shit storm I’ve gotten myself into, I’m not the only clown in the circus. He doesn’t seem to know when to quit — or when to ask for help. Life dealt him a shit hand — I get it — but for fuck’s sake, at some stage, you have to let go.

  I let go.

  At least, I thought I did.

  “Snow shall fall tonight.”

  I spin around in surprise, and glare at the priest. “Way to spoil a surprise, asshole.”

  He never seems to notice when I swear at him.

  It’s very fucking annoying.

  “Fresh air will do you good, but too much could kill you.”

  It sounds like a veiled threat, so I sneer as I trundle past him to go inside. He catches the pole of my IV stand, bringing me to a halt.

  “Your wounds are healing remarkably fast,” Priest says. His pale eyes catch the light and lose all color. “The Lord is sheltering you.”

  “You mean Satan?” I snap. “Yeah, well, he’d fucking better. I’ve sent a lot of fuckers his way over—”

  The priest’s casual backhand cuts me off. My ears ring as pain flashes through my head. I reel but he catches me, drags me up. With a hand fisted in my gown, he draws me against him.

  His face never changed. He never so much as blinked.

  “Careful, child. The Lord may decide to take back his gift if you don’t let him into your heart.”

  So it turns out Father ‘more-damned-than-thou’ has a breaking point. And, apparently, all it takes is some blasphemy.

  Did calling Lucifer names count as blasphemy? I don’t know which way’s up in this hellhole.

  “Stay faithful, and you will be joining us sooner than you think.”

  “Joining you?” I say through a snort. “I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but there’s no way in hell
I’m staying here.”

  “What alternatives do you have, child?” the priest stares at me — into me — as I process his words.

  He sounds a lot like Hunter did all those months ago.

  Where else would you go?

  “I’d rather sleep on the street than stay here a second longer.” But there’s no strength to my words, and the priest’s sad smile says he knows I’m bluffing.

  “Then you will die,” he says, so matter-of-factly that it’s like we’re talking about the goddamn snow again.

  He still has a fist in my gown, and I’m uncomfortably aware of how close he is to one of my nipples. It’s already a tight bud — both from fear, and the brush of the gown against it — and there’s fuck all I can do to hide it.

  Priest doesn’t seem to notice. He drags me a little closer, staring into my eyes like he wants to kiss me. “Why go where you’re not wanted, when you can be safe in the Lord’s embrace?”

  Ice seeps into the marrow of my bones. “I don’t do this religious shit,” I mutter. The pain’s coming back, and I start shifting my weight.

  Priest gives me a knowing smile. “You will never experience pain or suffering again. Why wouldn’t you want that, child?”

  “Not if I have to get scabs on my knees from praying to your—” I cut off, deciding I’d rather not have another backhand today. One was quite enough.

  “Oh, my Lord doesn’t request prayers, child.”

  The hair on my arms stands up in a rush as Priest slowly releases me. He smooths down the front of my gown, and then cups my face in his hands.

  “I worship him in a much more physical manner.”

  I almost pee myself at the sudden intensity in the man’s eyes.

  “Ask yourself tonight, child, when the pain peaks…” He brings my head forward and plants a kiss on my furrowed brow. “Would you rather feel pleasure, or pain?”

  Priest leaves, but the feel of his lips on my skin remains.