Away From the Dark (The Light #2)(75)

CHAPTER 28


Sara


Vomiting on Brother Mark’s shoes wasn’t intentional, but that didn’t stop me from receiving additional correction. Never had Jacob whipped me like what I’d just experienced. Though Brother Mark hadn’t told me to count, I had. I couldn’t ask, but eventually I suspected he wasn’t going for a particular number. His belt continued to strike my cold skin until it opened and blood ran from his lash.

“So dark,” he said, assessing my blood, as he roughly spun me around to face him. He said my correction was to remind me to listen to directions the first time. From the bulge in his jeans, I believed it was also about his pleasure. The sickening thought came accompanied by a shiver of fear. In my current position, I was powerless to stop any other type of pleasure he might choose to require of me.

Before he’d started my correction, he’d made me remove my dress. I’d wanted to remind him that only husbands were supposed to be able to do this, but I knew it wouldn’t help. Crying and wearing only my panties, I covered my heaving breasts with my arms and studied his vomit-splashed shoes. While I was afraid to ask whether I could get dressed, the longer he stood there staring at me, the more afraid I was to remain exposed.

Finally he simply turned and walked away, leaving me alone with blood dripping from my back and tears coating my face. The cool temperature of the basement added to my trembling. Biting my lower lip, I stood still, watching the door, unsure what I was expected to do. My dress lay near my feet, while my shoes were still where I’d found them. And near the back wall was the puddle of my vomit.

Though I knew my back was bleeding, I wanted to be covered. When I reached for my dress, I noticed the naked ring finger on my left hand. My thumb reached for the missing wedding band as my trembling, as well as tears, increased. I would survive this, not only for me but also for him, for Jacob, for his mission.

With my hair still damp, I pulled the dress over my head. The material irritated my fresh wounds, while the cold water and blood glued the fabric to my skin. I slid my feet into the soft formless slippers.

The next time the door opened, it was Sister Mariam. She didn’t speak; instead she scrunched her nose, shook her head, and disappeared. When she returned she had a bucket of antiseptic-scented water. Placing it on the floor, she handed me a scrub brush.

“Clean your mess,” she commanded, and walked away.

I tried to do as she said, but too soon the water was filled with pieces of my long-ago-eaten lunch. All I was doing was spreading it around. When the door opened again, I lowered my head, knowing Sister Mariam would reprimand me. It wasn’t her. Another woman wearing a white dress, this one with a white scarf, entered. It was the color of the one I’d been told to expect. Remembering Sister Mariam’s words, I knew this was one of the women I could question, but with my back sore from my latest reminders, I didn’t want to risk it. She didn’t speak either. Silently she took the bucket I’d been using and replaced it with one containing fresh antiseptic water.

The scent of the cleaner combined with the pain of my back had me on the verge of vomiting again, but I continued swallowing, scared of what would happen if I didn’t do as Mariam had said. Tears mixed with the water as I scrubbed the concrete floor for the second time. Each time I moved my arm, the material of the dress tugged and rubbed my back, intensifying the sting of Brother Mark’s reminders.

I would have done a better job on the floor with better tools. The scrub brush she’d given me was as dilapidated as the old couches in the main room. The bristles were short and worn. Though I didn’t notice it at first, the tip of one of the fingers on my right hand was raw and bleeding from scraping across the floor. As I was almost finished, footsteps and voices came from the main room. I wasn’t sure how many people were out there, but I knew it was more than Sister Mariam. As I waited for the door to open, I wondered whether it would be better in here with the wet strong-smelling floor or out there with them.

“Sister Sara,” Sister Mariam said, as she unlocked the door. “Come out. It’s time you understand the honor you’ve been given.”

Honor?

As I stood, my muscles and wounds cried out. My legs ached from washing the floor on my hands and knees. And the white dress I’d been told to wear was damp and dirty from being on the floor. Without bandages over my back, surely I’d bled onto the white material.

Five women, all wearing similar shifts, stood in the main room forming a semicircle. Four of them wore blue scarves in varying shades. The one who’d brought me the fresh bucket of water was the only one wearing a white scarf. I recognized the one with the lightest shade of blue as the woman who had opened the front door.

I never had time for a sorority in college. I was too focused on my grades. But as I stepped in front of them, I had the strange sensation of some sick college movie. What I feared was that I was about to be the unsuspecting participant in the deranged hazing scene.

“Kneel, Sister Sara,” Mariam demanded.

Willing to do almost anything to avoid Brother Mark’s return, I did as she said. The weight on my tender knees caused me to grimace. Apparently Sister Mariam was the designated speaker, because everyone else remained silent, watching my every move.

“Father Gabriel has chosen you to be one of his personal followers, a bride of The Light. You used to call yourself chosen, but you weren’t. We, the brides of The Light, are the true chosen, the only ones privileged to care for his needs.”