Outside (3 page)

“One,” Elder Hanson calls.

Biting down on my lip, I groan and squeeze my eyes shut just as he delivers the next blow. Searing hot pain rips across my back before everything goes black.

When I wake up, I can barely move. I’m freezing and my body feels like it’s been ripped to shreds and sewn haphazardly back together. I’m lying face down on a pile of hay with a thin white sheet over it and as I move to sit up, the flesh on my back pulls sending sharp, nauseating pain through the rest of my body. I cry out, collapsing back on the pile of hay, slipping back into the blackness.

When I wake up again, it’s because my stomach is so empty it hurts. I know better than to try to sit up, so instead I lift my head to look for something to eat. I know I’m supposed to be fasting, but the hunger is so intense, I don’t care.

I’d sell my soul for an apple.

Not really. But it’d be tempting.

The cold, cramped space and rough wooden walls let me know I’m definitely not at home. They’ve dumped me in one of the tool sheds near the barn. At least someone was kind enough to put some hay down for me. Elder Berman said I wouldn’t be allowed to return home until my punishment was served, so I’ll probably be here for a while. I just wish I knew how much longer that will be.

“Hello?” I call out in a weak voice. “Is anyone out there?”

No one responds and I let my head drop, telling myself not to worry. They won’t let me die in here. They can’t.

I try to listen for movement outside the shed, but after a while, the act of breathing becomes too painful to bear. Every inhale stretches the wounds on my back, making them sting and burn all over again.

That’s when I start to cry, quietly at first. Then, I make the mistake of taking a deep breath as a sob wracks my body and I scream as my back bursts into flames again.

“I’m sorry, Lord!” I scream. “I’m sorry!”

That’s when I hear it.

Muffled voices. Male voices.

“Over here,” someone calls.

“Hello?” I yell. “Is my mother with you?”

I listen as one voice commands that each shed be searched.

The next sound I hear is scraping just outside the door.

“Has it been three days?” I ask lifting my head as the door swings open.

The man standing there is not an Elder. He’s wearing a blue jacket with a yellow emblem on the left breast.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, his eyes wide as they take me in.

I try to move away from him, but barely get anywhere before I’m groaning in pain.

“Whoa, it’s okay. Relax,” he says, holding up his hands. “I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help.” Slowly, he reaches for the radio hanging from his belt. It’s just like the ones the men use when they work perimeter duty.

“I’m going to need an ambulance. Minor female with severe lacerations to her back.” He squints at me. “Bruising to the face.” He puts the radio on his belt. “Help’s coming. Everything will be okay.”

“Where is my mother?” I ask.

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

June 1
st

SUMMERTON – What once was a reclusive community of religious zealots known as Shiloh is now a vacant four-hundred acre property, roped off by police tape.

Yesterday afternoon around three p.m. the sheriff’s office was dispatched to assist the FBI in evicting ninety-three men, women, and children from the property after an exhaustive investigation of the founder of the group and legal owner of the property, sixty-two-year-old Milton Berman. The FBI turned up some interesting information that Berman probably hadn’t shared with his followers.

Berman, whose real name is William Henry Albert, was arrested on several outstanding felony warrants for fraud and conspiracy to commit murder issued nearly twenty years ago in Texas.

It is thought that Albert changed his name and started the self-sustaining Shiloh community as a way to stay off the grid and out of jail. However, authorities began investigating the group and Albert after a man claiming to be a former member reported Albert for assault after being pelted with rocks and publically shamed.

Upon searching the property yesterday an unidentified minor was found being held prisoner in an outbuilding. Sources say the fifteen-year-old girl had been beaten and left in the shed for days with no food, water, or medical attention. She was rushed to a nearby hospital for treatment of severe infection and malnutrition.

Albert and six others were arrested in conjunction with the girl’s beating, as was her mother, thirty-four year old Leah Roberts. Other members of the community were held for questioning, but have been released pending a full investigation.

CHAPTER THREE

ALAINA

“Alaina?”

I look up from folding my blanket. One of the nurses is standing in my hospital room doorway with Ms. Jackson, the lady who calls herself a social worker. Ms. Jackson’s hair is so red I can’t help but stare at it. The first time I met her, a week ago, I asked her if she washed it in strawberry juice. I think it annoyed her. She reminds me of an owl in an obscene red wig; a small sharp nose and huge brown eyes magnified by her round-framed glasses.

“Someone’s here to see you,” Ms. Jackson says, smiling.

My heart leaps. “Mother?” Please let it be Mother!

“No, sweetie. But someone who knows your mother.”

She steps aside and a woman with long, wavy blonde hair, a long, straight nose, and familiar brown eyes stands there.

I squint at the woman. She looks almost exactly like Mother. Except this woman is wearing feather earrings, a necklace that hangs to the middle of her chest, and a long blue and green dress with thin straps where the sleeves should be.

She smiles at me. “Hello. I’m Beth.” Her eyes skim the dark bruises on my face and the cut on my jaw where the whip caught me after I passed out during the flogging. She brings her hand to her heart, fingering the purple stone that hangs there. “Bless your heart,” she whispers.

The nurse pats Ms. Jackson’s arm. “I’ll leave y’all to it. Call if you need anything.”

Beth steps into the room with Ms. Jackson as the nurse scoots back into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

“How are you feeling?” Ms. Jackson asks, settling on the little couch near the window. She sets her handbag beside her and stares at me, blinking occasionally.

“Better,” I say. The cuts on my back have started to itch since the infection cleared up. They tell me that’s normal, though. I’ll never forget the pain I went through my first few days here, or those dark moments of consciousness in the shed.

Beth perches on the edge of a chair near the door.

“Good,” Ms. Jackson says, pulling a folder out of her handbag. “They tell me you’re ready to go.”

I nod, though she isn’t looking at me anymore. She’s shuffling through some paperwork.

“You remember what we discussed? About not going back to the community?” She continues shuffling.

Glancing at Beth, I nod again. “Yes.” I still don’t quite understand it though. Ms. Jackson has tried to explain but it doesn’t make much sense. Something about some man named William Albert.

“Here it is,” she says, pulling a sheet of paper out of her stack. She looks up at me. “Instead of going back to the community, you’re going to stay with Beth and her daughter for a while.”

My eyes dart to Beth again, but I don’t say anything. I try not to speak to sinners if I can help it. Sure, they’re all nice enough, but I’ve learned my lesson. Looks can be deceiving. The devil can take many forms, even transforming himself into an angel of light, as 2 Corinthians 11:14 says.

“Beth is your mother’s sister. Your aunt.” Ms. Jackson says this like it’s some great gift that I should be thanking her for.

“Oh.” That makes sense.

Ms. Jackson’s eyes dart between Beth and me.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you, Alaina,” Beth says, smiling warmly.

She looks so much like Mother I can’t help smiling back and mentally scold myself for giving in so easily.

“They told me you didn’t have any clothes with you so I brought something of Holly’s for the ride home. You prefer long dresses, right?” She holds up a long dress, similar to hers, and a pair of gray and pink lace-up shoes. Sinner’s clothes.

I can’t do anything but blink at them. There are no sleeves on the dress. I can’t leave here with exposed shoulders.

“I’ll wear it under this,” I say, gesturing to my hospital gown. It has sleeves, at least.

Beth nods once and sets the dress and shoes on the bed. “Sure. Okay.”

“Let’s just go over these final documents here and then you two can get going,” Ms. Jackson says, holding papers out to Beth.

They force me to wear the shoes out of the hospital even though I insist on being barefoot. I try not to enjoy the way the inside hugs my feet as we walk to the car. I’ve never had shoes this comfortable.

Beth drives a small silver car with a lot of colorful stickers on the rear window. One of them is a drawing of a frog holding up two fingers. I stare at it as Beth puts the plastic bag of hospital toiletries in the back.

“You like that little guy?” she says, closing the door. “He’s a peace frog.” She smiles and again, I catch myself smiling back.

The ride is long and uncomfortable. My wounds may not be infected, but they chafe under the borrowed dress and hospital gown.

“So,” Beth says after a long stretch of silence. “I bet you’d like to know where we’re going.”

I continue to stare out the front window at the trees and other cars whipping past us.

“Sugarloaf,” she says. “That’s just outside Atlanta.” Her eyes are on me now. “Have you ever been to Atlanta?”

She’s asked me a direct question. It would be rude not to answer.

“No,” I say. I’ve never even heard of it. We didn’t study the names of cities in school unless they were mentioned in the bible.

“I think you’ll like it once you get settled in. Lots to do, what with summer winding down.”

Silence settles over us again. Beth reaches forward and pushes a button on the dashboard. “Do you like music?”

Another direct question. “No,” I say.

“Oh,” her hand falters on the button as noise and singing pour out of the speakers.

Sighing, I say, “It’s okay. Play music. I’ll just not listen.”

Beth’s house is much larger than the one Mother and I share in Shiloh. Its size rivals the Elders’ chambers. It has a wide porch on the front that’s as big as our living area. The siding is a dusty green color and the windows are trimmed in dark purple paint. I’ve never seen a home that was any color other than white.

We climb the steps. I clutch my bag in front of me as she opens the front door and leads me inside.

The living area is crowded with brightly colored, mismatched furniture. She has two couches, one covered in striped green and yellow fabric, the other covered in soft looking dark blue material. Thick crocheted blankets are draped over the arms and in a moment of weakness, I bee-line for the blue couch to feel the material.

“Soft, isn’t it?” Beth says.

I pull my hand away quickly. My eyebrows pull together and I bite the inside of my lip to keep from speaking.

“It’s velvet,” she says. “Kind of over-the-top, I know. But when I saw it I just had to have it.” She stands near the striped couch with one hand on her hip. It’s only then that I notice the big black television screen mounted like a painting on the wall. We had one television in Shiloh. It was kept in the Elders’ chambers and hooked directly to the security cameras at the front gate. Televisions out here are different. They’re used to spread evil.

“I’m just so glad to have you here, Alaina,” she continues. “I can’t wait to show you your room. I’m not sure if you had your own room on the, uh,
farm
-”

“Shiloh isn’t a farm,” I say quickly, frowning. “It’s heaven on Earth for the Lord’s chosen people.”

“Of course it is, sweetie.”

I cringe at my outburst and lower my head, trying to make myself invisible.

Beth waves her hand. “Come on. Come see your room. You can look through Holly’s clothes and see if there’s something you’d be more comfortable in than that hospital gown. After that, we’ll have lunch. Holly should be home by then.” She claps her hands together once, smiling brightly. “I’m so excited for you two to meet!”

Her smile is infectious and once again, I’m smiling back against my will.

The room she leads me to at the top of the stairs is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The bed alone is as big as my bedroom at Shiloh, it seems. There’s a large dresser against one wall with a mirror mounted behind it and an enormous window on the opposite side of the room, covered by gauzy orange and purple drapes.

Instead of stiff white linens, the bed has a vibrant orange cover on it that I can’t help running my hand over.

“This is your closet,” Beth says, opening a door to the right of the bed. “There’s not much in there at the moment, but we’ll get you all set up in no time.”