The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (The Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mysteries) (27 page)

Baara crossed behind us and went into the
bathroom. The sound of the shower turned on raised my anxiety.

Cozbi sighed and muttered, “It should be a bath.”

“I hate baths,” Maliah said. “You’re just sitting
there in all your filth. It’s disgusting.”

Walking over to the dresser, Cozbi lifted a lumpy
gray bar of homemade soap and a clean white towel. She handed them to me. The
towel felt coarser than usual, and I realized it had been dried outside. Maliah
held another white robe, folded. A short length of rope coiled on top like a
snake.

I moved to the bathroom, but stopped when I
realized Maliah and Cozbi were following me.

Baara poked her head out from the steaming
bathroom. “You coming?” she asked.

I glared at the others. “I don’t need company.”

By now, Maliah was in a thoroughly good mood.
“Sorry, dear, but we need to pray over you. It’s not just earthly dirt you need
to be cleansed of.” She practically sang the last few words.

I clutched the towel to my chest. What choice did
I have?

Getting all four of us in the tiny bathroom took
some doing, but we finally packed everyone into it. The space was utilitarian,
holding only a toilet, a pedestal sink, and a shower stall the size of a
coffin. Baara ended up practically straddling the toilet, while Maliah and
Cozbi jockeyed for position in the few feet available in front of the shower. I
ended up undressing in the stall, trying not to bang my elbows or rap my
knuckles on the fixtures as I did so. My socks got wet, and were the first to
go. I had been in plenty of locker rooms and would never have thought twice
about disrobing, but I had never been the sole focal point in a locker room.
That made all the difference in the world. Cozbi averted her eyes, but both
Maliah and Baara stared unblinkingly. Baara’s was the gaze of a child—all
happy, she’s-gonna-be-naked curiosity. Maliah was just nosy and hoping to be
able to gloat.

I noted, with no small amount of pride, that she
could not.

I wasn’t allowed to close the curtain, either, so
I took secret pleasure in slopping as much water as possible over the watching
women and the surrounding tiles. Each woman took turns praying out loud as I
splashed, lathered, and rinsed.

Cozbi’s prayer focused on perseverance, a trait I
believed she must practice every day of her marriage to Moses. She spoke about
setting aside the self. Capitol ‘S,’ I assumed. And she spoke about the rewards
in heaven for those who remained true to their Vow.

Baara started to go after Cozbi, but Maliah’s
voice cut over hers. Maliah’s prayer was a reminder that I must be obedient and
submissive to authority. That I should not question those above me. And most
importantly, that I should refrain from vanity and the sin of becoming an
object of temptation. I pretended I had soap in my eyes to cover my snort.

My shower was finished by the time Maliah wrapped
up her harangue, so Baara kept hers short and simple. She said, “Father, make
this woman clean of her sins so that she can be acceptable. Let her sacrifice
be worthy and free of evil sin.” She took a deep breath after her little speech
and looked at Cozbi for reassurance. Cozbi smiled and nodded, and I realized
then that Baara had practiced her prayer. She probably wanted to make sure
Maliah couldn’t make fun of her.

They let me comb out my hair and rub it nearly dry
with the towel, although Maliah and Baara both seemed irritated with the delay.
Cozbi ignored them, and I was glad I had taken the time when I realized I would
have to cross the driveway wearing just the white robe and a pair of open-toed
leather sandals. We were all shuddering from the cold by the time we stood in
the small entryway of Philadelphia House. It wasn’t much warmer, but at least
the breeze wasn’t billowing up my robe creating visions of frostbite in areas
of my body that I would rather not be frosty… or bitten. Baara pointed at my
feet, and I slipped out of the sandals. The bare flooring made my toes curl.

In contrast, the rising sun touched the eastern
windows, creating a rosy glow and a false impression of warmth. Candles had
been lit too, but the romance ended there. The Seven stood in a semicircle
around Father—all eyes trained on me. I noted Casper had returned.

My three escorts hung back. It took a push from
Maliah for me to realize I was expected to go on alone. Taking a deep breath, I
started walking to the group. My bare feet squeaked as I slowly padded up the
aisle.

Moses’s arctic eyes glittered brighter and
brighter as I neared; he started breathing faster, too. Each step closer to the
group of men heightened my awareness—and apparently Moses’s—of my nakedness
beneath the thin robe. Eli’s face was inscrutable. I scanned the others. Most
had cast their expressions into righteous severity. Casper, however, looked
distracted. His skin had an unhealthy, pasty hue; he looked nauseous.

Father didn’t speak right away. Instead, he drew
out the silence, letting the tension rise. In the quiet, Moses’s raspy
breathing sounded like the nasty side of a dirty phone call. If Father expected
the extended silence to further unsettle me, he would be disappointed. I used
the moments to take a deep, centered breath and tried to relax my quivering
muscles. Ignoring Cozbi and Baara’s admonition to keep my gaze downcast, I
smiled into Father’s eyes.

His eyes narrowed and an unidentifiable emotion
flashed through them. His turn for a deep breath. “Do you commit your life to
the One True Way?” His voice boomed through the nearly empty temple,
ricocheting off the walls and ceiling. Casper jumped and dropped his staff with
a clatter.

Father’s face stiffened in annoyance; his lips
disappeared into a slashed line. He stood at rigid attention while we waited
for Casper to pick up his staff.

“Sorry, Father Abraham,” Casper whispered.

Not deigning to respond, Father kept his attention
fixed on me.

I cleared my throat. “I, um, lay myself before
thee.”

Moses closed his eyes, making me grit my teeth at
the thought of what fantasies he might be weaving. Before I could kick him in
the nuts, the Seven intoned, “Let it be so.” Cozbi hadn’t mentioned they would
be joining the party and they’re chorus startled me.

“Do you commend your spirit to the One True
Spirit?” Father continued.

“I commend myself to thee.”
Yeah, right.

“Let it be so,” said the Seven.

“Will you sacrifice yourself to the One True
King?”

“I sacrifice myself to thee.”

“Let it be so,” chanted Father’s boy band.

Having answered the three questions, I waited for
Father to announce the start of my isolation period. But again, Father paused,
staring speculatively down on me. The silence dragged on for so long, I sensed
restlessness in the men at Father’s side, but I didn’t pull my eyes away from
Father to check.

Several minutes passed before Gabriel coughed the
fakest cough ever coughed. Father slid a glance sideways, quelling his
soldiers, then seemed to come to a decision.

“Do you cast aside the sins of the flesh and
submit your will and your body to the One True God?”

Was Father beta-testing this question or had he
prepared it just for me?
I shot a look at Eli and he, as well as Gabriel
next to him, looked shocked. On Father’s other side, Moses’ss lips slid into a
smug smile.

I shuddered. With my own lips suddenly dry enough
to sand wood, I finally said, “I, um, cast aside my fleshly sins and, uh,
submit myself to thee.”

Father smiled. “Then, let the sacrifice be made.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
he women led me
down the path behind the temple to one of the small storage sheds. Cozbi pulled
out a key and unlocked the padlock. The door creaked open to reveal an empty
room, maybe twelve-by-twelve foot square. The window had been boarded over, and
it was too dark to see much. I balked at the door, a sudden atavistic fear
freezing me in place.

“You’ll be fine,” Cozbi whispered. “We’ve all done
this. Trust me. It will be the most spiritually enlightening experience of your
life.”

Far from being reassured, the chance of a
spiritually enlightening experience scared me just as bad as the dark hovel I
would be staying in.

“Shoes,” Cozbi said.

I kicked off my sandals, but even though the
frosted earth made my feet ache, I couldn’t walk into the room.

“Oh, hurry up,” Maliah said. She snapped her
fingers under my nose. “Hand over the robe.”

“What?” I clutched the thin covering to my chest.
Oh, hell, no.

Baara grinned at my shock. “It’s for purifying.
‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb…’ That’s in Job. Besides, the cabin’s
heated. Oh, and the bathroom’s behind that door.” She pointed.

I forced myself to step inside, letting my eyes
adjust to the dark interior. A braided prayer rug lay on the floor in the
middle of the room. A small table, holding a water pitcher and a thin, yellow
candle on it, stood flush to the wall. Other than those items, the room was
empty.

Maliah snapped her fingers again. I had a sudden,
highly satisfying fantasy of clipping each snappy digit off with a pair of
garden shears. Rusty garden shears.

Slowly, I slid out of the robe and handed it over.

The door swung shut. The padlock rattled and
clicked. Darkness enveloped the room. Then the dam I erected to hold back a
tsunami of fear broke. My heart freaked out, thrashing against my ribs like a
fish flopping on the dock. Lungs joined in the mutiny, suddenly declining to
take in the appropriate amount of oxygen. Sweat ran in rivulets over my naked
skin. I sank to my knees, engulfed in fear and darkness.

I lost track of time, but the first thing I
realized after my brain finally gained the whole
put-words-together-in-coherent-thought thing was that my left thigh felt pleasantly
warm. My left butt cheek too, and the shoulder that was resting on the floor
also felt warm. The heated floor.

Cool beans.

I hauled myself to my feet and, hands spread out,
shuffled my way to the table, almost falling on my face when my feet tangled up
in the stupid prayer rug. My brain, as if to make up for blowing a fuse moments
ago, also supplied the fact that I could now see a tiny bit. The dark wasn’t as
absolute as I originally feared.

Two chinks of light stole through the planks
nailed over the window. The largest—about the size of a half dollar—was too
high up for me to see out of clearly unless I stood on the table. I eyed the
rickety-looking piece of furniture and realized that, even if I managed the
climb without falling off and breaking my neck, I would only obtain a stunning
view of tree branches and leaves. Maybe a squirrel or two.

The second, much smaller, chink provided less
light but was accessible. I peeked out. Yup. There was the world. The sun had
risen, bathing the suddenly inaccessible world with bright light and vibrant
colors. A room with a view, indeed. Unfortunately, as expected, my chink
offered a stunning view of branches and leaves. Nary a squirrel, though.

I pulled away and decided I needed to assess my
situation. The table held an empty water pitcher, a candle the size of a cigar
stub, and a box of matches. The prayer rug lay in a wadded mess on the floor. I
crossed the room to the bathroom, which upon inspection was the size of an
airplane cubicle. Dingy white toilet with iron stains in the basin. At least I
hoped they were iron. Roll of cheap toilet paper. Sink with matching stain. The
dripping faucet.

There. Situation assessed.

A
side from one
or two close friends, I had always considered myself an introvert. For me, one
of the bigger hurdles of attending A.A. was that it regularly forced me into
larger groups of people. And I had always been comfortable living alone. Being
alone.

But, I discovered, not
alone
alone. Alone
with books or alone with the AMC channel or, nowadays, alone playing on the
Internet—those were all good. But completely alone, with only my own thoughts
and fears to keep me company, was a whole ‘nother animal. Because simply being
alone wasn’t the problem; it’s where my mind took me that was the torture.

At least I had my panic attacks to fall back on. I
had several and, as usual, they proved to be quite exhausting. After a period
of time, I gravitated to the table. The craving to light the candle was almost
overwhelming, but it was so small. I opened the box of matches. Two lonely
little soldiers rattled in the cardboard box. Sunlight funneled through the
lower chink in the boarded-up window and trailed across my left arm. I
considered the chink, then scrambled on top of the table—which graciously did
not splinter into a million pieces at my weight—and sat cross-legged, back to
the wall.

I covered the chink with my hand. Dark. Uncovered
it. Light. Back and forth. Rinse and repeat.

I finally found something I had control over.

To be fair, I tried to think. Most of my time at Megiddo
had been spent reacting to events rather than analyzing them; I hadn’t had any
time to sit and really consider all that was happening. I could use this time
productively. So, I tried focusing on Maggie’s role in this place. How were we
going to get her out if we couldn’t even find her? I tried to think about
Enoch’s death. About crazy Moses and his budding harem. But thinking made me
hyperventilate.

Back to playing with the chink in the wall.

I may have fallen asleep. The crick in my neck and
the puddle of drool next to my face on the tabletop were clues. The light outside
had dimmed considerably too. I peeked out and saw a world aglow with moonlight.
Though I couldn’t see it, I was certain the moon was nearly full—a circumstance
I was most grateful for as it allowed fragile white shafts of light to pour
into my cell.