The Missing- Volume II- Lies (12 page)

I had to purge my sin. I had to feel Christ’s pain.

All so Mother would have a pretty, pretty daughter.

“Purge your sin, Nora,” Rosie taunted from her spot beside Mother.

I didn’t cry out when the cane connected with raw flesh.

“Are you praying, Nora? Are you asking for forgiveness?” Reverend asked, hitting me harder. If I looked up, I knew that I’d see his smile. He enjoyed this. He liked to watch me bleed.

I could feel his sadism.

“What am I asking forgiveness for?” I dared to ask. I shocked myself. I shocked Reverend Miller. He paused, the cane poised over my broken, bleeding back.

I glanced up, my hair hiding me. Reverend Miller seemed bothered that I had spoken. His face was flushed, his lips parted. His overeager desire obvious by the bulge in his pants.

His hand trembled. Mother was horrified by my disobedience. “Shut up, Nora! You’re supposed to be praying!” she scolded.

Rosie smirked. “You have to purge your sin, Nora. That’s why you’re here.”

I wished Reverend Miller would turn his cane on
her
. I imagined Rosie sprawled out on the floor, her exposed back cut open and ravaged.

“Your sins are the worst of all, Rosie. They’re the ones hidden by a beautiful face. It’s the rot that festers on the inside.”

Our eyes met and Rosie’s eyes narrowed as though she were able to read my mind.

Oh the things I wished I could do to her.

“You’re asking forgiveness for your wickedness. You’re cleansing your soul,” Reverend Miller explained, his hand still shaking. The cane still ready to strike.

My body hummed, anticipating the moment when he’d hit me again. Ready and waiting.

“Then cleanse my soul, Reverend,” I responded acidly.

Where was this coming from? Rosie snickered but I ignored her.

“Perhaps, Leslie, it’s time you dealt the penance,” Reverend Miller suggested.

“Me?” Mother asked, rising to her feet. Her face was light, so light, as though offered the sun.

Reverend Miller held out the cane. “Yes. You have to atone for your own sins as well. Administer the cane. Pray for forgiveness.”

Mother reached for the cane, her hands trembling. I began to shake as well. Tears fell and I couldn’t stop them.

“No,” I breathed, barely able to find my voice.

Not Mother.

Not this!

Mother came and stood behind me, looking down at my battered, bleeding back, a strangely tender expression on her face.

“Please,” I mouthed.

Don’t do it.

I won’t survive it.

Her voice rose like a chant while Rosie grinned in the corner, enjoying every moment of this new depraved form of abuse.

Mother’s hand wielding my torment destroyed me in a way I hadn’t expected.

It was so much worse than everything that had come before it.

So much worse.

“Heavenly Father, take this child into your arms. Bless her. Bless me. Show me compassion as I try to find salvation. As I attempt to lead this abomination towards your holy light. Purge the evil from her body. Purge this sin from my soul.”

And then she hit me.

She hit me, and she hit me some more.

Over and over again.

I sobbed with every strike. I had never cried before. All the while Reverend Miller had abused my body, I had maintained my crumbled pride.

No this time.

Not with Mother’s hand wielding the pain.

I absorbed the agony, hating my mother the entire time. Hating this sad, sadistic woman who had been my entire world because I had been given no other choice.

And I detested the beautiful woman with the blue eyes who watched from the other side of the room, enjoying the blood. Loving my humiliation.

“You must be purged of your sin. To purge the sin, you must feel the pain of Christ’s sacrifice,” Mother chanted, Rosie joining her.

“I must be purged of my sin,” I muttered under my breath.

Purge the sin . . .

Feel the pain . . .

You deserve it all . . .

I was driving Mother’s car home. I could barely sit up straight. I felt a disgust and loathing for the woman beside me that I had never experienced before.

I turned the car onto the familiar road.

No.

This wasn’t right.

My vision cleared and the scenario changed.

Yes. This was right.

Rosie was driving us home. I was huddled in the backseat trying to ignore the throbbing in my back.

A sharp pain in my head stole my breath.

I put the car into reverse, pulling out of the car park. Mother stared out the window, refusing to look at me. I made sure not to rest my back against the seat.

I rubbed my eyes and stared out the window. My head hurt. It felt fuzzy and full, and I was having a hard time concentrating.

“How dare you interrupt the prayer session tonight, Nora!” Mother hissed, her words like a slap. “This is all for you, you ungrateful woman.”

I wanted to laugh. The weekly torture was for me? Did she really think that?

Lies and delusions.

She had lost sight of the truth a long time ago.

“It hurts, Mother. Please don’t make me go there again,” I begged her, my slurred speech harder to understand because I was upset. I clung to her hand as she dragged me from the house towards the car. I thought about crying but knew that wouldn’t get me anywhere. Mother wasn’t bothered by the emotional wellbeing of her ten-year-old daughter.

She wasn’t thinking about me at all.

Mother pulled her hand free and shoved me into the passenger seat, refusing to look at me. Her lip curled in disgust. “If I’m forced to endure you, I have to do something that makes it more bearable.”

Having me beaten made me more bearable? I froze inside at her hateful words.

“You have to be cleansed of your sin,” Mother lectured.

“What sin have I committed?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t. But Mother didn’t smack me as I expected her to. She continued to drive towards the church.

“You were born,” was all she said and I wished she had ignored me. I’d rather be invisible.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” was all I said, wishing I could summon the courage to say so much more.

Rosie snorted. “Leslie’s right. You should be grateful. She’s trying to help you.” She didn’t mean that. I could tell that she didn’t believe any of it.

“You’re right, Rosie. Such a smart girl. She sees it, Nora. Why don’t you?” Mother fixed her hair and straightened her skirt. Always perfect. Always lovely to look at.

My head hurt almost as much as my back.

Turning down the street that led to the house, I wished Mother would stop talking. I was tired of hearing her speak. It would be so easy to run the car into a tree. To end things for the both of us.

“Nora! Did you hear anything I said?” Mother demanded. I blinked my eyes, clearing my suddenly blurry vision.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” I remarked, contrite. Submissive. It was the only way to subdue my mother’s ire.

“Maybe she should stay in her room tonight, Leslie. Make her think about how awful she was,” Rosie suggested. She flicked her long hair over her shoulder, and I wished she were as ugly as I was. It was only fair.

Mother nodded, agreeing with Rosie. “I don’t want to see you until tomorrow, Nora.”

When we got home, I watched as Mother and Rosie went into the kitchen to make coffee. They had forgotten about me. Pretended I wasn’t there.

It was just as well.

I went to my room, my prison, and waited.

For the best part.

My favorite part.

The only thing that would make it better.

I looked out the window towards the Somers’ house and smiled.

I just hoped I wouldn’t be disappointed yet again.

“Nora! Oh my god! What happened to you?”

I must have drifted off to sleep as I waited for Bradley to show up.

I couldn’t roll over, so my back was exposed. I looked behind me to see Maren standing near my window, her hand over her mouth.

“What are you doing here?” I gasped, sitting up as quickly as I was able to, holding the blanket up over my chest.

Maren ignored my question and rushed over to me, sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed. “You’re bleeding! Tell me now what happened!” She took me by the shoulders and turned me around so she could get a better look at my oozing wounds.

I was embarrassed having her here. Why was she here? Where was Bradley?

I wanted to cry. I never wanted her to see me like this. I was too exposed. For the first time I recoiled from her touch.

“Please, don’t—”

I felt her cold, soft fingers gingerly feeling the torn skin. “Nora, tell me,” she whispered.

She pushed my hair over my shoulder and sat as close as she could. I was suddenly very conscious of the fact that I was almost naked with Maren Digby on my bed. My nipples tightened and a familiar warmth spread through my belly.

Then I felt something odd. Something unbelievably incredible.

Her lips warm and tender on my back. Gentle kisses on ravaged skin.