Page 99 of Whispers of Fire

“We enter, I shoot him, I get her, and we get the fuck out,” I tell him my plan.

“Hell yeah.” He grins, removin’ the safety from his gun.

We exchange one last look and I push the door with my leather boots, shootin’ the ceiling, lettin’ our host know we’re here.

Horrified shouts fill the place as I try to find my girl in the crowd. But the world shuts down on me as I find her right away. Her body is floating head down in a small transparent pool in the middle of a fuckin’ stage.

It's too late.

No. No. No.

Please.

Don't let it be the end.

Rose

Come on, you can do it.

One more ritual and it’ll all be over.

The next step won't be as easy to pass. My eyes drift toward the small pool in the middle of the stage. I've seen women survive and others die in this pool. The very same one where Savannah remained still, floating like a dead fish. The holy bath lasts around three minutes, some husbands make it easier or harder depending on their ego and pressure on their shoulders. Needless to say that the Shepherd has no intention of being the butt of a joke today.

He wants to showcase strength and power.

And I'm the outlet he has chosen to do so.

Lucky me.

Letting our arms fall on our sides, his hand slides on my wrist, grabbing it firmly like a leash on a dog.

“Move toward the bath.” His tone is cold and distant, low enough that only I can hear him. I take three steps before standing right above the water. My little four dollars, folded in the elastic band of my knickers, are the only things reminding me that this is almost over.

I hear murmurs and steps in the room. Members are coming closer to us, to me, to the water.

And it hits me.

They want to see the show.

They want a closer look at my struggle, like precious memorabilia in their mind. Something they'll tell their grandkids one day, “When our Shepherd got married, Grandma and Grandpa were there, we saw everything.”

I bet they hope I'll drown, giving them more to talk about. Perhaps most of the families wish the Shepherd had chosen one of their girls. Witnessing my death would be the answer to their jealous prayers. An old and dirty breath hits my neck, the Shepherd right behind me, both of us facing the crowd.

His thin lips whisper in my ear, “The water will cleanse you, Rose. And you need it more than anyone here. After all, the Divine does not harm his lambs without reason.”

I freeze as his words slap me right in the face.

Is he implying that I’ve become mute because of my doubt towards the community?

It takes everything I have in me to not turn and punch him in his face.

Calm down, Rose, it will all be over soon .

“Kneel, hands on your thighs,” he says, his tone commanding, expecting me to oblige like a puppet. I do it and hate it when he then pats my hair twice, rewarding me like a good dog for following his orders. “Good little lamb, very good. I'm pleased.”

Freaking psycho.

But I mustn't be distracted by his behavior or all the eyes on me at the moment. All I have to focus on is to hold my breath as long as I can.

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