Page 16 of Whispers of Fire

Fuck it.

It’s an ten-hour drive to go back to Knoxville, but I can do it now and arrive at dawn. Perhaps I’ll get to see her, make sure that she’s okay. The business here is done, and we were planning to take the road tomorrow morning anyway, so it won’t change anything if I go now.

It changes everything and you know it.

Taking my bag, I leave the room and take the stairs to the parking lot. I put on my helmet and straddle my Harley.

It’s gonna be a long drive, but I can’t fucking help thinking that… it’s fucking worth it.

Rose

Nothing good came out of the meeting we had today with the Shepherd. My tears keep falling on my cheeks like a waterfall that cannot stop.

Earlier that day, we entered the Chapel, followed by two Elders, and reached the office of the Shepherd in the back of the building. His other office is at the top of the Institute, but this one is where members can ask for a session. My father gave me a deadly look before the door opened and our Leader appeared in our sight. His slim and tall frame sat in an expensive-looking armchair behind a massive carved wood desk. Stuffed deer on each side of the chimney gave the whole room an ancient look, as if it came from an old castle in England.

“To cleanse our sins…” he says, looking at the book in his hand.

“…We must obey,” my parents answered in one voice. Hidden behind them, I signed it.

“Come in, come in, my children,” he says, staying put, still reading his book. Ignoring our presence with his gaze.

Despite being around the same age as my parents, he refers to them like children. For some reason it gives me the ick. My parents fidget and walk inside looking everywhere with large smiles, like they got the keys to the kingdom. I stay behind them, my body tense, my nostrils stiff by the dusty smell of the place and the anticipation coursing through my veins.

He doesn’t invite us to sit.

Raising his gaze to us, he pushes on the elbows of the chair and stands, wearing his long white gown and an oddly thick silver watch.

What a strange thing to wear when you’re not supposed to display wealth.

I shake my head slightly. How dare I question my leader?

He’s the voice of reason.

“Rose, come in, little lamb.” My parents step aside, letting me walk across them toward the desk. I lower my head in sign of respect and humility as I hear his steps across the room until he stands in front of me, his chest at the level of my face. His hand grabs my chin, in a hard grasp I want to stay away from. But I stay still, behaving like my father has asked me.

I must behave; he is my leader.

Everything is as it’s supposed to be.

I mustn't fight it.

“How are you, Rose?” he asks, without giving me a notebook and a pen. All I can do is put a smile on my face and say “I'm fine, thank you,” hoping he's capable of reading my lips. Or perhaps he doesn't really care about my answer.

Why would he talk to me directly and not to my parents?

It's so strange.

“A lot going on in this little head of yours.” He chuckles. “You see, Rose,” he says with his strange high-pitched voice, putting his other hand on my shoulder. I jerk as a reflex, knowing no man should be allowed to do that. I notice my father slightly flinching on my right, but he stays put, like an obedient soldier.

The Shepherd continues, “Doubt can rise from the purest flower and become a weed hard to remove from the garden. In this case, Rose, it is best to protect the garden don’t you think?”

Not the most subtle metaphor to tell me to stop creating mess. I'm surprised it got to his ears so quickly. He doesn't look angry, even though I can’t look him in the eyes. His voice is calm, as if he was teaching me something, slowly enough for me to understand.

“Your Shepherd has found you a husband, little lamb,” he says, panic and fear building in me. He drops his hands off me and starts walking around the room.

“That's wonderful, thank you, Shepherd, we are so grateful. Could we know the name of the chosen one?” says my father, finally speaking. My mom stays silent, as she should. In our community, married women must remain by their husband's side and only speak to other men when explicitly asked by their husbands.

“Well, after thinking a lot about you, Rose, I couldn't help but notice the many difficulties you would be for any young man in the community,” he says, walking around the room slowly, gesturing with his oddly small hands.

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