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Jolie

“My name is Jolie Chastain.I’ve been a prisoner at New Eden Ranch for eleven years, enslaved by the men from the Path of the Covenant cult.”

I paused, waiting for Mason to zoom out with his video camera. He’d sneaked it in from outside so he could film my testimonial video. It was the last piece of evidence we needed for our case against my cruel father and all the other men here.

We were in one of the Penance Rooms; the only place we could be together for longer than two minutes without people getting suspicious. We might be getting out of this place soon, but we still needed to be careful. I knew Mason worried endlessly about me, and while we’d been lucky so far, all it took was one person noticing something awry for our precarious house of cards to come tumbling down.

Mason had told my father I showed him attitude when I was sent to clean his room yesterday, and he wanted to punish me to put me in my place. Of course, my sick, sadistic father said yes. He took pleasure in women’s pain. Even me, his only daughter.

That worked out for us, though, because we needed at least half an hour to film this video, if not more.

For the last three weeks, we’d quietly gathered whatever evidence we could. We needed it so Mason could send it to the higher authorities, like the FBI, because he was sure the local police had been paid off by my father to turn a blind eye to the goings-on at New Eden.

Mason had given me a little camera to sneakily take photos of the living conditions in the women’s section, because that wasn’t something he could do on his own. There were too many people around during the day, when the candles were all lit, and it was too dark at night, seeing as all the lights were put out after a certain time in the evening.

Women were basically invisible, though. Nothing more than little worker bees, here to do the bidding of men. Because of that, no one noticed me walking around with the little camera hidden in my bra, surreptitiously snapping photos of everything like Mason taught me to do.

I remembered cameras from the old times, but this one was very new and modern. Until he showed me, I didn’t even realize it was actually a camera. It didn’t have film inside it like the one my mother used to take photos of me when I was a kid. Instead it had some sort of plastic chip which recorded all the data.

Every evening, I slipped the chip to Mason when I served dinner. He would take it to a motel room in Amiens each morning, where he would upload the previous day’s photographs onto a big file on a laptop computer.

He’d also spent a long time writing down everything he’d seen and heard during his time at New Eden; all the awful violations of human rights which went on under everyone’s noses out here. He’d even managed to sneakily make some voice recordings after encouraging my father and some of the men to talk about certain subjects.

Lastly, he’d found some sort of tiny camera and attached it to the collar of his shirt so that the Joining rituals could be secretly filmed while he fucked me. This would demonstrate to the authorities how the men of the church ritualistically raped and abused the women, denying us agency and pleasure for their own sick desires.

A few of the other men had actually asked Mason to share me during the last few Joinings, but he refused. I was his, and he made that very clear. I knew it annoyed the other men, but they couldn’t complain, seeing as my father had made it clear Mason and I would be married in the spring.

“The room I’m in right now is one of the places where the men take us for punishment,” I said into the camera before stepping over to the rack where the whips and canes were stored. “They make us lie down on that trestle table while they torture us, with our wrists tied to the top, or they restrain us using the manacles on the wall.”

Mason moved the camera around as I went, recording every word and movement.

This video was for him to upload onto the internet, just in case the authorities didn’t want to listen or take him seriously. Mason said things could ‘go viral’ on there, and if my testimonial was seen by enough people, something would have to be done.

We’d been filming for around forty minutes at this point. Before now, I’d talked about what happened eleven years ago and how we were tricked into staying underground. I’d talked about the lessons we were taught, all designed to brainwash us and strip away our rights and dignity as girls and women. I’d talked about how we were taught to feel crippling guilt over feelings that Mason had explained to me were totally normal for humans to experience. Like desire. Anger. Curiosity. Doubt. Romantic love.

I went on, explaining all the forms of punishment I’d seen and personally been subjected to. With halting movements, I stripped off my dress and stood in my underwear, twisting and turning to display each and every scar to the camera lens.

After showing all the whip scars on my back and buttocks and explaining why I got them, I went on, pointing down to the faded pink and white scars on one arm. Mason zoomed in.

“I’m sure you can see these horizontal cuts on my arms,” I said. “They are from a ritual we are forced to undergo after reckonings, where the victim is burned alive for whatever terrible sin she supposedly committed. We’ve been told that we are all responsible for the dead woman’s sins, as we are naturally dirty and sinful, and we must also be punished for whatever the other woman did. The men cut us and tell us the blood is sin leaking from our bodies, purifying us. They also terrify us with snakes and threats of hellfire.”

I paused and took a deep breath. “This has been the reality of my life here for over a decade. It is still the reality of my life here. We are unwitting prisoners, and the men delight in our torture. My own father thinks I am in this room being beaten right now, and he was more than happy to give the order.”

Mason stopped filming for me to take a short break. I was starting to crack, my emotions nearly stretched to breaking point.

“Just a while longer,” he said gently. “I think you should mention Elena.”

I wiped my eyes and nodded. “I agree.”

He raised the camera again and told me to continue whenever I was ready. I put my dress back on and squared my shoulders.

“My good friend Elena suspected the truth a while ago. She stopped taking the vitamins which dulled our minds, and then one evening she asked us all to sneak into the church with her so she could tell us about her suspicions. The men found out, and the next morning, she was dead. They told us she committed suicide. They said she was possessed by the Devil, and everything she told us was a lie, straight from his poisoned tongue. They made us…” My chest heaved, and I bit back a sob. “They made us thank Elena in a prayer. They made us thank her for killing herself and removing her evil presence from our lives. We swallowed it all. Hook, line and sinker.”

I took a moment to steady myself, then continued. “Please believe me. Please help me. For Elena. For all those who were killed in the unsolved terrorist attack here eleven years ago. Our mothers and siblings and friends. All those who would’ve stood up to the evil men here and stopped this from happening… only they couldn’t. But you can. So whoever you are… please find it in your heart to help.”

Mason nodded at me and put the camera down. Then he pulled me into his arms. I sobbed and sobbed, desperate and broken.

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