Page 18 of Be My Sacrifice

If these fuckers could see how shattered my heart truly is at her loss, they would think me weak. How every waking moment, her memory, and the sound of her voice, plays havoc with my mind. Her voice calls me to her side in the afterlife, even though I don’t deserve to ever be near her again.

The last two weeks have been pure torture, reliving that moment when I plunged a blade inside of her body, while she stared at me with pity and understanding. How she begged me with her last words to save someone other than herself. Nothing will ever be the same now that she’s gone. Gone and out of my duplicitous reach, finally safe from me, and those who would do her harm.

Murderer. Betrayer. Forsaker.

“Son, come here. I want you to meet someone.” My father beckons me with his hand, and an unhinged glee in his eyes breaks me from my morose thoughts. I picture his death over and over in my mind, each time more painful and bloody than the last.

I nod politely to the other men standing close to me, and approach my father’s side. The mere sight of him threatening to push me over the edge, and commit patricide right here in a room filled with his peers.Control. Restraint. Get Abe back. Keep Sammy alive.I remind myself of what I need to do, so that I can outsmart the fucker, and not lose myself to the dark rage that is bubbling inside of me. The rage that threatens to consume me whole.

“Ezekiel, I want you to meet Brother Zakariya. He has come from one of the outlying states to bring us his family’s sympathies, and to participate in Dinah’s mourning day celebrations.”

Ah, yes, my wife’s mourning day celebration, where members of the Brotherhood pay tribute to a Sacred Wife, who was barely married a few weeks ago. A ceremony for a woman they never personally knew, and with no body to entomb and bless. Never mind the fact that her closest relative, other than myself, believes I may have had a hand in killing her, and he would be right.

I can’t make up how fucked up this shit all is. I’m surrounded by males who wouldn’t have hesitated in raping my wife, currently pretending to mourn her, while the women of our society are not allowed to mourn publicly, for fear that it would lead to hysteria among the masses.

I see that malicious gleam in my father’s eyes and the tilt of his chin, and I know with a certainty that the asshole is up to something. I don’t have long to wait in suspense, when his next words rock through me, and almost have me forgetting my need for restraint, and not to murder him.

“May the Lord bless and praise you. The Brotherhood, honor you and keep you sacred.” The tall man with the graying, receding hairline greets me. His nervous blue eyes meet mine but are unable to hold my frigid stare.Weak coward.

“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood, which keeps its order,” I respond robotically, wishing I could get the fuck out of here. Right now, I need a stiff drink, or maybe to drown myself in a whole fucking bottle, just to be able to cope with the travesty all around me.You don’t deserve oblivion; you murdered her,my mind whispers.

“Brother Zakariya has a daughter coming of marriageable age in the next few weeks, and he is seeking to join our families. He was just filling me in on her attributes and character. By all accounts, she will make an obedient and diligent Sacred Wife.”

I swear to all that I have ever held sacrosanct, I will murder this fucker, and spill his blood before I part his head from his shoulders, and rip out his heart. Dinah hasn’t been dead for more than a few weeks, and he’s already seeking another wife for me, another alliance so he can grow his power base.Fucking manipulative cunt.

“She’s a meek and pliant girl, one you can mold to your satisfaction. Her mother and I have kept her sheltered in the countryside, and she understands her duty to her future husband, the Brotherhood, and the Lord. She will do whatever you tell her without objection.” Zakariya winks at me and gives me a knowing smile. “I have heard about the activities the Order in the metropolis favors, with the company of their wives; my Ruth will obey you in all things.”

Is this motherfucker for real?He’s literally willingly offering me his young daughter, while I currently stand under suspicion of murdering my first wife, and not even discreetly telling me to abuse her, and share her with other men of our Order. What kind of fucking father does that? What kind of sick fuck suggests another man share his eighteen-year-old daughter with his friends?

I’m really starting to believe that the best course of action is to murder them all, every single one of them. Dinah was right; every male who is part of the Brotherhood must die. I promise myself here and now that Brother Zakariya won’t live out the year, and I will ensure his daughter gets to safety.

“How very generous, but I am in mourning for my beloved Dinah, and am not in a position to consider a future wife.” I stare him down, letting him see his own death in my eyes, and watch as he squirms uncomfortably before me.

“Nonsense, you need heirs, boy! You will consider Brother Zakariya’s very generous and gracious offer, immediately after the mourning period has ceased. We must go on with life, Ezekiel. Dinah would not want you to waste years on her memory.” My father’s eyebrow rises, daring me to contradict his words. The fucker is playing a dangerous game with me. He’s betting that Sammy’s life means more to me than me being able to murder him. If he keeps pushing me, I’ll prove him wrong and slit his throat open and bathe in his blood.

A bell sounds in the vast room and grabs all of our attention. Each member of the Brotherhood slips their masks on and makes their way to their assigned seats, awaiting the entrance of the Holy Father, who has insisted on presiding over this blessing.

I make my way up to the front of the room, to where a casket would usually be placed, but because we have no physical body, it lays empty with only muted red and orange flowers in its place. I refuse to look at any of the faces staring at me. The ones I know are actively wondering, behind the shield of their masks, whether I killed my wife and disposed of her body to gain her wealth. They are not wrong; I murdered her, but not for wealth. I did it for love.

Another bell sounds, and everyone bows their heads, as the Holy Father’s procession begins to enter the space. A cold draft enters the chamber, and I feel as if it wraps itself around my body. A strange humming begins in my ears, as all of my muscles tense, and my mind starts to drift, as if oppressed by a thick fog. The smell of frankincense and amber enters the space, taking over my senses. Only the sound of thick fabric swishing along the stone floors and the rapid beating of my heart in my ears registers.

The edge of an ornate black robe, fringed in gold decorative threads, meets my vision as it stops before me. I risk glancing up and meet the dark brown eyes of the Holy Father’s man. The one who participated in my wedding night. His mask is in place, but his intense eyes meet mine without any sympathy in their depths, before he moves away and continues forward. Only to be replaced with an even more opulent velvet black robe that’s draped over the Holy Father.

A cold shiver races down my spine, and I clamp my teeth to prevent them from clacking together.What the fuck is happening to me?It feels as if a cold hand is tightening around my neck and slowly tightening bit by bit, until the air no longer moves freely into my lungs.

The Holy Father’s distinct golden and white mask, surrounded by a thick plume of golden-tipped feathers, is in place, revealing very little of his actual features. All that is visible are his dark blue eyes, which meet mine, filled with so much wrath that it has me taking a step back. I give myself a slight internal shake to steady myself.I will not cower before this false prophet.

The Holy Father wears a similar ribbon across his chest, but whereas mine is just my wife’s name printed neatly on white silk, his has her name made out of rare rubies and sapphires. Well, fuck, I didn’t realize we need to make a fucking fashion statement to commemorate my dead wife.Flashy bastard, upstaging me.

“May the Lord bless and praise you, you who have suffered a great and powerful loss. The Brotherhood, honor you, and keep you sacred in your time of mourning.” The Holy Father’s rich voice echoes through the silent room.

“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood which keeps its order,” we all answer in unison.

“I’ve commanded you to be brave and strong, haven’t I? Don’t be alarmed or terrified, because the Lord, your God, is with you wherever you go. Take heed that he knows what is in your hearts and the sins you hold dear. He will forgive you, if you but beg for his forgiveness, and turn away from those who lead you from the lamb.”

The Holy Father’s eyes never leave mine, and I don’t dare attempt to break the connection, even as unease fills me, causing a crawling sensation across my skin. The sensation grows, and my flesh feels as if it is being pricked over and over, the sharp pain forcing me to grit my teeth, and swallow any sound that dares to attempt to escape.It’s not real, this is not happening. It’s a trick, my mind is playing tricks on me.

“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood which keeps its order.”

---