Page 33 of Creed
“Mavis’s cold is getting better,” Robyn said while fetching our bowls from the previous meal, which we’d stashed in the corner of the room. “She should be back on her feet soon, and then I’ll be busy again chasing after her.”
Apparently, the children’s mother had died in childbirth with the young sister. They’d been raised by their father until about a year ago when the man had died due to some disease that Robyn didn’t fully understand. That left the twelve-year-old boy to take care of his six-year-old sister all by himself.
I’d tried asking once why none one else in their “community” could take them in, but Robyn had given me such an evasive answer that I decided never to try asking again. Whatever politics were going on inside the cult were none of my business.
Robyn clutched the old tray in front of him like a shield, staring down at his shoes like they he was holding a conversation with them instead of us.
“Um, do you think, once Mavis’s cold is gone, I could bring her to meet you? I’ve told her all about our guests, and she’s really curious about you. She’s never met anyone outside our community before.”
I shared a look with Creed. Neither of us had much experience with children, but between the two of us, I was at least better at talking to people. There was an unspoken agreement between us to let me handle the awkward conversations.
The only question was, should we be blunt with our answer, or should we let the kid down easy?
For the sake of caution, I decided to try the easy approach.
“Creed and I wouldn’t mind meeting her. Your sister sounds lovely. However, I don’t think the rest of your community would agree, and we don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Robyn didn’t push it any farther, just silently nodded to himself. He was young, but he was old enough to understand what was going on, and he probably knew that even asking to bring his sister to meet us was already crossing a line.
“I have to get going,” he said as he headed for the door. “I have a lot of chores to do. I’ll bring you your diner later.”
The door clicked softly behind him. Its lock was unobtrusive but impenetrable. As usual, Creed checked the door just to see if we could open it, but the handle wouldn’t even budge. When we’d first been locked in here, he’d tried breaking the door down, but only succeeded in bruising his shoulder. It looked like wood, but that was just a façade, and it was actually reinforced with metal.
Our room looked ordinary, if a bit dim due to the lack of windows, but it was an effective prison.
Shaking his head, Creed went back to the table.
“Joining a cult is one thing. Adults can make that choice for themselves if they want, but being born into a cult is an entirely different matter. Those kids didn’t choose this kind of isolated life.”
I stirred the spoon in my bowl, not even seeing the soup in front of me. “Without being exposed to the broader world, they may not even realize they have a choice.” No longer hungry, I set the bowl aside. “There are so many things I didn’t understand until I started traveling around, and I at least knew there was a bigger world out there for me. I can’t imagine what it’d be like if I didn’t even know that traveling was an option.”
“Not to mention making that kid raise his little sister on his own. It’s no wonder the Milford sisters chose to escape. I’m surprised more people don’t try to leave.”
“Even if they wanted to leave, they may not be able to,” I reminded him.
Creed just grunted in agreement. His attention was already back on his papers, and he was scribbling away on his notepad with one hand while spooning soup into his mouth with the other. The soup was bland and unappetizing, but Creed had made a point of explaining how important it was that we keep our strength up. Starving ourselves only made things easier for our captors.
My own bowl sat untouched, making me feel guilty over the wasted food, but I just couldn’t bring myself to eat. My stomach was twisted up in knots, and if I tried to eat anything, I’d probably just make myself nauseous.
Time continued to tick by slowly as Creed’s pen continued its work. I dozed off at some point, drifting between conscious and dreaming like skimming across the surface of ocean waves.
I was startled awake some time later by a harsh knock on the door.
That clearly wasn’t Robyn. The boy always knocked with a polite little tapping sound, not this loud bang that seemed in danger of taking the door off its hinges.
This person also didn’t wait for our permission to enter. Almost as soon as they finished knocking, the door slammed open.
“You fuckers decent?”
No, this was not Robyn at all. It took me a moment to recognize the man who now stood in the room. He was related to Chester Grieve, and although he acted like he was the cult leader, he was basically his father’s lackey.
He didn’t wait for an answer to his rude question before heading over to Creed’s worktable.
“What progress have you made?”
“I haven’t cracked the code, if that’s what you want to know.”
Creed had been on his feet the moment there was a knock on the door, and he now glared at the other man who was sifting through the papers.
