Page 50 of Hysteria Rises
DELILAH
My lungs burnand my throat is raw from screaming. But now, you’re free.Run.His eyes had held nothing but ill intent.You’ve gotta move, Delilah! Get as far from here as you can.My thoughts are a tangle of light and dark, of hope and despair. This isn’t how this was supposed to turn out.Hide!
The sound of a key grating in the lock of the door yanks me from the memory that hovers on the edge of a dream. The anxiety-inducing scene in my head dissipates like mist with the rising sun. I’m probably better off not remembering.
The creaking of the door on its hinges causes me to stir, and I pry my eyes open, catching a glimpse of a well-muscled, tattooed arm. Hayze gives me a tight smile through the opening before hurrying away. I wonder if Cross and Malakai mentioned anything that’d happened when they came to visit me last night.
I cringe, remembering how they’d arrived in themiddle of my meltdown. I’d be fucking stupid to trust them, but I hadn’t caught any hint of deception in what they’d said.
My mind ticks to the fourth of their group.Arrow… well, I haven’t seen him since I witnessed his horrific beating. If I have to guess, he’s either no longer allowed to come down here or he’s unable. My throat grows thick at the thought of it, but I can’t fathom why I’m even wondering about his welfare. Except I don’t think he meant for all of that to happen. I press my lips together. I asked him to stay that night. I haven’t forgotten. But he— My eyes crash shut. He’s the one who couldn’t keep his dick to himself.
From the doorway, Twenty-one—I finally got close enough to see her number yesterday—stares at me, her green eyes penetrating my skull like a laser beam. She makes an impatient face, and it’s clear she thinks I’m wasting her time. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and slowly pluck the book up from where I left it. Every day, I’m expected to read Finneas’s commandments, as I’ve come to think of them. I’ve never even met the guy, and I already hate him.
Concealing my distaste, I slip to my knees and bow my head how Sixteen had shown me the first morning after Kiefer let me out of the cell. Slowly, I open the book and find the page, though it’s not hard to remember the portion I’m supposed to recite every morning as a twisted sort of affirmation.
“I follow. I honor. I nourish. I kneel.”
She nods, then leaves me to read the rest—mostlythe ins and outs about what the women must do to please the Collective—aka Finneas, Henry, Nolan, and Kiefer. Should the situation demand it, I’m to fall to my knees on the spot, just like this, bow my head, and repeat the four principles of the compound. I’m still uncertain about when I’m actually supposed to do it, but when in doubt, I’ll just fucking drop.
The rituals that I’ll be expected to participate in are also discussed in the book, though there aren’t specifics as to what they entail. I suspect whatever they were doing in the woods the night when they found me has to be what they’re referring to.
I sigh, glancing down at the worn pages of the book, imagining other women have also sat right where I am. Shuddering, I run my hands over my upper arms as goose bumps raise on my skin, but force myself to think it through again.
The first of their principles… follow and honor… easy enough to understand. Nourish is there because they feel the nourishment, both body and mind is important. And then there’s kneel. They expect their followers to not only follow and honor, but to bow down to them. For these assholes, it makes a crude sort of sense.
So, I will bide my time, do as they say, adhere to their many rules and comply with their demands.For now. I will nourish my body, if only so that I’ll be strong enough to fight back when the need arises. And kneel… I’ll do it. But I won’t like it. And by the time they figure out I’m only fucking obeying so that they believe they’ve brainwashed me, it’ll be too fucking late.
An uneasiness works its way down my spine. These men are capable of horrible things, so who knows what’s coming my way. To be honest, what goes on in this place is one crazy mind fuck, but that’s why I haven’t argued with anyone about reading this shit. If it’ll give me better insight, so be it.
The door swings open to reveal Twenty-two this time. Her gait is cumbersome, and I find I can’t look away from her belly. She gives me a timid smile, then beckons, as if I should go with her.
“Wait.” I clamp my jaw tightly, uncertain if she’s about to freak out on me for speaking out of turn, but she simply widens her eyes, and they go softly misty.
Within a few steps, she closes the distance between us, and to my surprise, she grabs me by the back of the neck and tugs me so close her stomach brushes up against mine. She puts her mouth right up to my ear. “Never speak. Not unless they tell you to or unless it is a question about completing a chore. Nothing more. No idle gossip. No chatting. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
I blow out a breath, easing back to give her a short nod. I don’t know what to make of her. If our numbers are sequential, she was the “new girl” before me. “But?—”
She aims a disappointed look my way. “Please. I can’t handle being corrected right now.”
Blood drains from my face. Would they reallymistreat a pregnant woman? From the literature I was left to read, they hold the women—the sacred vessels who are to bear their children—in the highest regard. Carrying a child is something the women are taught to desire. Want. Covet, even. And why wouldn’t they if those are the women who receive superior treatment?
I shrug internally. No offense to Twenty-two, but those men can get fucked if they think I’m drinking this cult Kool-Aid.
Pulling a notepad from her pocket, she quickly writes something and my hope surges. But when I glance at her scribbled message, all it reads is
Clean the third floor bathroom. Supplies in closet.
After being given a hard-boiled egg and some buttered wheat toast—clearly homemade—for breakfast, Sixteen takes me to the main floor with her. There’s not another soul around, so as we walk, I take in as much as I can.
At the front of the building, the sun is currently streaming in through windows on either side of the massive door. I keep trying to figure out how long I’ve been here, but I think it might be as much as two weeks. That’s as close of an estimate as I’ve got. Could be less, could be way more. After all, I’ve spent portions of my stay here unconscious or drugged. With a nudge, she sends me in the direction of the stone staircase, then holds up three fingers. Third floor. Right.
By the time I reach the second-floor landing, I’m already weary. Chewing on my lip, I stop at the ornate window facing what I believe to be the backside of the property. My mouth drops open. I can see what looks like a shed. A greenhouse. A barn. A chicken coop. Several other small buildings. And what might be a vegetable garden. I wonder how long it took them to build all this. How long have these fanatical bunch of delulu people lived off the grid in the wilderness?
From the next floor up, an agonized groan reverberates off the high ceiling. And then there’s a loud smacking thud. I whirl around, hesitating only a moment before I dash up the stairs, my exhaustion forgotten as my heart begins to thrum madly. I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m running toward, but I feel compelled to find out.
Hitting the upstairs hall, I dart to the left, following the sounds of agony. As I pass by one heavy door after another, I search for where the inhuman noises are coming from. It sounds almost like a wounded animal. At the end of the hall, another low moan greets me, sending shivers along my limbs.
My throat is thick with nerves, but without much thought, I twist the knob and shove my way into the room. The air is steamy, and I skid to a stop. Blink. Once. Twice. And focus on the scene before me. “Oh,fuck,” I gasp out under my breath. Because I may have thought the garbled, pain-filled noises were bad, but they’re no match for the angry split skin that my eyes are drawn to. The man on the floor flinchesat my words. Realizing my error, I raise a shaking hand to cover my mouth so I don’t let another sound slip from between my lips.
