Page 27 of Spark of Madness

I press up onto my elbows, wishing I could sit up at least, unnerved by laying beneath him. The way he stands above me, feet straddling my hips, prevents me from moving.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I squint against the sunshine halo around his face, tilting my head and bringing one hand up sideways against my forehead as a shield.

“I could think of several,” he returns, “but the night of your service has passed.”

I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “There’s always the next one,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

I shouldn’t have said those words, at least not in that sardonic manner. It’s as though I can’t help but try to get myself into trouble.

Careful, Mercy.

A soft smile tugs at one corner of his thick lips, twisting into his tawny beard and highlighting the long line of his dimple. He’s handsome, there’s no denying it. The glow of sunlight all around him really amplifies the hint of orange in his brown hair and beard—it reminds me of fire.

Orange and yellow flames flicker through my mind, rushing me back to the other night. Images of Hyatt and his torch flash to pictures of Ivy Jane moving as flames engulf her, which distorts into the flash fire I felt rushing through my veins when Arlo had me against the tree and made me come—

“There likely won’t be a next one for you, I’m afraid.”

I sinned.

I ran, and I hid.

I rebelled from my soul’s purpose, and I was promised punishment.

He’s cometo punish me.

As soon as the realization hits me, I scramble, kicking against the earth to push myself backward and crawl out from beneath him. He ignores me as I awkwardly rush to my feet and back away; instead, he bends to pick up my mother’s journal.

No!

I lunge for it, but he jerks his hand away, holding the journal beside his head.

“Give that back.”

“No,” he says plainly.

He slowly lowers it in front of him, thumbing open the pages.

I lunge again to snatch it, but he only steps back, narrowing his eyes at me with his head tilted toward the pages. “Stop. Your property is my property now.”

“What?”

What is he saying?

I’m entitled to have my own things.

Except, the Control has license to take authority over the personal property of sinners.

And I’m a sinner now.

I feel frozen as I watch him flip through the pages, reading a sentence here and there. A shiver runs up my spine despite the warmth of the sun, and I hug myself, running my hands up and down my arms. Movement in the distance catches my eye; standing at the tree line, at the edge of the meadow, are the other six members of the Control.

Watching.

Waiting.

The notion of my death claws through my mind, scratching away all other thoughts.

Have they come to kill me?

---