Page 65 of Regressive

I’ve just steppedinto the house when the music starts.

Clair de Lune. The solemn strains rise from the speakers situated through the community. Serendee is being called to the community center by Anex.

Despite my complete exhaustion, I stop by the living room where I find everyone asleep. Elon has sprawled out on the couch. Silas is across from him in an armchair, his feet propped on the coffee table and Imogene is curled up on the love seat. I shake her awake first.

“Did you find him?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Yes,” I tilt my head. “But there’s no time to talk about it now. We’re being summoned.”

Her eyes widen as the music processes and she nods, standing quickly. She winces at the pain blow her hip.

“You okay?” I ask, worried about the wound. It’s deep and ugly.

“I’m fine,” she says, reaching to smooth her hair. “We need to hurry.”

I wake the others, jostling them from sleep. “Come on, there’s a meeting.”

Silas groans, rubbing his face while Elon stretches his arms over his head. I don’t miss the lines of worry on his forehead when he asks, “Is this about Rex?”

“I don’t see how, I just left him a few minutes ago and he wasn’t going to see his father.”

Elon and Silas exchange a look, both skeptical. I don’t blame them, but I feel confidant Rex was telling me the truth.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Silas says, slipping on his shoes. The music grows louder—that’s what happens. It starts off low and gentle, but then grows with volume and aggression as the minutes pass.

The four of us quickly get to the community center, funneling in with the rest of the residents. It takes longer during the day with people scattered all over Serendee and in town. As usual, Anex’s chair is positioned in the middle of the stage—what’s different is the lack of other seats—the ones for the inner circle. Our seats.

They’ve been removed.

“What the…” Elon mutters. Imogene tugs his hand and pulls him over where there’s an empty section on the floor.

“Weird,” Silas says, still a little groggy, but not enough to miss the strange vibe in the room. “Do you see him?”

Him—Rex. I scan the crowd.

“No,” I say. Anxiety inches across my skin. Something feels off—wrong. Did he get caught preparing to escape? Did he leave without Imogene?

I look over at her. Her pale hair catching the overhead lights and creating a soft glow—that along with her white ceremonial dress makes her look even more innocent. But I know that’s not entirely true. I know what’s hidden under the cotton. Not just the wounds I’ve given her but the fresh one as well.

People spill through the door part, and Rex’s massive frame emerges. I watch as his eyes dart to the stage, from his father’s chair to the lack of our own. His jaw ticks, clocking everything in the room.

A bad feeling builds in my gut, that itchy feeling that I would normally rely on my beliefs to combat, but all of that is confused. Muddled by recent events. By my feelings for Imogene and the changes happening in Serendee.

“There he is,” Silas says with relief. He turns to Imogene. “How’s your wound?”

“Sore,” she says, but her pale complexion suggests worse. “I’ll be fine.”

Is this the compliance we’ve trained her for? Take the pain and abuse and suffer through it? Ask for more? I know in my heart that it is—and I’m one of the worst.

My confusion turns to nausea. Rex is right. We have to get her out of here.

Rex works his way through the crowd and squeezes between me and Imogene. I grab his arm. “Did you do it?” I whisper—meaning the money and supplies.

He gives me a short nod. “I tried to catch you before you came in here. This would have been a good cover.” He glances around. “Any way we can get out of here before it starts?”

The meetings can go on for hours, but I don’t think he’s right. Anex would definitely notice their absence. That’s confirmed when our leader walks across the stage, eyes going straight to his son and mate.

He’s dressed in all black and several of his spiritual wives follow him in, bowing and leading the community to do the same. Margaret stands close, wearing a stomach revealing midriff and a low-slung skirt. Her belly protrudes, the pregnancy obvious. As I follow the motions, touching my forehead in reverence, Rex stands unmoving, staring at Margaret.

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