At the end of the hearing, I walk out of the courtroom and past the reporters trying to catch a sound bite. I get down the steps when ahead of me, I notice a familiar form. It surprises me enough to me to question if I'm actually seeing it accurately. Then he turns around, and I know it's him.
“Sam?” I call. He pauses and gives me the time to jog up to him. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you I'd be here. I promised I would be at all the hearings,” he shrugs. “So, I'm here.”
“Thank you. It means so much to me to know you were here. I wish I'd known you were here before I went in there,” I say. “Look, I really wanted to say I'm sorry about the way things were between us before I left. I'd love to get something to eat and talk.”
“I can't. I only came into town for this because I said I would be here. But I've got to get back.”
Sam cups his hand behind the back of my neck and pulls me in to kiss my forehead. Without another word, he turns and walks away.
I end up in my hotel room an hour later sitting on the bed and picking at a room service tuna melt that isn't nearly as satisfying as the pizza I wanted to order. The news comes on, and a picture of Everly Zara appears on the screen. I turn up the volume.
“Though he declined to share any specific details, Sheriff Samuel Johnson of Sherwood now confirms the death of Everly Zara was not a suicide as originally assumed. Her death by hanging at her home is now being investigated as a murder.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Three and a half years ago
The gardens were so beautiful. Candles glowed like fireflies inside the lanterns strung on the branches of the trees, filling the air with sweet scented smoke. Music played from somewhere, but she couldn't see it. It felt like the notes were coming out of the leaves and flowers themselves. It was almost like heaven.
But it wasn't. It couldn't be. Not here. Not at The Tower.
The dress she wore was barely thick enough to keep away the chill despite the warm evening. When the breeze picked up, it sank through the fabric and pressed into her skin, revealing every detail of her body to the men who walked around her. They wore masks, but it wasn't hard to see their eyes. They traced the outlines of the women through the thin fabric, fixating on shadows and delving into hidden dips.
"Welcome," Lucas called out over the sound of the music and the voices of those milling through the garden.
She looked up and saw him standing on a platform built like an altar. Exalting himself. Praying to himself. Preying on them.
Lucas smiled brightly; his hands held out to his sides away from the white robe he wore.
"Honored friends, thank you for joining me tonight. Welcome to our home and to my Circle of Light. I've invited you here to celebrate what is coming. Can you feel the change? All around you, it's happening. I've been waiting, devoting myself, fasting. Offering myself up as a vessel. As the world has moved around me, I've stayed vigilant, knowing it would come. Now it is drawing near. The New Time is at hand. Tonight, we welcome it. We come together to taste of the fruits of what our paradise will bring. Our Society has given of ourselves for what will be for all those chosen. We're ready to take what is ours and welcome you to feast with us. Enjoy yourselves! My treasures will light your way."
A hand wrapped around her wrist. She turned to see a mask inches from her face. The eyes peering back at her were wide and so pale blue they looked nearly white. The color made her stomach turn, but her face stayed calm. There was nothing she could do now. He selected her. This man with no face, with no name. Lucas presented her and the other women as his gift to them, and there was nothing she could do to refuse.
As the man brought a glass to her lips and tipped burning wine down her throat, she saw the men from The Tower walk into the garden. They walked in a line, their backs straight, their hands clasped in front of them. She nearly gagged on the sickly liquid when she saw Jeremiah. She wanted to scream out to him, to run to him, but her feet didn't move. It would mean nothing. This was the first time she had seen his face in three months.
Maybe he didn't know. He didn't understand. And yet, she knew he did. He stood there among the other men, bracelets crossed over bare wrists, emotionless faces watching the masked men make their selections. His eyes brushed over her like she wasn't even there. She faded with that gaze.
The garden was less beautiful when she walked back into it. The masked man had already returned and walked the waving paths with another glass of wine and a plate of the same decadent treats Eloise made the day she first came to The Tower.
The bath Ruth insisted she take kept her out of the garden for a few extra minutes. She was thankful for them, but they didn't last long. Another pair of eyes behind a featureless white mask caught hold of her. It might as well have been a vice. They held her in place as he walked toward her and stroked his fingertips along a collarbone still damp from the rose-scented water.
By the fifth time she walked into the sunken bath, the stone bottom of the tub felt slick and slimy with the rose petals that sank down. Women with tight buns and downcast eyes sprinkled fresh petals onto the surface after every few girls, but nothing could sweeten the water.
Thirty-six hours later, she lay on the side of the bath, her face pressed against the stone. The petals were gone, and new water rushed into the empty tub. One of the women reached for the buttons on her dress, and she groaned. The woman reached again, and she used every bit of energy she could to turn herself away. The attendants disappeared, and in the few seconds of quiet and emptiness in the room, the water called to her. Before she could slide over the side, heavy footsteps stormed into the room.
"Sister Abigail, Chloe and Vivian tell me you refuse to bathe," said Ruth, her voice shocked as if she couldn't imagine the thought.
"I'm so tired," she told her.
"Come along. The bath will revive you. Lucas is waiting."
She sobbed at the sound of his name, curling her body in closer.
"No," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"No," she said again, her voice little more than a whimper.
"Sister Abigail, Lucas selected your blanket tonight. I spread it on his bed. You've already kept him waiting. He's willing to be lenient with you tonight because you were so welcoming to his guests at his event, but I cannot promise you that he will maintain his gentle nature for long. He doesn't respond well to disrespect."
"I can't," she said. "Please. I can't."
"Of course, you can. Get into the bath. Chloe and Vivian will help you. I will speak to Lucas and tell him you won't be much longer."
"No. I can't. This wasn't supposed to be this way."
Ruth took slow steps toward her, stopping only inches from her head, staring down into her face. Completely silent. Her foot turned just enough to catch her hair and pin it down to the stone, pulling it so sharp pain radiated through her scalp. She gasped and tried to move away, but Ruth had her firmly.
"We all have to give of ourselves for the future, Sister Abigail. We must purge ourselves of the weakness and corruption of The Existence, so we are purified and worthy for the New Time. Only those who are worthy will live in the paradise Lucas is ushering in for us. It is not for the selfish and the wicked. It is not for the unfaithful. You were chosen. He saw value in you. He deemed you ready to be molded into a treasure for him. It is your duty to offer yourself so Lucas can channel The Essence and create light for the new creation."
"And to those other men?" she asked.