Waving my hand, I said, “Thank you, Sister Phebe, you may leave.”
Phebe bowed and walked away. I stayed at the door. Because I knew, as much as I believed in my people’s cause, as much as I believed I was the prophet of The Order, I knew I could not stand by and—no, I could not bless the raping of children. Nothing in my faith told me it was right under God’s eyes. Not even the supposedly revealed words of my uncle.
Then the anger rose again when I thought of Judah. We had barely spoken more than a few strained words since I released the Cursed sisters. He and Brother Luke were always together, heads joined in hushed whispers, Sarai following Judah's every word, like he was the prophet, not I.
His lies about Delilah. His secret plan to kidnap the Cursed before we were ready. And now this? The organizing of awakenings in my presence. And I knew.
He was testing me.
My own brother. My twin. My only family... Had lost faith in me.
Hearing the pained cry of a young girl, I plowed through the veil into the smoky room of the Lord’s Sharing… and the image before me as the smoke cleared would forever be burned into my memory.
Grown men, of all ages, naked and erect, were braced behind young girls, girls little older than eight years. And some were already within them. Raping them. Taking their innocence… devices between their young legs as they lay forehead to the ground, behinds raised in the air, with their hands clutched behind their backs.
I fought to hold back the vomit as a cacophony of pained cries assailed my ears. And then when I stepped forward, a young girl, braced on her knees, her face red with pain, clashed her gaze with mine. And I knew her in an instant. It was the young girl from the video. The young girl who was dancing; forced to dance for me, her pretty young face fighting back tears as she did so.
And here she was, being raped by a grown man, a man that had to be in his forties.
And I snapped.
That sight, the girl’s tears; a messed up mass rape disguised as celestial worship… it made me fucking snap.
Rushing forward, I grabbed the man forcing himself on the little girl from the video. I ripped him backwards. I ripped him backwards, and when his shocked face stared up at me, I struck. I struck and I struck, my fist pummeling his face with all the force I could muster.
But I could not stop. Every ounce of anger and resentment, every ounce of stress that had built up over the last year, was pouring out of me via these fists.
But I did not hear the music stop.
I did not hear children screaming.
I just kept hitting this cunt’s face, blood spraying over my arms and white tunic. Until finally, someone pulled me off him and I hit the ground.
I scrambled to my feet ready to strike whoever was behind me, when I saw a familiar pair of eyes—identical eyes to mine.
“Cain,” Judah hissed, his eyebrows pulled down in anger.
My hands shook. Shook so fucking badly that I had to look down at them, only to see blood coating every inch of my skin.
“He is dead.” My head snapped to my side, as Brother Luke crouched over the man on the floor. The man that had been beaten so hard by me, that his face was unrecognizable.
“Cain, what have you done?” Judah asked in shock. And just like that, the anger that had momentarily dissipated from my body ignited tenfold. I stared up at the identical face I no longer considered to belong to my twin brother.
“What have I done?” I asked in astonishment. I shook my head, laughing a humorless laugh. “What have I fucking done?”
Judah stepped back, eyes wide. Then I noticed that he was dressed only in his tunic pants… as was brother Luke.