Amy Kemp froze as she watched the policewoman walk back towards the entrance of the farm, accompanied by one of Father Joseph’s henchmen. At least, that was the name she used to refer to them. Not out loud, of course. In a place like this, you never knew who you could trust. But it was obvious the woman was from the police. They’d been here before. It might have been yesterday, or the day before. They all tended to blur into one after a while.
This could be her chance. She’d long dreamed of the time she could get out of here, get away from the repression and subjugation, get away from all the despicable acts she’d been subjected to.
The first time, she was too young to understand what was happening. Her parents were overjoyed that she had been invited to a private audience with Father Joseph. It would be part of her initiation and her ticket into the infinite Kingdom of God. For a long time, she believed she must have done something wrong. Perhaps she hadn’t put enough faith in God. Maybe that was why she was now being punished. Speaking of her punishment was never an option. That would have meant admitting to the sins that had led to her punishment. She didn’t know what the sins were, which led her to assume they must have been truly dreadful, perhaps committed in a previous life.
It hurt like hell the first time. She was only seven years old. The second time was painful, the third time slightly less so. Before long, she learnt to block it all out. She used to sing nursery rhymes to herself in her head. She’d make up conversations with imaginary friends. And before she knew it, it was all over. She’d feel the weight of Father Joseph shifting off of her, followed by the gradual sensation of a warm stickiness between her legs.
Over time she’d learnt to realise what was going on. She didn’t know why or how, but she’d grown a sense of self-awareness; a gradual realisation that something wasn’t quite right, wasn’t natural. Father Joseph must have sensed that realisation, because soon afterwards it all stopped. She hadn’t been called in to see him again since.
She’d wanted to tell someone for so long, but knew it would be futile. Who, in here, would ever believe her? They all seemed completely devoted to Father Joseph and to the church. And those who expressed doubts were punished, if they were ever seen again. It was something she’d pushed to the back of her mind, knowing she would never be able to do anything about it. She had no options, no hope. But then she’d seen the policewoman.
They were almost at the gates now. She estimated that if she ran from here, she could reach the policewoman in about fifteen or twenty seconds. She could tell her everything, tell her about Father Joseph, about what went on in here. Her heart hammered in her chest just thinking about it. The possibilities were endless.
Before she could even realise what she was doing, she’d thrown open the door of the hut and was sprinting towards the gate and the policewoman. She ran past the grain store, past the chapel. She was just about to draw level with the small, white, brick-built building known as the medical centre when the large arm flung out and grabbed her round her waist, dragging her inside.