Sixteen

The door swung open and a middle-aged man walked in. He was holding a tray of food and an oversized manila envelope. With a head of graying hair, glasses, and deep smile lines around his eyes, he looked like half the dads I’d seen at school. Just as benign, too.

He closed the door quickly, pausing until Joseph took a step forward and bowed his head.

“Father,” Joseph said, his voice hushed.

I took a long look at Elijah Hawkins, then shook my head. This was the man Joseph had warned me about? The man who had abused children and murdered his own wife? It wasn’t possible. This guy looked like he was more likely to pack some lures and go fly-fishing than he was to lead a deadly cult.

“Have a seat, son,” Elijah said, his voice deeper, louder than I expected. Setting the tray on the nightstand, he turned his gaze on me.

He was studying me, his eyes lingering on my face before traveling downward. They stopped at my chest, then continued on to my waist and down my legs. In my panic, I’d only pulled the quilt halfway up my body, leaving my entire left leg uncovered, my shoelaces untied and dangling.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, pointing at my foot.

I stayed silent, refusing to acknowledge him. I wasn’t going to let this aging man wearing a plaid button-up shirt intimidate me. He was half the size of Luke and three times his age. No way could he be as strong or fast. Even with my arms bandaged and a vicious knot on my head, I could probably take him.

“No sir, she wasn’t going anywhere,” Joseph answered for me. “I bled her for quite a while, so she’s still a little woozy. Plus, she’s too weak to make it far.”

Joseph was talking fast, too fast, and Elijah held up a hand for him to stop. “I asked her, Joseph, not you.” His steely eyes focused on me again, lingering on my legs. I wished I’d opted for something a bit more unflattering than skinny jeans. Perhaps snow pants or a mangy pair of sweats.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

Elijah inhaled loudly. “You know my wife died,” he started, and I nodded. “Joseph was understandably upset. No doubt felt as betrayed as I did.”

“Betrayed?” I asked. I’d gotten that emotion from Joseph, but Elijah? He was the one who’d killed her.

“Yes, betrayed. About my wife having to die, that is. I’ve given my life to this town, ensuring that the people under my care remain pure as I lead them in God’s path,” Elijah explained. “It’s been my duty, as it was my father’s and his father’s before that. We have kept this town innocent, safe from outside influences, for over a hundred and fifty years. Someday, that responsibility will be Joseph’s.”

Not if Joseph had his way. From what he’d told me, he was only hanging around here long enough to grab his sister, then he was gone.

“I have guided this town for nearly eighteen years, watched as we, as a community, have grown closer to God,” Elijah continued. “Never once did I complain or question His mission for me. So when I, a prophet who has selflessly given my life to the Lord’s work, was asked to sacrifice my own wife for the greater good, yes, I admit I felt betrayed.”

Elijah smiled dryly, as if reliving a bittersweet memory. “Joseph is my son. My only son.” He sat down next to me on the bed and reached out to touch my calf. I went to pull away and he clamped his hand down on my ankle, holding me in place.

I sat as still as I possibly could and tried to ignore the bile rising in my throat. The old man’s gaze followed the stroking path his fingers were making on my calf, and my heart hammered against my chest as his fingers slid upward. I glanced at Joseph, but he made no move to help.

“I understand now, though. His plan all along was for me to lose my blessed wife so I could gain you. See, I need more children, more Hawkins sons to carry on our family’s legacy. And you, my dear, are going to give them to me.”

Elijah’s words plowed through my brain with all the intensity of a raging fire. I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at him. The complete sincerity in his voice made absolutely no sense.

I stopped his hand short of my thigh and dug my nails into his palm. “Children? You actually think God gave me to you? You think I’m actually going to sleep with you? Have you lost your—”

Joseph jumped up from his seat, the wooden chair he was sitting on crashing to the floor. His movements were forced, deliberate, like he’d stood up and purposefully kicked the chair over to get his father’s attention. Didn’t matter; it worked, and Elijah pulled his hand back, refocusing his glare on his son.

“What has Joseph told you?” Elijah asked.

I took a quick look at Joseph before I lied. “Nothing.”

Elijah’s grin faded, leaving behind a cold expression. “I asked you to speak with her, Joseph.” There was a ring of disapproval there, one that promised retribution. “I expected her to be prepared, to have at least some knowledge of her place here.”

“I spoke with her,” Joseph replied, and I racked my brain for any hint of that conversation. As hard as I tried, I got nothing. Joseph was lying.

“But as I said,” Joseph continued, his eyes pleading with me to play along. “I purified her like you asked. She was confused when she finally came to; I think I bled her more thoroughly then I should have. I told her how important she was to us, but I don’t think she remembers any of it. Now that she is more alert, perhaps you can explain it to her.”

Elijah nodded, and for a second I let myself believe he’d bought Joseph’s excuse.

“I know it makes no sense to you now, but in time you’ll see the wisdom of what I say.” Elijah handed me the envelope, his fingers twisting the edge of the thick yellow paper as he spoke. “In time, you too will be made pure.”

“What’s this?” I asked

“This is you. Your new life. Past and present,” Elijah re-plied.

He leaned back on the bed, a deep smile spreading across his face. I wanted to spit at him, to tell him that he was a psycho and that my life wasn’t going to include him or his crazy family. But I didn’t say any of that. Rather, I slid a finger beneath the flap of the envelope and pulled out the papers.

Rebekah Hawkins, wife of Elijah Hawkins.
Seventeen years of age. Born in Purity Springs.
Baptized into the Church of the Divine Light.
Educated by the sole hand of Elijah Hawkins,
secluded to preserve her purity.

“I don’t get it,” I said, confused as to what any of this crap had to do with me.

“Keep reading,” Elijah said, nudging the papers in my hand.

Birth parents—Samuel and Abilene Smith.
Sacrificed and martyred in the name of the Church.
Brought forth as the divine wife of Elijah Hawkins this day, November 8th, the year of the Great Lord.

I stopped reading and flicked my wrist to see my watch. Today was the eighth. The ninth was Sunday, the day the Hoopers were expecting me home.

“Still not getting it,” I said again. “Why do I care about Rebekah Hawkins?”

Elijah tapped the paper and then lifted my chin to meet his eyes. “Because as of today, you are Rebekah Hawkins.”