Issachar is completely ignorant of what the knife is holding has done. As he carves into the flesh of his own skin all I can think about is how the blood hit Isaac's face. How hard I had to scrub the floorboards for tonight. How determined I am that no one find out the history behind that knife.

The boy takes the bowl from my hand and I watch him collect his blood in it. He cut pretty deep, so there is plenty to gather. How Issachar manages to sit there so calmly while his bloods flows is a mystery to me. Rachel had squirmed and ran her fingernails down my arms before finally succumbing to death. I had to get a new dress; my old one was covered in blood.

The parchment is already in place so all I have to do is hand Issachar the brush and he knows the rest. Dipping the end into the bowl he writes is name in his own blood. Blood is so weird when you think about it. It flows through you at all times but you're never aware of its value until it's too late.

Taking the bowl, I raise it up in front of me so that the entire congregation can see it. It's funny standing in front of all the people who despise me. I look over the crowd and into their eyes. I don't know their faces very well, but I could tell you exactly which shoe caused which bruise. "Now we will pass the cup and drink to honor Issachar and his life."

Isaac told me everything to do, but I never had time to protest this part. We had other things to do- bodies to hide, hands to clean. He wasn't exactly grateful I had solved our problem. It was a waste of blood. We should have sacrificed her to He Who Walks Behind the Rows. I wanted to tell him he was full of shit, but I know better.

I hope no one notices the fresh bruise on my cheekbone.

My fingers shake as I lift the bowl to my lips. It tastes metallic and my throat constricts as it goes down. My body knows this is wrong but it can't stop it. Passing the bowl off to Isaac, I leave the altar to sit in a pew. The other children in the church gather in a line down the aisle to take their turns drinking from the cup. They all look completely comfortable with the idea. Odd.

Am I any better than them now? I have killed. That's a sin, right? Of course it is. My hand grips my forearm where, underneath my dress, the scratches Rachel gave me are still stinging.

What a mess I have gotten myself into.

The children walk by, some of them shoot me dirty looks, some don't even look at me at all. One, however, comes and sits down beside me in the wooden pew. My eyes are staring into my lap, but a quick flicker over to his shoes tell me exactly who it is.

"You can't hit me in church, especially during a service," I whisper, my eyes still downcast.

"I'm not here to hit you, outlander," I wince at the word. Outlander. I wish I was, but I'm not anymore. Gatlin has possessed me body and soul. "But it seems that someone has."

Finally, I raise my eyes to his. He has more freckles than I remember. His red hair is dirty, like it always is, and his shirt is missing the top button. "That's none of your business." I say, moving my hair so that it hides my cheek. Even the person who I thought would protect me has hurt me. There is no where to turn anymore, I'm alone among all the rows of corn.

"So, Mahlah, where's Rachel?" is isn't his words that make me whip my head around to stare, it's his tone. A snarky, confident inflection that let's me know exactly what he is going to say before he says it. However, he leans in anyway his lips right by my ear. "I saw you out in the corn field. Can't waste anything hm?"

He thinks he has been backed into a corner, but what Malachi doesn't know is I have no where to go. He didn't see what Rachel did, and even the protection I killed her to keep has failed me. I am a girl with nothing to lose and that is the worst kind of enemy to have.

"Then you know not to mess with me," I say, my voice light and conversational. His expression changes and I know this is what he was expecting. Probably expecting me to plead or something. Jesse doesn't beg and frankly I don't give two shits about Mahlah right now. "Because now you know, I won't hesitate to kill you."

"Whatever happened to 'return to me, and I will return to you' Mahlah?" Malachi shifts around in his seat, his voice straining to stay below a whisper.

"That was before you beat me up, now wasn't it?" I say oh does it feel to good to let that anger out. I didn't realize how much rage has been building up inside me the last few weeks but it feels so wonderful to get it all out. "And we both know that's not my name."

Looking up I see the last few kids are approaching the cup, Isaac stands at the front to monitor each child and his eyes flicker over to where Malachi and I sit. His lips press together into a firm line but other than that you'd have never thought he had seen.

I don't need Isaac to protect me. I don't need anyone to watch over me, I know that now. I was the one who survived those beatings- I was the one who silenced Rachel. I am made of tougher metal than I thought.


The last kid takes his seat and Issachar is still seating up on the altar grinning like crazy, showing his crooked teeth. Isaac climbs the stairs to stand beside the boy and holds his arms open silencing the whole crowd- including Malachi.

"And now- the sacrifice begins!" his voice is loud and commanding and almost immediately afterwards all the children around me erupt into praises, cheering and yelling. All the while Issachar grins, looking out at all the people screaming at him as if it were his birthday and they were singing to him.

What in the hell was going on? I twist around in the pew, looking over my shoulders. Everyone is cheering and hollering and I just can't make since of it.

"You don't know about the sacrifice ceremony?" I hear Malachi chuckle. I turn and see he is the only one not standing besides myself. All stretched out on the pew with his arm along the back he grins at me. Somehow the people here always find something to dangle in front of me, something I don't know.

"Wasn't that it?" I ask, pointing at the table with the parchment and the now empty bowl.

"That's only the beginning! Now the fun part begins," there's something in his eye when he says that and I know this is going to be a night to remember.

Isaac drops his arms and all the kids begin filing out of the church, but he waves Malachi and I up onto the stage with him. We're to escort Issachar outside, he says. As the guest of honor or a prisoner I'm not sure. With Isaac in the lead, Issachar in the middle and Malachi and I at the back, we walk out of the church into the night. A little ways into the cornfield I see the flicking light of torches about where the clearing is.

Marching through the corn, all I can hear is the shouting of children that is slowly turning into a chant. Finally emerging into the beaten down circle in the middle of the field I feel a stone drop into the pit of my stomach. In the middle of the space there's a new cross lying in the dirt adorned with fresh ears of corns. Issachar heads for the crucifix instantly, as if he was born to lay on it. Malachi grabs something from a near by child and then hands it to me- a length of rough hewn rope.

"Tie his hands," he gives me a devilish smile and I think I might puke. Crossing over, I kneel down beside the boy, and tie his arm as gently as I can to the wooden plank.

"Make it tighter," he hisses at me. "I don't want to fall on my special night."

Horrified, I untie the rope and tie it again. Issachar's skin is already turning red underneath the rope's coarse touch but he thanks me anyway.

Standing up I hear Isaac preaching over the chanting of his flock. The torches only add the madness of the night and I feel like all my senses are on overload. I get shoved out of the way as the bigger boys of Gatlin edge forward to lift the cross into place. They tug ropes and lean against its base, chanting and grinning. I'm standing right in front of the crucifix when it is lodged into place. Staring up at the boy tied to the wood, I am certain I'm going to pass out.

Looking past the cross, I catch Malachi's gaze. He's standing behind the boy, looking pleased with himself. I'm not even sure what expression I'm making, I am lost in my own terror.

Something wet hits my face and my whole body jolts in surprise. Touching the foreign substances I examine my fingers to find them slick with something that looks black in the torchlight. Looking up I see another drop of blood fall from Issachar's chest and land on my cheek.

Is this what they did to my family that I can't remember? Is this what they're going to do to me when I turn nineteen? The weight of everything I have experienced in this backwards little town lands on my shoulders in this one moment and I try desperately to blink back the tears collecting in my eyes. I will not cry here again.

I have to leave Gatlin.