Just a floor below the captive, both Seed brothers conjoined in the hallway to discuss the previous events. John stood in the middle of the hall, looking smug in his knowledge that he was finally able to get to the junior deputy. Across from him, Jacob remained next to the wall with his arms crossed, waiting for his brother to finish emblematically patting himself on the back.
"… and I know you were hesitant to believe I could do it. You aren't the only one to deal out a heavy hand when needed. This is proof enough that she can be brought down a few notches." John chuckled again. "She's not the resilient hero that those sinners thought she was."
Jacob opened his mouth to reply when two men turned into the hallway.
"Hello Brother John, Brother Jacob," they greeted respectfully as they passed by.
John nodded acknowledgment while Jacob looked off across the hall, not interested in pleasantries with the followers. If either of the peggies noticed, they didn't show that they were concerned and continued down the walkway.
Once the followers were out of earshot, Jacob continued. "Don't get cocky. You got to her but that doesn't mean anything yet."
"Mm," the younger brother hummed, not showing he agreed or disagreed with that statement. Clearly, he was in a well enough mood to not be bothered by Jacob's cynic opinion. Instead of commenting further, he decided to change the subject. "What did you whisper to her back there? Before I read the file."
Jacob smirked to himself, thinking back on his threat to the girl. "If I wanted you to hear it, brother, I wouldn't have whispered it."
Like a hot iron, John felt his joy dissipate in steam. He wasn't too fond of secrets being kept from him, especially when it was between his brother and the troublesome deputy, whom he was resolved to break.
In fact, it twisted under his skin to know Jacob was withholding information, so John was determined to not let him off so easily. "I have a right to know what you told the girl. If you compromised my confession with her in anyway—"
"I didn't compromise anything," he interrupted crossly. "I told her you were going to expose her secret whether she liked it or not, and she should just let it happen." He had no intentions of disclosing any further information regarding his plans for the deputy. Such admission would no doubt spark his brother's indignant response.
"What else? I'm not stupid; I know that wasn't all you said to her."
"I wish you weren't so stubborn. What I said was for Mason only, so just let it go. I didn't compromise anything and that is all you should be worried about."
John wanted to argue and could feel himself bristle at being shrugged off. However, he knew that Jacob could be just has hard-headed as him, which meant they would be there all night trying to outlast the other. Instead, he restrained the urge to argue and settled for another change of topic. "What are your thoughts about the confession? You seemed oddly reserved back there after I finished."
Jacob glanced at the hall where the bottom of the stairs was visible. "I think there is more to the story."
"That's not what I'm referring to," he said dryly. "But I'll bite. Are you saying that because of what she claimed?
"Partially. She was adamant that the recap was false to some degree."
"She could have been trying to hide her sin though. I see it all the time. Sinners plead and beg that there was some alternative factor that made their actions seem worse than it was. As if it was them that were the victim in all of it. Pitiful really. On them making such claims, that is. Not that they were in the situation to begin with. I really wish they would just take responsibility for their actions… but then I wouldn't enjoy my job so much…" John smiled to himself as he scratched his beard. "Anyway, you were saying?"
Jacob resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's ranting.
"Some of it didn't seem to add up to me. After the team retreated to the Humvees, they took cover and fired back. The vehicles were in drivable condition and they should have gotten in and drove away. But instead, they run into the village where they are outgunned and outnumbered. What kind of trained tactical unit would do that? I don't even think you see dumb shit like that in the movies. And hell-while we're at it-the first rules they teach you when you leave the fence is that you don't stop your convoys for anything that's not scheduled. No one in their right mind would stop for some broad waving down the military."
The remnants of John's good mood was beginning to disappear the more Jacob talked. Despite him succeeding in gaining a confession, Jacob did make some valid points to the plot holes.
If Avery's sin was wrath, which he now believed to be true, then did it really matter what led to her practicing it? Well, he supposed it did, but ultimately, his job was to have people atone. He felt like he reached that goal in the end, even if he only used a half-baked story.
But given Jacob's argument, it meant that John needed to see the outcome play out for himself. If the deputy was still resilient, then he would add the pressure to get the story she had. Keeping the wound opened would still provide the goal of her submission, so there wasn't much of a downside to it. In fact, he may be able to get more enjoyment from dragging it out longer.
"Regardless if it was true or not, I think it was enough to break her spirit."
"There you go getting ahead of yourself again. I'm telling you it's too early to tell," the soldier warned.
Before either could continue, a scream shattered the stale air from the floor above. Not high pitched as fear would cause, but raw, full of agony, frustration, and defeat. It lasted for a few seconds, tapering off into a haunted silence.
Both men looked towards the stairway as the eerie quiet swallowed them. At the end of the hall, the two followers had stopped in their tracks before briskly rushing away, disappearing into a separate hall: away from the unnerving source of the scream and Seed brothers.
"Like a powder keg rigged to blow…," John smiled arrogantly and returned his attention to his brother. "Sounds like a broken spirit to me."
Jacob raised a brow with a small smirk forming.
"I'm not convinced yet," he replied calmly and pushed off the wall. He could see he was getting on John's nerves again, constantly arguing the fact that the confession didn't work.
"Maybe you shouldn't get ahead of yourself. You saw how she crumbled."
"… True. I could be completely wrong, and this may have been enough to convert her… But if it didn't, then you should know it will be my turn to take her."
Jacob watched the cocky gleam dim from his younger brother's features, replaced with a raised brow. "Oh?"
"It only makes sense. You just fired the largest ammo you could at her. If it doesn't work, it's onto my trials."
"Hm. Well, that won't be the case. You can keep hoping for that outcome though; I won't stop you." John teased, but there was no humor to his words.
Jacob decided to end the discussion there, not wanting to push John's patience further. He had things to take care of anyway.
"Let's hope that you're right then. I need to get going. Are you planning to report to Joseph about this or wait until you finish the punishment?"
John shrugged and lifted the file in his hand. "I will probably review her papers again before I report anything."
Not having anything else to say, Jacob turned and walked down the hall, tossing a wave over his shoulder. John watched for a moment longer before glancing back at the stairway.
The silence lingered with him as he thought over the events that had transpired. In the end, he came out on top, but there was truth in Jacob's caution. He wouldn't know just how Avery would come out of the confession. It was possible for her to become submissive and ready to finish her atonement. On the other hand, she could remain senseless like those rebel sinners running amok and resist him further.
Dwelling on it wouldn't give him answers, so he headed for his office to review the file and come up with any back-up plans incase Jacob was right. Even if he was, John had no desire to hand her over so willingly. Faith had substantial more opportunities than he did. It wouldn't be right for him to only have a couple interactions when he was clearly making more progress in half the time.
After another minute of walking, John stopped and looked around. No one else was in the halls as it was late at night. Most of the followers that were awake at that time were guarding prisoners and patrolling the compound. The rest were tucked away, sleeping in their bunks.
Remembering that Avery had already escaped once that evening, he decided to stay close by, rather than in his office. Turning around, he made his way back down the hall to a small breakroom situated closer to her stairwell. John wasn't concerned enough to station a guard at her door, but he didn't like the idea of not being near if something were to happen.
Reaching the breakroom, the Baptist opened the door to reveal one man sitting on the couch, sipping coffee. Seeing the Herald enter, the man jumped to his feet and stuttered out a greeting.
"What are you doing here? Are you part of the night shift?" John queried from the doorway, eyeing the follower with a frown.
"Uh… no sir. I work the afternoon post but couldn't sleep. I came here to not disturb anyone."
John didn't move for a moment, contemplating on whether the company would be unwelcomed or not. Finally, he stepped in and let the door close behind him.
"I have a task for you then. The stairway next to 12B, down the hall. Do you know which one I'm talking about?"
The man nodded.
"Go make sure no one comes down it until I'm finished here."
"Yes, sir." The man grabbed his cup of coffee from the end table and shuffled out the room.
John didn't spare the door another glance and went to the coffee pot to pour himself some. He grabbed from the mismatched set drying on the mat, this one a particular cheery yellow spotted mug with Garfield frowning on the front. The design seemed to clash between the fun spots and grumpy orange cat, but who was he to complain. It was just past midnight and he was too restless to critique the design flaws of an outdated coffee mug.
Taking a sip of the bitter coffee, he wrinkled his nose and opened the archaic fridge to see if there was any creamer. Unfortunately, the peggies didn't keep much stocked besides a few things labeled with names and Tupperware of leftovers. Seeing that the only creamer available was a hazelnut flavor, John shut the fridge and opted for the black coffee.
Plucking the file from the counter, he sauntered to the couch where he plopped down indignantly. A part of him wanted to go back and pick apart the deputy further, but patience was key. Leaving her alone in such a state would result in her doing the work for him. He just wouldn't get to find enjoyment in her tearing herself down.
"Is it a blessing or a curse, I wonder?" John muttered to himself as he flipped the pages to the mission reports.
It was only a few hours later when John was interrupted again as a follower barged into the room with the man guarding the stairs hot on his heels. John was lounging across the sofa, finally able to rest his eyes when they startled him with hurried reports of the Resistance coming to breakout their deputy.
John snarled at the news, but a cruel smile formed despite his irritation.
"So, they think they can storm the compound?"
"The radio channel had only caught the end of their comms, but it sounds like they will be heading this way within the hour. It could be a bluff, or we might have mistaken—"
"No," John interrupted while standing to his feet and grabbing the file. "Pastor Jerome got lucky the first time. He probably thinks he can break the deputy out again. Stupid fool... These sinners are dependent on the girl; I have no doubt that they're coming for her."
"What would you like us to do, Brother John?" the second man asked from the threshold. He stepped back as John walked through to the hall.
"Go collect Mason. I want a van prepared to take us to the ranch."
"Right, I will get a convoy set up," declared the first man. He began to jog down the hall to the stairway that would lead to the garage at ground level.
"That's not what I said," John snapped, causing that man to stop and look back apprehensively. John held up one finger to him. "One van. They will be expecting a procession."
"…Yes, sir."
The pulling on her bindings caused pain to flare up her arms. Grimacing, Avery lifted her head to see two peggies on either side cutting the last of the ties off.
There was a pain in the back of her throat which she assumed was from her screaming and crying before she fell asleep. She realized that she was still in the same room with a dim light overhead. Between the two men untying her, she could make out the opened steel door, empty wooden chair a few feet away, and the lone workbench. It all seemed like some horrid nightmare that swallowed her and wouldn't let her go, but the pain was enough to make her not question the reality of the situation.
"W-what's going on?" she managed in a hoarse voice as sleep slipped away from her.
More questions bombarded her tired mind as she attempted to get a grasp of the position found herself in. What time was it? How long had she been out? And where was John and Jacob?
"Shut it- were moving you." The older man gruffed and pulled her free arms back to her front. Once again, he began to zip tie them together at her wrists, not bothering to exercise care around her crusty wounds.
Bound. Freed. And bound again.
"Where? Why?"
"I said 'shut it.'" Standing straight, he pulled Avery to her feet where her knees buckled under the sudden weight. "For fuck's sake! Stand up!"
Avery clenched her teeth at his tone but managed to get her feet under her again, ignoring the pins and needles of her nerves waking up. The older man squeezed her upper arm, ignoring her grimace and nearly dragged her along after him. The entire time, he muttered under his breath about babysitting duty, and she resisted the urge to kick in his knee.
The second person, who grabbed her left arm, was a younger man, possibly in his thirties. He didn't seem to have much of an opinion on the subject as he walked quietly beside them out the room.
Descending the stairs resulted in a new challenge to Avery. With painful feelings returning to her legs and being manhandled by the two men, she found that maintaining her balance was a nonexistent wish. Exhaustion weighed on her bones and she could feel her thoughts being delayed like shotty electrics through static. The fatigued deputy was grateful to finally make it to the lower level only to find minutes later, that she had more stairs; this time ascending to a new level.
Whatever sort of maze the bunker was, she hated the contractor who built a ridiculous concept.
By the time her mind sorted through the twinging ache, waking up, and what was happening, she realized she should have been paying more attention. It was the perfect opportunity to build a mental map of the bunker as she was dragged along the routes by those that knew the layout. But with her shit luck, she had only thought about it after four hallways and three flights of stairs. She couldn't even recall if they were left or right turns, nor how many paces were between each intersection of the maze.
Fucked that one up good.
It didn't take much longer until she was led to a new door with a red EXIT sign mounted above it. The white paint was chipped from the edges of the steel door and rusty splotches infected the metal. Avery's breath hitched as she realized that they were heading outside.
She felt underprepared suddenly but tried to brace herself enough to make an escape. The feeling had returned to her legs by this point and the ache was something that she pushed to the back of her mind. Avery wasn't sure how many peggies would be outside, guarding their posts, but she didn't have time to think of that. It was a spur of the moment plan, and she would have to make the best of it.
The older man stepped in front of her, keeping a grip on her upper left arm as he pushed the door open. The crisp fresh air hit her lungs and stung her throat, but she ignored it. The time was now to make her move.
As the door shut behind her with the younger man in tow, her eyes landed on a white van less than 10 feet from the door with the back doors swung open, waiting. Just as she was about to kick the older man's knee in, John stepped out of the van with a triumphant smile, arms wide as if welcoming her to an embrace.
Avery hesitated.
And that was all that the older man needed as he shoved her in the back past John. Her left shoulder and hip caught her weight on the cold metal floor and Avery clenched her eyes shut against the splitting agony. She could feel the laceration tear open and blood leak from her sliced flesh.
"No need to be so rough," John weakly chided the older man. "She's been through a lot this evening."
"Sorry, boss," he replied while climbing in after her and taking a seat along the wall.
Avery tossed a glare at him and got to her knees. She knew there wasn't an ounce of sincerity in his apology.
Her gaze dropped to his knees once more as she moved to sit on the bench across from him. Oh, how much she wanted to kick it in at that moment. The poor sap had become her target for violence in the evening, an outlet for her swirling emotions that still raged under her skin. He just better hope she didn't get an opportunity to lash out.
"No! Sit down on the floor," the older man barked and pulled her wrists down towards the center of the van. The movement caused her to land ungracefully on the deck of the vehicle, knees slamming against metal, and away from the seat she tried to occupy.
"Fuck off! I'm not an animal," she snapped and jerked her bindings away from him despite the pain it caused up her arms. The urge to strike out at the stranger was becoming harder to resist.
"No, dear. You aren't, but you also won't be sitting in these seats either," John explained calmly as he climbed in the back of the van and sat on the bench she tried to use.
His presence was enough to sober her thoughts. Now he knew who she was and what she had done. She felt exposed.
"You like to escape, so it only makes sense that you sit on the floor. That way, we'll see what you try to do before you can actually do it."
"I was just trying to be comfortable," she defended as two more peggies stepped in the back and shut the doors before sitting across from her and John. "Didn't think that was a crime."
"Hm, that's not a crime. But I know you aren't going to pass up an opportunity if you see one."
Despite the Baptist seeing right through her, she couldn't keep a scathing smirk from forming. Her eyes locked onto the older man who glared back. "Can't blame a girl for trying."
"No," John commented, pulling her chin around to face him. It was clear that he sensed the building tension between his follower and deputy. "But you should learn when to quit. Time and place for everything. Isn't that right? Now is neither, so sit back and relax."
"Where are we going?" she asked as he dropped his hand away. The deputy didn't want to admit it, but she was certain that it wouldn't have mattered if she tried to escape or not. She was tired, hurt, hungry, thirsty, and just wanted to sleep. Even her cheeks and jaw hurt from clenching the hours before, trying to keep herself from crying. She was not in any shape to fight for her freedom.
The memories of the previous events began to return along with the photos of her deceased team. Tears quickly followed and she angrily blinked them away and tried to focus on the tenants of the van. The others didn't seem to care about her attention on them as they watched her expectantly, waiting for her to try something.
Good. They should be worried. She found pleasure in unnerving them even though she had no intention of making an escape attempt. John was right. There was a time and place, and her condition deemed that it was neither at that time. Either way, it served more as distraction for her.
"We, my dear, are going home."
"Home?" Avery echoed. Did that mean his ranch?
"It's really a nice place. Big, open floor plan. Vaulted ceilings. I'm sure you will love it."
"Hm. I usually go for small, uncomfortable, confined areas. I was just getting used to being restrained all the time," she contradicted sarcastically.
John chuckled. "Oh, I have one of those rooms too. Just didn't think you would be interested in that sort of thing. I'm pleasantly surprised you like to be restrained."
Avery glanced over her shoulder and was met with a lecherous grin. It was different than the usual contempt or fascination he looked at her with, and she felt something settle in her stomach, causing her to blush. She looked away but she was certain he saw his effect on her. For a fleeting moment, she considered correcting him on her sarcasm, but decided against it for fear of further embarrassment.
The van lurched forward, and she realized they were now leaving the bunker. As they pulled from the lights of the garage, the cab of the van was engulfed in shadows. The lit dashboard glowed somberly from the front and the natural light that lingered in the sky was enough to illuminate the floor where she sat. Avery had to admit, they were smart in keeping her on the ground of the vehicle to counter any movement she made.
For the first five minutes or so, she tried to count seconds between turns, how many hills they crossed and openings in the tree line from the front window. Shortly after, she gave up. She didn't know how long the trip would be and counting was only making her drowsy. Not to mention, she only had what she guessed, an hour or two of sleep since the whole ordeal.
The ride through the valley was quiet. Neither John nor the others spoke much besides a few comments here and there. She was grateful the Baptist didn't use this time to discuss her confession with her in front of an audience. The fragile girl didn't know if she could manage through that without collapsing on her faux bravado.
After a little while longer, it got to the point where the deputy was drifting off until she would jerk herself awake. The process repeated itself until she finally couldn't fight the sleep any longer and rested her head against the bench. Once the others were certain she wouldn't wake back up, one of the followers spoke to John.
"She… Is she going to reach atonement?"
John shifted his gaze to the man, slipping into the respectful Baptist role. "Everyone deserves the opportunity."
"She has confessed Pride…" He dropped his gaze to her bound arm with the grisly writing. "Will… What will happen to her?"
"She is no different than you or anyone else. Everyone has sinned. If she atones, she will be forgiven. Do not pass judgement because she has opposed you at one point or another."
The older man scoffed, drawing the sharp gaze from the Baptist. He quickly covered it with clearing his throat and shifted in his seat anxiously. "S-sorry, Brother John. I didn't mean anything by it."
John offered a reassuring smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I understand you have animosity towards her, but do not hold onto that grudge. It will bring you to repeat your own sins. If she atones, she will become your sister and you will accept her into the Project."
"… Yes, sir."
The van bowed around a turn in the road, causing Avery's head to lull to the side where she rested on John's knee. The older man leaned forward to move her off but stopped when John raised a hand.
"It's fine. Let her rest."
The follower nodded and sat back in the seat.
"When we get to the ranch, give me a few minutes before you bring her in. I need to set the study set up prior."
Pastor Jerome peered through the binoculars as the lone van drove down the road. Next to him, Grace followed the driver with her rifle scope.
"Well?" she whispered as the vehicle grew closer.
"It's only one van. A driver and a passenger, but I can't see if there's others in the back."
"So, what's the plan?"
"If John was with them, there would be escort vehicles. He always has an entourage. This isn't our target, but… They must be leaving somewhere, meaning the compound is nearby." He shifted to a crouched position and looked towards the direction the van came from. The glow of lights was visible from the top of the hill and he pointed towards it. "It's got to be over there."
Grace glanced at the hill he pointed to, then back through the world in her scope. The van continued closer at a steady pace, not too rushed, but not lazily either. "Are you sure we don't want to check all outbound vehicles?"
"No. It may give the peggies a chance to send a distress call."
"Alright." Grace moved to a crouch position next to him and they waited until the van passed their location. Once the headlights floated over the area, leaving them in darkness, they retreated to the others and directed them to the new location.
When Avery awoke for the third time that night, it was the most unpleasant so far. The doors to the van opened and the older man dragged her across the steel floor of the vehicle. Her neck now had a sharp pain to it and the agony in her arms flared to life, ending any doziness she had left over.
"Get'er ass out! We're here."
Her feet hit the ground and the quieter man appeared at her side to brace left arm. No sooner did he grab her elbow did the other man start pulling her ahead toward a cabin she barely noticed through the manhandling.
"Fucking brute, slow down," she bit out as she stumbled after him. She heard the gentler man take a sharp intake of breath just as the older man spun on her.
"Shut the fuck up! I know what you are," he snarled. Spit peppered her cheek, but she had the sense to stay quiet at his outburst. "You're nothing but a murderer hiding behind a pretty face. You don't deserve redemption. You should be killed."
His words were harsh and left her wondering where the sudden ferocity came from. She'd be lying if she said it didn't hurt her already battered emotions. Did she really generate so much hatred in others?
When he spun around, she smothered her opinions while being hauled into the ranch house.
They led her to a large room where a fireplace slumbered in darkness, and two russet leathered couches lined the edges of a vibrant rug. Situated to the right of the couches was a mahogany desk where John stood with a tattoo gun in hand.
Avery felt panic return, but her feet didn't obey as she was yanked to the desk and shoved back against it. Her height didn't lend any dignity to her as her feet dangled above the wooden floor. The brute stepped to the side, still holding her shoulder and bicep while the other man gripped her elbow, trying to avoid the gash in her arm. Her hands were still bound in front of her and the action of pinning her to the desktop locked her wrists against her stomach.
Reassured that the girl was restrained, John centered between her legs with the gun still in hand. Avery abruptly felt exposed and uncomfortable at the position.
"Yes, you know what's about to happen," he smiled while pulling her torn shirt down to reveal her chest. "And it will hurt."
Before she could prepare herself, the needle gnawed at her pale flesh. Gritting her teeth, she tried to escape the tearing feeling and escape into her mind in hopes to dull the agony being inflicted. For a short time, it was manageable until the needles pounded into the thin tissue of her collarbone; where nerves huddled between skin and bone.
The hot pain ignited a cry from her lips, and she jerked impulsively from the younger man's grasp.
Immediately, John's hand found her throat and thrust her back against the desk.
"Hold still! If you make me mess up, I'll just find another location to write your sin. I have all night and you have a lot of places I can try."
Avery swallowed, not liking the prospect of what he promised.
His frustrated gaze turned to the man who looked timid at letting her get away so easily. "Do your fucking job and hold her still!"
"S-sorry."
Only after the man gripped her elbow and shoulder did John release his hold on her throat. The brute glared at the younger follower and Avery could feel his own grasp tighten.
"Thank you," John exasperated sarcastically. He flipped the switch back on and the hum of the gun returned followed by the hot discomfort.
Avery gritted her teeth and clenched her fists into the fabric of John's shirt, but he didn't seem to notice. As the minutes ticked by slowly, she was beginning to think there wouldn't be an end. It wouldn't have been a surprise if John was purposely dragging it out to torture her further. When the hum finally did stop, she let out a tight breath that she had been holding.
Avery pried her fingers from the front of John's shirt while he handed the tattoo gun to the quiet follower. The older man mumbled a question that didn't reach her ears, but she noted how John waved him off and the brute left all too willingly.
The Baptist eyed his work appreciably and the exposed feeling washed over her once more. The ache in her chest and dribble of blood barely registered against the reticent feelings.
Now that she was no longer restrained to the desk, she debated between sitting up or staying where she was. Hating the current feeling of vulnerability, the woman sat up only to regret it when realizing John was a mere foot away. She tried to hide her discomfort at their proximity while he stared at her, clearly pleased with himself.
Just take a step back. I just want space, she pleaded in her mind.
In her peripheral, she saw the other man disassembling the machine and wrapping the chords up. He didn't seem to notice the dilemma she was in, but at least he stuck around.
"Are you hungry or thirsty?" John asked while lifting a hand to the freshest wound. Warm fingers grazed the tender flesh and Avery pulled her shoulder away from him.
What she really wanted was sleep. The night sky was still prime, and she felt entirely drained. But if John was going to keep her awake, she might as well make the best of it.
"I… I would like something to drink."
"What would you like?"
"… What do you have?" she asked, feeling the normalcy of the conversation stranger than their usual repartee.
"Shawn, what do we have right now?" John asked the man, though his attention remained on Avery.
The follower paused in organizing the machine. "We have tea, coffee, water, juice… Whiskey, if you want stronger stuff."
"I'll have tea." Her throat could use something soothing.
The man, Shawn, addressed John again. "What sort of tea? We have grey, green, cranberry apple, and black."
"Which kind of tea would you like, dear?" John echoed self-contentedly.
Avery was fully aware of the little game she was in. John was playing the medium between to two, forcing her to communicate with him civilly. Avery felt herself bristle, realizing that even asking for tea was shadowed by John's control. Instead of answering, she addressed Shawn directly. "Green tea is fine."
Shawn looked expectantly to John who nodded. Taking the unspoken order, the man turned to leave the room.
"Take your time in preparing I," John added. "Avery will need a shower first. Go fetch Whitney."
The man quickly left the room, leaving Avery alone with John. Neither said anything right away. Instead, he analyzed her where she perched, and she tried to stare at a spot on his newly wrinkled shirt.
"You haven't even glanced at your sin," he observed.
"I don't need to."
"And why is that? It is our little masterpiece. You should take some interest in it."
"Ours?" She finally met his eyes. "This isn't ours. This is your sadistic ploy to make people hate themselves."
"Oh, please. You committed those sins all on your own. Don't act like it's my fault for your own judgments. Take responsibility for your actions."
Avery opened her mouth to retort but nothing came out. She didn't know what to say to him or how to justify her argument. He was correct in the end. The only person to blame was herself.
Seconds later, the doors to the study opened to reveal a tall woman with a rifle slung over her shoulder.
"Shawn said you called, Brother John." She finished it with a charming smile.
"Ah. Will you be so kind and take our guest to the bathroom? She needs to wash up."
"…Of course," the woman forced out with her smile tightening and shrinking. After glancing at the deputy, her rifle shifted to rest in her arms. It was painfully obvious that she expected a different chore than escorting Avery. "Come on, girl. Up we go."
John took a step back and offered a hand to help Avery off the desk, but she ignored the gesture and set her feet on the ground. She only made it two steps past him when he gripped her arm tightly.
Avery's breath hitched as the Baptist smiled through a glare. "Try to behave yourself, Avery. Wouldn't want to make a night of this, would we."
A knife appeared in his free hand, and Avery could see the glint of steel from the corner of her eye. But she refused to split her attention from his. In one quick motion, his knife cut the zip tie around her wrists. They stared for a few seconds longer before he released his hold and she left out the room where she felt his eyes lingering.
The walk up the stairs was silent, until the two women reached a door. Whitney ordered her to stay still while she cracked it open and pulled a folded towel from the shelf. Avery didn't get much warning but managed to catch it, only after it hit her face. Not taking much notice, Whitney shoved her forward with the barrel down the hall until they reached another door.
"Here." Whitney motioned with the muzzle of the rifle and glared at the deputy down her nose. "You do need a fucking shower. You reek."
"Hm? I hadn't noticed. Been so busy this evening," Avery feigned politeness. It seemed to aggravate the other woman more.
"Just hurry up. I hate babysitting."
The deputy resisted any remarks and went into the bathroom.
"That's the second or third time I've been reduced to a babysitting subject in 24 hours," she muttered to herself.
Avery spared a quick glimpse at the mirror and saw the dirt, blood, and tear streaks on her face. There was still a twig and couple of pine needles tangled in her hair from when she tried to rescue the hostages the day prior. "Seems like a lifetime ago."
It took a few tries to figure out the temperature dials in the shower but when she did, Avery quickly stepped in, knowing the discomfort that awaited her. The water stung the swollen flesh and she could see bruises throughout beginning to blossom. Along the ledge of the tub was a variety of shampoo and conditioners to choose from.
How many people used the bathroom? Was it a select few that John approved of? She doubted that he would let all of them use his ranch house.
Grabbing the most appealing set, she made quick work to wash her hair and rinse off, hating how the soap added to her soreness. Once she was finished, she turned off the water, stepped out, and wrapped the towel around her. Almost on cue, a knock on the door startled her.
"Er… miss? I have some clothes for you…"
The voice was a softer timbre than Whitney's, which caused Avery to furrow her brows. Tightening the towel around her aching frame, Avery cracked open the door and peeked out.
A blonde woman, close to her height, stood next to Whitney with folded clothes in hand. She offered them through the door, which Avery took, and shuffled back down the hall.
"Hurry up and get dressed," Whitney demanded and pulled the door shut.
Avery huffed at the rude woman but did as she was told.
At least the borrowed shirt didn't have the Project's cross embellished on it. The thought never really crossed her mind that the followers would have regular clothes, but she supposed it made sense. The cross was more like a uniform than a brand of loyalty that they must wear non-stop. Surely, they had free time to not guard or shoot rebels, which would let them wear normal clothes… Or maybe she was just thinking about it too much.
Avery finished dressing, keeping her own blood speckled bra as the other was too small for her. She did her best to brush her hair and set it in a braid while avoiding eye contact with her reflection. She didn't want to see the results the confessions had left her with, marred skin included. The laceration on her left bicep was still bleeding, as well as her chest. Thankfully, 'Pride' was scabbed over, but still puckered and angry.
Stepping out the door, Whitney pointed down the hall and Avery led the way back to the staircase and to the main room. No sooner did she step inside did Whitney shut the door behind her.
Just couldn't get away from me fast enough, she pondered dryly with a glare aimed at the door.
Turning back, she was greeted with a warm glow from the fireplace and John settled on the couch facing the door; his focus was on finding something inside a medical bag. Without looking at her, he instructed her to sit down while he continued his search. Not having the energy to argue, Avery complied and took a seat across from him.
Strewn about the coffee table between them were neat rows of medical supplies such as bandages and ointment.
After a moment of silence between them, John found what he was searching for and pushed his bag away. "Feel better after your shower?"
"I felt better before going to your hostage convoy," she retorted sardonically.
John only chuckled at her bitterness. "Your consciousness will feel better for confessing your sins. It won't be immediate, but after your physical pain has subsided, you will see."
Psh, I doubt it.
Walking over to her side of the couch, he motioned to her shirt. "Lift your sleeve."
Avery did as she was told despite holding a healthy amount of suspicion. A few diluted blood streaks strayed down towards her elbow, where John hurriedly wiped it off before they could land on his couch.
"Still bleeding, I see. Didn't take you for a bleeder." He seated himself on the coffee table in front of her.
"I don't even know what that means."
John didn't offer an explanation while he procured a syringe from behind him and aimed it at her arm. Awareness hit Avery's nerves abruptly and she recoiled from the needle.
"Settle down! I'm just going to numb the area."
"Yeah right! That could be Bliss-Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to inject me with it!"
John rolled his eyes. "First off, that's Faith's tool. Not mine. Personally, I'm against using the drug."
"You've used Bliss bullets before."
"Only for unruly deputies," he smiled disarmingly. When she didn't say anything, he continued. "Your arm needs stitches. If you want to do it without the numbing agent, then I will accommodate you. You're choice."
It wasn't a secret that she didn't trust him. There was a chance that the Baptist was bluffing, although she figured the idea was silly. He had plenty of opportunities to inject her with it if he really wanted to. Then again, wouldn't it be much funnier for her to agree to it willingly out of blind faith that he wasn't bluffing?
'Sure, I'll take the numbing agent.' Stab. 'Oh, no! You tricked me! Now I'm high as a fucking kite. Oh, woe is me.' All while John laughs himself to tears at my expense.
Her eyes drifted to the clear liquid of the needle, not a milky substance like she expected. Could they alter the visual of liquid bliss? The one the Marshal tried to use on her certainly looked different. But did it really matter at this point? Avery wasn't keen to experience more pain that evening if she didn't have to. And if it was Bliss, then she wouldn't have to sit through the night communicating with John.
The risk was worth it.
"Fine, I'll take it."
He didn't say anything as he injected the red skin around the wound, fully aware of her watching him intensely.
"If you would have behaved," he started while setting the syringe behind him, "and not tried to escape, then you wouldn't have gotten injured in the first place."
"Yeah, and if you had a real knife in that bag, then I would have gotten Jacob first."
John laughed at her quip, startling her slightly. She hadn't expected him to find that funny. "There was a fillet knife in the bag. Last I checked, that was longer than the scalpel."
"Too thin and flimsy. Probably would have only bent." Especially, with Jacob's muscles, she mused bitterly.
"Well, beggars can't be choosers."
John prodded around her laceration while she watched. By the lack of flinching, he could see that the numbing agent was working. "See? Trust me a little, dear."
With practiced fingers, he picked up the threaded suture needle and wiped her wound with an alcohol pad. Satisfied, he set to work on stitching up the injury. Avery sat quietly, letting him concentrate.
Minutes later, he finished and moved on to clean her 'Pride' mark.
"Do all of the people who confess get doctored afterwards?"
"Only those who don't resist…. I, personally, don't do it though. I guess that means you should feel special."
Avery ignored him. Clearly, he wasn't going to give information out so freely. The silence that surrounded them was not uncomfortable to her, but her mind was restless. In the end, curiosity got the better of her and she broke the quiet.
"What happens to those that resist your confessions? Do you not clean their carvings?"
"That is where the fillet knife comes in." The smirk he wore previously turned to a Cheshire like grin.
She decided she didn't want to know what he meant and changed the subject.
"Where is Joey?"
"At the bunker I suppose."
"You suppose?" What does that mean?"
"Well unless she adopted your Houdini tricks and escaped, then she should still be in her cell. But she hasn't been successful thus far, so I'm not worried about it." He danced away from the subject like the waltz. Elegant and smooth, knowing she wouldn't see the ripple hiding the fact that the rebels were looking to save Avery.
Remembering the distraught teammate, Avery could feel the animosity at the man in front of her return. "What did you do to Joey?"
"Nothing that you should worry yourself over."
"You said that those that resist confession don't get taken care of. She had been in your care for weeks. I know you don't have any care for her well-being, but I do. If you had done anything worse than what you put me through—"
"I haven't used any of those tools on her, if that's what you were expecting."
Silence.
"I'm not sure what to expect from you."
The smirk that formed was one that told her she was right to think that.
Before the discussion could continue, the door behind them opened to reveal Shawn walking in with a tray. He strolled around the couch and set the tray next to John on the coffee table.
"Is there anything else, sir?"
"Here," John handed the man the needle and bloody gauze pads. "Dispose of these."
"Er," Shawn wrinkled his nose in disgust but took the items and left the room.
"That's gross," Avery commented.
John scoffed while handing her a blue mug of what she could see was tea. "Don't be dramatic. You're not one to be squeamish."
"Yeah? And how would you know?" she questioned with furrowed brows. "Besides, I was referring to him. No one wants to be handed bloody bandages."
"Do you always make it a habit to worry about other people?"
"Do you always make it a habit of tormenting them?"
John shrugged innocently. Bringing the mug to his lips, he replied, "If the urge takes me."
Avery sipped her own brew, watching him warily as she did so. The heated liquid soothed her scratchy throat and warmed her from the inside. It was the first relieving thing she had all night.
"It's funny that you would trust the tea wouldn't be laced," came John's unwelcomed comment.
Avery blinked and looked to the contents of the mug. There was a swell of panic in her chest at the possibility. "Is it?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
Avery's eyes darted to his own, but only mirth reflected. "…It's not. You're just teasing me." She hoped.
A chuckle answered her. "Guilty."
Avery wanted to spout off a few insults, but the relief was too strong.
"Let's finish cleaning you up," he concluded while setting his mug down. Scooting closer, he picked up more alcohol wipes and reached for her shoulder where 'Wrath' was engraved.
Avery flinched away, her guard rapidly shooting up between them like an impenetrable wall.
"Don't! I can clean it myself."
"It's not the time to be bashful. I'm only cleaning the wound-"
"I said no," she stated firmly.
The mirth in John's eyes was replaced by familiar disdain and the change seemed to cast a darker shadow over him. But Avery was unmoving. She played along with his games and obeyed his commands. Now it was his turn.
"I will back off…. On one condition."
Avery didn't like the sound of that. She didn't like the instant change in his demeanor either. Like the Devil was looking at her now rather than a playful sadist. But her shame and fear over the sin on her chest was something she was not ready to deal with; emotionally or physically. There was not a doubt in her mind that if he started to clean the wound, he would bring up the topic again to discuss.
She couldn't do it. The faces were etched freshly in her mind like the carvings in her skin.
Best to forget what she could in that moment then drag her fragile mind through it again. She wouldn't—couldn't break down in front of him as she did in her cell.
"O-ok… What condition?"
"Tell me exactly what Jacob said to you."
Thank you for the wonderful reviews and critiques!
I am taking your words to heart and working to improve in each chapter. Hopefully, John's character isn't too out of the norm in this section. He is extreme in most cases and patient in his propaganda. Between those two sides is a complex individual that does make it a little difficult to really nail.
Hope you enjoyed!