Rebekah pressed her eye against the crack of the barn door. She could see them; Amos and the rest were staring expressionlessly at the barn, but Isaac was watching the window with a contained desperation.
"Rebekah!" he called again, and she was pleased to hear a note of panic in his voice. Rebekah placed her mouth next to the crack.
"Go away, Isaac." She sounded calm, and that gave her some confidence. Isaac's dark eyes shifted rapidly from the window to the door.
"Rebekah," he whispered, mostly to himself, and moved closer. "Come out of there. The Lord commands it. He is displeased with this Betrayal of His ways."
"Betrayal?" Rebekah echoed sarcastically, voice rising. "I don't think I was the one who started all this, Isaac!" The boy's face twitched worriedly.
"I--" Malachai stepped in front of Isaac, brandishing his knife.
"The Lord commands it," Malachai said roughly. "Come out of there. Or--" He looked to Isaac, prompting him. Isaac nodded and stepped around the redhead carefully.
"We do not want blood to be shed, Rebekah. But if it is the only way, then it will be so." He raised the flaming torch for emphasis. "Come out." Rebekah's throat tightened.
"Is that a threat, Isaac?" she murmured through the crack. He stared at what he could see of her.
"Come out of the barn, Rebekah. You can leave the children inside. They can lock the door after you're out. Better to leave them alone for a few minutes than to let them die for something they don't understand." Rebekah glared at him hatefully. He'd do it, and she knew it, too.
"Isaac," she growled. His mouth twitched nervously again, but he raised a pale hand.
"Bring me the gasoline." She could hear the children shifting worriedly behind her. They weren't part of this. They didn't deserve to burn.
"Isaac, don't," Rebekah said quickly, and turned to Jedediah. "Throw me the key." A ripple of sound went through the children, part relief and part astonishment.
"Becky!" Micah had finally spoken; he got to his feet clumsily and stumbled towards her. "You can't!" Jedediah tossed the key reluctantly at Rebekah, who caught it.
"I have to, Micah," she murmured, and swallowed. "They have fire. They could burn the whole place down. I'm not going to be selfish and cost you your lives." The little boy threw his arms around her.
"He hurt you before," he cried, "and he could do it again!" Rebekah felt a rush of sudden, hot tears. She hugged Micah back hard, pressing a kiss into his hair.
"I love you, Nathan." Micah let out a quiet sob.
"I love you too, Bec-- Ellie," he whimpered. Rebekah pulled back and smiled reassuringly at the children.
"I'll be fine," she said in what she hoped was a casual voice. Rebekah walked towards the door and put the key in the lock. "I'm coming out, Isaac," she yelled. "Give me a second."
"Ellie," Micah sniffled.
"Lock the door as soon as I'm out." She turned the key and the padlock made a soft click, releasing the handles. Rebekah handed both the key and the lock to Mordechai, who looked up at her with surprised eyes. "You're the next oldest," she said softly. "You're in charge until I get back."
"Yes, Rebekah," he said quietly. She flashed another reassuring smile to the group of silent, wide-eyed children.
"I'll be fine," she repeated, and put her hand on the door.
"Be careful, Ellie," Micah whispered. Rebekah paused.
"I will." She gave the door a push. "I promise."
Isaac drew in his breath sharply as Rebekah stepped out of the barn. She looked so beautiful -- her hair, the color of tarnished gold, flowed behind her freely, and her pale blue eyes were glinting in the light cast by the torch. She almost seemed to float. Then the door behind her swung loudly shut, and Isaac's thoughts were broken.
"What do you want, Isaac?" Rebekah asked in tones of ice. The coldness of her voice made him wince, but he stepped closer and lowered the torch.
"Leave us," Isaac murmured to Amos, handing him the flaming stick. "I will call for you if I need to." The boys shifted.
"But, Isaac--"
"I said leave us!" He whirled and glared at them. Slowly, reluctantly, Amos and the others slunk off. Malachai followed. Isaac turned back to Rebekah and motioned with a hand. "Behind the barn," he said softly, and they walked there in silence.
"I want you to make a point," she said stiffly when they stopped. "Make a point, Isaac, and make one quickly. Because I'm not going back to Gatlin -- none of us are -- and there's nothing you can do to change that." Isaac didn't respond at first; he stared at Rebekah for one long, agonizing moment, and finally reached towards her. She flinched, he noticed sadly, but he pressed his fingers against her cheek anyway. The scratches had begun to heal, but they were rough and sore-looking.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking the wounds with infinite care. "I'm so sorry." Rebekah's eyes hardened, but she didn't pull back.
"I believe that's what you were saying before this happened, wasn't it?" Isaac's dark brows met and twisted in distress.
"Please believe me." His fingers moved delicately over the scratches. It made Isaac's chest ache to see the pain he'd caused. That was how he'd shown his love for her. "Please believe me, I'd never want to hurt you." Rebekah's eyes flashed.
"Then why did you?" she snapped, and pulled her face out of reach. Isaac's heart twisted painfully.
"Don't hate me," he pleaded, feeling the tears welling up behind his eyes. He grasped for her hand, but Rebekah jerked away disgustedly. "Please don't hate me."
"It's a little late for that." She tucked her hands under her arms protectively. Isaac took a shaky breath and touched her shoulder lightly.
"Just listen." He knew he was begging, but he couldn't help it. All his gathered strength and courage had evaporated. "Please, just listen to me. I know I don't deserve for you to listen, but I'm asking you. Please."
Rebekah swallowed the contempt that was rising in her throat.
"Go on," she said hatefully. "Explain." Isaac put his other hand on her other shoulder; her throat tightened yet again.
"Rebekah, I-- I panicked," he murmured. "Please, the thought of losing you, it made me crazy--"
"Isaac, you never had me!" Rebekah shook her head hard, sending strands of tarnished gold flying around. "You can't lost what you never had!" Isaac's breath caught in his throat. After a moment, his chest hitched and he was able to breathe again.
"But-- but you kissed me--"
"No, Isaac," she said softly, shaking her head slowly this time. "You kissed me." The tears welled in his eyes and threatened to spill. There had been at least a trace of hope that she felt the same, but that trace was withering away.
"Don't," he whispered, removing his hands from her shoulders to seek out her own. His fingers pulled her hands from under her arms and laced with hers. "Don't, Rebekah. Please, let me tell you how I feel--"
"I don't want to hear it." Rebekah started to pull away. He had done this before and was obviously lying.
"Don't," he repeated in a hushed voice, but slowly let the grip on her fingers loosen. Rebekah paused. There was something in his voice that told her that this wasn't a hoax to get her to listen. Besides, he was crying -- she had only seen Isaac cry one other time, and that was in the cornfield. He hadn't known Rebekah was there at the time, so that wasn't a hoax either. She was a fool to believe him, but the pain in his eyes made her stay.
"I'm listening," she muttered. Isaac brightened a little. He held her hands tighter, but not harshly.
"Rebekah." His fingers stroked her knuckles lightly. "I-- I--" Isaac paused, unable to get the words out, and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss instead. Rebekah drew back after a moment.
"Spit it out, Isaac." His face fell a little. It was obviously not the reaction he had been hoping for, but she was trying to stay on track. She couldn't be distracted.
"I'm trying," he whispered, carressing her knuckles again. Isaac paused, then added softly, "I wish you'd just trust me." Rebekah scowled.
"I have no reason to trust you."
Isaac chewed his lower lip, still stroking her knuckles absently.
"Would you trust me," he said slowly, "if I told you the truth about something?" There was an uncertainty to his voice, and Rebekah noticed. But if it was the only way he could get another kiss from her, it would be his way.
"Told me the truth about what?" she asked cautiously. Isaac raised her hands to his lips and pressed them lightly to her knuckles.
"About Abraham." Her fingers clenched in his own; he hurried on. "He was not 19." Rebekah nodded slowly.
"I know," she murmured. "But he sacrificed himself willingly." Isaac averted his eyes. She noticed. "Didn't he?"
"Abraham did not sacrifice himself willingly." He knew he was taking a chance, but maybe the fact that he did take that chance would make her see. Isaac was grasping at every chance he saw. "I-- I ordered to have him sacrificed before the true Age." Rebekah's eyes widened.
"You... what?" He saw the look on her face and held her hands tighter. He almost immediately thought that telling her was a mistake.
"The Lord asked for him," Isaac lied quickly. "He requested Abraham specifically. I don't know why--"
"You-- but you--" Rebekah started to struggle. He made a soft sound of worry and kissed her hands lightly.
"Please don't be angry," he said hurriedly. "Please, it was the Lord's wish, not mine!" She stopped moving and squinted coldly at Isaac.
"Are you lying?" Rebekah jerked her hands a little; he panicked and tightened his grip. "Because if you're lying to me, Isaac--"
"No. No, I'm not lying." He kissed her knuckles for the third time. "Don't be angry. Please."
Rebekah was angry. But it was a confused kind of anger -- twisted and warped until she wasn't even sure it was anger. Abraham had gone willingly, however; Isaac said he hadn't suggested the fact, but she had seen him the day of the sacrifice. He was ready and willing to go. Either way, she was upset and done talking for the night.
"I'm going inside, Isaac," she murmured. He didn't release her hands.
"No," Isaac whispered. "Please, don't go. You don't even give me a chance--"
"What chance?" Rebekah pulled one hand out of his grip. "A chance for what? Isaac, I'm tired. I'm ready to sleep. The children are all alone--"
"And so am I." He held her other hand in his and kissed a fingertip lightly. "Please, Rebekah. I beg of you. Don't go." A quick chill slithered through her. Rebekah pulled her hand away.
"Maybe," she said slowly, "if you start letting me go when I'm ready, I won't dread our next meeting so much." Isaac's face fell. He reached a hand towards her.
"Wait, please--"
"Goodnight, Isaac." Rebekah headed back to the barn. Isaac's hand fell on her shoulder -- and it wasn't quite gentle.
"You didn't let me finish," he said quietly.
"I'm going," Rebekah said in a tense voice. His fingers tightened around the fabric of her shirt.
"No," he whispered. "You're waiting." Rebekah somehow knew that Isaac's setting had gone from gentle to nonchalant -- and was heading towards violent.