Part II: Breached

~5~

Joseph stopped feeding me.

Thought things were going good. Compromise required communication, and meaningless grunts and gestures were a bit vague, so I talked. Not much, usually one word answers if I could get away with it, but the Father didn't seem to mind. Hadn't seemed to mind. And I thought he would be more open with me in turn. Maybe allow me out of the cuffs more often. Instead, everything went for shit.

I knew rationing was vital for our long-term survival, but two days? Without so much as a chip to silence my yowling guts? It was starting to hurt, the hunger. I wondered if my body consuming itself was considered cannibalism, and then I thought of Jacob and quickly stopped thinking of it at all.

If Joseph was trying to get me to beg, he was in for a long wait. But it was rough – I hadn't seen him for twelve hours when he suddenly peered through the window in the door. I was shocked to find myself relieved to see him; I'd thought something had happened to him out there, heart attack or brain aneurysm, something that would leave me with nothing to look forward to but a long, slow death. But, there he was, proving he was alive and well and being a dick again. The last time that door had been opened, Joseph had left a bucket and a tall glass of water. If he thought that was enough water to fill that bucket after I was done with it...

Turned out he was locking me in there for reasons that were his own. No bathroom runs, and nothing but willpower to stop me from chugging all that water in one go. The only mercy was that he'd left me cuffed by only one hand, allowing me to do my business in the bucket without making a mess. Not that there was much in me left to make a mess.

He was just staring at me again, through the door porthole. Observing the monkey in the cage. Well I wasn't about to put a show on for him. I might fling feces, but...

Then he was gone. I sighed, slumping back against the wall. I didn't noticed I'd sat up, perking expectantly. I had to be more careful.

From where I sat, I could clearly see the words gouged into the concrete wall opposite me.

The world is a diagonal
I am the balancing point

The hell did that even mean, Dutch?

I had read and reread it so many times it echoed in my head. I knew the unique shape of each letter, the angle of each line. I saw it even when I pulled my eyes away and took to staring at the pages coating the far walls. No matter how far I stretched myself to get closer (Joseph had bolted the bed to the floor since the last time I pulled it around) I still could not make out anything.

Joseph was rewriting the Word. He had to be. Didn't know how many versions were out there already. I burned Faith's personal copy after I went ape-shit on Joseph's statue (prime therapy, that) and no doubt he had some updates, some new bullshit to preach. I didn't understand how he managed it. I could barely finish reading a novel, let alone write one. Maybe he was just that bored of telling me how to live my life or jerking off or doing whatever it was he did when behind the curtain.

...Fuck, so hungry...

Ten months had gone by, according to Joseph. If the bombs hadn't hit, people would have been camping and fishing and enjoying the summer sun. Now, they would stay hunkered underground, for years.

He continued his little game of Guess When You'll Eat Again! The longest I went without so much as a raisin was two and a half days. I had lost a third of my weight, my stomach hurt non-stop and I was seriously considering chewing off my own hand, breaking down the door and raiding the kitchen. And if Joseph got in my way...

I often daydreamed escaping and strangling the Father as he slept, or bashing his skull in, or ramming a can of pineapple down his throat. These were nothing like the pranks I'd thought about dealing to school teachers, where deep down I never actually wanted to put thumbtacks on their chairs. I was genuinely raring for a chance to hurt Joseph, because he was doing this to me, making me into an animal.

It was Jacob's classical conditioning all over again. Joseph might not be playing music to turn me into a raging lunatic whenever The Platters opened their mouths, but I was still thinking dark thoughts, my dreams filled with blood, of running through the woods with my teeth bared, hunting...

I was biting my hand again. I didn't have to wipe it off when I pulled it away from my mouth – no spit left.

Bloody Jesus, Joseph, please.

I glared at the cuff binding me by one hand to the bed. My molars still ached from my efforts to gnaw through the chain.

Seemed an age since I slapped cuffs on the Father, ignored the warning bells in my head, defied the look he gave me and disregarded his advice on walking away... He escaped them, somehow, while we were all upside down in the grounded helicopter. And then, we had him a second time, Sheriff Whitehorse handcuffing him again when I should have just blasted his brains out, but he slipped out of those restrains, too. Right after I crashed the truck into a tree. Fucking déjà vu.

I didn't believe in fate. I believed in choice and consequence and coincidence and chance. But that...that...

I had to arrest Joseph Seed. He was the biggest cockroach of the infestation and needed to be dealt with. He murdered his own infant daughter, for fuck sake. It was sheer dumb luck he'd gotten away. And now I was the one in Whitehorse's cuffs, and had been given no chance to slip out of them. Talk about a bucket of ice cold irony.

Tedious and seemingly hopeless though it was, I began to do what I'd been doing since Joseph started starving me – rocking the cuff hooked around the bed bar, wearing at both, bit by minuscule bit. I'd probably make more progress chipping an escape tunnel with my teeth, but the focus was imperative for my mental health. I only had to make sure Joseph never caught me doing it.

The world is a diagonal
I am the balancing point

I blinked as the image of the words flashed in my mind's eye, like that dark blotch seen after glancing at the sun. I kept working at the cuff.

My head was light. Dehydration. I wiped sweat off my cheek with my shoulder and kept working.

An hour went by. Two. My eyelids drooped. The soft scraping sound was all I heard. Not the rumbling in my guts, not the humming rattle of the ducts. Just the minute scratches of metal on metal. The cuffs were of carbon steel, coated in some shiny shit. The bed was also carbon steel. So they would wear evenly against each other, rather than one breaking down the other as I'd hoped. Jesus, it's hot in here...

John Seed had me in his clutches.

Tied to a chair, below the chandelier of antlers, the room awash in red. Meat hooks hung on chains from the ceiling. The stench of blood was thick enough to chew. In a chair across from me was a faceless figure, head hung low. They looked dead.

John was whistling 'Magic Moments.' He sauntered into view from somewhere behind me, pressing the tip of a knife into his palm and rotating it around and around. John turned towards me, smiling, the very image of a handsome prince. His eyes were like sapphires, gleaming and bright with anticipation as he leaned close. His breath smelled like plane exhaust.

"Miss me, Deputy?"

He chuckled, then turned away, to his bench of toys. I looked to the tied figure across from me. I wanted to cry out, whether for help or to see if the person was alive, I'm not sure. But as soon as I opened my mouth John was back, pressing pliers against my lips.

"Shhhh, shh-shh," he cooed, "none of that now."

Suddenly duct tape was plastered across my mouth. Angry grunts were all I could emit as John returned to the table and began picking up tools at random. Set on a tray nearby was a tattoo gun, ready to gouge my skin with whatever sin John tortured out of me.

But you already know my sin, I thought. Just let us go.

The figure in the chair opposite was no longer a blank mannequin. Though his face was covered in gore, his chest nothing but bloody pulp, I recognized Luke Lee, my friend and ally through many shitstorms. He stared at me, eyes cast in shadow.

"Could've told me what you were planning, Chief," he rasped. "I would've left your ass."

I tried to speak, but the tape muffled every word.

I'm sorry. I told you to wait. But you followed me anyway. You should have stayed away.

John sucked his teeth, picking up a knife and wandering over to Luke. He swaggered around him, stopping at his back. Oblivious to the predator lurking behind him, Luke continued to stare at me. He shouldn't be breathing – his chest looked like a tomato casserole.

"You should have done this," said John, left hand on Luke's right temple, the other bringing the knife to the opposite side of his head, at his jaw. "It would have been kinder."

I could only cry wordlessly in rage as John slit Luke's throat, slicing through artery and windpipe with one brisk slash. He let the hunter's head slump back, and he sucked air through the gash in his neck for a few seconds, twitching before finally falling still.

John returned to the table, wiping the blade clean with a Cougar flag.

"Anyone else?" he said softly, not looking at me.

My eyes whipped back unwillingly to the chair. Luke was gone. Someone else now sat there. Shaggy hair and beard, cameo uniform with the Whitetail crest, a compound bow broken at his feet. Eli Palmer raised his head. Blood oozed from a hole right in the middle of his brow.

"Hey, Dep. Remember me?"

"Mmph," was all I could say behind the duct tape, but my heart beat faster, nerves on fire.

"You did this to me. You put a bullet...right here." Eli pointed to his forehead. His eyes were coal under a heavy brow. "I trusted you."

"Nph mph phmm," I tried to say. "Nph mph phmm."

"Oh, it's your fault, all right," crooned another voice. Jacob Seed stepped out of the shadows. The red overhead light gave him the devil's face. "You convinced him to trust you. You pulled the trigger. Only yoooooou..."

Immediately my body was seized with tremors. I saw red, heard a rushing throb in my ears and felt a terrible hunger—

"Don't go." John's satin voice brought me back. He was very close, caressing my cheek, looking at me with all the kindness of a lover. "I'm not done with you."

His eyes left mine, trailing down to my neck. Something thin and cold brushed against the pulse at the base of my throat.

"You took this from me," he said softly.

"...Can make all this world seem right..." Jacob sang in the background, circling Eli.

The knife went away, replaced by two hands, the thumbs stroking gently over my jugulars.

"I had a destiny to fulfill," John whispered. "A path chosen by God."

"Only yooou, can make the darkness bright..."

The blue eyes found mine again. They looked sad.

"And you took it from me."

John searched my face, then closed his eyes, leaning close enough for me to count the pores on his nose. And then he smelled me.

He held it, then exhaled from his mouth, opening his eyes and looking beyond the room.

"Temptation," he murmured. "Not even I am immune."

I fidgeted. The bindings remained tight on my wrists and ankles. Jacob continued to sing in the background, but I could barely hear him. My attention remained fixated on John, whose voice started to shake with excitement.

"Not me. Not the Father—" He reached between my legs and grabbed the edge of the seat, hauling it up and shoving my shoulder at the same time. My grunt was muffled by the tape as I slammed down on my back. John fell to his knees beside me, grasping my jaw.

"And certainly not you."

I squirmed harder, desperate to get out of my bonds. My breathing was loud and short through my nose. He leaned in close again, whispering only to me.

"Why do you not want to be saved?"

He searched my face for an answer, then pushed my head to the side, so it faced away from him. I could barely see him from the corner of my vision. My heart pounded, distressed sounds working their way through the duct tape. I heard John smell me again, and then he licked my ear.

I couldn't pull away. His other hand was warm as it slipped up my shirt, feeling my side. I fought even harder against the ropes. John's grip on my jaw tightened, and I could hear his smile as he spoke.

"You like that, Deputy? It's okay. You can tell me the truth. Just...say...yes." He licked my ear again, took it in his mouth. And then he nibbled.

Suddenly one hand was free. I gripped his wrist with it, trying to twist it away from my jaw.

"Don't fight it," John cooed, and ran his tongue over my temple. It was cold. Deathly cold. "Stop fighting me, Isaac. Isaac. Wake up. Wake up!"

My eyes snapped open. Joseph was fending off my hand, his other, free hand trying to cool my forehead with a damp cloth.

"You're ill, Deputy. Please, hold still."

I obeyed, partially because it would be fruitless to resist, mostly because my arm felt like sand and it was a relief to let it flop to the floor. I was flat on my back, drenched in sweat, my right hand cuffed to Joseph's bed.

"You were dreaming." He dunked and wrung out the cloth in a bowl. Ice clinked. "I'm not sure if you were enjoying it or not."

I opened my mouth but it was too dry to speak. My face felt hot, and not because of the fever.

Hey. It's been a long fucking time. I did get some action here and there in Hope County – a romp or three in the woods with the local talent, some hot and heavy moments in the back of a pickup, and I'm pretty sure the extensive hickey that appeared on my neck after Testy Festy was a gift from Mary May (still couldn't remember everything that happened that night. I think balloons were involved). But I must be really craving a shagging if I dreamed of... Eeeew.

Don't get me wrong. It's the 21st century, yay, go gay. But John Fucking Seed?

I cringed, shuddering at the thought. Joseph thought it was the fever.

"Shh. You'll be alright. Drink."

He helped me drink some apple cider. The flavour cut through the film coating my mouth, which had formed during the six hours I'd been asleep. According to Joseph, I'd been sweating profusely for four of those hours, but seemed to be on the mend already.

The fever made me have that dream. Case closed.

"Who is Luke?"

I looked sharply at Joseph.

"You mentioned his name in your sleep," he said patiently.

My stomach flopped. The pain of seeing my friend die in my dream had been nothing to the memory of the real deal. I told Luke to stay. I told him to wait with the truck at the bridge connecting the Whitetail Mountains to Joseph's island, because I would need him to come pick me up once I cleaned the last of the mess known as the Seed family. But as Joseph's compound came into view, I heard the rumbling of an old pickup and turned to see Luke disobeying my direct order. He hopped out of the truck, slammed the door, and came to stand defiantly beside me.

"You asked me to join you on your goddamn crusade. That means I get to decide when to leave your ass."

He died in my arms. Took the buckshot meant for me, the only casualty in the final showdown in the midst of the Bliss storm. I doubted Sharky, drugged out of his mind, ever discovered what he did.

Some weird part of me was glad Luke Lee never saw what became of his beloved county five minutes later, when the first bomb fell.

"Deputy?"

I blinked, returning from memory lane. "What?"

"Who is he?"

I scowled and looked away. "He's dead. What does it matter?" I noticed a plate of food nearby. A handful of broccoli flowerettes and a chunk of meat. It looked cold, but it wasn't freeze-dried and it was the most food I'd seen in weeks. As I reached for it, Joseph grasped my wrist.

"Was he there?"

I didn't need to ask where. The firefight between me and my drugged friends would be a memory neither of us would forget.

"Yes," I growled. "And no, I'm not going to talk about it." I twisted my arm but he held on. So I asked the question that had been stewing in my mind, finally congealed into words.

"Did John believe he was doing the right thing?"

Joseph stiffened, his face open in surprise. I'd never asked him about his family before, nor had he offered to talk about them. For a moment I saw something that looked like anger on his face, and then it was gone.

"My brother...did not have an easy life," Joseph said at last.

"Your parents beat the shit out of him."

Again came the anger. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, inhaling and exhaling through his nose. When he opened his eyes the red had vanished once more.

"Our foster parents saw that his soul was tainted. So yes, they tried to cleanse him. But how do you cleanse that which is already pure? John was a sweet child. Caring. Loving. All he ever wanted was to be loved back. But the world saw him with contempt. Only I understood him. Only I helped him back to his feet, lent him wings."

"He was afraid of you," I said.

"No. Not afraid. Submissive, perhaps..." Joseph looked on, seeing a past I would not hear about.

A minute snailed by. I stared impassively at him. He wasn't done.

Finally, he took in breath to speak, held it for a moment, then said, "Do you know what his sin was?"

I snorted. There were a lot of nasty habits of John's I could think of. Sloth was what had been cut into his skin, but I could also remember the gleam in his eye when I woke up on the church floor, the pain of a hundred needles piercing my chest, the way he sneered as he said, "Hold still. It's supposed to say 'Wrath,' not...'Rat,'" and then proceeded to puncture my skin and inject it with ink. And when he finally let me up to face everybody, my face burning with humiliation, he then forced Nick Rye to say 'yes' to atonement by pressuring his Achilles' Heel – his family – and sliced off the chunk of his flesh tattooed with 'Greed.' He held it high for all to see, like a fucking trophy, crowing his victory. Then he stapled it to the wall and turned his attention to me.

Pastor Jerome was there, of course. Holding the bible to which I was to express my wish to atone. I remembered the missing patch of flesh on his left pectoral. It was smaller than Nick's, leading me to believe his sin had few letters. Sloth? No, Jerome was no neglectful couch potato. Envy? Didn't strike me as such. No. Jerome's sin had been lust. The perfumed letter I'd found on the floor of the church days ago now made sense.

But Jerome's variety of lust was harmless. John's was not.

That's what John's sin was. Lust. And I said as much to Joseph.

"John was celibate," retorted the Father.

"That's not what I mean and you know it," I snapped. "You aren't made a sadist. You're born one. And abuse triggers it."

For a third time, barely suppressed rage rose in Joseph's face. "Choose your next words carefully, Deputy."

"You saw it in him too. But as you said, you understood him better than anyone. Is it true? Does it take one to know one—?"

SMACK!

I froze, stunned, half my face burning from the backhand Joseph had dealt me. As poisonous or cruel his words sometimes were, the Father had never struck me before.

He dropped the wash cloth and grasped my face firmly, thumbs close to the inner corners of my eyes.

"You are blind," he whispered. "You refuse to open your heart, to understand. But I will make you. I will make you see..." And he gently pressed his thumbs into my eyes.

I lost my cool, grasping his wrist, trying to pull away. "No! No, please!"

The pressure vanished. I opened my eyes to find them inches from Joseph's.

"You will learn respect, sinner. Or I will teach it to you." He stood, kicking the plate of food out of reach before leaving the room.

My heart hammered against my ribs, my eyes wide as though they knew how close they'd been to never seeing anything ever again. He'd been so gentle with me, I'd forgotten what this man was truly capable of.

Day 356

Strange have been my dreams of late. Usually, upon consciousness they fade and I only recall their unsettling peculiarities. But last night my vision seared itself into my mind, and I must put it down, for I feel it will be important one day. Although no prophecy, it holds some significance, I feel it in my bones.

I was walking in a garden. Our Garden, in a balanced world, purged of sin and of all those who would harm us. It was beautiful. The flowers. The trees. The life that hummed all around me...

It took me a while to realize what was wrong. I was alone. None of my family were with me. How could this be? You were all meant to be there with me, living in the world God promised us. The happiness I felt curdled into bile. Something was in Our Garden. I turned around, and there it was. A great black Snake, a writhing tendril of pure evil. Where it slithered the land died. As it hissed the light faded. It came ever closer, raising its ugly head, towering over me. Its eyes were soulless, like a doll's eyes, venom dripping from its open maw. It lunged at me—

Suddenly I was in a void. Dark, and cold, and devoid of God's love. Was I in the Snake? Was this what it felt? No. Surely the only thing that beast felt was gluttony and greed. This was an Abyss.

Then, I heard soft weeping. I turned around in the dark, and could make out my sister. Faith. Her back was to me, hands at her face. I approached her, but she walked away. I followed. I wanted to comfort her but she walked away again. Not saying a word, just crying. No matter how hard I tried I could not get around her to see her face.

And then it wasn't just the cries of a young woman filling the Abyss. I heard the mewls of an infant and turned to see yet more company. A man was standing there, facing away from me, but before I could advance he turned around, a swaddled babe in his arms. I recognized the child as my own, the one I gave willingly to God's loving embrace years ago. Her little face was pink and scrunched, shining with tears and snot. I tried to step forward, to take her from the man's arms, but my feet were stuck to the floor. I looked to the man's face, pleading, only to realize that it was the deputy. His eyes were as black as the Snake's. And when he smiled his teeth were long, pointed fangs.

I woke up then, drenched in sweat. I do not know what the dream means, nor why my mind has decided to remember every detail, for surely it was not a sign from God. I would know if it was.

Perhaps it is the hunger. Here and now I long for food but my soul is longing for company, for the ones I loved and lost. My daughter, sacrificed so that I may serve God completely; my brothers, my sister, taken by the snake in the garden; my children, you, my family, out there somewhere, hopefully not suffering as I am suffering, awaiting the world we were promised...

I will put my pen down and pray. Answers will come if I am patient. And down here, what do I have but time.

"And we're all to blame. We've gone to far, from pride to shame. We're trying so hard, we're dying in vain. We're hopelessly blissful and blind. To all we are, we want it all, with no sacrifice!"

We're All To Blame, Sum 41