so new chappy up...thanks so much for all the awesome reviews!! thanks for reading!! bambers;)
Chapter Ten
The Father's men dragged Dean through the open compound area outside the main house toward a smaller outbuilding near the far corner of the property. A wooden stockade fence encircled the entire perimeter of the encampment, and Dean noticed that every twenty feet or so, men armed with high-powered rifles stood guard around it. He took note of possible exits and looked for any breaches in the sturdy structure.
In his mind, he mentally tried to tabulate exactly how many of the Father's men there really were, but as they all dressed exactly alike and all were bald, he found it all but impossible to do so. His best guess was that there had to be at least twenty to thirty of them, but the actual total could have been a lot higher.
As he covertly glanced around, he noticed that all the buildings had been fortified against attack, and that all the windows had been boarded up. Narrow slits had been left open in the middle of each of the boarded windows, and understood that they were meant for guns, and also wondered just what the Father was preparing for. To Dean it appeared if the man was making preparations for his own little war against the world, and more-than-likely had the ammunition to back his threat.
Reluctantly he was forced to admit that it would have been hard to break into or out of the compound, and could clearly understand why so many of the Father's former prisoners had finally given in and had become one of his children. None of them, however, had a father who was an ex-marine or a brother who was trained by the very best. More-than-likely their fathers' had been businessmen who only thought guns were used for killing animals for the sport of it. No, they had probably spent most of their weekends sitting in front of the televison watching football, eating snacks and getting fat. Dean could definitely understand why their fathers' and brothers' had never come for them, the same did not apply for his own.
"Making plans to try and escape," the Father asked, drawing Dean out of his thoughts.
"No, F-father," Dean shivered, a blast of frigid air whipping across his bare skin, "w-was jus' wonderin' why this place is so well f-fortified."
"Have to protect my family from those who would try to harm them . . . like I will protect you, Child."
"P-protect me?" Dean asked, liking the sound of someone taking care of for him for a change instead of him putting his life on the line for people who could care less about him.
"I am your Father, it's my job to look out for you, protect and shelter you from all those who would do you harm," he said with a winsome smile, all traces of cruelty disappearing from his pale blue eyes. "After all, that is a Father's job."
"N-never had a father who did that . . . w-was always my job." Dean lowered his head ashamed that he'd been brought up in a family who's members only cared about themselves, and was glad he no longer considered them his own.
The Father motioned for his men to stop, and they instantly complied. He cupped a hold of Dean's face. Dean looked up into his eyes, and gave a weak smile. "It's my job to care and protect you, Child. Know that you are loved by each and every one of my children. You will never be alone . . . or unloved . . . and we will never let them hurt you again. Understand?"
Dean gave a curt nod, and the men holding onto his arms released him. Flanked by men on either side of him, Dean trudge toward the building. Several times he lost his balance, falling face fist to the cold hard ground, and then was carefully helped back to his feet by the same men who had helped torture him previously. Finally after the third time he'd stumbled, Larry very cautiously hooked an arm around his waist, and helped him the rest of the way there.
Once inside the building that was covered from floor to ceiling in olive green tiles, Dean realized it was the family's bathing area. Open shower stalls lined both sides of the room, and it was blatantly obvious that privacy and personal space was something that was definitely not practiced in the family. At the moment, however, Dean could have cared less as he stared longingly at the showers.
A man who had been waiting for them in the shower area, handed Dean a shaver and gestured toward a sink with a mirror hanging over it. At first Dean believed it was for shaving his stubbled face, and without giving it much thought took it from the man.
"First shave your head, Child," the Father commanded, hesitating for a moment when Dean numbly shook his head, and then continued onward, "shave your head and then you can take a shower. If you choose to disobey me on this we can go back to the cellar . . . ." his voice trailed off, but Dean didn't need for him to finish to understand what going back to the cellar meant, and gave a curt nod.
Trudging to the sink, Dean turned on the water and lathered the bar of soap he found there. For a moment he just stood there and looked at his reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the man staring back at him. Six days growth of beard shadowed his face, and a wry laugh escaped him realizing he now had more hair on his face than on his head. Dark circles lined his eyes, and if he hadn't known better he would have said they'd come from someone slamming their fists into his face instead of the lack of sleep he knew they were really from.
"Shave your head," the Father ordered in a manner meant to brook no argument, and Dean complied.
With shaking hands, Dean lathered the his head and slowly began the demoralizing task of cutting of his own hair. Through the glass he could see the Father's grin deepening as Dean cut away any meager strains of hair that had managed to grow in one day's time.
"The beard as well," the Father commanded when Dean was finished shaving his head. "To be a family we must all look like a family."
Reluctantly, Dean did as he was asked, his fingers now trembling so badly, he nicked his face several times before he was finished. Blood trickled down his cheeks and chin from all the little cuts he'd made. Grimacing at his own reflection, he thought it odd that he'd done such a good job cutting off his own hair, but when it came to shaving his face which he'd been doing since he was at least sixteen, he'd made a total mess of it.
"Now to brand you," The Father said, and motioned for the men to grab hold of Dean once more, and they quickly did as they were told.
"B-but, I thought . . . I mean, you said . . . ." Dean's voiced trailed off as he stared longingly at the showers. "Jus' need a shower . . . please, Father."
"No. Only family can take a shower here, and you aren't a member of the family yet, Child." Having said that, the Father turned on his heel and headed out the door, with the men dragging Dean behind him.
The Father led them out toward an open courtyard in the middle of the encampment. A bell rang out from somewhere inside the compound and within a few moments men and women exited all the buildings and headed toward the huge fire pit where Dean was being held against his will. Within a few moments forty or fifty men and women stood in a circle around Dean and the Father with their heads bowed.
A woman with short raven black hair stoked the fire, heated embers rising up through the air to get lost in the gray cloudy sky above. Dean noticed a branding iron sticking out from the growing flames, and squirmed against his captors, trying to break free. The men strengthened their hold on him, hauled him off his feet, and secured him to a long table beside the fire. Dean struggled uselessly against the thick leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and heard the sound of laughter coming from the men who had tied him down, further adding to his humiliation.
The women gawked at his lean muscular torso, then their gaze traveled lower, and they either giggled or smiled appreciatively in response to what they saw. Although he'd never been ashamed of his own body before, having so many people see him naked was more than a little disconcerting, and he could feel heat rising to flush his face, and knew his cheeks must have been bright red with embarrassment.
"Children," the Father cleared his throat to gain everyone's attention, and then continued, "This is your newest brother. From this day forward he shall only be known as Child. All other names he might have known in the past no longer exist."
"Welcome, Child," they all spoke in unison as they clasped hands with the person next to them on either side.
The Father pulled the red-hot iron out of the fire, and brought it to Dean's eye level. "Branded by fire, you shall forevermore be one of us."
"Branded by fire, you shall forevermore be one of us," the group mimicked what the Father had just said, repeating it over and over again, their voices growing louder with each passing chorus of the words.
Dean clenched his teeth, breathing hard as the iron seared his skin. His stomach churned violently as he heard his skin sizzled from beneath the branding rod, and smelled the sickening scent of his flesh burning. A scream of pain erupted from Dean's lips as the Father held the burning iron to his flesh for much longer than it was necessary to make the mark, and then finally took it away.
Blinking hard, against the tears stinging at his eyes, Dean glanced up at the crowd and noticed a single girl moving quietly through the gathering of people. Her long raven-black hair and ghostly pale skin marked her as different amongst all the girls with short-cropped hair and fair complexion. She looked at Dean, and pressed an index finger against her bluish lips as if she didn't want him to give away the fact that she was there.
She stopped in front of the Father, and Dean saw that he shivered involuntarily. She trailed her delicate fingers down the side of the older man's face. The Father took a backward step, and glanced around as if trying to figure out who had just touched him. In a blink, she was standing beside Dean, eyes exquisitely blue staring lovingly into his own, and he instantly knew who she was.
"Shannon," he said in a faint whisper, not quite believing what he was seeing.
She opened her mouth to speak and blood spilled from her lips to cover her soft white gown. More blood leaked from knife wounds in her chest and stomach to quickly pool around her feet.
"D-Dean . . . hhh . . .hhelp . . . me . . . ." Shannon begged. In a flash she disappeared, only to reappear in front of the Father again. "D-Dean," she uttered breathlessly, "F-father."
"He was your father?" Dean said as he watched her drag her nails down the Father's face, leaving thin raised trails behind. The Father flinched and brought his hand up to cover his face.
"Pl-please . . . D-Dean. . . ."
"Shannon, I'm so sorry . . . I tried . . . I really tried . . . it was too late. There was nothin' I could do," Dean uttered, forgetting for a moment that the Father was there.
"What did you say, Child?" The Father's menacing glare turned even more deadly as Dean mentioned Shannon's name.
"Pl-please . . . D-Dean. . . . help me . . . ." Shannon begged again. The Father stalked right through her ghostly body. "D-Dea . . .." she shivered violently then disappeared in a wisp of smoke.
"Shannon . . . Shannon!" Dean screamed, trying to reach out to her, but she was gone.
"You will never speak that name again." The Father slammed his fist into Dean's face. "Do you hear me?"
Dean narrowed his eyes on the Father, and spitting out the blood in his mouth, he snarled, "Y-you killed your own daughter. You freakin' evil sonuvabitch. She left you and you found her an' killed her."
The Father glared at Dean for a few moments, nostrils flaring as he breathed hard in scarcely control anger. "Take him back to the cellar and lock him up." He turned on his heel to leave, but then swung around abruptly, and an ominous grin settled across his features. "This time you will really learn what it means to disobey me. There will be no relenting . . . no reprieve . . . just pain. Lots and lots of pain. An' when I'm done with you, I can guarantee you that you will never speak her name or disobey me ever again."