Page 56 of Depravity

Oh, I know he thinks I didn’t hear. He thinks I was too out of it to realise what was going on, but I hear every word. I heard it all. Including the fact that they gave me a shot.

My stomach turns at the thought of it, that I’m even more likely to get pregnant. My helplessness seems to magnify, seems to take over, like it’s spreading wings and all I can do, all I can focus on is that. I’m trapped. I’m practically defenceless. And there’s a very real, very loud ticking clock above my head.

As we get to the front door, a servant is standing there, holding what looks like a bunch of black cloth in his arms. He passes some of it to Conrad and he takes it, placing it over my head, covering my naked body.

Yes, it’s a relief to be covered but as I look down, I see how the fabric swamps me. How it engulfs me. It’s a robe. A ceremonial one. I’ve seen my grandfather wear these often enough to understand the significance.

Is he taking me before the entire Brethren now? Is he parading me in the Cathedral and announcing me as his wife? If he does that, then there is no way out, no escape. Not that there was ever a chance of that anyway.

My body trembles more as I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to muster what little strength I have. Beside me, Conrad has put his own robe on. It covers his clothes like a shroud, but it fits him far better than mine does me.

He looks at me for a second, and then forcibly pulls me out the open door to where the car is waiting.

I sit beside him, staring out, chewing my lip while I try to figure out what this is. I know he’s taking me to some Brethren meeting, but why? Why now? Unless he’s announcing our marriage, letting the entire community know we’re together?

I tremble more at that thought. Will it be a replica of our wedding ceremony, him abusing me on another altar, only thistime there’ll be more witnesses? I don’t think my body can take it. I know my ribs can’t.

The minutes feel like they go too fast, that this journey is over far too soon.

We pull up outside a massive building. A cathedral. God, no.

I can see the lights inside, illuminating every window. There must be hundreds of cars. Hundreds of Lords.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want a part of whatever this is.

Conrad pulls my chin around to face him and before I can register it, he’s sticking something into my mouth. My eyes widen. I try to move my lips, but they’re taped shut.

He silenced me.

I make a noise of anger in my throat, and he just narrows his eyes before backhanding me.

“Not another sound.” He barks before placing a gold mask over my head, hiding my face.

I know the normal Ladies’ masks are meant to be held in place by a mouthpiece. Clearly, this one has been altered. Clearly, he doesn’t trust me to not spit it out and scream at the first opportunity I get.

He pulls the hood up, concealing the ties that shouldn’t be there and then puts his own mask on.

Each mask is made to fit the wearer. Each mask is individual. I wonder what mine looks like. Did he dare to use my actual face, or is he even now still hiding who he has captive?

We step out, him all but yanking me from the car and slowly we make our way inside.

The place is packed. Rows and rows of seats are filled with robed masked Lords and Ladies, though notably the men outnumber the women ten to one.

My eyes dart about, anxious to see if my grandfather is here, if my aunt is here. Would I even recognise them if I did seethem? No, there are too many bodies, too many golden faces. This place feels macabre, it feels unworldly.

Conrad leads us up, past row after row. It’s clear he wants to be as far from everyone as he can without attracting attention. We take our place, practically in the rafters, and yet we have a perfect view of the stage. Every seat, every row, it’s all been placed to ensure everyone present can see what is happening.

There’s a crucifix, a massive one, laid out in the centre. They must have had to roll the thing in, because it looks like it’s made of granite or some other dark polished stone. I stare at the thing, half in awe, half in terror.

Conrad places his hand on my thigh, and I swear I almost hit the roof with how high I jump.

His fingers squeeze just enough to keep me in place. As if I had any thoughts of getting up, of drawing attention to myself.

Within seconds, twelve men walk out. They’re wearing red robes, all hooded and masked, and they surround the crucifix, six on each side. I know what they are, what they represent; the twelve apostles. They’re here to pass judgement. They’re here to pass sentencing.

A man is then dragged from what must be the crypt. His knees brush the floor as he tries to gain some footing, but he doesn’t manage it. He’s shouting, swearing. A hush of noise reverberates through the crowd as he’s manhandled onto the stone and locked into place by the iron cuffs.

“Do you understand?” Conrad whispers into my ear.

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