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I straighten in bed. Thank God.
He slips out a rolled parchment from his white collar, passing it over to me. I do my best not to look too eager, faking slight interest, placing my fingers delicately around the roll.
Skylenna,
They say when the Lord has given you a dream, it should not be ignored. Have you read the script from the Bible—what book was it? Ruth. You should read the passage “Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.” Must I be the only man that God has chosen in this asylum to do his work? Leave it to me. I accept this responsibility. Will you let me know if He passes on other dreams? Find me if He does. You need only speak through one of God’s children, the priest. Soon, please.
Judas
(And there’s a symbol of a burning tree).
There has to be a message buried in this. I read it over and over again, trying to find a hidden phrase that maybe I would know.
I nearly forget the priest is still in the room, hovering over my bed. He raises his eyebrows expectantly.
“He’s going to do everything in his power to follow the Lord’s request of him.” I smile, nodding. “Thank you, Father, for having the courage to do God’s bidding.”
~
After the asylum falls asleep on this night, the howls and moaning of its patients dimming as the moon reaches the top of the sky, I knock on our wall three times to signal to Dessin that I need him to come over.
It takes him three minutes.
He closes the door quietly behind him. And that tall, broad frame, devilishly handsome eyes, and powerful presence brings a violent rush of heat between my thighs. I have to pinch my knees together, take a deep breath, and avert my eyes just to focus on why I asked him to come. But before my gaze bounces away, I swear I see his hands clench into fists.
“Judas sent me a message. But I can’t figure out what it means.” Truthfully, I’ve gone over it a hundred times, although I won’t admit that.
Dessin holds his hands out to take the letter from me, but as I place it in his palm, our fingers glide over each other, causing a wave of friction, a small jolt of adrenaline.
He sighs, reading it quickly. Blinking. Looking away. Then reads it again.
“An anagram,” he says.
I wait for him to continue.
“The first word of each sentence is a message…” But his pause, his slow hesitation, twists my gut. His eyes snap up to mine, mouth parting as if I’m supposed to know why he’s suddenly taken aback.
“Skylenna…”
“What? What did he say?!”
His throat bobs as he looks down at the letter again. But it’s too late, I’m on my feet, snatching it from him. Pointing at the first letter of each sentence, reading it out loud.
They say when the Lord has given you a dream, it should not be ignored. Have you read the script from the Bible—what book was it? Ruth.
“They—Have—Ruth,” I say slowly, then stop. Read it again. “Ruth!”
Dessin paces.
“Who is he talking about? Who has Ruth? Is the asylum holding her as a patient now too?”
But Dessin wouldn’t be worried about the asylum. He could break anyone out of here in his sleep. No, something is poking at him. Something has him flustered.
I begin reading the rest. You should read the passage “Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.” Must I be the only man that God has chosen in this asylum to do his work? Leave it to me. I accept this responsibility. Will you let me know if He passes on other dreams? Find me if He does. You need only speak through one of God’s children, the priest. Soon, please.
“You—Must—Leave—I—Will—Find—You—Soon.”
Dessin stops pacing to examine me. “Demechnef. They’ve taken Ruth as a way to lure you out. And if they lure you, they know I’ll follow.”
