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HAWK
My feet scuffed the church floor, unable to keep up with the frantic pace of my father and uncle as they dragged me down the aisle.
Widened eyes—some in horror, some in shock and awe—filled the pews on either side of us, all watchers desperate for front-row seats to my demise. I knew because I’d once been one of them, eager to watch the vulgar ritual, knowing it would give me nightmares but desperate to experience something so foreign.
So forbidden.
Something other than the mundane existence I’d been handed.
Maybe that was my mistake.
Maybe it was a sick addiction to sin that had forced me into the position I now found myself in. Being forced to pay for them.
We jerked to a stop a few feet from a small stage constructed from old pieces of wood with a base of bricks. It was made to be removed. It was there to make sure everyone in the procession could get a look at the show they were about to put on, but it could be taken down quickly and disposed of, so they had deniability if anyone came asking questions.
That kind of disgusting bullshit came with practice.
Because I wasn’t the first.
Not by far.
I was simply the latest.
Today’s lesson in obedience.
“My people…” The murmurs of the crowd instantly halted at the sound of Prophet Andrew’s booming voice.
“You should have listened,” my father whispered under his breath, his fingers pinching at my skin. “You should have done what you were told.” There was almost a catch in his voice, a sign of emotion I rarely heard from the man I shared nothing with but DNA.
I was number fourteen.
The fourteenth of thirty-seven children he had fathered.
With seven wives, he spent one night a week in each of their homes.
Because that was what a man did here. He collected wives like trophies, and the main aim was to produce children in the hope that one of them would turn out to be ‘the chosen one.’ The one sent to save us—the one who has the key to the gates of Heaven.
Did I believe it?
Did I believe our eternal happiness was dependent on a child being born with a perfect cross-shaped birthmark?
I honestly wasn’t sure what I believed now.
All I knew was that the chosen one wasn’t me.
“Bring him to me,” Prophet Andrew ordered, his hand reaching for the cloth covering a large square object on a stand beside him. He tugged the cover off, a dramatic reveal followed by a wave of gasps moving through the church, echoing in the vast space.
My body unconsciously jerked away from the slithering knot of snakes crammed into the glass box. It was a natural reaction when seeing a dangerous creature, self-preservation taking over, and screaming, “run.”
But there was no escape.
My father and uncle tightened their grip, yanking my frightened body onto the unsteady stage. “Taylor Noble, you are here today because you have questioned the teachings of The Valley.” I glanced back over my shoulder, noting that my younger brother Isaac sat in the front row, his head bowed, refusing to meet my gaze.
“I trusted you!” I screamed at him, knowing he was the reason I was there. He had gone to Prophet Andrew after I confided in him about the questions I was beginning to ask. My own flesh and blood. My brother.
“Not only that,” Prophet Andrew announced, a little louder. “But you have been spreading the same lies amongst your siblings and other members.”
“I think we have different opinions on what constitutes a lie—” A sharp blow to the back of my knees forced them out from underneath me, and I landed with a hard, painful thud.
