“Ms. Chambers, you are requested downstairs. Your mother insists you wear this dress. She forbids any kind of jacket or shawl.” His eyes roamed my body, his lips pursed.
Ethan was a scrawny, mousy man. He was balding, which made me feel slightly awful for him in a vain way. He had to be in his mid-twenties. I couldn’t recall meeting him at the church where my parents claimed he was from. He was formal despite the lingering stares, which increased the intensity of my fears concerning what was to come. There was no attachment or protectiveness in his voice like the usual servants, whom I credit with raising me since I was born. He left the room with a bow, and I walked over to examine the dress.
It was made of a flimsy material I couldn’t identify. It was white and thin, and it didn’t leave much to the imagination. From the size alone, I could tell it was above the knee, which was odd considering I didn’t own any formal wear that wasn’t belowthe knee. In fact, most of my dresses fell just above the ankle. I slipped out of my pink silk pajamas and into the dress, then found a pair of white flats to go with it before glancing at myself in the mirror.
My cheeks flushed from embarrassment. The dress was wedding-gown white and came barely above my knees. It had a plunging V-shaped neckline that showed the crevice between my breasts, and the sleeves were fitted to my shoulders. It wasn’t too tight around my hips, as the material moved when I turned, but I’d have to be careful with how far apart my legs were to avoid showing too much skin. Why did my mother want me to wear this around her guests? And with nothing else over it? While it would be cute over a swimsuit by the pool on a hot summer day if I were three inches shorter, it was not formal attire.
My dark hair was thick and wavy as usual, the Mississippi heat playing a small part in its volume. I didn’t bother to brush it for fear of making it worse, so I used my hands to flatten it as best I could, took a deep breath, and opened the door to leave my room and head down the stairs. I hoped I was wearing the dress right. I also hoped my mother didn’t expect me to do anything more with my hair or face. The humiliation would be far worse if I messed this up.
I made my way down the stairs, and the chatter of guests evaporated into the air. My parents looked on in approval—my mother with a glass of red wine in one hand, her other hand sparkling under the chandelier with the number of jeweled rings on her bony fingers, resting delicately on her hip. The dress she wore matched her wine in color and fell to her knees. My father had his arms crossed as he stood next to her, watching me. He was also well-dressed, as per usual, but not nearly as bold as my mother in his black fitted suit and burgundy tie. He didn’t need to be flashy in his natural state, and maybe that was why she tried so hard to match his aura.
As I stopped at the bottom of the stairs to await further direction, the room burst into applause. The Lancaster woman was sniffling and wiping away tears—a strange reaction for a woman who had spoken maybe two words to me, though I could say with confidence she had visited my mother shortly after she gave birth to me. I forced a smile, trying to settle the butterflies flapping in my stomach as I scanned the room for clues.
My father held up a hand to silence everyone. The guests obeyed immediately.
“As you all know, this is my breathtaking daughter, Camille Elizabeth Chambers. Not only is she stunning, but a recent graduate of Belham High School. Class valedictorian, which is very impressive for a lady!” The room boomed with laughter, echoing on the marble tiles and through the oak stairs I stood atop. It was hard to forget women aren’t supposed to be smart, and I think my parents were more disappointed than impressed when the principal called the family in to share the class standings. “She’s going to make a special man very lucky to have her.” There were chuckles and whispered comments, accompanied by knowing side-eyes across the room in agreement.
Just barely out of my field of vision, I recognized the familiar slim build of the priest from our church. It wasn’t often he was invited to our Sunday evening events unless there was a wedding, death, or birth. Another red flag I tried to bury in the recesses of my brain as my fears began to form guesses about what was going on. Were they marrying me off tonight? Who could I possibly be marrying a week after graduating high school? Theodore Rosendale was the only eligible bachelor in this circle my parents would possibly approve of, but he was sixteen and still had a year of high school to finish before talks could be serious.
My father continued, reaching behind him for his glass of champagne resting on the shiny platter to his right. “We will continue the ceremony with a blessing from our preacher, who has helped us decipher God’s prophecy and come to the decision that tonight would be the night to fulfill it.” He raised his glass to the chandelier light, and everyone else did as well before murmuring their “praise be’s” or “amens.”
When they all lowered their glasses and took a single sip, the priest made his way toward me until he was about a foot away. He was a tall, lanky man. He had graying hair adjusted to cover a small balding spot at the top of his head. From a young age, I remember he had a way of making me feel uncomfortable, and I tried to keep my distance from him. His blue eyes were often cold, bordering on sadistic, though that could have been my imagination.
“You all have witnessed my son, Reed, receive his blessing moments earlier. Now we extend the blessing to my daughter.” My father nodded to the priest, whose big, toothy grin and darkened eyes made my skin crawl. The priest turned to the table placed next to the staircase, picking up two crystal chalices and extending one to me. I took it gently, peering through the glass to guess what the red liquid inside was. It had the appearance of wine, the legs clinging to the side and slowly dripping down to meet the rest of it. It carried the same sharp smell, but my guess was as good as any as to what it actually was. He kept the other, turning to the guests.
“Friends, family, followers of our Lord and Savior… Today we come together to witness the beauty of our lineage and God’s intention of purity. As I bless this girl before me on her journey to womanhood, I bear witness to God’s plan. Praise be.” He raised the chalice, draining it in three gulps as everyone else did the same, murmuring “praise be” as well.
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to drink mine, so I didn’t. No one paid any attention to my hesitation. The room burst into cheers and applause, and the preacher whipped around to face me with a hostile sneer that turned my veins to ice. I kept my gaze on him, despite my uneasiness. I hoped he couldn’t smell fear.
“The blessing has been finished. The final task is now underway.” He reached for the table again, grabbing a black handkerchief and a thin silver rope. The heavy thumping in my chest reminded me I was in the present as I wondered what this was for. That horrific sneer remained on his face as his grip locked onto my wrists, pulling them behind my back and tying them with the rope.
“I hope you were smart enough to finish that drink,” the priest whispered forebodingly into my ear. The burn of the rope digging into my wrists caught me by surprise. The ache of the tight knot was second only to the searing, bubbling nausea in my stomach. He finished tying the rope and slipped the handkerchief over my eyes, securing it firmly. Excited whispering and giggling broke the silence as the priest’s cold hand landed on my bare shoulder, turning me in one direction. Before he could tell me where we were going, I knew it would be upstairs.
“Kick off your shoes and feel for the stairs,” he warned as I nearly tripped over the first one from his firm shove. I took a second to follow his orders, carefully slipping my feet out of my warm flats and feeling the cold, polished wood of the stairs beneath my toes. I fell into the habit of lifting my feet to meet each stair, moving slowly and cautiously as I couldn’t see them. My eyes darted through the darkness beneath the handkerchief, searching for any hint of light without success. It was too tight. We reached the top of the stairs and seemed to turn in multiple directions, causing me to lose track of my mental mapof the house. I heard footsteps behind me and assumed it was the guests following to witness the final task of the so-called ceremony, whatever that might be.
We stopped, and he removed his hand from my shoulder. The metallic clink of a doorknob turning led me to assume we had arrived at a room. I was pushed forward through the door the priest had opened seconds before. It caught me off guard, and I gasped before stumbling forward. I regained my balance on my bare feet before I could fall flat on my face, the unfamiliar chill of the wood floor heightening my senses. The door shut behind me, and I heard it lock, followed by cheers of approval and chanting outside.
Terror. I was claustrophobic and horrified. This wasn’t a ceremony or a celebration. This was a ritual. And I was the lamb heading off to slaughter. Whatever room I had been thrown into, it wasn’t my own.
Someone’s soft, gentle hands on my face untied the handkerchief, grounding me from the full-blown panic attack that was enough to institutionalize me. As the fabric fell away, my darkened vision adjusted to the dim lighting, focusing on Reed. His eyes were blank, bereft of human emotion. Despite the fact that he smelled like a distillery, I was so relieved to see him that I didn’t question it. He was wearing the same outfit from church—slacks, now ironed, a white button-up shirt with all the buttons fastened, and a light green tie that matched his eyes. The sports jacket hung in the corner of the room.
The room… It had to have been Reed’s room, but it didn’t have the same character I remembered. Then again, it wasn’t as if I had been in there more than a handful of times. The lights were off, but candles burned on each nightstand, the dresser, and the desk. The fireplace was lit as well. The bed was made with burgundy silk sheets and a matching comforter withintricate gold embroidery. The pillows were black, buttery soft, and filled with down feathers.
The curtains were drawn, but I could see the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the openings. The floor was polished wood, bare except for a fluffy white rug by the fireplace.
“Reed, what’s going on? What is this? Thank God someone here will tell me.” I spoke quickly as my nerves took control. My face burned, whether from embarrassment at being so indecently dressed in front of my older brother or from the horror of everything that had happened.
Reed was quiet. The words I spoke went through him, failing to bring life back into his stiff persona. I could see my pleading face in his expressionless eyes. My terror came back, flooding my senses like a newly broken dam. Why wouldn’t he talk? Or at least offer reassurance? He would’ve told me it’s okay by now if it was.
“What are they going to do to us?” I whispered, trying to get Reed to come back and be the older brother I knew growing up, who protected me and played with me despite his older friends picking on him for it. “Can you untie my hands? I want to get out of here… I don’t like this feeling I have. I think we should leave.”
Reed’s hand grazed my cheek, coming up to stroke my hair back from my face. This would have comforted me under different circumstances. Now, it was troubling. I wanted to escape. Every instinct I had told me to run.
I flinched, and his other hand came up roughly to hold my face, his palm covering my cheek while his thumb grazed my lips. I tried again to squirm away, but he held me there, the hand in my hair turning into a grip. He leaned down, his lips inches away from my ear.
“You are so simple,” he whispered, his voice harsh. “How are you so clueless as to what’s going on?”
My heart plummeted to my feet. I couldn’t say anything, even if I wanted to. This had to be a nightmare, and I would wake up in my own bed and throw up.
