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  Jerking hard, she pulls me toward the door. “You should have thought of that before you brought this satanic book into my house.” Wrenching the door open, she shoves me out onto the front porch. “You weren’t so concerned with being appropriate then, were you?”

  Mother pulls me across the thoroughfare that separates twenty-six houses from the Temple, Elder’s chambers, and what we call “Shiloh Hall.” Shiloh Hall is where we go to school, meals are served, and everyone works, doing various chores to keep things running. Behind the Hall are the stables and garages.

  “Please,” I beg, trying to pull free of her grip. The dampness in the grass soaks through my socks as we transition from walking on gravel to walking through the lawn in front of the Chambers. “Please don’t tell! Please don’t turn me in!”

  I don’t know what I’ll do if they shun me. If I’m made to cut my hair, take a flogging, and walk out the front gates while they throw rocks, I will die.

  “Stop making a scene,” Mother hisses, glancing behind us.

  I turn to find that nearly every house has their porch light on and nearly all of Shiloh is on their porch, watching me being dragged to the Chambers in my nightgown and wet socks.

  Mother tugs once more and this time I go with her without resisting. The faster I get to the Chambers, the faster I won’t be seen in my nightgown.

  Climbing the whitewashed steps, Mother knocks on the heavy wooden door.

  The wait lasts a lifetime.

  Finally, someone comes, pulling open the door, scowling at us. It’s Elder Hanson and for the briefest moment, I’m relieved it’s him. He knows me. We were friends once, when he was turning sixteen and I was just eleven. We sat across from each other during my first year in Missionary School and his last. He has to know that this was a lapse in judgment.

  “She’s contaminated our community with this,” Mother says, holding the book out to him.

  He frowns at the book before his kind brown eyes find mine. They dart to the spot on my face where Mother struck me. No doubt it’s bright red, even in the dim light coming from inside the Chambers.

  “You’ve betrayed us,” he says sadly.

  Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to. I just-”

  “Do not speak out of turn.” He turns to Mother, glancing past her toward the other members gathered on their porches. “Bring her inside,” he says, stepping out of the way.

  They make me sit on a hard wooden chair in the middle of the Hearing Room. All seven Elders are seated behind the long table at the far end under a banner that has Hebrews 4:13 written on it: But all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.

  They all wear black robes to signify their role as judge and jury. Elder Berman sits in the center, being the founder of Shiloh and most senior Elder. His white hair is uncombed and his robe is wrinkled.

  “Alaina Roberts,” he says, his voice echoing off the high ceiling and freezing cold marble floor.

  I shiver and hug myself, curling my toes under the chair so my feet aren’t resting directly on the floor.

  “You have been charged with attempt to corrupt the community and possession of satanic materials. How do you plead?” Elder Berman glares at me through his thick wire framed glasses.

  I open my mouth, unsure of how to respond. My eyes shift to Elder Hanson, who stares back and shakes his head once, ever so slightly.

  “Guilty,” I say, choking back a sob.

  “Produce the evidence,” Elder Berman says.

  Elder Hanson stands and walks the book over to him. “A children’s fantasy story, Elder. It bears the stamp from the library we visited on Observation Day last month.”

  Taking the book, Elder Berman’s gray, bushy eyebrows arch. “Add thievery to her list,” he says to Elder White, on his left.

  “To be fair,” Elder Hanson says, glancing at me, “She may not have known she was stealing. I told them that the library gives away books freely. I did not explain that a membership card was required.”

  “Irrelevant,” Elder Berman grumbles. He turns the book over in his hands and then looks up at Elder Hanson. “But, the fact that this was stolen on your watch is gravely disappointing. You’re as much to blame for this poison being in Shiloh as she is.” He slams the book down on the table, making a sharp smacking sound echo through the room, and gets to his feet. “We’ll deal with you later.”

  Elder Hanson swallows hard and retakes his seat at the far right end of the table.

  Turning back to me, Elder Berman begins the interrogation. “Who knew about this book?”

  I shake my head. “No one. Not even Elder Hanson. I alone bear these crimes.”

  “That is for us to decide!” he booms. “Not you!”

  Lowering my head, I stare at the floor, wondering where my mother is now. I’ve brought so much shame on her.

  “Did you read this book?”

  I nod without looking up.

  “How many times?”

  My heart drops into my toes and I look up. “I lost count,” I whisper.

  His eyes widen and on either side of him, the Elders whisper to each other. Elder Hanson shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “More than three?” Elder Berman presses.

  Nodding, I stare at the banner above his head.

  “More than ten?”

  I nod again and the whispers erupt into sounds of disgust and outrage.

  Elder Berman orders everyone to be silent and draws himself to full height. “You leave me no choice. You will be flogged and made to fast for three days as penance. Your sentence will be served immediately and you will not return to your home until it is complete.”

  “Flogged?” I whisper, my face crumpling. The fasting I can handle, but being whipped?

  Elder Berman nods once and turns to Elder Hanson. “As punishment for not being more diligent in your duties during an observation mission, you will deliver the punishment. Make yourself ready.”

  Elder Hanson jumps to his feet. “I can’t whip her! She’s a child!”

  “You can and will, unless you’d prefer to be stripped of your title and shunned.”

  My eyes widen and dart to Elder Hanson. He stares back at me. Remorse flickers across his face, but it’s quickly replaced with hardened determination.

  “I’m ready,” he says.

  Though it’s the middle of the night, I stand outside on the lawn of the Chambers, in front of everyone in Shiloh. Under the ultra-bright security light mounted on the building, Elder Berman reads aloud my crimes and his judgment.

  “If any man has reason to believe these crimes are falsely accused, speak now.” His eyes move from face to face. After a moment, he turns to Elder Hanson. “Proceed.”

  Elder Stedman and Elder White lead me up the steps of the Chambers and tell me to place my hands on the door, palms flat, with my back to the rest of the community.

  Shivering uncontrollably, I do as I’m told.

  “If your hands leave the door, even for a moment, he’ll double your lashes, so mind yourself,” Elder White whispers.

  I nod, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth as hot tears begin to pour down my face.

  They move away and for a moment, nothing happens.

  Without warning, a loud crack splits the air, followed by the most horrendous pain I’ve ever felt. I scream, my knees buckling, threatening to give out completely.

  “One,” Elder Hanson calls.

  Biting down on my lip, I groan and squeeze my eyes shut just as he delivers the next blow. Searing hot pain rips across my back before everything goes black.

  When I wake up, I can barely move. I’m freezing and my body feels like it’s been ripped to shreds and sewn haphazardly back together. I’m lying face down on a pile of hay with a thin white sheet over it and as I move to sit up, the flesh on my back pulls sending sharp, nauseating pain through the rest of my body. I cry out, collapsing back on the pile of hay, slipping back into the blackness.


  When I wake up again, it’s because my stomach is so empty it hurts. I know better than to try to sit up, so instead I lift my head to look for something to eat. I know I’m supposed to be fasting, but the hunger is so intense, I don’t care.

  I’d sell my soul for an apple.

  Not really. But it’d be tempting.

  The cold, cramped space and rough wooden walls let me know I’m definitely not at home. They’ve dumped me in one of the tool sheds near the barn. At least someone was kind enough to put some hay down for me. Elder Berman said I wouldn’t be allowed to return home until my punishment was served, so I’ll probably be here for a while. I just wish I knew how much longer that will be.

  “Hello?” I call out in a weak voice. “Is anyone out there?”

  No one responds and I let my head drop, telling myself not to worry. They won’t let me die in here. They can’t.

  I try to listen for movement outside the shed, but after a while, the act of breathing becomes too painful to bear. Every inhale stretches the wounds on my back, making them sting and burn all over again.

  That’s when I start to cry, quietly at first. Then, I make the mistake of taking a deep breath as a sob wracks my body and I scream as my back bursts into flames again.

  “I’m sorry, Lord!” I scream. “I’m sorry!”

  That’s when I hear it.

  Muffled voices. Male voices.

  “Over here,” someone calls.

  “Hello?” I yell. “Is my mother with you?”

  I listen as one voice commands that each shed be searched.

  The next sound I hear is scraping just outside the door.

  “Has it been three days?” I ask lifting my head as the door swings open.

  The man standing there is not an Elder. He’s wearing a blue jacket with a yellow emblem on the left breast.

  “Holy shit,” he mutters, his eyes wide as they take me in.

  I try to move away from him, but barely get anywhere before I’m groaning in pain.

  “Whoa, it’s okay. Relax,” he says, holding up his hands. “I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help.” Slowly, he reaches for the radio hanging from his belt. It’s just like the ones the men use when they work perimeter duty.

  “I’m going to need an ambulance. Minor female with severe lacerations to her back.” He squints at me. “Bruising to the face.” He puts the radio on his belt. “Help’s coming. Everything will be okay.”

  “Where is my mother?” I ask.

  One corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

  June 1st

  SUMMERTON – What once was a reclusive community of religious zealots known as Shiloh is now a vacant four-hundred acre property, roped off by police tape.

  Yesterday afternoon around three p.m. the sheriff’s office was dispatched to assist the FBI in evicting ninety-three men, women, and children from the property after an exhaustive investigation of the founder of the group and legal owner of the property, sixty-two-year-old Milton Berman. The FBI turned up some interesting information that Berman probably hadn’t shared with his followers.

  Berman, whose real name is William Henry Albert, was arrested on several outstanding felony warrants for fraud and conspiracy to commit murder issued nearly twenty years ago in Texas.

  It is thought that Albert changed his name and started the self-sustaining Shiloh community as a way to stay off the grid and out of jail. However, authorities began investigating the group and Albert after a man claiming to be a former member reported Albert for assault after being pelted with rocks and publically shamed.

  Upon searching the property yesterday an unidentified minor was found being held prisoner in an outbuilding. Sources say the fifteen-year-old girl had been beaten and left in the shed for days with no food, water, or medical attention. She was rushed to a nearby hospital for treatment of severe infection and malnutrition.

  Albert and six others were arrested in conjunction with the girl’s beating, as was her mother, thirty-four year old Leah Roberts. Other members of the community were held for questioning, but have been released pending a full investigation.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ALAINA

  “Alaina?”

  I look up from folding my blanket. One of the nurses is standing in my hospital room doorway with Ms. Jackson, the lady who calls herself a social worker. Ms. Jackson’s hair is so red I can’t help but stare at it. The first time I met her, a week ago, I asked her if she washed it in strawberry juice. I think it annoyed her. She reminds me of an owl in an obscene red wig; a small sharp nose and huge brown eyes magnified by her round-framed glasses.

  “Someone’s here to see you,” Ms. Jackson says, smiling.

  My heart leaps. “Mother?” Please let it be Mother!

  “No, sweetie. But someone who knows your mother.”

  She steps aside and a woman with long, wavy blonde hair, a long, straight nose, and familiar brown eyes stands there.

  I squint at the woman. She looks almost exactly like Mother. Except this woman is wearing feather earrings, a necklace that hangs to the middle of her chest, and a long blue and green dress with thin straps where the sleeves should be.

  She smiles at me. “Hello. I’m Beth.” Her eyes skim the dark bruises on my face and the cut on my jaw where the whip caught me after I passed out during the flogging. She brings her hand to her heart, fingering the purple stone that hangs there. “Bless your heart,” she whispers.

  The nurse pats Ms. Jackson’s arm. “I’ll leave y’all to it. Call if you need anything.”

  Beth steps into the room with Ms. Jackson as the nurse scoots back into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

  “How are you feeling?” Ms. Jackson asks, settling on the little couch near the window. She sets her handbag beside her and stares at me, blinking occasionally.

  “Better,” I say. The cuts on my back have started to itch since the infection cleared up. They tell me that’s normal, though. I’ll never forget the pain I went through my first few days here, or those dark moments of consciousness in the shed.

  Beth perches on the edge of a chair near the door.

  “Good,” Ms. Jackson says, pulling a folder out of her handbag. “They tell me you’re ready to go.”

  I nod, though she isn’t looking at me anymore. She’s shuffling through some paperwork.

  “You remember what we discussed? About not going back to the community?” She continues shuffling.

  Glancing at Beth, I nod again. “Yes.” I still don’t quite understand it though. Ms. Jackson has tried to explain but it doesn’t make much sense. Something about some man named William Albert.

  “Here it is,” she says, pulling a sheet of paper out of her stack. She looks up at me. “Instead of going back to the community, you’re going to stay with Beth and her daughter for a while.”

  My eyes dart to Beth again, but I don’t say anything. I try not to speak to sinners if I can help it. Sure, they’re all nice enough, but I’ve learned my lesson. Looks can be deceiving. The devil can take many forms, even transforming himself into an angel of light, as 2 Corinthians 11:14 says.

  “Beth is your mother’s sister. Your aunt.” Ms. Jackson says this like it’s some great gift that I should be thanking her for.

  “Oh.” That makes sense.

  Ms. Jackson’s eyes dart between Beth and me.

  “I’ve always wanted to meet you, Alaina,” Beth says, smiling warmly.

  She looks so much like Mother I can’t help smiling back and mentally scold myself for giving in so easily.

  “They told me you didn’t have any clothes with you so I brought something of Holly’s for the ride home. You prefer long dresses, right?” She holds up a long dress, similar to hers, and a pair of gray and pink lace-up shoes. Sinner’s clothes.

  I can’t do anything but blink at them. There are no sleeves on the dress. I can’t leave here with exposed shoulders.

  “I’ll wear it under this,” I
say, gesturing to my hospital gown. It has sleeves, at least.

  Beth nods once and sets the dress and shoes on the bed. “Sure. Okay.”

  “Let’s just go over these final documents here and then you two can get going,” Ms. Jackson says, holding papers out to Beth.

  They force me to wear the shoes out of the hospital even though I insist on being barefoot. I try not to enjoy the way the inside hugs my feet as we walk to the car. I’ve never had shoes this comfortable.

  Beth drives a small silver car with a lot of colorful stickers on the rear window. One of them is a drawing of a frog holding up two fingers. I stare at it as Beth puts the plastic bag of hospital toiletries in the back.

  “You like that little guy?” she says, closing the door. “He’s a peace frog.” She smiles and again, I catch myself smiling back.

  The ride is long and uncomfortable. My wounds may not be infected, but they chafe under the borrowed dress and hospital gown.

  “So,” Beth says after a long stretch of silence. “I bet you’d like to know where we’re going.”

  I continue to stare out the front window at the trees and other cars whipping past us.

  “Sugarloaf,” she says. “That’s just outside Atlanta.” Her eyes are on me now. “Have you ever been to Atlanta?”

  She’s asked me a direct question. It would be rude not to answer.

  “No,” I say. I’ve never even heard of it. We didn’t study the names of cities in school unless they were mentioned in the bible.

  “I think you’ll like it once you get settled in. Lots to do, what with summer winding down.”

  Silence settles over us again. Beth reaches forward and pushes a button on the dashboard. “Do you like music?”

  Another direct question. “No,” I say.

  “Oh,” her hand falters on the button as noise and singing pour out of the speakers.

  Sighing, I say, “It’s okay. Play music. I’ll just not listen.”