Infected

The door slammed shut behind me, and I lingered on the spot, wondering if it was too soon to make a break for it. The unlocked door was extremely tempting, but the blot of Father Adam’s words on my imagination was holding me back. I wasn’t sure what the ‘appropriate punishment’ would be for running, but I wasn’t willing to find out, not just yet anyway. So, I slunk over to my corner, casting a glance in the redhead’s direction. She was still fixated on the wall, staring into the flaking paint as if it held the key to the universe. Great, I’m rooming with a crackpot. I slid down the wall with a sigh. Of course I was, how could anyone here not be completely fucking batshit? The redhead’s gaze flickered from the wall and hovered over me, taking me in as I sat cross legged with my hands in my lap.
I squinted over at her, trying to gauge her sanity, “What’s your name?”
She flinched a little, but stayed transfixed on me as she whispered, “Sister Elodie, and you?”
I bit my tongue a little at the words I was about to say, before reluctantly offering up the newer version of my identity, “Sister Marina.”
“Sister Marina,” she repeated, letting my name roll lazily around her tongue.
“How long have you been here?” I asked, my curiosity growing.
“I’m… not sure anymore,” she admitted, looking away. “A while.”
“Elodie,” I began, thinking I could potentially garner some information from her, but she cut me off with a shake of her head.
“Sister Elodie,” she corrected in an odd tone.
I pressed my lips together, “Right, sorry. I’m still getting used to that.”
She nodded in lieu of a reply, waiting for me to continue, but her interruption had already felled my confidence and left me speechless. Trying to ‘educate’ myself probably broke some kind of rule under the vague dishonest behaviour clause anyway; or, at least, it likely did in the capacity I was attempting it in.

“I take it you’re joining us,” Sister Elodie probed, as she openly eyed me again. I shrunk away from her gaze instinctively; everyone here was so… stare-y.
“Looks like it,” I replied, picking at some paint on the wall.
“They’ll probably assign me as your mentor,” she divulged. I couldn’t tell from her tone whether she was pleased about this or not.
“What do I need a mentor for?” I asked, crumbling a flake of magnolia paint between my fingertips.
“To guide you,” she replied, simply, as if it was obvious.
“Guide me?” I repeated, incredulously. “Guide me where?”
“Not to a place,” Sister Elodie explained, “but with your behaviour.”
“What’s wrong with my behaviour?” I asked, pursing my lips.
She looked apologetic as she made to assault my character, “You ask too many questions for a start. Father Adam doesn’t like that.”
“Oh, doesn’t he?” I answered, unable to keep the irreverence from seeping into my tone.
“Sister Marina, that’s the sort of thing that will get you in trouble,” she answered, her wide blue eyes pleading with me. I relented, relaxing my stiff shoulders.
“What happens when you get into trouble?” I quizzed, feeling uneasy at her reaction. She only shook her head in answer, turning away from me slightly.
“Sister Elodie,” I leaned forward over my knees, peering at her. “What do you think of Father Adam?”
She chewed at her cheek as she carefully chose her words, “He keeps me fed and clothed. He keeps me safe. I’m grateful.”
Sensing that there was more beneath the surface, I dug harder, “But do you agree with what he does?”
She went very quiet for a moment, trying to swallow away her discomfort. Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Not always,” she admitted, her gaze flickering to the door to make sure no one was outside listening. “You really shouldn’t ask questions like that. You don’t want to learn what happens to those who do.”
She turned away, in an attempt to end the conversation, but I was still invested.
“Why are we in this room? Why are you in this room?” I persisted, my curiosity raging inside in a way I couldn’t ignore.
“This is my room,” she answered, “and it’s yours now too.”
“Permanently?” I asked, looking for clarification that a desk and chair were all that were deemed necessary for life. “Where do you sleep? What do you do?”
“We get packs at night that roll out,” she explained, seemingly comfortable to engage in a safer conversation topic, “but, otherwise, Father Adam doesn’t believe we should have distractions from our thoughts. We come together to eat and worship, though.”
“Worship?” I blinked at her, trying not to let my contempt paint itself onto my face. “You worship him?”
“Yes,” she confirmed quietly, avoiding my questioning gaze. “We pay our thanks to Father Adam through worship.”
“Jesus Christ, can this get any more fucked up?” I scoffed, sending panic flitting across her pale features. She shushed me urgently, throwing an anxious glance towards the door.
“Marina,” she warned, hurriedly, slipping from the façade for just a moment, “you can’t say stuff like that.”
“Do you believe in this crazy shit?” I asked, dropping my voice to as whisper as her paranoia contaminated my sureness, weathering it at the edges.
She hesitated, unwilling to answer the question. I watched her as she faltered, as the conflict tore her in two. Father Adam obviously had methods of keeping people quiet and compliant.
“You know it’s psychopathic, right? You know he’s fucking cracked?” I persisted, still whispering.
She eventually nodded slowly, her lips carefully wrapping around her words, “You can see that?”
“Of course I do,” I answered, smiling sympathetically. “Elodie, you’ve never thought of leaving?”
“I would never run,” she shook her head vigorously. “I’m too scared. Would you?”
“Already planning it,” I replied, dryly. “I can’t stay here.”
Her wide eyes were questioning, “But it’s safe here.”
“It’s not safe while he’s leading it,” I retorted, pulling a face. A loud knock at the door made us both jump. We each looked up in surprise, Elodie’s fear seeping into my bones and making me anxious. The door swung open, and an older woman stood before us, a bundle of the deep forest green material laid across her arms.
“Father invites you to eat, Sisters,” she smiled, bowing slightly as she held out the material to me. “Your robes, Sister.”
“Thank you, Sister Rosa,” Elodie effused, bowing her head gracefully as she retrieved the bundle. She let out a sigh of relief as the older woman disappeared and turned to me, giving me a meaningful look. “Put these on and let’s go. No more questions, Sister Marina.”
“You got it,” I answered, pulling myself to my feet.

Green is not my colour, I thought, looking down at the offensively ordinary green dress as I buttoned it up. God knows what it was made from; the material was stiff and itchy, and it was taking every ounce of willpower not to claw at my skin.
“You look like one of us, now,” Elodie said, weakly.
“I’m not one of you,” I retorted, repulsed by the idea. I followed her as she walked the corridors delicately, her dainty steps almost kissing the ground they walked on. Her poise was comparable to that of a ballerina and I lost myself in her movements, a welcome temporary distraction from the situation. She stepped into a small hall, full of lines of tables occupying the space. Soft chatter floated on the air, coming from the already mostly assembled band of followers. I was surprised to find a sizeable crowd gathered. Had Adam really amassed this many servants? They seemed comfortable with their surroundings and settled into their lifestyle, as though this wasn’t a creepy fucking cult. Were they really all happily following someone who thought he could ‘lead them into the light’? I followed Elodie as she wove her way in between the tables, looking for a space for us.
“Marina?” a voice stuttered from behind me. I turned to find its owner and let out a little gasp. “I mean Sister Marina, of course.”
I stared at him, my eyes asking a million questions. I scanned the tables for more of them, but could see no faces I recognised. He swallowed as I looked back to him. He was missing the warm but vacant smile that seemed set on most faces here, making him seem oddly out of place. I was so shocked to see him that it was impossible to draw my eyes away.
“What are you doing here?” I uttered, my mind racing.
“The same as you I expect, Sister,” he answered flatly, somewhat cryptically. Elodie was now looking at us inquisitively, so I stepped away from him, nodding my head as I did so.

Notes

Oh, not him again...