Heresy (A Stray Child Book 2) Read online

  Heresy

  Kyle Atwood

  Copyright 2018 © Kyle Atwood

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

  The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1:

  There was a car ride, a plane ride, another car ride, and now what appears to be a boat ride. I have been on this boat for a day now and I haven’t slept due to this fucking bag on my head and me being sea sick. God, if I could just take the bag off I would be happy.

  My hands are restrained above my head and there is no chance of freeing myself from the handcuffs. I hear other people sobbing. I would call out to them if I could, but while I was unconscious, they put a gag in my mouth. There are footsteps now and the smell of something cooked. Chicken?

  “Feeding time, girls.” a man’s voice said.

  Another couple of boots enter the room and I feel a presence sit down in front of me. A knife scraping on a plate, and now a hand lifts the bag up enough so that my mouth and nose are free. He removes the gag and, despite me wanting to, I keep from screaming and cursing.

  I was picked up while on my daily morning jog. They knocked me out and spared no time transporting me. When I first awoke in the car, I thought it was a political extremist who wasn’t too fond of my blog, I got a lot of threats after I mentioned how happy I was that a certain presidential candidate had been assassinated, but it quickly became apparent that this wasn’t the case. As more and more women sat all around me in that hot, musty car, it became apparent that this was a trafficking ring. Luckily, nobody has touched me yet, aside from binding me and gagging me. I’ve got no plans at this point, if it comes to it, I’ll wait until somebody gets close to me and I’ll kill them, I’m not sure how-- I’ve never even been in a fight before-- but I’ll kill whoever has the balls to touch me and if they kill me in the process, anything’s better than becoming their sex slave. I’m sure Zach would understand.

  Speaking of Zach, he’s probably searching all over for me now, my parents too. The thought of my family should make me feel warm, but it just seems to make me more cold. I love you all, but I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be making it home.

  “Open.” the soft voice in front of me says, “Every time you finish chewing, just open your mouth again.”

  I shouldn’t. But I am starving. I feel sick, yes, but maybe eating something will help with the sea sickness. So I open my mouth, hoping there isn’t a gun, a cyanide capsule, or a dick waiting for me. A second later, I feel the cold steel of the fork rest on my lower lip followed by the poorly seasoned chicken thigh slither into my mouth. He pulls the fork away and I proceed to chew. This is the driest chicken I’ve ever had, but at this moment it tastes amazing.

  I finish chewing and open my mouth for another bite. He grants me my wish. I continue chewing. I swallow and manage to say,

  “Water.”

  Jesus, talking hurts.

  “Of course.” he says.

  A second later, I feel a straw slide into my mouth and I proceed to drink.

  “Not so fast. You’ll get sick.” He states.

  I reluctantly stop and he swaps the straw for the fork again. As he proceeds to cut another chunk of the dry chicken off, I manage to say.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home.” The man says.

  “Home?” But there was no reply.

  --

  About eight hours later a man came and undid my handcuffs for a brief second and then proceeded to handcuff me again, this time pairing my hands together instead binding me to some awful pipe. I thought it was smarter to not try to fight, a girl a few steps away from me, however, didn’t. I heard a scream then a gasp, then a thud followed by a groan of agony. She probably kicked him in the balls, but she didn’t get far. I heard her fall forward and shriek.

  “Fucking bitch!” I heard the man growl.

  I heard him deliver a blow of his own and her screaming stopped. This sound was followed by the click of another pair of handcuffs, then a rattle of chains that were led through my feet and attached to my handcuffs.

  “Move forward,” a voice said, “Left foot first.”

  So I did.

  Chapter 2:

  I just need to keep following their orders, wait for an opening and then I can make my escape, hopefully. I need to remain calm no matter what happens. If I freak out, I might end up dead or worse. I must think clearly and be patient. My first goal? Figure out where I am. I’ll work from there.

  It was hot, which is a whole lot better than that stale air of the ship. It burns to look forward too, given the fact I have had this thing on my fucking head for almost three days. I can also see shapes through the fabric and green, lots and lots of green. I couldn’t help but let out a yelp as my foot sunk into the cool mud.

  “Keep moving.” is all the voice said.

  A few minutes later and the green gave way into a pale yellow clashing with a deep brown that I had guessed was the mud. I also heard a lot of people, talking, cheering, and-- taunting. However, I couldn’t make out what exactly they had been saying.

  “Left.” The voice ordered.

  I listened, but my toes connected to the bottom step leading to wherever we’re going and I feel forward, bringing everyone down behind me.

  “Get up. Now!”

  A pair of arms ripped me up and practically carried me up the stairs. A door opened and I could tell we were inside, everything was brown now and-- cool. Air conditioned? Another door and the chain was removed from my restraints. I was directed into another room where, finally, the sack was removed from my face. I had been facing a window and the sun pierced my vision and tore at my brain, leaving me with a throbbing headache. In front of the window, there stood a fairly built man, staring out at whatever he was looking at.

  “Please, sit down.” the man said, politely.

  Despite the invitation, a guard directed me to a chair seated directly in front of a desk and held me there with a hand on my shoulder after pushing me down. The guard removed the gag with his other hand.

  “Lynn Fisher. It’s good to finally meet you.” The man in front of the window said, turning to face me.

  It took me a moment, but as my eyes adjusted to the light, I began to make out his features. A man in his mid-fifties, which wasn’t a problem because age suited him very well, he had black hair with a few strands of gray and a freshly shaven face. He wore a white dress shirt and a pair of khaki pants, a very clean man. I also noticed that he had a very strong neck leading up to an equally strong chin. To be honest, if he wasn’t the individual possibly responsible for my kidnapping,he wouldn’t be such a bad looking guy. However, all I want to do is snap his neck.

  “Let me go!” I reply.

  “Lynn, huh? I like that name. Shame you’re such a beautiful girl. In my past life, I probably would have taken you out.”

  “Just get this over with,” I spit, “You’re just gonna kill me anyway.”

  “Awfully calm about that, I see?”

  “I’m not going to beg you fucking people.”

  “I am sorry to disappoint. I never intended to kill you.”

  “Rape me then? You’ll want to fucking kill me if you even try to touch me. Trafficking?”

  “You are quite the card. No, well, it depends.”

  “It depends?”

  “Yeah. It depends on where you’re best fit might be.”

  “Best fit ?”
r />   “Yes, and, right now, it is looking more and more like you are made for hard field work.”

  “Slave trade then? Listen you racist--”

  “I’m sorry that I have given you the intention that all of this was going to happen to you. I know you’re an opinionated girl, I have read your blog, but I intend you no harm.”

  “So you kidnap me and bring me to God knows fucking where?”

  “Precautions had to be made. Our cause here isn’t necessarily a-- good one.”

  “Cause?”

  “So many questions, Lynn. So little time. Instead of asking me all of these questions, why don’t I just show you?”

  “Show me?”

  “How did I know you would ask me like that? Now, I would like to get the hardest part out of the way. But, I assure you, it is completely necessary.”

  He walked around his desk to some place behind me. He opened something, then uncorked a bottle, then poured its fluids into a cup.

  “My name is Bryan, by the way. Bryan Howard. I run this little paradise.” He said, coming to my side and handing me a cup.

  “Drink.” Bryan said.

  I looked into the cup. It looked like black sludge, as if he gave me ancient gasoline.

  “Fuck that.” I say, unknowingly.

  “Either that, or I force it down your throat. I really don’t want to do that, Lynn. I’d rather us have a good relationship.”

  That went out the fucking door when you people kidnapped me and kept a bag over my face for two days.

  “Fine.” Is all I said.

  “We all had to do it, Lynn. Don’t worry. It won’t kill you. It’ll feel like it is, but it won’t.”

  I swallowed the dust bunny in the back of my throat, held my breath and drink as fast as I can. The chunky contents of the cup pooling in the back of my mouth, refusing to go down. It tastes like I was drinking a raw steak smoothie with vanilla icing. No, it doesn’t taste good. It took me a good five minutes to finally finish swallowing the the sludge and I wanted to vomit and cry, but I couldn’t show weakness and my body refused to relieve itself until it was free.

  “What-- what the fuck was that?” I ask.

  “Just you wait,” Bryan replies.

  Something is boiling in my belly. My muscles are aching and my head, shrieking. I smell the brick this house is made of, the mud it was built upon, the aftershave on Bryan’s face, and-- decay-- I smell death itself! My vision begins to flicker, the walls of Bryan’s office began to grow black roots trailing all around. My skin bleeds but it doesn’t bleed. What the fuck is going on? The world began to tremble. Suddenly, the restraints dissolved from my hands as did the office and I was sitting at the edge of a trail, leading down to an old Japanese village.

  Come to me, child.

  What the fuck?

  You have such an inquisitive mind. I have all the answers you seek. Enter the village and continue straight. You will find me on the horizon.

  I don’t want to, yet, I must. I am impelled down the path. The first thing I sense is that there is no air, it’s cold, the sky is blood red and the smell of rot is overwhelming. I pass through a large gate wrapped in various prayer ropes and in between two rotting houses. Looking down, I see that my clothes have all gone and I am nude. Shortly after, I reach the center of the town and surrounding me were the village’s inhabitants. Men, women, and children all staring at me through blood dripping eye sockets and smiling through a bloodied mouth. Some laughed, but it was more like coughing, others were saying things that I could not understand.

  I continue forward, watching an elderly man and women split apart so that I could continue straight as demanded. This path was pitch black and impossibly long. At the very end, a red beacon glared back at me, brighter than the blood sky overhead.

  What felt like eternity, I finally reach the edge of a shoreline and, in the distance, a giant man with his legs tucked up in the air behind him was motioning me with one of his hands used to support himself.

  You shall not sink, my child. Walk.

  How can I trust you?

  I am God, child.

  Okay.

  So I step forward and like Christ himself, I stood on the surface of the water and walked forward as though the black water was frozen. As I got closer, as my head became heavier and heavier, I noticed that the same black water was leaking from the man’s gagged mouth and blindfolded eyes and even slightly seeped through the cracks all over his skin. The water, I realize is his blood.

  That it is. Do you see how I suffer for my children?

  I do.

  I know you still have doubts. Come here, allow me to show you.

  I am scared.

  I understand. This is why you must obey me. I will give you bliss instead of torment when you’re life is done, all you must do is worship me. Denounce all others.

  How do I know this is real?

  As I said, come to me. Let your God show you.

  For some reason, I do and as my feet touch the shore of his land, tendrils sprouted from the earth and began to encase my arms and legs, lifting me just before his massive head, close enough to see the cracked skin’s every fine detail. Suddenly, the same tendrils holding me up had begun to sprout from beneath the folds and caress my entire body, gently. As one worked its way down from my breasts and slowly over my clit, as I prepared for its entry it turned its attention away and began to carve something into my inner thigh and I shrieked with pain. As it finished the tendrils lowered me back to the ground and I looked where the carving had been done. A symbol of some kind, the symbol of Giyago I have seen popping up all over the news. The crude coil.

  Giyago.

  Yes. I am the one true God, Lynn. Obey me and bliss shall greet you in the afterlife. Disobey me and I shall torment you for eternity.

  How--

  I am so close to fullness, Lynn. When I return to the physical world, I will give this world what they deserve. Avenge all the wrong they have done to my children. What they have done to you.

  Suffering?

  It is the very essence of my being. Suffering is the only true feeling.

  Yes, it is.

  I knew you would understand. I warn you again, do not defy me, child.

  The tendrils spun me around in their grip and placed my face directly into the water and forced my ass up in the air, exposing all of me to God. He seemed to gargle with delight and as I slipped into unconsciousness, my arms and legs were restrained once more and I slump over into the chair.

  “Welcome to the family, Lynn.” Brian said.

  Chapter 3:

  Remember my words, Lynn.

  Shit, my head is swimming. According to my adjusting eyes, I can see that there is a nurse standing directly above me. I don’t know why, but my first reaction is to try and break her fucking neck. Luckily for her, my arms are restrained.

  “Calm down.” I heard a man say, “I can tell you everything you need to know, but I need you to calm down.”

  It takes me a moment, but I manage to stop thrashing all around and comply.

  “Now, I need to take some blood. I’m sure you’ve had this done before. Do not thrash or you’re going to bleed a lot more than you need to.”

  My eyes finally adjust, blinded by a bright light of some kind and standing beside me, with the required needles, is a doctor.

  “My name is Dr. Holms. I’m the primary care physician of the camp. You’ve been out for about a week, Lynn.”

  “A-- week?” I say, realizing how thirsty I am.

  “I’m afraid so. Samantha, could you get her some water and apple juice, please?”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “Thank you.”

  The young woman gleefully leaves to fetch the requested items. I look up at the doctor, early sixties and a large man.

  “How are you feeling? Nobody has ever been out for that long.”

  “I feel like shit, obviously. What the fuck did I see?”

  He smiled.

  “That
was God, Lynn.”

  “Couldn’t be--”

  “I acted the same way. Even up until now, I had my doubts. But that mark on your thigh. That’s His symbol. His calling card.”

  “Mark?”

  Holms lifts the quilt from off my legs and points to a bandage on my thigh. Couldn’t be. How the fuck is that possible? I read somewhere that certain things happen in dreams that are happening to your body at that very moment. Brian must have done that. But how? When I exited that fucked up LSD dream, my pants were still on and if he were to do that, he would need to remove my pants or at least make a cut in them.

  Looking down at the bandage, I can see that it needs to be changed anyway and the blood had all but covered it. They should stitch it up, but they won’t on the count of it being a holy symbol. Their fucking crucifix.

  “Let me remove the bandage for you to see.” he says.

  He reaches his hands down and I squirm a little in case he tries to touch me anywhere other than my wound.

  He pinches the corner of the bandage and proceeds to peel it from my thigh and place it in the specially marked waste basket beside my bed. He turns around and fishes out gauze, ointment, and a bottle of pills. Before he starts covering my wound, I catch a glimpse of it. That’s the fucking coil from my dream. How is that possible?