She’ll be ready.
I won’t fail.
Not this time.
Chapter 5
Delilah
The congregation buzzes, each voice added to the others until the 20,000 seat auditorium crackles with energy. I kneel, my head down, my hands folded, a white veil over my face. My fellow Cloister Maidens do the same on either side of me. Twelve innocents on a pedestal for the crowd to watch, to covet.
The Prophet is nothing if not a showoff. The gilded floor of his stage says as much, and when he walks out in his shiny black shoes, the crowd turns into a living monster, the roar of approval drowning out the constant hum of sin.
He grins, the smile of a kindly father figure, and waves at the congregation. His image is magnified on the huge monitors on either side of the stage. The girl next to me shivers, though I doubt it’s from fear. Religious rapture, hero worship that endures despite whatever terrors may have befallen her the night before.
“Now, now. The glory goes to God, not me.” The Prophet speaks through a small microphone that curves around his cheek and hovers at his lips.
I can’t turn around. The Maidens are required to kneel, the perfect image of devout femininity during the service. Our veils cover everything in a whitewash and hide some of the bruises. I realized this morning that I was one of the lucky ones—many of the girls had suffered during the night as I rocked in a corner, my arms wrapped around my calves.
Even if I can’t see behind me, I know the sanctuary is full of devout believers. At our backs, the children have been brought in from the nursery, all of them in white jumpers. There’s no talking allowed during service, and I’ve seen the women assigned to childcare yank a child out of the sanctuary on plenty of occasions. I cringed, but no one else batted an eyelash.
A row of Heavenly Police Officers line the sides of the aisles. The State granted the Heavenly campus municipality status a few years back, allowing the Prophet to form his own police force and government. His influence spreads more each day, like an all-consuming rot.
“We have a new crop of Cloister Maidens, praise be to God.” He motions to us, twelve pawns in his game of power. Stage lights make him shine. The crowd applauds. Their hunger is a harsh wind at our backs.
“These coveted spots have been filled with young women who will become the future for our church. Twelve months of intensive training in the ways of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit will yield a set of females that walk in the light and love of our Savior.” He sweeps a hand at us. The applause grows.
He holds a hand up, and all sound stops. “As a treat for our new Cloister Maidens and for all of you, we have a very special guest with us this morning. A woman who embodies everything a young woman should be. She is the shining example, the future that we want for all our Cloister Maidens, especially since she was one herself. Please welcome our First Lady of Alabama, Mrs. Miriam Williams.”
The crowd roars as she walks onto the stage, her blush pink heels, long legs, and impeccable cream dress accenting her flowing blonde hair. She waves, a huge beauty-queen smile on her face as she embraces the Prophet and kisses him on each cheek.
When they finish beaming at each other, she lifts a microphone and steps forward, her gaze roving over the Cloister Maidens at her feet.
“Blessed are you among women.” Her voice, the perfect blend of high and low, rolls over the arena. “For you are the hope for a better future.”
Another burst of applause, and then the crowd quiets.
Her clear blue eyes are almost as sharp as her smile as she surveys us. “The Lord has brought you to the Prophet, just as He did for me. I praise God every day for that blessing, and I have no doubt that all of you do the same. The Prophet knows your hearts, your minds, your wants, and your dreams. And only through him will you reach your full potential as a Godly woman in a fallen world.”
A chorus of “amen” rises from the spectators.
“Trust him. Listen to him. Only the Prophet knows God’s plan for your life.” She lifts her eyes and sweeps her dramatic gaze over the crowd. “The Cloister Maidens are blessed to be in the care of the Prophet. As are we all. May God continue to shine his light on and through his one true representative here on earth.” She turns and drops a deep curtsey before the Prophet. He nods, then strides to her, takes her hand, and pulls her upright.
“A true woman of God, is she not?”