Page 12 of Rescued By Midnight

ALICE - NOW

Elder Wattle’s door is cracked open when I arrive. Voices come from inside his office.

I check the time on my phone. Am I too early? Maybe he’s in another meeting. No, I’m right on time.

Looking back toward the parking lot, I see that Brayden has already taken off. So much for waiting in his air-conditioned truck.

I wait another two minutes, sun beating down on the top of my head, before stepping forward to knock on the partially-open door.

The conversation inside halts immediately.

“Alice, is that you?” Elder Wattle asks.

“Yes. I’m here for my appointment?” I say it as a question, then wince. Of all the things that drove my dad crazy when we joined the church, it was my new habit of turning statements into questions. Even when I knew the answer, even when I would have bet every dollar in my piggy bank that I was correct, I spoke as if I could be corrected. I spoke as if I were uncertain, as if I were no longer the authority of my own reality.

“Come on in, Alice,” Elder Wattle says.

I step inside and see Elder Wattle sitting behind his desk. The chair I usually take is in front of the desk. Off to the side of the room, near a window, is another chair. This one has a woman sitting in it. She has blond hair with streaks of white and a face full of the generic, colorless make-up favored by women in the church. Her dress is pale green and has a high collar, long sleeves, and reaches beneath her knees.

I’m wearing the sweatshirt Brayden gave me in the hospital, along with a pair of jeans which I’m pretty sure belong to Jericha. Brayden still hasn’t taken me shopping for clothes.

Elder Wattle stands and touches his fingertips to mine. “Alice, you remember Miriam Cadonis. Elder Cadonis’s wife.”

I don’t, but I offer her a bland smile. “I apologize for interrupting. If we need to reschedule?—”

“Not at all.” Elder Wattle takes off his glasses and cleans the lenses on the bottom of his shirt. I’ve never seen him with his glasses off before, and for some reason it changes his face so much, I can only stare at him. “Miriam is here due to the sensitive nature of your experiences. The other elders and I felt it inappropriate that any male in the church speak to you, a female, without a chaperone present.”

Because of purity. They think I’ve been tainted because I was sleeping next to my kidnapper.

“Sure, sounds good.” I say the words, approving this new therapy dynamic, despite the fact nobody asked me for my approval. My approval isn’t up for debate. Had they asked, I probably would have been fine with it because Elder Wattle has always given off a creepy vibe.

But they didn’t ask. They don’t have to, because I easily give it away.

Are you going to spend your whole life giving up pieces of yourself? Is this the future you want, Wonderland?

I’m sweating as I take the seat in front of Elder Wattle’s desk.

He looks down at a paper-filled manila folder. My name is written in all-caps on the tab. “When we left off on Tuesday, Alice, we were speaking about your sleeping arrangements with your kidnapper.”

I nod, although the word “arrangements” has connotations that feel completely wrong to this situation.

“You claim that you had no sexual relations with this man, with whom you lived, for thirteen months.”

They are fixated on the wrong things. “That’s the truth. He never touched me in that kind of way.”

“But he did touch you?” Miriam’s soft voice has an edge to it.

I shift in my chair, but I keep my gaze on Elder Wattle’s watery eyes. “He had a chain locked on my ankle. He would check it from time to time.”

When I had nightmares at night, he would put his hand on my shoulder to comfort me. I don’t share this.

“You were in a one-room cabin,” Elder Wattle continues. “Did he ever see you unclothed?”

My pause lasts too long before I lie. “No.”

Doubt is written all over the elder’s face. Skepticism radiates like the sun’s heat from Miriam’s side of the room. Sweat drips down my spine, immediately soaking into the fabric of my sweatshirt.

They let the lie go without comment, but I know I’ve “lost.” I am impure. A man who is not my husband has seen my naked flesh.