 
Paradise Abductions

Published by Mia Rodriguez at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Mia Rodriguez

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### Photo cover by the brilliant artist Alex "Pelos" Briseño

### Dedication

This novel is for all the young woman out there facing difficult situations. Your brains and hearts are more powerful than any diversity.

### Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

### Chapter 1

The day is almost here when I'll be forced to marry the smelly creep.

Gross.

Disgusting.

Unimaginable.

It'll be in just a few short months when I turn sixteen.

"Bring me some coffee," he commands, his grey eyes leveled on me. I hate having to do what he tells me but the last time I refused him service, he beat me with his discipline club.

"Hurry now," he warns, his fingers curled around the black mini-baseball bat. He may be seventy years old, but he can still pack quite a punch.

I rush to the kitchen, my insides entangled in fury but my face in a passive stance. I had learned to mask my true feelings a long time ago. I pour coffee from the coffeemaker into his favorite mug--the one with a picture of a jolly Santa on the front.

"You know how I like it, right?" he yells from where he's at in the next room, the dining room.

"Yes, Master Barstowe," I say, loud enough for him to hear but not so loud that he considers it disrespectful and whacks me with the club.

I grab the cream but leave the sugar. The Mister, as I call him, likes his coffee as bitter as he is. Then I take the secret ingredient out of my pocket. I had put it in a small bottle and quickly pour it in his drink.

"What's taking you so long?" he growls.

"I'm coming," I say as I rush back to the dining room with his coffee. I set it next to him on the table and put two tablespoons of cream in it as he watches intently.

One time, I had poured a third spoonful by mistake. He had knocked the mug off the table with the club, and then he had pounded me three times--one for each spoonful.

I stir the coffee briskly as the Mister looks on with a smile on his well creased face. Handing it to him, I lower my eyes so I don't meet his gaze.

"You are doing so well, Monica."

I want to yell that that's not my name, but of course, I can't. All I can do is remind myself like I've done for so many years that my real name is Frida--Frida Ruiz.

"You're coming along great," the Mister continues, his voice in full praise form. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, Master Barstowe," I say, masking the sarcasm in my tone.

"You are sooo beautiful, Little Bird," he gushes with emotion as his eyes rake over my slightly wavy, almost-black hair, my sienna complexion, and my thin from starvation body.

I want to retch! All I can say is that I'm eternally grateful for the ugly rags I'm forced to wear. All destiny-brides wear the same type of clothes. The long, shapeless dress the color of opaque mud hides me from his prying eyes. When his sight finishes sweeping over me and lands on my dark-brown eyes, I make a concerted effort not to grimace.

"You are learning your wifely lessons like a champ. You're almost ready for marriage. This meal was excellent," he states, pointing at the dish with only the grizzle of steak and a few dabs of mashed potatoes left.

"Thank you," I repeat, shoving the sarcasm further down inside of me.

"Take the rest of it," he declares, pushing the plate towards me. "You earned it, Little Bird."

I wish I could throw the plate at his smug, ugly face but the menacing black club sits on the table, next to his right hand. His fingers are just itching to curl themselves around it and discipline me, as the Elders call what they do to girls. No, I definitely can't break the plate on his head. Besides, my stomach is growling so much that to be honest, I'd rather eat the leftovers on his plate than throw them at him.

I'm starving.

All the girls in Paradise Village are.

"Now, sit down and eat," he commands, allowing me to move away from his right side where I'm forced to stand while he eats. Finally, I get off my aching, blistering feet.

I sit down and take the plate he had pushed towards me. Before I can dig in with my mouth as my hands stay on my sides, he bangs his fist on the table.

"No future wife of mine is going to eat like an animal," he retorts.

I quizzically look at him. I had always eaten this way. The Elders didn't permit us to use silverware or even to eat with our fingers until we were married. In the meantime, we had to eat like dogs when they stick their snouts in their food.

"My Little Bird," he explains, "We only have a few months to go before our wedded bliss, and I've had enough of seeing you eat like an animal. Go ahead and start using utensils when you're with me."

"But if the Elders found out--"

"Don't worry about them. I'll take full responsibility for this. Besides, what they don't know won't hurt them."

I hesitate. The Elders are indescribably cruel and if they find out about this . .

"Monica, take the fork _now_!" he menaces.

I decide to do as I'm told. After all, what difference does it make if the Mister beats me or if the Elders do it? I'm in horrible pain either way.

Grabbing the fork, the extra one he had made me set, I make sure I don't drop it or he'll make me use his. I'd rather eat with my hands than utilize the one with his DNA. Thankfully, I don't have to. The expensive fork feels strange in my fingers as I try picking up the remains of the mashed potatoes with it. At first, the food drops back to the plate. He frowns deeply, but what does he expect? I hadn't had any silverware training yet. That wouldn't happen until a month before the wedding--a month before my birthday.

My stomach growls loudly. I hold the fork firmly in my hands, willing it to do what I tell it. Those fluffy remnants of white, mashed potatoes are a dream in my salivating mouth, a ghost in my rumbling stomach, and an obsession on my dusty taste buds.

I pick up the mashed potatoes once more with the rebellious fork. Slowly, but with overwhelming anxiousness, I manage to make it to my mouth, quickly pulling the fork out when my tongue feels the buttery spuds practically melt on it.

"Very good, Little Bird," the Mister gushes happily.

Ignoring him, I swiftly stab my fork into the steak grizzle, and shove it in my mouth.

"Whoa!" he snaps as his fingers clasp the club and he brings it down on my left shoulder, a harsh thumping sound resonates.

"Ow!" I yell involuntarily but then I abruptly bite my tongue. If I continue my whining as he calls it, he'll continue hitting me. Besides, I hate for him to know that he got the best of me.

"I told you!--I don't want you eating like a savage!" he snaps. "Use your utensils like a lady uses them."

I rub my aching shoulder and don't say a word, fury boiling inside of me.

"Now, Little Bird," he coos, his tone changing from harsh to gentle. "You know how much I hate hurting you, right?"

I keep rubbing my shoulder, letting the silence speak for itself.

"When I discipline you, believe it or not, it hurts me more than it hurts you," he explains, his voice soft.

_Really?_ I think sarcastically. _Let me whack_ _you_ _and see how much it hurts_ _me_ _._

"I discipline you because I love you, Little Bird."

I lower my face, so he doesn't see me cringe.

"I love you so much, Monica," he murmurs. "You have no idea how big my love for you is."

There are only six weeks and two days before I have to marry this creep. The countdown has begun and each day that passes, I feel like a certain death is getting closer and closer. Not that I'm that much alive now. I exist--that's the best I can say for my life in Paradise Village where we girls are trained to serve our future husbands.

"My Little Bird, shall we try again with the fork?" he asks gently, but underneath his _kind_ voice is the threat.

I take the fork and slowly start feeding myself. The Mister smiles brightly at me. He tells me with his eyes that he's pleased with me.

I take an abrupt breath as he grabs his coffee.

"It's probably a little cold by now," he says, "but I won't make you heat it up for me. I want you to enjoy your meal." He takes a loud sip.

"How is it, Master Barstowe?" I ask, hiding the snickering in my voice.

"Very good," he answers enthusiastically.

I smile for the first time that evening. He smiles back thinking I'm pleased that he's happy with my coffee.

That's not why I'm smiling.

He takes a huge gulp and keeps grinning. The special ingredient I had put in earlier from the small bottle in my apron tastes good to him. His expensive white dentures and well cared for mouth by the best of dentists is being engulfed with costly European specialty coffee _and_ dog urine mixed with excrement.

Yes, that's what he's drinking.

I have to muffle a dark chuckle.

### Chapter 2

The family-wives make sure I clean up correctly before I go to the destiny-bride shack--what I call the slave quarters. There are three wives, and they live in separate bedrooms in the huge house. We're supposed to be bonding since I'm about to enter the family, but I'd rather finish fast and get out of the home that I'll be forced to share with the smelly creep in just a short time from now.

After they tell me I did a great job, all except Stacy who barks that my homemaking skills are deplorable, I set out to the place I live. What Stacy told me doesn't bother me since I hate having to make a home for the Mister and myself. She's mean and nasty to me. I guess it's because she feels I'm replacing her with the Mister. She's the youngest and the last bride he's taken. Much of his attention falls on her.

Jealousy.

It's one of the ugliest emotions.

I don't understand why she wants _his_ attentions. I would rather him not know I'm alive. Just the thought of him placing his lips on me--uuuuuuuck!!!!!! Fortunately, the rules are that the men can't touch us romantically until after marriage. With all the dog crap I've placed in his beverages, this is a relief of epic proportions.

I shut out all the vicious words Stacy has tried to sting me with--"What does he see in you? You're nothing. You're ugly. You need plastic surgery. You've got the personality of a wet rag. You never talk. Why does he need another wife--especially one like you?"

I respond back very simply. "Why should I care what you think of me?" I say nonchalantly as I turn my back on her.

This usually infuriates her more but shuts her up. Once she had started cursing at me, and she was put in isolation for a few days for disrespecting the home. Isolation is a dark room in a remote corner of Paradise Village. I wouldn't wish that horrible place on anybody. I've been there once when I had blurted that I didn't want to get married. After being in the room with very little light for a few days, I decided never again. I'd use my head more than my mouth. Stacy had been there a few times since she has trouble controlling her words.

Even with the way she acts towards me, I can't muster the energy to despise her. Believe it or not I don't hate her. I don't even dislike her.

I just feel sorry for her.

I feel sorry for any girl here who believes the total garbage we're constantly fed. I feel sorry for the girls who don't know they are being brainwashed. If Stacy feels that the Mister is some sort of a prize, then I must pity her more than dislike her. That's for sure.

As I walk briskly through the center of Paradise Village, the Elders don't like to see us move leisurely, I don't notice the beauty of the place. While leafy trees adorn the pathways and vibrant flowers grow from the sides of the dirt roads, all I see is ugliness everywhere. I don't even turn to look at the food warehouse or the clothes ordering shop as I move past them. A long time ago, I stopped paying attention to the semi-dense jungle of the thick trees, vines, and bushes that surround Paradise Village.

When I arrive in the vicinity of the slave quarters--a huge, crumbling shack with rows and rows of bunks where the unmarried girls sleep in, I head towards it. Rushing past an outhouse, a clothesline, and water basins where we do laundry, scrubbing clothes until our hands are raw and bleeding, I swing the tattered door open. We have no electricity, no running water, and no conveniences of any kind. It can be easy to think that the men are heroes when they take us out of this place to marry us and put us in decent homes. I, however, would much rather stay here in this awful hole than live in luxury with them.

"How was your dinner?" asks Helga as I enter the shack, her eyes stern and dissecting me. Her bunk is by the door so that she can check up on us. The oil lamp flickers next to her as she keeps eyeing me with suspicious eyes.

"Fine," I say, meeting her hard gaze.

Helga is a servant-girl, and she'll never marry. When she was a child, a dog bit her face. No amount of plastic surgery could help her, but she proved her usefulness to the Elders by demonstrating her iron hand towards the rest of the girls. They put her in charge of us and every year, her heart turns more and more into stone. Her only pleasure in life seems to be torturing us any way she can. She's the oldest female at Paradise Village at thirty-three years of age, and she doesn't let us forget why she's still alive.

"Monica, you'd better tell me the truth about dinner," she hisses. She especially hates me because I don't cower down to her like the rest of the girls do.

"I am."

"You're destiny-husband better not give me any complaints about you," she snaps.

"He won't."

"Get to your bunk and start your prayers," she commands.

I step past the other praying girls to my apace. For the moment, no one is on the top bunk and I'm blissfully by myself in my corner. I kneel down and supposedly start my prayers to the Head Master. We attend church for an hour every day to hear about the Great Master and what he wants from us.

I know _TOTAL GARBAGE_ when I hear it.

Instead of repeating the prayer they taught us, I abruptly shove it to the side. My mouth would go completely dry if I ever said it. I could never believe in it.

Dear Great Master of everything,

Thank you for the privileges you have given us. We are the chosen ones. You chose us to help do your work on earth. You chose us to be of great use to our destiny husbands, our communities, and our church. I understand that when my Master on earth disciplines me it's for my own good. Please continue being good to us as we follow your plan. I'll do the best I can to obey my destiny-husband as he obeys you.

The words are like poison in my mouth so instead, I start doing my multiplication tables in my head like my beautiful mother had shown me so long ago. I start with the eights.

_Eight times one is eight. Eight times two is sixteen_...

Sometimes I go over the spelling of words and create sentences in my head. Of course if the Elders knew that I can still remember how to spell and count, they'd have a meltdown. None of us girls are supposed to be literate or mathematically inclined. They say it's too much for our little heads.

As I said before, I know total garbage when I hear it.

Before they snatched me from a homeless shelter when I was five years old, my beautiful mother used to read me stories every day. She would take me to the shelters to do volunteer work. It would shock the Elders to know how much I remember of my old life before their evil came in the picture.

I remember it just being my mother and me since my father had died the same year I was born. I remember us having very little money but my mother's deep love for me making up for it. Who needed things when you were loved so unconditionally? I remember waking up thrilled to go to school and learning. My mother also taught me at home which was why I knew the time tables at five years old and so many big words in English _and_ Spanish. She always told me with pride in her voice that I was a voracious learner and thinker.

"You've got a brain the size of Texas," she'd gush proudly.

When I came here, the Elders tried to replace my memories, tried to confuse my past. They said that my mother didn't want me anymore, but that they would take care of me and bring me to the light of the Great Master. With other scared girls, I found myself in a most frightening situation. The Elders starved us and deprived us of sleep while constantly telling us about the Great Master's plan for us. The other girls' minds were soon molded. I was tagged as the rebellious one until they put me in isolation, and I had to _think_ my way out. If I continued spewing insults at them, what would happen to me? I became a tomb with my real thoughts and started trying to form a plan to escape.

But escaping was an impossibility.

"Monica!" Helga's harsh voice wakes me from my mind.

I open my eyes and turn to her from my kneeling down position. "Yes?"

"Are you really praying or is your mind somewhere else?" she snaps suspiciously.

One thing about Helga--she may be cruel and vicious but she's no dummy. She unfortunately knows who I am deep inside.

"Of course I'm praying," I state, playing the game with her. Both of us know the truth.

"Liar."

I eye her with an exhausted look on my face. "Can you read my mind?"

"No, but--"

"Then how can you accuse me?"

"I don't see devotion on your face."

"What does devotion look like?" I ask, making my face as innocent as possible.

"Well . . . It . . . Well . . ."

I enjoy flustering her, but I'm sure I'll end up paying for it. Yet, I can't keep up with the pretense of being brainwashed 24/7. Sometimes I have to mess with the power hungry abusers like they mess with me.

"Monica!" She snarls angrily when she can't get her words in order to answer my question. "Come out with me, NOW!"

By that time, the other dozens of girls had stopped their prayers and were looking at me fearfully. The silent gasp shows on their frightened faces. The only reason they don't verbalize it is because then Helga would punish them along with me. I can't say I blame them for keeping absolute quiet.

I slowly stumble off the floor, irritating her more. "Hurry up!" she yells.

As we walk past the girls, their horrified, round eyes stay on me. I open the door of the slave quarters to a light, cool wind. The good thing is that she can't condemn me to the isolation room since only the Elders are permitted to do that, and they are the only ones who have keys. Also, she can't do anything to mar my external that will leave scars. Yet, there are a number of very vicious punishments she is capable of. I wait as she circles around me with a smirk on her lips.

"What kind of punishment do you deserve?" she asks, guffawing.

I stare back at her. Her eyes gleam ominously as the oil lamp lights her distorted face. Her cruelty is about to explode.

### Chapter 3

"Get in the outhouse!" she orders.

So that's what she's going to do. She knows how much I detest the outhouse with its rancid, horrendous, penetrating smell. Every time I have to go inside, I pinch my nose until I finish my business. I can hold my breath for a very long time because of this.

The outhouse is an old shack with graying wood. It's like an open sewer where our waste drops to from the seat that's actually a hole. She'll probably lock me in there until morning with all the spiders and insects crawling in it and no light except for the sliver of moonlight that filters in between the sheets of decaying lumber. She stares at me, waiting for me to beg her not to do this like the other girls do. I won't give her the satisfaction.

"Okay," I state, heading towards the outhouse.

She frowns angrily. "You don't fool me! I know how much you hate it in there!"

"Is that what you think?" I ask calmly, already planning the spot on the wall where I can stick my nose into to breathe.

"Stop trying to fool me!"

"I like being in the waste house in case I have to go," I state, stopping at the door. "I don't have to come all this way in the middle of the night."

She's fuming, practically foaming at the mouth. "Monica--"

"H-h-hi," a male's voice says.

Miguelito. How does he know when I'm in trouble? He always shows up at the right time.

"M-M-M-Miss Helga, is, is, is--" We wait for him to finish his sentence as he stutters. Helga is rabid, but she can't say anything to Miguelito since he is the elder's favorite servant.

"I-i-is everything okay," he finally manages to say. His clear green eyes shine in the moonlight and his jet-black hair is almost invisible.

"Fine," Helga gnarls, between her teeth.

"Monica, are you s-s-s-sick? Did you need H-H-Helga to go to the outhouse with you?" he asks me with innocent concern.

"Listen, you slow witted buffoon--" she blurts but catches herself and bites her tongue. "Everything is fine. I have everything under control."

"Be careful with s-s-spiders," he tells me with a light voice. "S-s-s-some eat flesh and the Elders will be angry if your skin turns u-u-ugly."

By Helga's expression, I can tell she hadn't thought of that. Of course, if a life threatening insect bit me, she could tell the Elders that it wasn't her fault I got bitten, but the Elders held her personally responsible for anything that happened to us. This led to her abusing us psychologically since the Elders didn't particularly care about that, in fact they carefully fostered an atmosphere of intimidation, but they did care about our physical appearance.

"We'd better go inside," barks Helga .

"G-g-goodnight," Miguelito called out as we moved towards the slave quarters.

Once inside the door, Helga's grumbles became decipherable. "I don't know why they keep that boy--he's slow witted, and he's a cripple."

I hate it when she degrades a thoroughly sweet boy like Miguelito. And if he doesn't have all the body parts the rest of us do, it's not his fault. What happened to him was a horrible tragedy.

Miguelito has one arm that stops at just below his right elbow. He had lost the rest of his limb when a land mine had exploded in his hand. Luckily, the mine had been damaged or he would've been blown sky high with only pieces of him coming down. Other boys had died in similar circumstances. That's why boys as well as girls are brought here. The boys serve by doing the dangerous work like planting landmines in the jungle all around Paradise Village and by doing other grunt work. Guards carefully patrol the only road leading out, but it's unnecessary to guard around Paradise Village since all of us are only too aware of the dangers that keep us trapped inside.

Besides, if the landmines don't get us, the dogs will. Dogs are viciously trained to go after us if we escape. They are savage killers that don't hesitate to ravage what they can. In fact, those were the same dogs that had bit off a part of Helga's face. To this day they hate her and growl when they see her.

"Consider yourself lucky that boy was out there," Helga snaps at me. "Get to bed!"

Dozens of eyes stare at me with relief and questions as I get to bed. Helga turns off the oil lamp, and I start spelling words in my mind. The Elders can take away my freedom, but they'll never take what I have inside my head.

Never!

The next morning I am unceremoniously awakened when Helga screeches at five A.M. This is how she wakes us up and seems to take pleasure in our dramatically horrendous start to the day.

All of us start our work schedules with painful stomach pangs. We won't get anything to eat until much later in the day. If we're lucky, we'll get a few grains of rice the leftover slop all mixed together in a mush from the various households. Some of the married girls purposely limit themselves on what they eat, so they can leave something for us.

If we're unlucky, one of the Elders will decide we haven't worked hard enough or been on our best behaviors and throw the food away or give it to the vicious dogs. Even a single grimace or scrunched face can set an Elder off. Days and days have gone by with nothing being put in our stomachs. At those times, it feels as if our stomachs are eating themselves.

When we dream at night, we see plates full of food in our dreary and exhausted minds. It's no wonder the rest of the girls no longer remember their lives before this place.

I remember.

No matter how tired or hungry I am, I force my mind to hold onto the picture of my beautiful mama.

"I was so scared for you," Jana whispers to me as she sweeps. We have to clean our living space and then do our respective duties throughout the day.

"Miguelito saved me," I whisper back as I start making the beds.

"That boy sure loves you," Jana chuckles.

"Shut your ugly traps and get to work," Helga snaps.

When I finish the beds, I start to leave to the Mister's house. I have to clean it spic and span or be in trouble with the Elders.

"Wait," orders Helga.

"Yes?" I ask with curiosity.

"You've got a new work assignment."

"I do?"

"Yes," she says with glee. "Follow me."

I don't like the sound of this at all. If she's happy about this then my new work assignment has to be beyond horrendous. It has to be a way of her getting back at me for what had happened last night. I quietly follow her dreading what's surely in store for me.

We calmly go past the slave quarters, the boys shack, and some of the pretty homes of the married households. Where are we going? A gnawing sensation eats at my stomach as I try to guess.

Finally, we step over to the dog corral. It contains twenty or so killer dogs. Helga steps into the small barn next to it and hands me a bag of dog food while the dogs go crazy upon seeing her.

"You're assigned to the dogs from now on," she asserts over the loud and frenzied barking of the dogs.

We have to sometimes clean after them which is how I get the dog waste for the Mister's coffee, but that's pretty much all we are allowed to do for the vicious canines. I eye them as saliva drips menacingly from their mouths. The boys are given the task of caretakers for them ever since Helga had been bitten. The Elders didn't want the girls, the merchandise, marred or killed by the animals.

"Am I really assigned to the dogs?" I ask her suspiciously.

She steps closer to me with menacing eyes. "Are you questioning me?"

"Helga--"

"Feed the dogs!" she orders.

I decide it's better to get this over with. I hold the bag in my hands as I go to the part of the fence that's lower than the rest. Helga stays behind me, probably to make sure I do it correctly.

As I turn the food bag over with the animals getting more and more frenzied, I feel a hand suddenly on my back.

Push!

I fall in the corral with the killer dogs.

### Chapter 4

I land on the other side of the fence with a thud. I'm a goner, but I immediately scramble up anyway.

I'll die fighting.

But then I realize the dogs aren't biting me. They're staring at me strangely and calmly. What's going on?

Helga is staring open mouthed at the scene. She's proof that I'm not hallucinating about what's happening or that I'm not already dead. Just then I see Miguelito running towards the dog corral.

"Stop!" I order. I know from his eyes what he plans to do. He wants to rescue me from the dogs, but he'll end up getting killed if he gets anywhere near me. "Miguelito, I'm fine."

"B-b-but--"

"Stay calm."

"O-o-okay."

"Eat," I tell the dogs as I pour the dog food from the bag that had fallen with me into their trough. They hungrily gobble it up as I move towards the fence door. I carefully open it and go through it. I breathe again when I'm on the other side.

"What happened here?" demands Jory, the boy assigned to the dogs and the only one other than the Elders and some Masters who the dogs allow near, as he runs to us. "What were you doing in the corral?"

Helga takes a huge gulp.

"It's a mistake," I say calmly.

"A m-m-mistake?" asks Miguelito.

"Yes, just forget it."

"The Elders have to hear about this," Jory states, eyeing Helga . Everyone knows how much she hates me.

"There's no use bothering the Elders with this," I state. "It was a mistake."

Jory scrunches his face as if wondering what to do. If he tells the Elders then he'll basically have to admit not being at his post. "Okay, let's forget this, but I never want to see either one of you near here. Is that clear?"

I nod and so does Helga.

"I just can't understand why the dogs didn't bite you," he mumbles.

I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe they weren't in the killing mood today."

"Monica, you got so lucky today," Jory asserts faintly. "Miguelito, bring me some more food for these hungry dogs."

I start walking away with Helga behind me. I wish I could say that I saved her skin out of the kindness of my heart, but I have my reasons for doing what I did.

After we're a distance away, I turn to her. "What were you thinking?" I question. "If the dogs had killed me, you would've been blamed for it and the Elders would've done something serious to you."

"I didn't think that far," she grumbles.

"Really, Helga, sometimes you're not too bright."

She glares at me. "Monica--"

"Is revenge so up on your list that you'd risk your own skin for it?"

"Why didn't you turn me in?" she snaps.

"Mister Barstowe would've had you for breakfast."

"I know," she says quietly. "He doesn't like anyone messing with his property."

"Yes, his _property_ ," I say sarcastically.

"I suppose that you think I owe you now that you've gotten me out of trouble," she growls. "But think again!"

"Don't worry. I don't think you owe me anything."

"Good, I'm glad we understand each other.

As I turn to go to the Mister's house, I hear her mutter to herself, "Why in the world didn't those dogs bite her? Is she witch or something?"

The good thing is that she can't tell anyone about it or it can be her own hide. That's why I hadn't said anything. Who knows what the Elders will do if they find out that the dogs won't bite me? They won't like it one bit. They'll go nuts if they ever find out that one of their best forms of intimidation doesn't work on me.

"They should've bitten her like they bit me," Helga states as she moves in the opposite direction from me.

I have a good inkling of why the dogs hadn't munched on me. When they were puppies, they saw me save their mother. She had tried to escape the barbed fence and had gotten stuck instead. I had been walking by, and Jory was no where to be seen. Where does that boy hide?

Yes, it was very stupid for me to get anywhere near a killer dog, but I felt sorry for the puppies being left without their mother like I had been. Besides, I was hoping that I'd get bitten, not mortally, but enough to get me out of the Mister's sights.

When I had stepped in the corral, the puppies let me through. It was as if they knew I was about to save their mother. She didn't even bark as I set her free from the barbed wire. Bleeding and hurt, she just looked at me as I left the dog corral. Could the now grown dogs that had ended up losing their mother anyway when she was shot for biting a Master, have remembered something that had happened so long ago when I had saved their mama? Apparently they had.

Why couldn't they have at least bitten my hand? If they had marred any part of me, then I would be deemed unmarriageable like some of the girls who hadn't grown up to be attractive enough in the men's eyes and had been made servants. Anything had to be better than marrying a man you didn't love.

A creep of the utmost kind.

A smelly bag of pure viciousness.

I would find a way of marring myself except that it was considered a mortal felony, and the consequences too horrendous to consider. One girl who had scratched her face with her sharp fingernails had been thrown in isolation for weeks with only a few grains of food a day. Plastic surgery had restored her face. Another girl had burned her face with a hot knife. No plastic surgery could help her, so she was thrown in the dog corral. Those vicious animals ate her piece by piece.

They had made us watch.

That's where I learned to blind my seeing eyes.

The Elders had told us we had no right to damage ourselves in any way. We didn't belong to ourselves. We belonged to our Masters who were only doing the job placed on them by the head of the universe.

As I am nearing the Mister's property, the spiritual bells ring. I freeze.

We aren't supposed to have church for a few more hours.

What now?

### Chapter 5

My heart beats fast.

I quickly change directions. All the girls and helper-boys have five minutes to get to the Holy Sanctum. Only _five_ minutes. If we were even a sole second late, there would be severe consequences.

Around me people rush, some tripping over one another in a mad dash to make it to the church. I keep my pace but am careful of not bumping into others and falling down. A fall can cost me precious time.

Once I arrive at the True Faith Church, I get in the short A-C line in the hallway. Since we are given our destiny husband's last names as soon as we're brought to Paradise Village, I'm supposed to be a Barstowe. After my name is checked off by one of the lower-level Elders, Holy Simms, I start making it into what the Elders call the holy sanctum. A buzzer sounds off, and I pray that everyone made it inside.

The double doors open and a terrified young girl steps in. It's my friend Jana.

Uh-oh!

"You're late!!!" snaps Holy Simms.

"Your holiness," she mutters nervously, "someone tripped me and--"

"Save your lame excuses!"

Except that there is nothing lame about her excuse. Bright red blood is running down Jana's wounded knees.

I want to burst out crying for her but of course I can't show that kind of emotion or else . . .

Holy Simms snatches her by the shoulder and drags her inside the sanctum. I, along with the others who already had their names checked off, also head inside. I am relieved that my favorite corner in the back pew is empty.

Holy Simms makes Jana stand in front of the sanctum and on the raised level where everyone can see her. Her knees drip blood as her eyes spew out thick drops of water. My own eyes become wet, but I order them to dry. I look in another direction, or my emotions won't be able to obey me.

I try to keep my concentration on the Holy Sanctum. No one can deny it's a beautiful church with hand carved pews. The expert carvings are of flowers and butterflies. The floors are white marble with spatterings of different hues, and sculptures of the ten high Elders sit throughout. They stand erectly with concentrated looks on their faces as if the weight of the world is on their shoulders and with a translucent halo behind their heads.

Ugh!

As I've said over and over again, I know total garbage when I see it.

The most interesting part in the holy sanctum is the ceiling. It's very high, over 20 feet, and reaches a high point in the middle as if a pyramid. The stained glass it's made from filters sunlight that makes the sanctum appear ethereal. The painting on the glass is of a man, supposedly the Great Master of the universe. He smiles kindly and lovingly but in his right hand, he carries an discipline club. It hasn't escaped my notice that this white haired man has the different features of the high Elders.

How do the Elders know what the Master of the universe looks like?

Why does the head Master look like them?

I push a sharp snicker back into myself and prevent my eyes from rolling.

"Flock," says Holy Simms, "the high Elders are not here yet, so you'll use this precious time to pray."

The high Elders are always doing this to us--calling a gathering and then being abysmally late while we are punished for even a second of tardiness. I look at poor Jana who still stands in front of us looking lost and in horrible pain, and I shake my head.

"Girls," he continues, "pray for your destiny husbands. Pray that you're in perfect harmony with them. Pray so that out of their immense goodness, you'll be able to reach the true paradise after your time here on earth is over."

We were taught that our destiny husbands held the key to our eternity. If they didn't deem us worthy, we could get stuck in the fires of the evil dimension forever.

"Helper-boys, pray that your all-wise Masters take pity on your soiled souls and also let you into paradise."

I glance quickly at the boys seated together on one of the pews. Miguelito gives me a small smile from his section. The various groups are put in different sections of the sanctum--the helper-boys, the unmarried girls, and the married ones. The lower-level Elders are placed in the front pews with the Masters right behind them. A place of honor is reserved for the high Elders who sit behind the podium on what should've been a choir section. There they can stare down at us with stern, unforgiving eyes.

"Pray for eternal salvation. Get on your knees!"

We start getting on our knees in the space in front of us. Only a few lower-Elders and Masters are in the sanctum. They don't have to kneel since they are supposed to already be holy. The rest of us, though, have to get on our knees on the hard, marble floor.

Jana is at a loss about what to do. Her knees are so damaged that she'd bleed all over the expensive floor.

"Kneel, sinner!" demands Holy Sims, after throwing a few grains of rice on the ground in front of her.

She immediately follows his order. The excruciating look on her face becomes worse with each passing second. Being on injured knees is bad enough but adding grains of rice to the mix is absolutely wicked. I avert my eyes again and pretend I'm praying.

I count numbers, form sentences, and try to keep hate from eating me up alive. About twenty minutes later, the high Elders and the rest of the Masters step inside. Fortunately, they hadn't kept us waiting any longer. There's been times that they keep us on our knees for hours. I don't think Jana would've survived. As it is, she's white as a sheet.

"Stand up for the holiest of Elders," Holy Simms commands.

I get off the floor with relief. My knees throb from the hard marble. Poor Jana is having a difficult time standing up. As Holy Simms glares at her and pulls out his discipline club, she roughly stumbles up. She almost falls back down but somehow gathers enough strength to keep standing up.

"What's this?" roars Highest Holy Bledsoe as he points to the bloody floor.

.Not only Jana trembles but we do too. Faces around me are lit with fear. Highest Holy Bledsoe is the leader of our community. He's the one who makes most of the decisions. The other Elders and Masters may make suggestions, but he's the most powerful person in the community.

"Why is the holy floor dirty?!" he continues ranting.

Jana's eyes are wild with fear, but she doesn't say a word. Like the rest of us, she knows that no matter what she says, the Elders will find a way of making it wrong. They'll twist whatever they have to to make themselves look good and us bad.

"Why are your knees bloody, girl?!"

When she doesn't answer, Holy Simms chimes in. "She was late to service, and I made her pray for her great sin. Maybe the Great Master will take pity on her!"

"You were late?!" Highest Holy Bledsoe roars furiously.

Jana's face is so frightened, it looks about ready to implode.

"What makes you think you can be late to the house of the Great Master whenever you feel like it? And then you bloody His holy floor! What's wrong with you? How stupid are you?"

This type of berating goes on for several minutes. Poor Jana is called practically every ugly name in the book like imbecile, worthless, and brainless. No one bothered to ask how she had gotten the bloody knees in the first place. And I wonder if this Great Master only cares about the lowly being late. Most of the Elders and Masters had been late too. That Great Master they always talked about always seemed to be playing favorites.

"Take her out of this holy place!" declares Highest Holy Bledsoe. "She doesn't deserve to be in worship with us. Get her away from here."

Master Smithee, her destiny-husband, takes her by the arm and leads her outside.

"Have they said their prayers?" Highest Holy Bledsoe demands to know.

"Yes, your highest holiness," answers Holy Simms.

"Wonderful," he declares to the congregation. "Prayers will keep you in the Great Master's Kingdom. They will save you from the evil that surrounds you at each instant, whispering in your ear not to listen to your Masters who were handed the great burden by the Great Master to keep order on earth."

The Mister, who had come in with the rest of the Masters, eyes his wives and nods his head sternly. Then he tries to catch my eye, but I pretend I'm enthralled with Highest Holy Bledsoe. Finally, he gives up trying to get me to look at him and with frustration looks away.

"I called this service today because even though you are undeserving, I have a surprise for the girls."

Surprises rarely mean anything good. I wait with weariness for what he is about to spring on us.

"I just had a revelation yesterday when I was praying."

His _revelations_ usually mean something horrible for us.

"The Great Master, in his infinite wisdom, told me that he needs his souls sooner."

What?!!! Is he going to kill us?

"He needs them a little sooner than how we've been furnishing them, so instead of giving them to him the day after your birthdays, we'll be giving them to him on your date of birth."

When we are brought to Paradise Village as children, we're asked for our birthdays. If we don't know them or our age, they're assigned to us. By thirty, it is ingrained in us that we need to leave earth. The helper-boys have it worse. Their cut-off date is twenty. Now the highest Elder is saying that we, including the boys, can't go even a day past those birthdays.

"It's great news, isn't it?--to reunite with your Great Master sooner!"

It took everything I had not to get up and tell the jerk what I actually thought. If it was that much of an honor then why weren't the Elders and the Masters being murdered at the same age we were? Why did this Great Master think so highly of these cruel idiots? Surely, a grand creator like him would see this game here in Paradise Village for what it was--a power hungry play!

Before letting us go to do our respective duties, they make the unmarried girls kneel down again for another prayer session. This time they want us to thank the Great Master for the revelation he gave Highest Holy Bledsoe. I, of course, do nothing of the kind.

When we finish our prayer session, I hurry to the Mister's property. I am already late for my chores because of Helga's stunt this morning with the dogs. The Mister hates for things not to be on schedule.

As I near his house, dread weighs heavily on me. I loathe going there even though his multi-story home is considered the best house in Paradise Village. On the outside, it's like an imposing mini-castle--blocky, gray, and dreary. The inside is no less welcoming with massive, heavy dark furniture that swallows up the rooms. I despise everything about the Barstowe household--being there is excruciating torture. If the Mister is around, all he does is stare at me and call me his Little Bird.

Uuuuck!

I don't look anything like a bird, and I don't belong to him! I belong to myself! Why can't the Elders understand that it's wrong for them to own us?

When I enter through the door, a much harsher reality than the hungry dogs comes face to face with me. It's not the Mister.

Her eyes gleam as they glare at me.

Her hands are crossed in front of her. Stacy is waiting for me with the Mister's discipline club in her hand and a smirk on her lips.

### Chapter 6

"I've been waiting for you," Stacy smirks as she lightly smacks the palm of her left hand with the discipline club she grips with her right one.

"What do you want?" I grumble.

"You should talk to me with more respect," she snaps. "After all, I'm a more senior family-wife than you--or than you'll be when you actually marry Master Barstowe."

No family-wife would ever dare call her husband by his first name. The Mister's moniker is Alcott, and I'm glad I don't have to use it, or I'd probably call him Allrot by mistake.

"What do you want?' I repeat.

Stacy continues clubbing her left palm slowly and deliberately. "I think I need to teach you a lesson."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It's about time someone puts you in your place! Master Barstowe babies you," she snickers.

"You think you're going to be the one to put me in my place?" I guffaw.

Stacy abruptly points the discipline club at me, her face contorted in a fury. "You wouldn't be so flippant if you knew that we're both here by ourselves."

"Where are the other family-wives and Master Barstowe?" I ask with curiosity.

"They went to the store, so he could pick out their new wardrobes."

Before marriage, destiny-brides have to dress in shapeless, ugly rags but after the wedding the husbands dress them any way they want. The Mister favored an old fashioned look for his wives of long, flowery dresses that emphasized a shape but at the same time covered it up. There were those husbands who dressed their wives in mini-skirts and tank tops. We girls didn't even have control over what we put on our bodies.

UGH!!!

"Why didn't _you_ go to the store?" I ask her.

"I wasn't feeling too well," she snickers as she continues striking her left hand with the club. "I bet you're feeling scared now."

"If you're going to hit me then lets get it over with," I snarl.

Her light blue eyes light up with fury. "You don't think I'll hit you, but I will."

"Go ahead," I say coolly.

"Stop acting as if you're not scared."

"I just need to ask you for a favor," I state.

Her enraged eyes turn triumphant. "I knew you'd start begging."

"Please make sure you put all you're strength in hitting me."

It actually wouldn't be such a bad thing for her to disfigure me since the dogs hadn't done it. She'd really be doing me a favor.

Her triumphant eyes turn poisonous. I don't think I've ever seen her so furious. As she swiftly steps over to me, I stand my ground.

"Monica," she spits out, fuming, "I'm going to give you a beating you'll never forget!" She raises the club. I calmly stare at her.

"I'm going to hit you," she smirks with the club raised in the air.

"I'm waiting."

"After I get done with you, you'll have to go to the hospital."

"I can only hope."

The hospital wasn't so bad. You'd get three square meals a day and rest from the constant chores you were subjected to all day.

"I mean it, Monica--I'm going to hurt you bad!"

"Stop talking about it and do it already."

She slowly lowers the club to my forehead and gives it a strong thrust. I keep standing my ground. "Beg me for forgiveness," she demands.

I stare into her eyes nonchalantly with the mini-bat pressing into my skin. "Forgiveness for what?" I question, testily.

"For not giving me the proper respect! For being such a bad family-wife! For not being a good follower of the word. For--"

"You might as well stop because I'm not going to apologize. Are you going to hit me or what?"

Fuming and making grunting noises, she raises the club again. I wait. Then she collapses to the ground crying. I can see how disgusted she is with herself at not having had the guts to hit me. If the Mister sees one mark on me that he hasn't made himself, he'll go ballistic. If she was smart, she'd hit me where he couldn't see. Of course, she'd have to curtail her dream of landing me in the hospital and only give me a few painful whacks. But she can't do it. She shrieks in agony. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. But then she starts her litany of insults towards me.

"You worthless, ugly, lazy, unholy, dirty--"

Okay, okay, but I have to do my work before Master Barstowe gets here, or he'll be furious. You can call me names as I'm cleaning."

I leave her on the floor as I step into the kitchen where I start with the dishes. Usually the family-wives have meals together. Cooking is the one thing they are required to do as far as household chores go. We, unmarried girls, do the rest. I smile when I see that the two other family- wives had left some food on their plates. They are as kind as Stacy is cruel. Even though they are only allowed a limited amount of food, so they won't get fat, they still manage to give me a little of the small portions they get. With my fingers, I quickly snatch the dabs of scrambled eggs from the two plates and ram them in my mouth before Stacy realizes they left me food and throws it away. She's done that before.

I sigh. I don't know who despises me more--Helga or Stacy. And what's worse is that I had never done anything to them except to be alive and breathe. Those two haters have no real reason for disliking me. Sure, I have a smart mouth but only when they provoke me. The rest of the time I'm pretty quiet. I don't know why they can't just leave me alone? What do I do that bothers them so much?

As if on cue, Stacy rushes into the kitchen, her face still stained with all the tears she had shed over not being able to pummel me. Thankfully, I had already eaten the leftover food. "This isn't over, Monica!" she screetches.

I wearily look at her. "Oh?" I notice she no longer carries the discipline club.

Stacy starts cackling vociferously. "I've gotten even with you! You'll see! You'll see," she threatens over and over again.

"Whatever."

"You'll see! You'll see!"

I leave her smirking face and go to bedroom number one. The Mister likes me to first clean the kitchen and then take care of the room of the senior family-wife. Of course, Agatha is only twenty-five and not senior at all, but for all intents and purposes she is his first wife and has a little more authority over the rest of us. Good thing she's a sweetheart. There are rumors that the Mister has an actual first wife somewhere outside of Paradise Village, but it's impossible to find out the truth. All I know is that it's suspicious and a huge relief that the Mister is sporadically in and out of Paradise Village. Most of the men, except the Elders who keep a tight vigil on the place, seem to have other lives away from here. It's very suspicious indeed.

As I go to the next bedroom, I hear Stacy cackling like a deranged witch. She's up to something alright. I dread her stupid tricks. I have enough to contend with than to play such silly games.

Finally, having finished cleaning the rooms of Agatha and Bernice, I walk over to hers with dread. She suddenly appears inn the hallway snickering and hollering. "You're going to get it! You're going to get it!" she repeats gleefully.

As I step through the doorway, I stand in her bedroom in shock and disgust. Trash is spread throughout the floor, cushions are flung all over, and the Mister's shaving cream has been sprayed on the furniture.

Stacy's shrill laughter vibrates from the walls. "I told you I'd get you!"

I stare at her with disgust.

"Are you sorry now? Are you--" she abruptly stops speaking when the Mister's voice resonates from the downstairs.

"Monica!" he yells furiously. "Why isn't the house clean?!"

He's probably standing in the living room which I haven't had a chance to clean yet. Stacy's face contorts into a triumphant smirk.

"Do I have to discipline you?" he asks furiously as climbs the stairs, stomping his feet.

### Chapter 7

"What's this?!" he roars, staring at the mess in Stacy's bedroom. The family-wives behind me look at me with terror in their eyes. "What happened here?!" The discipline club trembles in his right hand.

The smirk immediately leaves Stacy's face, and she puts on her innocent look. "I can't believe what Monica has done to my room, Master Barstowe. She hates me so much."

The Mister eyes me harshly. "You did this, Monica?"

"Yes, she did," Stacy quickly chimes in.

"Why would you do this, Monica?" he asks again.

"She hates me so much. She--"

"Am I asking you?" he retorts, giving Stacy a whack that cracks on he skin with a painful sound. "Did you?" he questions me again.

"No," I simply say.

"She's lying," cries Stacy as she rubs her arm where the Mister hit her.

"Oh is she?" the Mister sarcastically asks.

"She is, Master. Barstowe," she blurts, tears of fear sliding off her face. "Monica trashed my room. She--"

"No, she didn't!" he roars. "What kind of fool do you take me for, Stacy?"

Horror fills her face. The innocent act is completely gone and in its place is sheer terror. "I would never take you for a fool, Master Barstowe."

"How do you expect me to believe that Monica would mess up a home she has to clean? That would be dumb and Monica isn't dumb!!! Not like you!!!"

Stacy's eyes twitch harshly. The rest of the family-wives look at her with alarm and pity. "Maybe it was an accident," she throws out, trying to extricate herself from the mess she had created. "Maybe--"

"How does dirt get thrown in here by accident?!"

"I--I--"

"Shut up!"

She slides to the floor. "Please have mercy on me," she pleads. "I swear it was all a misunderstanding. Please--"

"Shut up!" he yells at her. Then he turns to me once more. "There's something else I want to know. Why was my discipline club on the living room floor?"

I exhale profoundly. Stacy had probably left it there when she was menacing me. What a stupid thing to do--to forget to put it back. The girl had really been looking for trouble. Nothing set the Mister off more than someone with his personal things--especially his discipline club.

"Why was it there, Monica," he repeats. Stacy looks at me with pleading eyes.

I just don't have it in me to be a snitch even though after what she had done to me, I should rat her out. But for this mistake she would probably pay dearly--very dearly.

"I was cleaning it," I state. Maybe he'd be so disenchanted with me that he'd refuse to marry me. Or maybe he'd disfigure me.

He swiftly starts walking up to me, the discipline club firmly in his hand. I mentally get ready for the beating. I'm sure it'll be one I'll never forget. He looks furious enough to kill me.

Stopping in front of me, he eyes my face. "What's that?" he asks, pointing at my forehead.

"What?"

"You've got a bruise mark on your forehead."

Stacy must've pushed the discipline club too harshly on my skin. "I fell and--"

"You're lying, Little Bird," he murmurs.

"I--"

"That bruise is in the exact shape of the top of the club. Now, I'm sure, Little Bird, that you didn't hit yourself with it."

"But--"

"You've got to stop protecting others," he says softly. "You're heart is way too big which is why I love you so."

"I--"

"Stacy!" he snaps turning to her. "It's obvious that you hate Monica. I've warned you about hurting her! Today, you've crossed a line! You've hurt her beautiful skin with the club, you've messed up my beautiful home, you've lied to me, and--"

"She lied to you too," she blurts, pointing at me with a shaky finger.

"She lied because she's too kind. You, on the other hand, have to be taught a lesson!"

As the discipline club starts coming down, there's nothing I can do, but look away in horror. The other family-wives do the same. Even if I live to a hundred years, which I can't because of the system here, I'll never forget those cruel and aggressive thrashes.

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

Stacy screeches with blood curling agony. My eyes squeeze shut, desperately wanting to be far away from here. Finally, Stacy mercifully passes out. Instead of me landing in the hospital, it is her limp, bruised, and unconscious body that is taken there.

During the next few days, the other family-wives tell me that her wounds will heal. The Mister hadn't disfigured her forever but I'm sure that on the inside, her bitterness towards me is growing by the second. I fully expect for her to take her frustrations out on me especially when the Mister, in his ongoing fury, ordered her to starve for a few days. Her food is to be given to me.

When the first plate arrives at the slave quarters, smoked ham and assorted vegetables, I stare at it in disbelief.

"Th-th-this is for you," Miguelito informs me.

"For me?"

"M-M-Master Barstowe s-s-s-says for you to have it."

I try to give him some of my bounty, but he says he has to leave. Instead, I quickly share it with the other girls. Since no one but us are around, we grab the food with our fingers instead of sticking our mouths in the food. Luckily, I don't have to remind any of the girls not to gorge themselves, that they need to eat in small amounts. We each take turns. Because the food is divided amongst us, there isn't much for each but enough so that our hunger pains aren't quite as sharp and acute as usual.

"What's this?!" yells Helga, having come into the slave quarters.

"Nothing," I say but she's already eyeing the empty plate. We had even licked it clean.

"Is this the plate Master Barstowe sent you?!"

"Yes."

Her face seems to want to explode. "Why didn't you wait for me?!"

"You would've eaten all the food without sharing with us," I say matter-of-factly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You would've gobbled all of it up."

"What if I had? I would've deserved it."

"That food was for me. I decide what to do with it and not you."

Her face contorts in such a way that I barely recognize her. "How can you be so selfish after all I do for you girls!" she snarls.

Furious and muttering obscenities at us, she punishes us by forcing us to scrub every corner of the shack. She gives me an extra helping of punishment by making me clean the outhouse with a toothbrush. I try not to faint as I cover my nose when I'm inside the smelly place.

She thinks she taught us a lesson but to her consternation, for the next three days, those plates continue to arrive when she isn't around and we gorge on them before she shows up. It's like Miguelito knows when to deliver them.

On the fourth day, a specific gleam in her eyes tells me that she's about to get back at us for not giving her even a single morsel of the food. When she makes us go outside in a single file, I realize why she's so happy.

The dogs, snarling and vicious, are waiting for us.

### Chapter 8

Having realized that the dogs won't bite me, I'm not scared for myself. I'm frightened for the rest of the girls. Helga knows this about me and is enjoying my deeply concerned and pained face. As I've said before, she's no dummy and is very well aware of who I am inside.

The snarling dogs bark with frenzied abandon. Saliva drips from their sharp teeth.

Drip, drip, drip.

They're hungry. They're anxious for their food. They're only willing to wait a a very short moment.

Wild canine eyes challenge us with piercing daggers. We have to just stand there while they wait impatiently for Jory to give them the go ahead to tear us apart. He won't, of course, but this whole scenario is still terrifying. Jory looks so uncomfortable that I almost feel sorry for him. He hates having to do this once a month.

Now comes the really horrible part. Scaring us half to death isn't the worse believe it or not. Reluctantly, Jory prepares to open the brown paper bag he is carrying. A live animal inside jostles the paper but like all the others that came before it, it's well bounded. What will it be this time? A bird? A raccoon? A beaver? What can it be? The poor animal has no idea what it's in for.

Cluck, cluck, cluck.

A chicken. Jory had undone the rope constraints and the tape over the beak of the snowy white chicken. It bounces onto the ground while Jory gives it a few moments of life.

"Get it!" he yells.

The dogs leap at the chicken with fierceness. In a few seconds, there's nothing left of it. Nothing at all. Only a few drops of blood sully the ground. The poor animal had disappeared as if it never existed.

But the ravenous tearing apart of it is permanently seared in our minds. The growling echoes. The rabid fight between the dogs for it. The sweltering violence of it all.

If we had had anything in our stomachs, we probably would've vomited every single particle of food.

After Jory leaves with the dogs, High Holy Grinder shows up. He's the next in command after Highest Holy Bledsoe. Pleased with the naked terror still on our faces, he smiles as he eyes the drops of the chicken's blood on the ground.

"I hear you've been good this week," he tells us.

"High Holy Grinder, they haven't been good," interjects Helga. "They've--"

"Silence! If I wanted to hear from you, I would've asked you."

"Yes, High Holy Grinder," she mumbles, dejected.

"If their Masters say they've been good, then they have!"

"Yes, High Holy Grinder."

"Destiny-brides, I want to tell you that you're good behavior doesn't go without notice. We're aware of how you've been doing the Great Master's work without complaint."

This is the same speech he gives us every week, unless we do something wrong and then he gives us the other speech--the one that calls us immoral creatures who don't appreciate the Great Master's plan for us.

"You've been holy this week. The Great Master will reward you when you pass on to be at his side. Meanwhile, you'll also be rewarded on earth."

The reward he's talking about is the _free_ hour we get every week to do what we please. We actually can't do _anything_ we want, but we're at least free from chores. This as free as we get in Paradise Village and I'm anxious for him to shut up, so we can get on with it.

"Take the time to do as you wish, but I do hope that you take a few seconds and pray for the well being of your Masters."

Right! I'm going to take my precious time to pray for that smelly creep!

"Your Masters don't get a break like you do. They have to always be thinking of the best for our community and of what the Great Master wants of them."

I force myself not to gag.

"Show the Great Master that you can be unselfish. He'll reward you in the next world."

High Holy Grinder finally leaves. I rush inside the slave quarters and grab my boomerang from under my mattress. The rest of the girls are pulling out their dolls from underneath their beds. This is the only time we're allowed with our toys.

When we first get to Paradise Village, we're permitted to ask our destiny- husbands for one toy. For the first few weeks we're allowed to keep the toy with us at all times. Most girls ask for dolls. I can't say I blame them. The need for something cuddly to hold onto is huge. I, however, had asked for a boomerang.

My mother and I had played with one that we had found at the Goodwill. Those were good memories, and I guess that having picked a boomerang instead of a doll was a way of remembering her. The Elders had been taken aback with my request. They thought I should ask for a Barbie, small dishes, or something of the sort. They had almost refused to give me the boomerang, but the Mister had intervened. For some reason, it amused him that I had asked for one.

"I had one when I was a kid," he told me, winking an eye.

So I had gotten my boomerang, demonstrating to me how much influence the Mister has on the Elders. I don't think any other Master could've made the Elders give me the boomerang. Later on, the toy became a real godsend with me being able to take out my frustrations with it.

Outside, I start throwing my boomerang in the back yard of the slave quarters. It's a quiet space with no foot traffic. Green and lush, it would be a beautiful area except for how it imprisons me.

I toss the toy with greater force each time, my frustrations are so sharp. It always comes back to me, ready to do as I bid. I sigh. This toy is the only thing I can control in my life.

I keep practicing with my boomerang until the sun starts setting. The Elders haven't rung the church bell, so I don't have to get in the slave quarters yet.

The Elders are giving us extra time to demonstrate how _good_ they are to us. But I know the truth. This is one of their manipulations. There's nothing good about them and their intentions.

I decide not to waste any of this free time thinking about the cruelty of our jailers. Staring at the starry sky, I wonder if my mother is watching the same ones and wondering about me as I'm wondering about her.

The day I was abducted comes at me like an exploding bomb. My mama and I had been helping out at the homeless shelter by handing out food. When I had gone out with her to get some fresh air, someone had come at her from the back and bumped her head with a discipline club. As I had run to her, another man had grabbed me from behind, and put his hand over my mouth. A third man had given me an injection.

When I woke up, I was in Paradise Village. Several of us girls were bound and gagged and in the sanctum. The Masters walked around us, surveying us.

"I want this one," one of the Masters had said, pointing at me.

"No, you don't," roared the Mister. "This one's mine!"

"I picked her first."

"Gentlemen, stop fighting," Highest Holy Bledsoe stated. "There's plenty for everybody."

At the end, It was the Mister who had gotten me. The smelly man just had too much power! He had renamed me Monica even though I insisted my name was Frida.

"Will I ever be Frida again?" I ask the stars. "Will I ever see my mama again?"

The church bells ring, interrupting the delicious quiet of the night. It's time to go inside. I sigh in frustration.

Once I open the door, Helga is already waiting for me with sparkling eyes and a wide grin. She's up to something. I brace myself.

"Guess what?" she snickers.

I don't feel like playing childish games with her. "What?"

"Your sacred surgery has been set!"

### Chapter 9

I stare at Helga with a dumbfounded expression on my face. She rejoices. I make an effort to blink my eyes but they stay open. The sacred surgery. I shouldn't be reacting this way--as if a comet landed on me. I knew it was coming. How could I not? We're told as small children that we're not here to procreate. We're here to serve our husbands and not care for kids. A few weeks before our marriages, we have to go through the sacred surgery to tie our tubes so we can't get pregnant.

"When is it scheduled?" I manage to say.

"In a few weeks," she smirks.

"When exactly?"

"It's not your business to know when," she snaps. "Just know that it's about to happen."

I had heard that the surgery was painful. I'm not afraid of the pain. I live with it every day of my life because my life here is an open sore. I'm not even that upset that they're taking the opportunity away from me to have babies. Why would I want to bring children into such a cruel world? I wouldn't want to do it to my worst enemies much less my own flesh and blood.

What does affect me about the scheduled surgery is that it brings me face to face with my dreadful predicament. I'm only a small step away from marrying the smelly creep.

Ugh!!!

"Go say your prayers," orders Helga, smirking. "It's almost time for bed."

I step over to my bunk hardly noticing the girls already on their hands and knees in prayer. I kneel down and pray. But I'm not praying to the Great Master that the Elders force down our throats. I'm praying to the great one my mama had told me about. According to her, God is compassionate, kind, and giving--the polar opposite of the Great Master.

Please stop the marriage between the Mister and me. Please.

I wake up with more dread than I've ever had before. I go about my morning like a robot. In the Mister's household, he smiles brightly at me as I do my chores. Sometimes he sits in the room I'm cleaning and watches me closely. I hate it so much that it takes everything I have not to yell at him to stop.

"You're so beautiful, Little Bird," he coos.

I keep dusting the furniture.

"You're like sunshine on a cold, dank, dreary snowy day."

With all the dark feelings I have inside of me, I'm nothing like sunshine. And why does he think that I can relate to his complement? It never snows in Paradise Village and I only have vague memories of it from before I came here. He seems to have a much better understanding of snow than I do. This makes me question the world out there that is prohibited to me.

What's outside of Paradise Village?

The rest of the girls may not remember hardly anything at all but I do. There's so much out there! If I could just figure out how to escape.

"Monica, you know that your sacred surgery has already been set, right?" the Mister questions.

I nod my head as I continue cleaning.

A sharp and decisive whack comes down on my shoulder. I bite my tongue in order not to cry out.

"When I'm addressing you, you immediately stop what you're doing and answer me with words!" he retorts angrily.

My eyes set on his contorted face. "Yes, Master Barstowe."

"That's more like it," he growls.

"Yes, Master Barstowe," I repeat. Gosh, do I hate this jerk!

"I don't like hitting you, but we're almost married and you have to learn."

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"Now, let's move on to a more pleasant topic."

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"Did you like the plates of food I sent you last week?"

"Thank you, Master Barstowe."

"My Little Bird, I'm always going to be generous with you. Our marriage will be the best one I have. You'll be the most special family-wife. My favorite. And you don't have to worry about Stacy. She'll never bother you again."

He leaves to his study and the relief that escapes my throat palpitates through the air. A gaunt Stacy doesn't say a word to me but just lies in her bed as I clean her bedroom. She doesn't speak to me or even looks at me.

When I finish with my chores, I'm told to go to the Smythee household. There's some kind of a problem there and I need to help Jana with whatever is needed. Jana's knees had already heeled from the sanctum debacle, but something harsh was happening in that household, and she needed extra help.

After knocking on the door, Jana solemnly greets me with an anguished look on her face. "Thanks," she whispers to me.

I don't understand why she's thanking me. It's my obligation to be here. Then she places her hand on my arm as if to gleam strength from it, and I realize she's thanking me for the emotional support I represent.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Of course she's okay," retorts Betsey, one of the family-wives. She'd just stepped into the living room. "This worthless girl is scared of a little blood."

"Blood?"

"I don't have time to explain to the likes of you," she snaps, "just follow me."

I follow her as she strides through the two-story house that is much more homey and colorful than the Mister's mini-castle. The simple oak furniture here doesn't overwhelm the home. Betsey and I finally get to a specific door. "I hope you're not as _delicate_ as Jana," she sneers, opening it.

What is beyond the doorway shakes me to the core. It is no wonder Jana couldn't handle it. Beatrix, a family-wife, lies perfectly still on her bed.

Splotches, splotches, and more splotches.

Red, red, red.

Blood eerily covers the white sheets.

Beatrix seems to be unconscious. Master Smythee sits by her bedside holding her hand and crying. I've never seen anything like this. It is a scene from a horror movie or at the very least, a surreal one. I take a deep breath. I've never even seen a Master cry--especially for one of us.

"Clean up," orders Betsey as she heads for the door.

I make myself snap out of my stupor, and momentarily push away the grisly scene in front of me. "Where are the clean sheets?"

"On the top shelf of the closet," Betsey garbles nonchalantly as she steps out the door and closes it.

I rush to the closet, pull out some sheets, and then step over to a dresser. Searching the drawers, I finally find her underwear and another sleeping gown. I'm going to do the best I can to clean this mess up.

"Why isn't she in the hospital?" I can't help but to ask Master Smythee with a certain accusatory tone. He may whack me but the question had bounced out of my mouth without caring of the repercussions for having questioned a Master.

Surprisingly enough, he doesn't hit me. Instead, he answers, "I took her to the hospital. They operated but then they let her out!" he snaps furiously. "They said they couldn't do anything for her anymore."

I decide to press my luck and keep asking. "What's wrong with her?"

He lets out a piercing cry. "She got pregnant. Can you believe it? We were going to have a baby together," he cries.

"What happened?" I ask gently.

"Since her tubes are tied it wasn't a normal pregnancy. They had to operate. They said she'd be okay but now she's bleeding and those idiots won't allow her back in the hospital. She's going to bleed to death!"

It is obvious to me that for some reason the Elders want her dead. Their cruelty has no bounds.

"Help me," I tell him. The very least I can do for her is to get her out of these stained sheets and let her die with some dignity.

He helps me change her and change the sheets. I do most of it, but he assists with the lifting. Beatrix hardly makes a peep through the process. She just groans softly.

"It's my fault she's going to die," he cries, "all my fault."

I still can't believe I'm seeing a Master fall apart over one of his wives. He's crazed and desperate.

"I got her pregnant," he mutters, gulping for air, "and then I yelled at the doctors after the surgery and that's why they want her dead, you know."

He had also guessed that the Elders don't want her alive. I sigh deeply.

"I told them that we shouldn't be doing these things to all of you. I don't want this life anymore! I love Beatrix, and I want her to be my only wife. I want them to untie her tubes so we can have children. I want us to be a normal family!"

"You told them all that?"

"I refused to leave her side. That's when they told me to bring her home. Now she's bleeding to death!" We both look at Beatrix, heavy perspiration gliding down her face. A thought suddenly occurs to me.

"Master Smythee," I say excitedly, "she stopped bleeding."

"What?"

"Look at the sheets! They're as white as when I first changed them."

He's so dumbstruck that he only stares at his wife. I remove the top sheet and sure enough, there's no blood anywhere.

"She stopped bleeding," he mumbles, surprised.

"It's got to be a good sign," I state, hoping with everything inside of me that I'm right.

"Where . . . where . . . where am I," stutters Beatrix in a very weak voice.

She's coming back to life.

### Chapter 10

Every day, Master Smythee requests for me to go to his house after my personal chores are done. The Elders try to prevent it by saying I have my own destiny-household to care for, but Master Smythee forces their arm by telling them in church and in front of the whole congregation that the Great Master revealed to him that I was to help heal his wife. The Elders know that if they question him, then we will start questioning our Masters. Master Smythee has outfoxed the Elders. I worry about how long this will last or what the Elders will do in retaliation. Apparently, Master Smythee doesn't care. All he seems to care about is that Beatrix is getting a little better each day.

He says he appreciates how I take care of Beatrix. Between Jana and me we make sure all her needs are met. He won't let a doctor near her for fear they'll do something to kill her. This is such an odd situation that I try not to think about it. I just try to help.

As I'm walking to the Smythee household one day, Miguelito catches up to me. He wears his traditional happy grin.

"H-h-hi, Monica."

"How are you doing?" I greet back.

"I-I-I h-h-hear you s-s-saved Beatrix's l-l-life."

"I wouldn't say that. I just helped."

"You-you-you're awesome, Monica."

"Thank you."

"I-I-I hope you d-d-don't take this w-w-wrong, but I love you."

I smile at him. His innocent eyes stare at me. "I love you too, Miguelito. You're my pal."

He gushes back. "Ye-ye-yes, I'm your p-p-pal."

I reach the Smythee household with a warm feeling inside of me. The word love isn't much used here except when the Mister tells me he loves me, but I know that it's a twisted obsession and not actually love. Sweet Miguelito. How can you not love him and his purity?

"It's about time you got here," growls Betsey as she opens the door for me.

In the short amount of time I had been there, I had realized that she was worse than Helga and Stacy put together. I really felt it for Jana when she'd have to fully join this family.

"I need you to clean my room," she snaps.

"I thought I was here to help with Beatrix."

"You do as I tell you to do!"

"What's all the noise here?" asks Master Smythee, entering the living room.

"Nothing, Master Smythee," mumbles Betsey.

"Hello, Monica," he greets, smiling at me.

"Hi, Master Smythee."

"I'm glad you're here. Could you stop by the kitchen and get three bowls of soup that Jana made earlier? They'll be for Beatrix, me, and you too."

Since I had been coming here, I had been fed every time. Master Smythee was generous with Jana and me. Betsey hates this and twists her face.

"Master Smythee, it's not a good idea to give her food."

"Why not?" he snaps.

"It's not good for her to get used to your generosity. Master Barstowe might not like it. She needs to learn that coming here is work, and she shouldn't be babied. That's why I asked her to clean my room before going to Beatrix."

"You asked her what?" he roars.

"I was only--"

"I'm so sick of you!!! Never, ever tell anyone in my household what to do!"

Her face drains of all color, and her eyes are about to burst with tears.

"I'm so sick of you!!! Get out of my face!! Get out _now_!"

She scurries away with a frightened look on her face.

"Sorry about her," he tells me, between his teeth. "I never wanted her! The Elders forced her on me."

"Why did they do that?" I ask with curiosity.

"They thought I was soft--maybe I am but why is that bad? They thought she'd put the order in my household that they claim is lacking. I just could never get the hang of the discipline club."

I smile at him. Each day that I spend with him, I like him more. I really wish that he'd be my destiny-husband instead of the Mister. I'm happy for Jana, though.

After I take the bowls to Beatrix's bedroom, Master Smythee insists on feeding her. She's still very weak and groggy but he does well getting the soup into her mouth with the spoon. Since I still don't know how to maneuver those utensils, I drink my soup. For other types of food, Master Smythee has allowed me to eat with my fingers instead of having to stick my mouth in the sustenance.

"She's getting so much better," he murmurs happily.

Beatrix's color is returning, and she recognizes us when we're near her. She speaks in short words before her exhaustion knocks her out, but she speaks them.

"Thank you so much for everything, Monica," he tells me.

This is the first time since I've been in Paradise Village that I feel a part of something important, and I just can't get over a Master treating me like an equal.

When I arrive at the slave quarters that night, Helga is waiting for me with a slimy smirk written all over her face. I try to ignore it as I go past her.

"You're so happy with yourself," she snickers as she follows me to my bunk.

"What are you talking about?"

"You think you've such a hot shot with what you're doing at the Smythee household."

"I've never considered myself a hot shot."

"I wouldn't be so thrilled if I were you."

"Helga, I'm tired. I need to get to bed."

"The Elders will never allow for Master Smythee's rebellion."

"Rebellion?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

As I've said before, Helga is vicious but she's no dummy.

"Good night, Helga."

During the morning chores, a vociferous sound rattles the shack. All of us immediately stop what we're doing and stare at each other with horrified expressions.

The church bells are ringing.

They're clanging in a certain ominous way.

Who's going to die?

Die!!!

### Chapter 11

We snap out of the paralyzing fear that has overtaken us and swiftly head towards the church. Because of the sinister nature of the bells, I work especially hard at not having them distract me. What had happened to Jana for being late is seared in my mind.

As I take my seat in my preferred area in the sanctum, Miguelito's eyes catch mine. He's not his usual jovial self. His face looks grief stricken. He knows something very bad is about to happen. I wish he could tell me what it is.

I search in my head trying to remember which girl's 30th birthday or helper-boy's 20th one came up. Those are the ages we're allowed to reach. My mind draws a blank. I'm sure that not any of us has a birthday today. _What's going on?_ Miguelito's eyes turn away from me and glue themselves to the middle of the front where Jana had been made to kneel over rice.

Unfortunately, that's also where the sacred altar comes out as the floor shifts apart to let it through during the _Returning to the Great Master_ ceremonies. The familiar sound of movement underneath the floor echoes through the sanctum and a huge dread eats my stomach.

Who's going to die?

I want to turn away as the sacred altar comes up slowly, but I can't. I have to see who the victim is. Highest Holy Bledsoe is already at the podium.

"Today is a very special day for our True Faith ministry!" he shouts, enthusiasm in his voice.

I cringe.

"Today is especially holy."

I shudder.

"The Great Master has spoken to me!"

Whenever the Great Master supposedly speaks to him, tragedy for us is around the corner.

The sacred altar is finally on top of the floor. There is a body indeed on the slab of white marble, and I abruptly turn away. It's very difficult to keep looking. When a communal gasp reverberates through the sanctum, I force myself to turn back. I almost wish I hadn't.

Every breath rushes out of me.

On the sacred altar, lying motionless and waiting to be murdered is Beatrix. She's semi-conscious as she moans in pain. My eyes desperately dart around to search for Master Smythee. There's no way he'd be permitting this, but he's nowhere.

What have they done with him?

"Last night as I was saying my prayers," Highest Holy Bledsoe continues his sermon, "the Great Master honored me with his command. He said that he needed Beatrix sooner than expected."

Another communal gasp echoes through the air.

"Beatrix, you're so lucky to be handpicked by the Great Master for a special mission after you go with him. So lucky."

Nasty bile rises from my stomach. Beatrix is only twenty years old. She was supposed to have ten more years.

I want to yell at Bledsoe so badly. I want to shout out that all of this is total garbage, that the Great Master can't be so cruel, and that the Elders and Masters are agents of evil and not good. But like a coward I shut up. I know that if I say even a fraction of what I want to say, I'll be in serious trouble.

Just like Master Smythee obviously hasn't been allowed to get away with his supposed betrayal.

Helga had been so right. I eye her to let her know that I'm disgusted with the whole thing. To my surprise she isn't savoring being correct. Instead, her steady gaze of profound sadness stays on Beatrix.

Helga has a heart. Who would've guessed?

"Let's say our _Return to the Great Master_ prayer," demands Highest Holy Bledsoe.

I mouth the words but don't say them. Why should I thank a Great Master who does such things to his children?

Great Master,

Thank you for your many blessings. Thank you for your gifts. Thank you for loving us worthless human beings. We gladly return to you what is yours. Beatrix is going home to you, to your kingdom. She thanks you for that privilege and can't wait to serve you.

Thank you, Great Master.

According to Bledsoe's teachings, girls aren't supposed to get into the Great Master's Kingdom without permission from their destiny husbands. How is Beatrix reaching that place without the consent of Master Smythee? Usually during these ceremonies the husband says a loud prayer asking the Great Master to let her in.

TOTAL GARBAGE! All this is such a lie!

I make my hands into tight fists, trying to hold the tumultuous fury bursting from me. Dr. Eckhold, the only physician in Paradise Village, takes the lethal injection from his black bag. He holds it up as if a trophy.

"No," mumbles a weak Beatrix. "I want the drink." Apparently, she was somewhat conscious of what was happening to her.

"Did you hear that?" gushes Highest Holy Bledsoe. "She wants to move on from this world with the greatest honor."

People on the sacred alter had two choices. Either the injection would be forced on them or they could drink the poison. Usually, they were drugged before the ceremony to get them compliant. If a person chose to drink it, the Elders declared that that person would sit in honor next to the Great Master.

Highest Holy Bledsoe takes the injection from Dr. Eckhold's hands and empties it in a gold grail adorned with red rubies and diamonds. He makes a point of raising it to the filtered sunlight coming from the stained glass ceiling.

"May your mercy on our wretched souls never cease, Great Master," he utters.

He steps over to Beatrix who is finding it difficult to keep her eyes open.

"Where's Master Smythee?" she manages to ask in her groggy state.

Highest Holy Bledsoe's mouth drops open as if he's taken aback. After clearing his throat, he still doesn't speak for a few seconds.

"He. . . he . . . he had to leave . . . to do the Great Master's work."

"Master Smythee," she mumbles.

"Here, my child, drink it," he says, putting the grail to her lips. "The Great Master is waiting."

I cringe in heartbreaking pain. She chugs the poison. When it is all gone, Bledsoe's hands the cup to Dr. Eckhold and caresses Beatrix's hair. "You are a wonderful child of the Great Master. The greatest. You're willingness to drink the holy liquid will be rewarded."

Beatrix abruptly opens her eyes, but this time they're not as unfocussed as before. She looks straight at Highest Holy Bledsoe. "I'd rather die a thousand deaths than remain one more day in this place!" she yells as she uses her remaining strength to thrust him away from her.

As Highest Holy Bledsoe crashes to the floor, the gold grail escaping his fingers and clattering loudly, Beatrix lies back down and dies.

Chapter 12

Several Elders rush to Highest Holy Bledsoe to help him up. The congregation watches with stunned expressions. Nothing like this has ever happened. Usually the girls die without saying or doing anything.

Highest Holy Bledsoe stumbles over to the pulpit with an obvious limp. The fall did him some damage. I'm glad! If it's such an honor to commit suicide for the Great Master then why don't our jailers do it? Why don't they volunteer to get murdered? Rancor rips through me with sharp teeth.

"Followers of the great truth," he tells us, gasping for air because of the pain he seems to be feeling, "of the one True Faith, don't take what Beatrix said into account. She's been delirious since her hospital stay."

I glare at him.

"The evil creature must've taken over her!" he insists. "We must pray for her. Maybe the Great Master will take pity on her and snatch her away from his hooves!"

We're made to kneel down to pray for Beatrix's soul. I pray that she is in a place full of happiness and peace. Tears rush down my face, and I discreetly rub them away with the palm of my hand.

Highest Holy Bledsoe starts yelling in his strongest voice, "May the Great Master protects us. Evil creature, keep away from us! Keep away!"

It seems to me that the evil creature is him. As children, the Elders make sure we're terrified of the evil creature that according to them can snatch us away if we aren't submissive and compliant. If that was the case, the evil creature would've seized me a long time ago since my thoughts are constantly rebellious.

When the wretched ceremony is finally over, we're ordered to return to our chores as if nothing just happened. The Elders do it every time after this type of a murder. I suspect they want to normalize it, to get us accustomed to the idea that that's our destiny in this place.

I'm told to go to the Smythee household to help Jana with the _sanctification_ of it. That means to get rid of any trace of Beatrix. This is what the Elders make us do. They force us to forget each other by getting rid of anything personal that belonged to us _and_ never allowing the deceased person's name to ever be spoken again.

Beatrix's name is never to be uttered again. In fact, once names are given, they only belong to that person. They can't be given again.

So Beatrix and her name are retired forever.

Jana and I quietly walk to the Smythee house. Words are stuck in our throats. After all, it had been the both of us and Master Smythee who had nursed Beatrix back to life when she was at death's door. Then the Elders had shoved her across the frame in one evil swoop.

I'm hoping Master Smythee is at home. Maybe they gave him a tranquilizer and he's unconscious. I'm grateful that he hadn't had to see someone he loved so much put to death.

A soft keening noise comes to my ears. It's Jana. She's starting to shake uncontrollably and tears jump out of her eyes. I quickly look around us. Luckily, we're hidden from the street since we're at a tree and no one but me is witnessing her breakdown. Still, we don't have a lot of time before someone passes by since this is a very busy path. I want to hug her but instead I take her by the shoulders and gently shake her.

"I know what we saw was horrible and it hurts our hearts, but you've got to get yourself together," I plead with her.

If the Elders saw her like this, she would be in the isolation room for days. Breakdowns are prohibited. We can only show emotion when they allow it. In other words, it's okay to cry with happiness in our weddings, but it's not okay to show emotion when we're upset. In fact, we're never supposed to be upset unless they permit it.

"Please, Jana," I whisper urgently, "I don't want them to hurt you."

This seems to do the trick because a resolute stance takes over her features, and she brushes her tears away. I give her the best smile I can. It's a hollow one, but it's all I can manage.

"What are you doing standing here?" snaps High Holy Grinder as he roams the streets to make sure we go straight to our chores. It's usually Highest Holy Bledsoe who does this, but I imagine that he's in the doctor's office. "What are you doing lazing around instead of getting back to work?!"

Jana stares at him with absolute fear on her grief stricken face.

"We felt the chill of the evil creature and stopped to pray," I explain, making my voice sound as convincing as possible.

"You're not supposed to stop in the middle of the road to pray!"

"We were worried about Highest Holy Bledsoe, about what the evil creature did to him today. We felt compelled to stop and pray."

"You were praying for our great leader?" he asks, his tone much less brusque.

"Yes, of course."

"Well, I can't punish you for caring about our magnificent guide here on earth. Next time, though, wait until your night prayers to pray for him."

"Yes, your holiness."

"Now, shove off!"

He doesn't have to tell us twice. Jana and I rush forward without looking back. Once we are a safe distance away from High Holy Grinder, Jana turns to me.

"Thank you," she says in a barely audible voice.

"You're welcome," I whisper back.

My hopes of seeing Master Smythee are dashed as soon as we step into the household. Betsey's sourly and scowling face is waiting for us.

"What took you so long to get here?" she growls.

"We were talking to High Holy Grinder," I state.

"About what?" she asks suspiciously.

"About praying for Highest Holy Bledsoe. He took a terrible fall and--"

"Stop your chattering," she snaps, "You two have a lot of work to do. You'd better get started! _And_ you'd better understand that you'll be taking your orders from me from now on! The Elders told me to take over!"

"Where's Master Smythee?" I ask, knowing that my questioning will infuriate her but I have to ask.

Her eyes ignite with fire. "That's none of your business!"

"Is he okay?" Jana asks with a small, scared voice.

"No, your destiny-husband is not okay!" retorts Betsey. As if she's said too much, she quickly inhales some air. "He's not here so you two better stop asking questions and start doing what I tell you to do," she hisses.

I decide not to push my luck. "Where do we start?" I ask her.

The grin she gives me is one of drunken power. "Start with the bedroom of _the-one-who-is no-longer-here_."

So soon after her death Beatrix's name is already being thrown away.

"Make sure everything of hers is cleared out," she demands with a certain relish and cheerfulness in her tone. "I'll be inspecting," she warns.

Jana and I move towards her bedroom with slow, sluggish steps. Once we arrive the awful dread we feel is replaced with overwhelming emotion at seeing Beatrix's form still on her sheets and her clothes strewn about. Suddenly, I can't stay on my feet and I plop to the bed in a wave of blistering feelings. Hot, giant tears start rushing down my face.

Jana sits next to me, her eyes pools of moist water. "Monica, please stop," she begs me, her voice cracking. It's her turn to help me get myself together. "You're the strongest one of us. If you fall apart then what chance do the rest of us have?"

"I'm not that strong."

"Oh yes you are. We look up to you, Monica."

"You shouldn't"

"But we do. Please stop crying because I'll follow your lead and once everything comes out, I won't be able to stop," she says, sniffling.

I nod, take a deep breath, and wipe the tears away with a tissue from a box next to the bed. The tissue box had been for Beatrix, and I stop myself from going further into that thought.

As quickly and as efficiently as possible Jana and I subdue the turmoil inside of us and put all of Beatrix's belongings in boxes. We even get rid of her towels, sheets, and bedspread. The husband is supposed to burn the things in a private _Letting go_ ceremony.

Where can Master Smythee be?

I try not to worry about him.

Betsey comes in several times to snarl at us and tell us what she thinks we're doing wrong. She's really drunk with power. We do what she tells us just to avoid problems. Finally, when we're done she orders me out of the house and for Jana to clean the rest of the rooms.

"I can stay and help," I say.

"I don't want you here," Betsey snaps, her eyes blazing at me. I now know that what I suspected is true. She hates me. _Join the club,_ I feel like telling her. "Leave," she demands.

I give Jana a compassionate look, say good-bye, and head to the door. Once I'm out I feel a certain relief but as I'm walking towards the slave quarters, the turmoil that I had squelched springs up. It takes an iron will to prevent myself from crying but somehow I manage it. What I can't control are the scenes from the awful day popping up in my brain fast and furious.

"She's dead, isn't she? Won't someone tell me please," a voice begs.

Startled, I turn towards that voice and find it belongs to someone in the isolation room. I had taken the long way to the slave quarters and am passing by it. I think I recognize the voice.

"Master Smythee?" I ask, surprise in my tone.

### Chapter 13

"It's me," Master Smythee confirms. I'm struck speechless. No male in the ruling class had ever been put in the isolation room. "Monica?"

"Yes," I say as I find my voice and get closer to the slight openings between sheets of wood in the walls of the shack.

"Did they kill her?" he asks urgently, his voice cracking. "I heard the church bells."

Of course, I know exactly who he's talking about without him mentioning her name. "Yes," I say simply. I can't lie to him to spare him. He's going to find out anyway.

He lets out a painful whimper. "I knew it! I knew it!"

"I'm sorry," is all I can say.

His choked and profound cries strike me, and I can no longer keep my own sobs in place. Burning tears fall down my face.

"They're monsters, Monica," he manages to say between gulps. "I'm so sorry I've been a part of it. I'm so sorry!"

"They're evil," I mumble as I listen for noises around me. No one can know what we're talking about or it would probably cost us both our lives.

"Monica, you've got to try to escape. A whole new world is waiting for you!"

"How do I escape?"

"You're smart. You can do it."

"The dogs, the landmines, the--"

"You can outsmart them."

"What are _you_ going to do?" I ask him.

"Revenge!"

"Revenge?"

"I'm going to avenge Beatrix's death if it's the last thing I do!"

"Master Smythee, be careful--" I start to say, but I hear a noise getting nearer. Footsteps. Probably male ones judging by the sound of boots. "Someone's coming," I whisper and rush as quietly as I can behind the isolation room. Thank goodness that trees and shrubbery offer some covering for me. I hope that whoever is coming hasn't heard me like I had heard him. The girls in Paradise Village are very adept at listening for footsteps or movement around them. We do everything to avoid bumping into the Elders or the Masters.

"What was all that noise you were making?" snaps Highest Holy Bledsoe. I peek out from a corner and see that he's limping and carrying a cane. His injury was why I hadn't recognized his footsteps. I can usually tell who's coming at me except the time when High Holy Grinder had caught Jana and me on the road. The fresh emotions had made me lower my guard. "Were you talking to yourself?" he questions furiously.

I sigh a breath of relief. He hadn't actually heard Master Smythee and me speaking to one another. Highest Holy Bledsoe had only heard sounds.

"I was trying to see if someone was passing by and could answer my questions!"

"You need to calm down, Paul. That's why we had to bring you here--to calm you down. In fact, I don't know why you're still up. We gave you a sedative hours ago."

"I've been fighting sleep."

"Stop fighting it and rest."

"I heard the church bells! You killed my Beatrix, didn't you?!"

"Of course not, Paul. The bells rang by mistake."

"Mistake?"

"Yes."

_Why is he lying?_ My insides get twisted in a tight, furious knot.

"Paul," Highest Holy Bledsoe continues, "you've got to stop letting your emotions run away with you. These girls are for our pleasure and not to become part of our lives. You can't get stuck on just one."

The bile in my throat is threatening to explode.

"We have the perfect set up. Why would you want to ruin it?" he asks.

Set up?

"This doesn't work for me anymore," remarks Master Smythee. "Can't you see the damage we're doing the girls and the boys we steal?"

"It took a lot of planning to get us where we're at. To get us to paradise. What's wrong with you?" Highest Holy Bledsoe snaps.

"My conscience."

"Well, do away with it! We're not changing our fantasy life here because of you!"

"How can you live with yourself?" Master Smythees voice is disgusted and fiery.

"It's very easy to live with myself when I've got everything I want at my fingertips. You had it too and ruined it by falling in love."

"Don't you feel anything for your six wives?"

"They fulfill their purpose to serve me. The strong are here to rule the weak. The world has always been run like that."

I hold my stomach, so I won't retch.

"Someday you're going to pay for everything you've done!"

Highest Holy Bledsoe snickers. "I wouldn't count on it."

"You--"

"Don't be a fool, Paul. Stop over thinking your life here and just be grateful for it."

"I can't be grateful for a life that messes up others."

"Paul, stop thinking crazy thoughts. Stop--"

"You're the one who's crazy, evil, and without a heart! You and--"

"There's no reasoning with you! I'm sick of listening to your rants, and I'm leaving. Someone will be here soon to guard over you. If I were you I'd get some shut-eye. I'm sure that when you wake up, you'll see things much more clearly."

I wait until he's been gone for a while to speak to Master Smythee from where I'm at. "I've got to go," I whisper.

"Be careful."

"Thanks."

"No, thank _you_ and the help you gave Beatrix and me. It means the world to me."

I dash away before my emotions burst. I'm all over the map when it comes to my throbbing sentiments. I feel such warmth for Master Smythee and at the same time such disgust for the Elders. I don't know how to manage everything I'm feeling. My insides threaten to snap with bolts of electricity. I had always assumed that the Elders bought into their own total garbage. Now I know that it's all been an elaborate lie to keep us manipulated and under their thumbs. Their evil knows no bounds.

Thump!

Thump!

Thump!

My head is pounding with the new information coursing through me. Today has been almost too much for me to handle and as I head to the slave quarters, my feet come to an abrupt halt. They won't move an inch. Their refusal to take me there overwhelms me, and I slide to the ground. Then I come to my senses. If they find me like this, I don't want to think about what they will do to me.

They.

The lying, thieving Elders.

Rage of such enormous magnitude flashes through me that I jump to my feet and start running in the opposite direction of where I'm supposed to go. My head is a pot of a boiling stew with too many ingredients, not thinking straight or clearly. All I know is that I want to keep running.

### Chapter 14

Run,

Run,

Run.

It doesn't matter that my chest wants to burst open trying to take in extra air or that my legs hurt with the distance I've traveled. I'm in the jungle now. If a landmine gets me then so be it. At least I'm trying to escape.

But I'm pretty sure there are no explosives where I am. Unbeknownst to them, I've seen the Elders and the Masters in this part of the jungle. They'd be hunting with their rifles and slapping each other on the back whenever an animal was shot.

I stop only because my legs are about to give out, and I sit on a giant rock. My breathing is labored and hurts my lungs. Perspiration beads flow down my face and make my clothing sticky. When I get some control over my heavy breathing, I look around me. It's actually a very beautiful place with tall leafy trees and deep green vines hanging from them.

I feel a surge of gratitude go through me that this isn't a dense jungle with the thickness of shrubbery and plant life impossible to get through. Where would I have gotten a machete for such an escape? Instead, this place is much tamer than many savage jungles my mama and I had seen on T.V. But still, dangerous plants and animals lurk around. I can't let my guard down even for a second.

A strange mixture of emotions glide through me. On the one hand, I'm in so much peril in unknown territory. When the Elders realize I'm gone there may be no salvation for me. On the other hand, I _feel_ free. How can I describe the feeling of not having someone constantly standing over me and telling me what to think?

Freedom.

Wow!

I stand up again knowing that it's dangerous for me to stay in one place for long. I should be afraid of moving forward and hitting a landmine, but I'm certain there'll be some kind of a marker to where the explosives begin. Those cowardly Elders would make certain that their own skin is protected. Of that I'm positive.

I'm not sure what I'll do when I get to those markers, but I keep going anyway. I can't stop now. Going back would mean getting caught. I've been away for too long. It's getting dark, and I'm sure they've figured out that I'm missing.

I try not to dwell on this too much, on the fact that my life is ticking swiftly away. Because there is no way they'd ever let an escapee live, I tell myself that these few moments of freedom have been worth it.

Plus there's the added bonus of not having to marry the stinky Mister!

I see a clearing at a short distance from me. Trees have been chopped down, but I can see little else. Night is falling fast. I decide to go carefully to it while listening for any sounds.

Why would the Elders clear a part of the jungle?

I'd better tread slowly.

But when I get there, I stand with my mouth gaping open. It's astonishing. I didn't expect to find what I found.

It's a cemetery!

We were never allowed to ask where the bodies of the dead were placed. I guess I had stopped thinking about it a long time ago and accepted that they disposed of the bodies as they wished.

I walk through rows and rows of graves that only say R.I.P. and first names. The darkness of the night casts shadows and the light wind sways the branches of the few trees left there. It's a spooky sight, but I'm not afraid. My fear fully lies with the ones who built the gravesite and who will bury me here once they catch me and murder me. _There are so many graves!_ I tell myself. This awful place is full of victims--the ones I'm no longer allowed to speak of. The Elders had killed so many people. Tears bubble down my face, blistering water filled with equal parts sadness and fury..

What kind of monsters have I had to live with for so long?

I read the names off the tombstones. Jake, Lindy, Lana--the list goes on and on.

Sanaa had had a smile that could light up a room. Blair loved singing when she did her chores. Isidro used to be the fastest at tying his shoelaces. Kiyoko made the best pot roast.

I'm in such a state remembering my friends that my eyes blur with so many tears bursting out and my lungs have trouble taking in air as I continue moving forward.

Beatrix.

It's Beatrix's grave! She had already been buried. Like a crazed person I hug her simple, white tombstone. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop them from killing you," I say between sobs. "I was there but did nothing. I'm a coward. I'm so sorry, my friend."

I force myself to leave her and keep moving. If I don't step away now, the Elders might find me and disrespect her grave. With overwhelming emotion pounding in my eyes and throat I don't see where I'm going. When the ground from under me disappears, I am so startled that I don't react at my falling. I hit the ground making a loud thumping sound as my feet slam into the dirt. My legs give out and I fall forward, causing excruciating pain. The wind is knocked out of me when I hit the bottom.

"Ow!" I yell out when I get sufficient air in my lungs but then I tell myself to shut up.

I immediately flex every part of my body and realize with relief that nothing is broken. I'm throbbing and hurting but I'm in good shape.

_Where am I?_ I ask myself, looking around. I'm in a long, rectangular hole with high walls of dirt all around me. Realization slowly creeps into me.

I'm in a grave.

It may even be my own grave by the time the night is over.

Creepy. Weird. Scary.

I tell myself to stop panicking and concentrate on finding a way out. I try jump towards the side of the grave, but I can't jump up high enough. I try to climb out, but I end up falling down again and a fresh batch of pain attacks me.

What am I going to do?

Desperation starts to claw at me. Furious desperation! To let out some frustration with myself for not having paid more attention to the path in front of me, I pound the side of the wall with full force.

"Ouch!" I let out and feel foolish when all I had succeeded in doing was almost breaking my hand as whole chunks of dirt fell on me.

"Are you okay?" a voice above me asks.

I look up to find that I can barely make out the owner of the voice. When my eyes finally discern the person, I can't believe who it is.

### Chapter 15

Blinking a few times, I finally answer. "I'm fine," I tell Miguelito, my voice shaky. "How did you find me?"

"I'll tell you later. Now let's get you out."

"Are you alone?" I ask, worried.

"Yes."

He gives me his only hand, his left one, and pulls me up. I had never realized how strong he was. "Thanks for helping me," I express.

"We don't have much time. I've got to get you back to Paradise Village."

I gape at him in disgust. "I'm not going back there," I snap.

"You have to," he says, grabbing my arm.

I jostle until I break away. Sprinting, I run with the conviction of someone fighting for her life.

He rushes after me. "Monica, come back! Come back, please!"

I keep running.

"Monica, the landmines are about to start!" he explains when he can't catch up to me. "Stop! Please stop or you'll die!" he pleads.

At first I think he's trying to fool me into discontinuing my escape but then I see the markers I knew would be there. They are sharp stakes in the ground painted a glowing yellow. I can even see them in the dark.

I stop running.

I sink to the ground.

When Miguelito reaches my slumping form, he sits next to me and doesn't say anything for a few seconds. I stare at what's beyond the markers with boiling frustration. "I can't go back," I finally mumble.

"You have to," he says gently.

I turn to look at him and can see his face with the bright light of the full moon. Something is very different about him.

"I can't," I repeat.

"You have--"

"Where's your stutter," I blurt, surprised to have finally realized that he not only looks different but sounds different too.

He stares uncomfortably at me. "M-m-my s-s-stutter?"

I glare at him. "Cut it out! Who are you trying to fool? You haven't had a stutter this whole time you've been with me."

He rolls his eyes in frustration. "Doggonit! With all the excitement I forgot to keep up with the charade!"

"What?"

"I was wondering how long I could keep fooling someone as smart as you."

"Fooling?"

"Okay, I'll come clean," he states, taking a breath. "Only because it's you. I used to stutter as a kid when I got nervous. When they stole me, I stuttered nonstop and couldn't piece sentences together. They thought there was something wrong not only with my tongue but my mind too. I played up to it."

"They assumed you were slow because of your stutter?"

"Yep."

"What idiots," I state.

"Yep."

"You fooled our jailers, but you also made sure you fooled us," I murmur.

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Why did you let them and us think that about you?"

He sighs before answering. "It's just a game-- a game that has served me very well."

"What do you mean?"

"The Elders trust me and let me get away with all kinds of things."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"You're the Elders' puppet," I grumble.

"No," he frowns. "I'm not their toy! I try to protect us slaves any way I can, and I try to help _you._ "

"You mean like coming after me and then taking me back to where they'll kill me for sure?" I question, angry and sarcastic spikes in my voice.

His eyes lay on mine. "I wouldn't let them kill you!"

"Then why are you forcing me to go back?"

"If I let you escape, you'll probably die, Monica. Can't you see that?"

"If I go back, I'll die anyway."

"That's where you're wrong. No one knows that you're gone."

"What?"

"I'm telling you the truth."

My sight sits on him incredulously. "How did you realize I had left? How did you find me?"

He clears his throat. "I always keep an eye on you."

"That's creepy," I burst.

"I can't help it. You've got quite a few people who are out to get you."

He's right. I can't deny it.

"Still, how did you find me?"

"I saw you leaving the Smythee household. Later, when I asked for you at the destiny-bride shack, Helga told me you were still with Jana, that you'd probably stay with her at Master Smythee's house since Betsey isn't allowed to stay there by herself. You know the rules the Elders have of never staying in a household by yourself for more than a few hours."

"So they think I'm at the Smythee house?"

"Yes, but I knew you weren't. I had seen how you looked during the ceremony earlier, and I didn't like it. I knew you were about to break."

"I still don't know how you found me here?"

"I remember seeing you as you watched the hunters. I knew that if you ever tried to escape, you'd be smart enough to escape from their route. Then all I had to do was follow your tracks."

"The tracks!" I exclaim. "I didn't even think of them."

"Don't worry about them. With the funeral of Beatrix, there are many more tracks leading here today. I just happen to know what your footsteps look like."

"You're seriously creeping me out with all this stalker stuff."

"Sorry, I don't mean to creep you out."

I sigh. "I do appreciate, though, the times you've come to my rescue."

He smiles warmly. "I don't like seeing you get hurt."

"I live in Paradise Village--how can I _not_ get hurt," I grumble.

He nods, his face turning grim. "We'd better get back."

"Won't you be in trouble? Where do they think you're at?"

"They think I'm running an errand for one of the Elders."

"You really do get away with everything."

"Monica, stop stalling. We really need to get going."

"But--"

"Monica," he sighs, "it's the only way to survive. I wish there was another way but there isn't."

"There's got to be a way out of Paradise Village!"

"The Elders have put too many booby traps. Believe me, I've been trying to figure out for years how to get out of here. You don't want to go out there," he states, pointing towards the markers. "If the landmines don't get us, the dogs will. If the dogs don't get us, the Elders and their weapons will. If the Elders don't get us, any number of things that are creeping in the jungle will get us. It's very dangerous."

I hate the idea of going back, but I don't see that I have a choice. Sighing with frustration and anger, I nod at him. We push to our feet and start the long trek back. I have to quicken my stride to keep up with him. He doesn't speak. I don't either. With every step back to Paradise Village my heart gives a painful jolt.

My freedom is sliding through my fingers.

But what options do I have?

After a few hours of dread and swift movement, with only brief rest periods, Miguelito turns to me with a solemn expression. I glare at him because even though I know that all he's trying to do is help me, I can't get out of my head that he's returning me to slavery.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles as if he knows what I'm thinking.

I nod glumly. No words seem to be able to come out of my mouth.

"We're almost there," he states unhappily. "Please don't hate me forever."

A huge explosion erupts before I can say anything.

### Chapter 16

I turn to Miguelito with alarmed eyes. He's looking at me with the same expression. My ears throb with the loudness of the explosion and my mouth is dry.

"What could've happened?"

His expression bleeds worry as he eyes me intently. "I don't know. I don't know why that landmine exploded."

"What do we do?"

"Wait here," he tells me. "I'm going to find out what happened. Don't move away from here unless absolutely necessary," he says, rushing away from me.

"Be careful," I call after him.

I decide that I need to hide. Who knows who could be in the jungle at this time? I find a leafy bush and hide behind it. It's the best I can do if I want to stay in the same area Miguelito left me at.

In order to calm my rapidly beating heart, I look at the bright stars and think about my mother. Is she watching them too? Then I go over sentences and math in my head. Before long, I hear footsteps but I don't leave my hiding place just yet. What if they don't belong to Miguelito?

"Monica," a loud whisper reaches my ears.

With relief I answer back, "I'm right here, Miguelito." I stand up from my hiding place.

"Paradise Village is in chaos. It's the perfect time to get back."

"Chaos?--what do you mean? And what was the explosion?"

"I'll explain later. Let's go or we'll lose our window of opportunity."

I follow him with blind trust. It's all I can do. My heart stops thumping so erratically once we get past the area where I had left Paradise Village and are back in slavery. No one is there. Miguelito continues his swift stride.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, whispering. We aren't going in the direction of the destiny-bride shack."

"Don't worry."

"I can't go to Master Smythee's place," I tell him. Betsey would never allow me back in the house.

"We aren't going there."

"I don't understand."

"Trust me."

We move swiftly to the center of town. _What is this guy up to?_ My eyebrows come together in a deep question when I finally am able to discern the odd scene a few yards from us. In front of the town hall, where meetings of the Elders are held, there seems to be every citizen of Paradise Village. They are just standing around with frightened expressions.

"There you are, Monica!" exclaims the Mister, relief in his voice.

I stare at him, my mouth completely dries out. He must've found out that I had tried to escape.

"I-I-I told M-M-Master Barstowe th-th-tha--"

"Miguelito told me that he saw you huddling outside the destiny-bride home after the explosion," interrupts the Mister

I nod solemnly. Miguelito must've thought of the cover when he came to see what was happening.

"I was so worried, Little Bird," he chirps as he moves close to me as if he wants to give me a hug but stops himself when Holy Simms appears.

"Found her?" he asks, eyeing me.

"Miguelito came to the rescue as always," the Mister says, smiling.

I shudder to think of what would've happened if Miguelito hadn't thought of a story so quickly and the Mister had kept looking for me. He only had to ask Betsey and Helga where I was and he would've been able to put two and two together, that I'd been missing for a long time. Kudos to Miguelito!

"You don't have to be afraid, Little Bird. The bad man is dead."

What is he talking about?

"Paradise Village citizens," booms the voice of High Holy Grinder. "I know this has been the most tragic day in our history."

_Tragic day?_ What is he talking about?-- and why isn't Highest Holy Bledsoe addressing us?

"Our fearless leader has been cruelly snatched away from us," he states, his voice breaking down in a sob. This is the signal for everyone else to start crying too. "He's with the Great Master now."

_Highest Holy Bledsoe is dead?_ I just can't believe it. How did it happen? Did the explosion have anything to do with it?

The Mister eyes me with disapproval. I'm the only one not crying. I have to fake it fast. I put my hand to my heart, scrunch my face, and squeeze out a few tears. He looks away in satisfaction.

_Good riddance, jerk,_ I tell Bledsoe in my head.

"We'll have the funeral tomorrow," High Holy Grinder speaks, his words barely audible with his sobs. "Go back to your beds and rest."

The crowd begins dissipating, and I start to walk towards the slave quarters when the Mister gets in my path. "Wait, Little Bird."

"Yes, Master Barstowe?" I ask, wishing he'd just get out of my way.

"I know how this tragedy has shaken you, Monica. I don't want you walking alone. Miguelito, would you take her back?"

"O-o-of course," he answers.

"Don't let anything happen to my Little Bird."

Miguelito and I head in the direction of the destiny-bride shack but instead of taking the short way, he takes me the long one. It is a desolate road where we can talk. I have a million questions I need to ask him.

When we're alone, I immediately turn to him. "What happened?" I whisper in case someone is around even though I had made sure I couldn't hear any out-of-place noises around me. "Is Bledsoe really dead?"

"He's really dead," Miguelito whispers back.

"How?"

"He got murdered."

"Murdered?" I ask with disbelief. "Did the explosion have anything to do with it?"

"He got shot between the eyes."

"You're kidding me."

Miguelito shakes his head. "It's true."

"Who would murder him?"

He eyes me carefully. "This may be a little hard to take."

"Tell me."

"Sit down first," he says, pointing to a boulder.

"Just tell me."

But deep inside my heart knows the answer. My eyes go to the isolation room, only a few feet away from us. "Master Smythee got his revenge," I mumble, the words tasting like bitter fruit in my mouth. I don't want to think about the trouble he's in for having murdered Bledsoe.

Miguelito nods quietly, his intent stare not leaving me.

"How did he do it? He was in isolation?"

"The Elders didn't know that he had a hidden gun with him. When they had held him down at his house to give him an injection, I guess he hadn't been able to pull out the gun. They threw him in the isolation room to . . . to . . ."

"Die," I finish his sentence. It suddenly becomes crystal clear. The Elders hadn't given him a sedation injection as Bledsoe had told him earlier when I was listening from behind the room. It had actually been a shot full of poison to kill him, but he hadn't died as expected. His will to survive and take revenge must've been very strong.

"The grave I fell into must've been for him," I mumble.

"That's my guess too."

"So how did he get out and shoot Bledsoe?" I question.

"He must've figured out what the injection was actually for and played dead. When whoever was in charge of keeping an eye on him said he had died, Bledsoe opened the door to check for himself. That's when Smythee shot him between the eyes."

My mouth is completely dry. I don't want to ask the question, but I have to. _Really have to._ "Where's Smythee?" I ask faintly.

Miguelito eyes me with a pained expression.

"Where is he?" I question desperately.

He keeps staring at me with an odd expression

"Where?" I insist, grabbing his collar. "Tell me! Where?!"

"He's dead. He died in the explosion," Miguelito says quietly.

### Chapter 17

"Dead?" I mumble as I feel my oxygen rush out of me and my legs turn to quivering jelly. I slide down to the boulder to sit before I fall down.

"Monica, are you okay?" Miguelito asks urgently.

"How did the explosion happen?"

Miguelito sits down next to me before he answers. "After he shot Bledsoe he ran into the jungle."

"But he knew there were landmines!"

"So did you. I had to stop you because you would've risked it."

"He as good as committed suicide."

"That's why I had to bring you back, or it would've been like what you first said--committing suicide."

I nod solemnly, tears trickling down my face.

"You really cared for him, right?" Miguelito questions, a strange prickly tone to his voice.

"He was the nicest Master here."

"True," Miguelito says, the sharpness in his tone gone.

"We'd better get to the destiny-bride shack," I mumble.

I wince as we move past the isolation room. The door is open but I dare not peek inside. It must have Bledsoe's blood spilled on the ground.

Miguelito and I are quiet as we walk. What is there to say? This day has been crazy!

"I'm sorry about Smythee," he says tenderly before I open the door to the slave quarters. "I'm sorry you're hurting so much."

"Thank you," I answer.

Inside, Helga eyes me with angry eyes. "I thought you were staying with Jana and Wife Betsey," she retorts.

"Wife Betsey decided that I should stay here instead."

"Why are your eyes so red?"

"Highest Holy Bledsoe died."

She rolls her eyes. "And?"

"What?"

"Like if you cared about him," she retorts.

I decide to play my cards. "You're eyes aren't red at all. I guess you weren't moved by his death."

"Get to sleep," she snaps.

When I make it to my bed, I lay in it while staring at the full moon through the curtain-less windows for a long, long time.

The church bells ring as I'm finishing up my chores in the shack. This time I know what they're for. It's Bledsoe's funeral. As far as I'm concerned, may he rot wherever he's at! I'm pretty sure he isn't in some luxury kingdom with the Great Master.

I rush out the slave quarters with the rest of the girls. Sitting in my favorite location, Miguelito catches my eye and nods at me. I nod a greeting back.

Loud trumpets reverberate from the back, and I turn my head. Several boys blow the trumpets that are only allowed for very important occasions. They, along with other helper boys, are dressed in costumes I hadn't seen before. They're in velvet cloaks the color of dark purple grapes.

Some helper-boys carry an ornate casket on their shoulders. Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires cover its reddish-wood. I groan. Such opulence for such a horrible man. Smythee won't get a funeral, nor did the rest of the victims get one. None at all--much less a funeral like this one.

A sobbing High Holy Grinder steps in front of them. He's also dressed in a purple cloak but his has the same gems as the casket. He also wears a gold crown with the same precious stones that sparkle as the sun's rays hit them from the skylight. In his right hand he carries a scepter made of the same jewels as the crown.

I have never seen such extravagance. I want to gag.

High Holy Grinder starts ambling towards the front of the sanctum as the trumpets keep playing and the helper-boys, who carry the casket, follow him. Dramatic organ music resonates and he lifts up the scepter as if telling the congregation to get on their feet. We promptly stand up.

When he arrives at the podium, the helper-boys lay the casket down in the middle of the front of the sanctum, where the slab of marble comes up for the murder ceremonies. I've got a very bad taste in my mouth.

"We are gathered today on this truly horrible occasion," cries High Holy Grinder. "Our great leader is gone. He was the best leader imaginable. He had a straight communication with the Great Master--as only one of so pure of heart can have."

I roll my eyes. My stomach churns.

"I only hope that I can live up to his great legacy," he states.

I hadn't thought about it but now that Bledsoe is gone, Grinder, as the next in command, will take over. I don't know how I feel about that. Grinder is even more of a jerk, as impossible as that is to believe, than Bledsoe. We may have leaped to the fire from the frying pan.

"Highest Holy Bledsoe took this humble community and made it great in the eyes of the Great Master!" he continues with high emotion in his voice. What theatrics! "We basked in his light for the time he was here. We reveled in his holy glow!"

What glow? What stupidity.

"I know that life without our great leader is going to be difficult," he states, "but I solemnly promise to carry on his great work in this True Faith ministry. I promise here, in the Great Master's home, that I will do everything possible to honor Highest Holy Bledsoe and our Great Master!"

The Masters start the applause, and we have to go along with it. Grinder beams a smile at us as if he thinks all of us are with him.

"My flock, we must go on and we will."

"Yes, we will!" yells the Mister. I roll my eyes.

"Yes, we will," the other Masters shout as well and the whole congregation is forced to follow their lead. I feel silly lying like that.

When the shouts die down, Grinder raises his scepter over his head. "I solemnly promise you that what happened to Highest Holy Bledsoe will never happen again! For the protection of us and our citizenry, I will make sure Paradise Village is safe. _WE WILL HAVE MORE SRINGENT RULES FOR OUR PROTECTION!"_

Uh oh!

The game just got worse!

### Chapter 18

The changes were immediate. If we had been in jail before, now we were in a high security prison. I had once seen a documentary with a cousin about those places, and my mother had been furious when she had found out. She said I was too small to know about such things yet. If only she had known that I would end up in a bigger nightmare than the one portrayed on TV.

Grinder had made good on his promise to make Paradise Village into a more secure police state. More low level elders walk the streets, making sure we're doing what we're supposed to and that we're where we're supposed to be. Eyes are constantly watching us. And I'm not just talking about the extra guards we now have.

They've picked a wife from every household, the meanest one, and made her the head-wife. It used to be that the first wife had more power than the rest, but it's all changed now. The head-wife has to report every day to the Master and tell him what the other wives are doing wrong. He then has a meeting every week with the Elders about his household.

The Masters are not the only ones having to come face to face with the Elders every week. Destiny-brides, servant-girls, and helper-boys now have to frequently meet with them to tell what they did for the week, how they're improving their souls, and what they'll be willing to do for the Great Master. At the moment, I'm in City Hall at a long table outside of the reckoning room, waiting my turn to be judged by the Elders. Waiting with me are the other girls and boys who were called here too. Jana fidgets next to me. I can practically hear her thundering heart.

A lower Elder comes out with one of the girls. Tears are streaming down her face and her features are twisted in anguish. "Go to your chores," he demands of the sobbing girl. Then he turns to Jana. "Your turn."

Jana eyes me with perfect horror before standing up, her lower lip quivering. When she and the Elder step through the doorway, I turn to the sobbing girl who is almost at the exit. "What happened in there?" I ask her.

Everyone at my table shifts their eyes to her in anticipation of an answer. The air is crisp and quiet but at the same time heavy and opaque.

"It was awful," she chokes out, "just awful!" Jerking the door open, she stumbles out. Every destiny-wife, servant-girl, and helper-boy turns to me with eyes begging for comfort.

"We'll be okay," I tell them soothingly. "We just have to keep our wits about us."

I clamp my mouth shut after that. The Elders had made it clear that we shouldn't be talking. I wait. It's a long, unnerving wait where the others focus their terrified eyes on me as if trying to gleam strength but in reality I don't have that much to spare.

The door finally opens and out comes the lower Elder and Jana. I have to resist the temptation of going to her. She's wailing painfully, her face completely swollen and red from her tears.

"You're next," he tells me and unless I'm mistaken, he has a glimmer in his eye. Jana throws me a glance, a _watch out_ glance. What could've happened in there?

What is about to happen to me?

When I step into the reckoning room, I notice right away the changes from the last time I had been in it as a kid. It used to be like a courtroom where a raised platform in the front held a huge, long imposing desk for the high Elders to judge us from. Now there is a raised platform in form of a circle around the room with a long mahogany desk on it from where the seven high Elders peer down on their victim.

"Stand in the middle--on the X," an Elder demands gleefully. I was so preoccupied with the new floor plan that I hadn't noticed that in the middle of the room and on the black marble floor is a huge white X.

I walk through an opening in the communal desk and go over to the X. I feel like an animal in a slaughterhouse. The high Elders turn their searing sights on me. The lower Elders sit in chairs in a corner of the room.

"Monica Barstowe," thunders Grinder, "The Great Master is watching and whatever you say today he is judging."

"Yes, High Holy Grinder."

"That's Highest Holy Grinder," he snaps furiously.

I had forgotten the title change.

"Yes, Highest Holy Grinder," I say.

"If you lie to us in any way, you'll be condemned to the evil creature. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Highest Holy Grinder."

This game we're playing would be amusing if it wasn't so tragic.

"Have you been saying all your prayers?" he questions gruffly.

"Yes, Highest Holy Grinder."

_I'm praying that you suffer the same fate we slaves have_.

"Have you been doing your chores with gratitude in your heart towards your generous Master?"

"Yes, Highest Holy Grinder."

I'm grateful I still have a few weeks of freedom left.

"What does serving him mean to you?"

This is where it gets sticky. Slaves have to give a perfect answer. We can't afford to make mistakes. If we don't answer these creeps the way they want, they'll punish us. At the very least, they'll browbeat us. Now with the new way the floor is arranged, their imposing faces are even worse than before.

"It means being one with the Great Master," I state, making my voice as confident as possible. These idiots will even get you for how your voice sounds.

"Is that all it means to you?" another Elder asks with a fiery tone.

"It means the opportunity to give back a little of the great much I was given," I announce with such emotion that I even surprise myself.

"Do you love your Master?"

I can't stand him.

"I love him and the Great Master he serves so well. I love them with complete devotion and dedication."

"You do?" questions an Elder.

"How can I not love them when they light my paths each day and show me grandeur at every moment?" _Who knew I was a sugary poet?_

"Why should we believe you?!" questions an Elder.

"Make us believe you," demands Grinder.

"If I could only tear out my heart and show you," I say with great passion. "You'd see my love laid bare for you to inspect."

You'd see the TOTAL GARBAGE I'm shoving down your throats.

"You'd see a love so big that it would cover this whole room."

_I'm laying it on thick, but it's the only way._ They seem impressed with my slick words and fake passion as I peek at their rapt faces.

"Before we let you go, I would like to ask you about the patient you took care of," snaps Grinder.

Uh-oh. I though I had gotten off Scot-free. They're asking me about Beatrix. That's why Jana had given me that strange look after she had stepped out of here.

"What about her, Highest Holy Grinder?" I ask, my voice steady.

"You nursed her back to health when you should've let the Great Master handle it!!!" he shouts furiously.

That question started the incensed, fire drenched recriminations from the other Elders.

"Do you feel you can do the Great Master's job better?!"

"Who do you think you are?!"

"Why would you do that to the Great Master?!"

Yells are coming at me from all sides. I tell myself to shut out the screeching noise and not to cower down. That's what they want--to see me slump to the floor in desperate tears so they can say I'm guilty since I'm falling to the ground in shame. I keep my face up, eyeing the Elders. Not challenging them, but keeping my dignity intact.

"What's wrong with you?" hisses Grinder.

"May I speak, Elders?"

"You'd better not be wasting our time," roars Grinder.

I gather my thoughts. If I don't get my words perfect, the Elders will punish me for not having slumped to the floor and asked for forgiveness. They'll probably punish me no matter what comes out of my mouth. I have to find a way of lessening their pointed ire.

"I was told by a Master to look after the sick one." I can't mention either Beatrix or Smythee by name. They're waiting for me to make any tiny mistake to go completely off on me. "I do what I'm told."

"If you had been in tune with the Great Master like a good True Faith follower," chortles Grinder, "you would've known not to listen to that Master. He was under the influence of the evil creature."

"You should've known it," snaps another Elder.

Here is where I have to keep my wits about me. "You're right."

"What?" asks a surprised Grinder. He had expected me to disagree with them.

"I suspected that something was very wrong in that household. I was speaking to Highest Holy Bledsoe about it shortly before he passed on."

Try getting answers out of a dead man.

"He never told me you were speaking to him," snaps Grinder.

"He told me not to tell anybody about the Master's ramblings. The Master kept insisting that he only wanted one wife and that he wanted children with her. Highest Holy Bledsoe told me about the dangers of twisted thinking, and he would do something to correct the situation."

"I still don't understand why he didn't tell us about your conversations with him!" snaps Grinder, fire in his voice.

"I don't know but all he said was that as the highest leader in Paradise Village, he had to make difficult decisions without the distraction of other opinions."

"Other opinions?!" Grinder questions furiously.

"That's what he said," I say innocently.

As Grinder jumps up in a fury, the door swings wide open. The Mister barrels inside with a furious expression on his face. "I told you not to question her unless I'm here," he hisses and then sets his eyes on me. "Are you okay, Little Bird?"

### Chapter 19

"She's perfectly fine, Alcott," retorts Grinder. "We're the ones left in utter outrage! She says that when she told Highest Holy Bledsoe about Smythee, he told her not to say anything to us!"

He is so furious that he had used Smythee's name. I had pushed the right buttons. Hopefully, the bomb I had detonated wouldn't explode all over me.

"I don't understand how he could've left us out of the loop," snaps another Elder. "We knew about the problems in the hospital but nothing about what came later."

"I was in the loop," smirks the Mister, his tone prideful.

"You were?" asks a startled Grinder.

"Of course," he asserts, his head way up. "Highest Holy Bledsoe would tell me everything."

Inadvertently, the Mister's vanity and pride has saved me. He has reinforced my lie to make himself look good. I breathe a huge sigh of relief.

"How was your meeting?" smirks Helga when I arrive at the slave quarters.

I'm exhausted from doing chores and especially from the meeting with the Elders. I want to drop onto my bed and not move for the rest of the night.

"Fine," I state.

"I just bet it was," she says gleefully. "I bet they put you through the ringer and made you cry like a baby."

"Actually," says a girl who was at the table with me, "she's probably the only one of us who stepped out of the courtroom as calm as a feather."

Helga's face contorts into an ugly knot. "What did you tell them?!"

"Master Barstowe went in to make sure she was okay," the girl explains.

"Master Barstowe defended you?" snaps Helga.

"He was there," I say coolly.

"You've got all the luck!"

I've been waiting for this day. After the week I've had, I need to throw my boomerang.

My free hour.

It's finally here.

"Hey, where are you going?" asks Helga.

"I'm going outside with my toy."

"You can't go."

"Why?" I ask, a ball of frustration swirling inside of me as I grasp my boomerang.

"Highest Holy Grinder has suspended the free hours," she explains, a sick smile forming on her lips.

"He couldn't have."

Helga chuckles darkly. "He did."

I want to throw myself on the floor like a child and have a hissy fit. I really do. The expression on my face turns Helga's ugly laughter into a cackle. Her voice hurts my ears.

"What are we supposed to do during the hour?" I ask, getting my jagged disappointment under control.

"Pray."

"Pray?"

"Highest Holy Grinder wants us to pray for our worthless souls. He wants us to be in an act of contrition over all the negative thoughts and poor performances this past week," she smirks. "He said that even if we lack just one percent dedication to the Great Master, we should be on our hands and knees begging for forgiveness."

She knows like I do that it's all total garbage. We agree on as much as that. There's a knock on the door as I'm about to go to my bunk to go over sentences in my head. When she opens it, Miguelito steps in.

"L-l-let's go, M-M-Monica," he tells me.

"Where?" snaps Helga.

"M-M-Master Barstowe gave M-M-Monica special p-p-p--"

"Permission?" grumbles Helga. Miguelito's stutter drives her crazy. If she only knew.

Miguelito nods. "She c-c-can play with her b-b-b--"

"Boomerang?!"

"Y-y-yes."

Helga's face contorts viciously. "I don't see why she's so special!"

"M-M-Master Barstowe," Miguelito says simply.

I've already got the boomerang in my hands, so I quietly go past Helga to the door. Miguelito follows me out as Helga leers furiously at us. I know it's usually difficult to dislike a person who does nice things for you like Barstowe does for me, but his vicious acts stick to my head. Cruelty such as treating me like his property and hitting me with the club doesn't help my feelings towards him, even when he is occasionally kind.

Once Miguelito and I make it to my special private spot, I turn to him. "You can go now." He probably has his own chores to do. The Elders constantly trust him with errands and such.

"I have to stay with you," he whispers, making sure no one hears that he isn't stuttering. Even if we're alone we can't be too careful.

"What?"

"I'm assigned to you."

"What?" I ask with more surprise than before.

"Master Barstowe wants me to look after you."

"I'm not a child," I state, irritated.

"I know," he says uncomfortably, "but Master Barstowe thinks that the Elders have it in for you even when you were convincing in your meeting with them. They're vengeful and still want to punish you for helping to nurse Beatrix back to health."

It's good to hear her name spoken out loud. She traveled through this world. I don't want to forget her.

"He thinks that they'll do something against me?" I ask.

"They're going to do something against Jana."

"What is it?" I question, my stomach becoming queasy.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. Master Barstowe wouldn't tell me."

I sigh a breath of pure misery. I feel it for poor Jana. Whatever they're planning, it's horrible for certain. I start flinging my boomerang in bottled up fury. Miguelito keeps out of my way and sits on the grass away from me. I like that he knows how to give me my privacy.

"You're very good with that thing," he says.

"Thank you."

But that's all the conversation we have for the moment. I keep throwing, and he quietly looks on. When I start purposely nipping certain targets like trees and bushes with the boomerang, he makes a sound of surprise.

"Wow," he says.

I shrug my shoulders and keep tossing. Jana keeps coming to my mind, and I suddenly lose all my energy for my toy. Sitting down next to Miguelito, he looks at me with a quizzical expression.

"Are you sure you don't know anything about what's going to happen with Jana?" I ask, concern eating at me.

"I don't know, Monica."

"But, Miguelito--"

"Please stop calling me Miguelito. I feel like a two-year-old kid with that name. Call me Miguel."

I nod. I hate being treated like a child myself. "I'll call you Miguel in private if you call me Frida."

"Frida?"

"That's my real name."

He grins. "I never knew that. I like it. The name Frida suits you. Underneath that calm exterior, you're fiery and talented like Frida Kahlo."

"I was named after that artist," I explain. "How do you know about her?"

"My parents had a print of one of her paintings."

"You remember your mom and dad?" I ask excitedly.

"Very clearly. Do you remember yours?"

I smile. "I remember my mother. My father died when I was a baby."

"How terrible. I'm sorry."

"My mom was a great single mother."

"My parents were awesome too." His voice has a dreamy quality to it.

"Maybe you'll tell me about them someday."

"I'll tell you about my family if you tell me about yours."

"Deal."

The church bells ring, and Miguel and I stand up. The hour is over, and I have to go to the slave quarters to leave the boomerang before heading to the Barstowe household to do chores.

"Guess what?" asks Helga as I step into the doorway. She's excited and thrilled. It can't be good.

"What?"

"Jana is getting married."

"But the one she was supposed to marry is dead." My heart squeezes when I think of Smythee.

"She's been reassigned." That happens sometimes when the Masters or Elders die.

"Who to?" I ask suspiciously.

"To old man Highest Holy Grinder," she chirps gleefully.

I'm sick to my stomach.

### Chapter 20

_So that's the horrible punishment the Elders have for Jana,_ I tell myself. _They're marrying her off to the cruelest person in Paradise Village_.

"Jana will have to serve Highest Holy Grinder. They say he beats his wives every day with the discipline club to show them humility, and he makes them kneel on rice every day for prayers," Helga chuckles darkly.

I can't stand the smirk on her face. "You think that's funny?" I blurt, not keeping my feelings to myself like I usually do.

"I'm just sharing information with you," she states uncomfortably.

"The tragedies of other people make you happy?" At the moment, my tongue knows no restrain. "Because you know as well as I do that what is about to happen to Jana is a tragedy, right?"

She nods solemnly, the smirk on her face completely gone.

"What if it was you having to marry him? Would you be laughing?"

She solemnly shakes her head.

"Then why do you rejoice in other people's misfortunes?"

She eyes me without saying a word. A shadow crosses her face as if she's actually considering what I'm saying.

"You, especially you, know what it's like when something really bad happens to you," I say, touching the burn on her face. She winces and recoils from my touch.

Her eyes become angry slats. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know a little."

"You don't know what it's like to be damaged," she snaps.

"We're all damaged around here. You've got yours on the outside, but we have ours on the inside."

She mumbles under her breath as she walks away from me. I barely understand what she's muttering but I'm pretty sure she says that I just don't understand her situation. I sigh and rush to my bunk to leave my boomerang. I need to get to the Barstowe Household ASAP. I'm already late. Just because the Mister doesn't allow other people to abuse me doesn't mean he feels he shouldn't do it either. As his property, he feels he should be the only one to do with me what he wants.

I run out the door and am surprised Miguel is waiting for me. "I need to go with you or Master Barstowe will have my hide."

"Just keep up with me," I tell him.

Rushing as fast as we can, we make it to the Mister's place in record time. Both of us inhale with hard breaths as I'm about to open the door.

"I'll be here in a few hours to walk back with you to the destiny-bride shack," he tells me.

I nod as I step into the house.

Stacy is waiting. Judging by the domineering look on her face, it's the old Stacy. "It's about time you got here," she snaps. "I'm not supposed to be by myself."

"Where's everybody?"

"They went to take care of some family business."

"You didn't go?" I ask already knowing that she had taken the opportunity to be alone with me to mess with me.

"I felt sick."

"Oh," I say as I head towards the kitchen to clean it first.

"The rules have changed," she snickers as she follows me.

I ignore her as I turn on the water in the sink and pour soap into it to wash the pile of dishes. I grimace when I see that they are all free from any food. Stacy must've gotten rid of all morsels the other family wives usually leave me.

"The rules have changed," she repeats louder.

""I heard you the first time."

"Every household will have a wife in charge. I'm in charge of this one," she smirks.

"Master Barstowe made you the head-wife?" I ask incredulously.

"Not yet, but it'll happen soon. No one here, except for me, has the dedicated and strong personality the Elders like."

I hate to admit it, but she's right. The Mister's other wives are too nice for the Elders. They want a rabid dog in charge of every household. Stacy is the most logical choice to terrorize us and snitch on us.

"When they make me the head-wife, you'll really see what I'm made of!"

"I can see what you're made of already."

"You haven't seen anything yet!" she roars.

Bullies--I just hate their power tripping. I continue with my chores as she keeps screeching in my ear.

"You think you're so great because Master Barstowe favors you, but it won't always be that way."

"If you're sick, shouldn't you be lying down or something?"

"When I'm put in charge of here, he'll realize I'm a much better wife than you. He'll love me more."

What is it with bullies and their need to be on a higher level than everybody?--their need to be better and more important?--their need to crush the competition?

"You're cushy days are almost over!" she asserts gleefully. "I promise you that!"

First Helga and now Stacy, I just can't stand it anymore. The restraints fly off my mouth. I turn to her from the dishes I'm washing, "Why can't we just get along?"

"What?"

"Why are we girls made to claw at each other? We're in this together, aren't we?"

"No, we're not in this together," she insists.

"We're not all stuck in Paradise Village having to do what we're told to do?"

She's shocked at my candor. "It's a privilege to serve our Masters."

"Is it really?"

"How can you be blaspheming against the Great Master like that?" she asks, shocked.

"How can you not be using your brain? Just think about what I'm telling you."

She's furious. "You think you're so great!" she blurts with emotion.

"Where do you get that from?"

"You!"

"You can't get it from me because I don't feel like that. You get it from your own insecurities."

"I'm not insecure," she announces, stamping her foot.

"Why is it so important for you to have power over me and the rest of the wives here?"

"I'm serving the Great Master by making sure everything runs right."

I sigh in frustration and shake my head. "Don't let them cram their ideas in your head. Think for yourself, Stacy. Think for yourself."

She leaves in a huff. I quicken my pace to make sure I have the house spotless before the Mister arrives. My mind is swirling with the stupidities I have committed today. Speaking up is definitely not wise here in Paradise Village. When I clean Stacy's room, she pretends to be asleep but I know she isn't. She's probably planning her next attack.

By the time I hear noises from the outside, I've managed to calm myself down. Even if Stacy was to tell the Mister what I said, he probably wouldn't believe her. Despite her assertions that one day she'll be his favorite bride, as of recently, he doesn't seem to like her very much.

I patiently wait for the footsteps to get to the front door. Fortunately, I have already finished all my chores. When the door opens, the Mister and the family-wives come filing in.

"Hello, Little Bird," he says enthusiastically.

"Hello, Master Barstowe," I greet back.

Judging by his smile and demeanor, he's in an excellent mood. The family business he had been taking care of must've gone well.

"I've got a surprise for you and Stacy!" he blurts. "The other wives already know."

"Yes, Master Barstowe?" I say, trying to inject excitement in my voice.

"Go get Stacy," he tells one of the family-wives.

The Mister starts walking through the living room, his index finger running over the furniture as he checks for dust. "Good job, Little Bird."

"Thank you, Master Barstowe."

"The house needs to look good especially today."

"Especially today?"

"We're celebrating right now! We're celebrating in a big way!"

I do not like this one bit. Some bomb is about to explode. I can feel it. I tell myself to make sure my feelings are masked. They had been running out of me too freely this day.

"Little Bird, we are about to become the most important household--next to the Highest Holy Grinder one, of course--in Paradise Village?"

How do we become that? I have a very bad feeling in my stomach.

Stacy steps into the living room. I have to hand it to her. She's made herself look sick. Her face is sullen, and her eyes unfocussed.

"Now that we're all here," the Mister announces, "I'd like to introduce you to the next family-wife." He opens the door and in walks Lauren. She had been Highest Holy Bledsoe's favorite wife because of her great beauty and sweet disposition. Stacy forgets to act ill and grimaces at the other blonde in the house. Unfortunately for her, Lauren is considered by the Masters to be the most attractive girl in Paradise Village. She's only seventeen years of age and had only been married to eighty year old Bledsoe for a year.

Now I know why the Mister had said his household would be the second most important one in Paradise Village. It would be considered extremely prestigious for him to marry the past Highest Holy man's favorite wife. I wonder how he managed to get her away from Grinder when they were dispersing Bledsoe's wives. The Mister is certainly powerful in this village. I no longer have any doubts about it whatsoever.

"I have another surprise," he says gleefully.

I brace myself.

"I've picked the head wife."

Stacy smirks happily, again forgetting to act sick. She knows that even with a new wife in the midst, he can't pick the sweet Lauren to be the iron hand. It's going to have to be Stacy.

"I thought long and hard about his. Believe me, the decision was difficult, but the Elders and I feel we need to make sure the households are running like the Great Master wants them to. Bernice and Agatha I can't pick you because you're too weak."

Stacy is almost jumping up and down with excitement.

"Little Bird, I love you best of all. . ." he says, leaving the rest of the sentence in the air.

Stacy's face falls with the chance that he may pick me. I take a huge breath and start a litany. _Please don't pick me. Please don't pick me._

" _But,_ " he utters.

Stacy's features soften as do my insides.

"Monica, you're just too kind hearted and besides, you aren't my wife yet. Don't feel bad, Little Bird."

"I understand, Master Barstowe."

He smiles at me as if he's proud of me. Stacy, on the other side of me, looks as if she wants to do a somersault. Her face is beaming.

"The head wife is going to be . . ."

I can practically hear a drum roll as Stacy starts to step over to him. Her face radiates pure happiness.

But then he strides to the front door and swings it open. "Meet the next family-wife. She'll also be the head-wife."

Betsey steps in the house.

### Chapter 21

"Sorry, Stacy, I just don't like you," the Mister announces with a wicked gleam in his eye. He knew exactly what he had been doing--raising Stacy's hopes up high only to let them crash to the ground.

Grief-stricken, Stacy's body slumps in gut-wrenching agony. In the meantime, Betsey looks at us with a bigger smirk than Stacy could ever make. I cringe.

"I'm honored to be the head-wife of this household," Betsey purrs.

Stacy's limp body jolts in spasms. I'm the one closest to her, so I grab a hold of her before she falls.

"What's wrong with you?" the Mister snaps.

"I'm sick," she says meekly.

"I'll take her to her bedroom before she collapses," I say, guiding her towards her room.

"She's always doing things like this," the Mister roars. "I'm so fed up with her."

"Don't worry, Master Barstowe. I'll have you're household in tip top shape in no time."

I feel Stacy's body stiffen up next to me. When we get to her bed, she throws herself on it and starts sobbing.

"I bet you're happy about this," she retorts.

"Had you ever been to the home she used to be in?" I ask her quietly.

"No."

"If you'd had, you'd see why I'm not happy about this at all. I wish you would've been picked over her."

"Is she that bad that you'd prefer me?"

"You'll see for yourself," I sigh. "You'll see."

When I step outside the house, Miguel Is waiting for me on the steps. A fast grin forms on his lips when he sees me. It disappears once he takes a good look at me.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Life just keeps getting worse."

"Why is that?"

I sigh. "We'd better get going."

As we walk towards the slave quarters, he gives me worried glances from the side, but he leaves me to my thoughts.

"See you tomorrow," I tell him when we're at my door.

"See you tomorrow, Frida," he returns.

The church bells ring as we're doing our chores. What now? I wonder. Miguel meets me at the front of the destiny-bride shack, and we hurry to the church. I'm relieved that when I sit in my space, he goes to his own accustomed one. I know he's just following orders but it's starting to irritate me that I can't make a move without him.

I wait to see what's next. Everyone is curious too. When the wedding march begins on the organ, astonished faces, including my own, turn to the entrance of the sanctum. The Mister steps in with Betsey on one side and Lauren on the other. He's wearing a black tuxedo and a top hat while his brides-to-be have simple white dresses. An awful image rushes through my mind of myself in their place.

Eeeeeeeek!

A painful shudder goes through me.

When the three of them arrive at the front, Grinder meets them from the side of the sanctum. In his costume that is now becoming regular outfit for him while in church, he struts in his purple velvet cloak, his scepter, and his crown. Say what you want about the man, Bledsoe had never worn such a ridiculous thing. My, how things change.

"We're gathered here today," Grinder says, "to join together these children of the Great Master in holy matrimony. In his infinite wisdom, the Great Master has chosen Betsey and Lauren to serve Master Barstowe so that they can improve their souls."

What a lie, I can't help thinking.

"Betsey, do you agree to marry into the Barstowe household in total obedience to your new Master?"

"I do. I will serve him and the Great Master with everything I am."

"Good child," Grinder says, pleased. "What about you, Lauren? Do you agree to serve Master Barstowe without question or any type of disobedience for the rest of your life?"

"I do."

"By the powers invested in me by the Great Master, I now pronounce you man and family-wives."

I'm glad that this charade is over, but then the strangest thing happens. The Mister and his two new wives sit in the front pew. The wedding march begins again. Grinder strides to the entrance of the sanctum. Three more brides step in.

Slowly, all of us realize what's happening. These brides used to be Bledsoe's wives. The Mister had gotten the favorite one but the other three had been distributed to Grinder. What a circus!

Grinder and his future brides walk the wedding march to the front. I wait for another high Elder to conduct the ceremony. No one steps forward. I'm in complete shock. Grinder is going to officiate his own wedding.

"Kneel!" he demands of his brides. They do as they're told with baffled looks on their faces. "Your old husband is gone now! I'm to be your new husband. You must respect his memory, but must completely honor your new master!"

He moves from one bride to another snapping at them while making each promise to be completely devoted to him and never to sin against him even in the mind.

By the time they stand up, they have to hold on to each other because of the way their knees are bruised from having been on the marble floors for so long.

"Sit." He commands them to go to the same pew the Mister and his new brides are at.

_What next?_ I wonder. _Why did he have them sit down? Why hasn't he dismissed us?_ Usually, after a wedding ceremony, we have a celebration--or rather the married people in Paradise Village do. Even though the wives would've stayed up all night doing the cooking, it's the helper-boys, the servant-girls, and the destiny-brides who serve everyone.

Grinder strides to the entrance of the sanctum again and the wedding march begins one more time. I gasp! I take in a painful breath when I see the next bride.

It's Jana!

### Chapter 22

I thought that Jana had a little bit more time since her birthday isn't until next week. I tell myself to keep breathing. I have to look away from her devastated, scared little face. Even when her back is towards me as she walks to the front with Grinder, I can't bear to look.

"I want the congregation to know that The Great Master is speaking to me!" he screeches once they arrive at the front. "He told me that because he was so pleased that I became the highest holy, he moved Jana's birthday up, so I could marry her!"

A stunned silence fills the room.

"The Great Master has great things in store for his faithful!!! You can count on it!!!"

The congregation is still stunned.

"Kneel!" he orders her. She obeys immediately. "With you being a new bride, you need to understand your responsibility towards your Master! Your life isn't your own. It's your Master's. Every breath you take is mine! Every word out of your mouth is mine! Everything you are is mine!"

Then he makes her promise loyalty, obedience, and dedication like he had the other brides. This part takes forever, and I can see Jana trying not to faint with the pain coming from her knees.

When he finishes with her, instead of dismissing the congregation, he makes her sit down with his other brides. Then he spends hours giving a discourse on marriage. He tells us, the destiny-brides and wives, that we shouldn't love anybody more than our husbands, our faith, and our Great Master. That it is a sin to love ourselves more than them. He tells us that it is our duty to make them very happy because only then can we reach the Great Master's Kingdom after death.

I had already heard all of this over and over again through the years but today the message seemed much more intense and demanding than it had ever been under Bledsoe.

"The Great Master has told me that from this day forward, any disobedience will be punished by death."

If the congregation was silent before, now it's downright chilly. Bledsoe had never gone this far. Grinder is out of his mind!

Finally, he declares it's time for celebration. We're ushered to the celebratory room next to city hall. It is made up with the decorations that are always used for these occasions. The helper-boys must've stayed up all night putting them up. Stars made of tiny bulbs light up the ceiling while the tables have silk, white cloths draping over them with centerpieces made of glass red hearts. Four Ice statues of the Great Master sit in every corner of the room. The tables are set up around a fountain with a cupid in the center of it. Water spurts from its arrow while the water in the fountain is filled with different kinds of floating flowers.

The destiny-brides immediately rush to the kitchen where the pots of food that the family-wives already prepared sit. Under the supervision of Helga, we quickly serve the food into expensive, white china plates. Ribeye, lobster, and caviar along with side dishes are first served to the High Elders, Lower Elders, and Masters--in that order. Then we place a fraction of the food we had given the men onto the plates of their wives.

Meanwhile, I'm the one in charge of the champagne. I move all over the room serving the men. Their wives are only allowed one glass.

"Little Bird, it'll be us next," says an already tipsy Mister.

I turn my face away from him so he doesn't see me shudder.

"Little Bird!" he yells, thumping my shoulder with the discipline club. Not even on his wedding day is he willing to set it aside. "Don't be upset. I promise you I won't love Betsey or even Lauren more than I love you, okay?"

I have no choice but to nod, or he'll whack me again.

"I won't even love them as much as I love you."

I nod again.

"Even if Betsey is the new head-wife, you're the head of my heart."

"Champagne!" yells Grinder from the other side of the room.

"You can go," the Mister dismisses me. As I'm rushing over to Grinder, I notice Miguel's eyes fixed on me. He is serving the cigars to the men.

Later that evening, he passes by me and whispers in my ear, "Betsey's the new head-wife. No wonder you were upset."

When every dish has been washed, all ornaments have been placed in storage, and the celebration is over, I stare at the starry sky through the window in the slave quarters. My feet throb. My muscles ache. My stomach cries with hunger. Neither the helper-boys , the servant-girls, or the destiny-brides are allowed to eat even a tiny morsel of the banquet we served.

_Where are you, Mama?_ I cry in my head. _Have you been looking for me all these years?--or have you forgotten me?_

The next day I have two more wives to clean up after. More slimy dishes, more dirty rooms, and more clothes to iron. When I finish with clean-up, Betsey comes up to me with a wily smile.

"Monica, you've done a good job for someone who has never been instructed," she remarks casually.

"My Little Bird tries the best she can," the Mister chortles.

"I can see that."

"She's my special destiny-bride."

"Monica," Betsey says in her most sickingly sweet voice. "I've admired you so much ever since you were helping out at that household I used to be at."

I eye her with an unflinching, somber stare. Both of us know what game we're playing and the way she treated me in the Smythee house.

"We're going to be such good friends," she says with a sly smile.

The Mister is beside himself with happiness. How can he not see right through her?

Betsey calls a meeting for the wives. This also pleases the Mister, and he tells us he'll be gone for a few hours to take care of business. That we should listen to Betsey because she has our best interest at heart.

"Things are going to run very differently around here!" she snaps roughly when he leaves. "Very differently! And you heard Highest Holy Grinder. Any disobedience is punishable by death!"

### Chapter 23

Stacy's face loses all its color, and she looks like she's about to faint. The other family-wives also have consternated faces. I stay quiet as Betsey keeps ranting and raving.

"I can tell just by looking at all of you that your hearts aren't fully dedicated to the Great Master! I'm ashamed to call you my family! You're not fit to be part of the Great Master's plan! He is so good to us and you can't be proper followers!"

A flood of tears starts streaming down making her face wet and intense like a firecracker. _This girl has lost it!--completely!_

She gulps a few breaths of air before continuing her screeching.

"But what really sends me over the bend," she states with sobbing cries, "is your lack of proper devotion towards Master Barstowe. Every time he comes in the house, you should be running to the door to greet him. You should be removing his shoes and covering his feet with kisses. You should be thanking him for having chosen us as his wives. You just don't know what an honor it is to be his eternal servants. You should've gotten stuck with the Master I had before him!"

I wince. She's talking about the one we aren't allowed to mention--Smythee of course.

"That Master had let the evil creature dominate him," she announces as she eyes me with furrowed brows. "He was a bad husband, a poor believer, and a pathetic follower. Thank the Great Master that we don't have the same problem with Master Barstowe. We are so blessed!!! And from now on I'm going to make sure he knows how much we appreciate him!"

Does she really believe all this nonsense? I'm terrified that she does.

As I step out of the house, Miguel is already waiting for me as is becoming customary. Whewww! What a relief to be out of that insane asylum. Just before I had stepped out the door, Betsey had made the rest of the wives get on their knees and pray the good wife's prayer. Luckily, I couldn't join them because I'm not married yet. I'm supposed to say the destiny-bride's one every night with the other unwedded girls and not pray with the family-wives until marriage.

"How was your day?" asks Miguel, whispering.

I throw him a tortured look.

"That good?" he says.

"Betsey's nuts," I whisper. "Completely nuts."

In the slave quarters, I step over to Jana's former bunk. Helga hadn't met me at the door with a snide remark since she had been talking to the only other girl there. The place is practically empty.

A thick knot forms in my throat. Poor Jana. All throughout the wedding celebration she had kept her head down. I don't want to think about what she's going through.

A door opens and I turn to it to find that the girl who was talking to Helga is stepping out of the shack. It's just Helga and me in the place. Great! She quickly steps over to where I'm at, and I brace myself for her ugly remarks.

"I miss Jana," she mumbles.

"You do?" I ask surprised.

"She was very nice to me--even when I wasn't," explains Helga.

"Yes, she's a very nice person."

Helga quickly glances at the door. "I shouldn't have laughed at her for getting stuck with Highest Holy Grinder," she whispers.

"It was such bad luck for her."

"You're not having such good luck yourself."

I wait for the cackle, but it doesn't come. Her eyes aren't ridiculing me nor are they sneering at me. Helga actually looks as if she feels sorry for me.

"Look," she says, eyeing the door, "you don't like me and I don't like you but I'm going to give you a warning just so you see that I have a heart."

"I've never doubted that you have a heart."

She looks at me as if she doesn't know whether to believe me. "You didn't hear it from me but be very careful with Betsey. She's very cunning."

"Does she believe what she says about the True Faith?"

"Oh yeah, she believes it all right to the umpteenth degree. What's worse is that she uses her beliefs to force everything to go her way. Master Smythee never fell for her shenanigans, but I'm not so sure that Master Barstowe won't. I repeat, she's very cunning"

"I've just seen the start of her manipulations at the Barstowe household."

"Never, ever trust her. She may sometimes use honeyed words to fool people, but inside is just rot. Always watch your back."

"Thanks for the advice."

Her face hardens. "Don't think I told you all that stuff because I like you. We'll never be friends. I told you because I dislike Betsey more than I dislike you," she growls.

I smile. "Okay, Helga."

"Don't expect me to be nice to you."

"I won't."

The next day, when I get to the Barstowe household, I'm surprised to see the wives surrounding the Mister at his recliner. Some are at his feet and others are standing next to him holding his drink and giving him snacks.

I want to retch.

"Little Bird!" he coos.

"Go kiss your Master's feet, Monica," Betsey says with sickening sweetness.

"What?"

"Go kiss Master Barstowe's feet. Show him you appreciate him."

I submerge a harsh gasp. I thought that when she had mentioned it last night, it wasn't literal. I though she had meant to be especially nice and subservient to him.

The Mister stares at me with expectation. He's really expecting me to put my lips on his stinky feet. My eyes go to them. They are bare! The other wives must've been made to do it already.

All I can think of is his odor. If the man smells horrifyingly bad, his feet must be out of this world in stench. Uuuuuuuugh!

_Think fast,_ Frida, I tell myself.

"I wish I could but--"

"There shouldn't be any excuses for serving your Master," Betsey states with a wicked smile on her lips. She thinks she's got me.

"Monica, I can't believe you're unwillingness to please your destiny-husband," the Mister snaps furiously as his fingers curl themselves around the discipline club. Betsey grins wider.

"It's not that, Master Barstowe."

"Then what is it?" he retorts.

Betsey's face is glowing. "What possible excuse can you have for not honoring your Master?"

"The Great Master," I explain.

"The Great Master?" questions the Mister.

"The Great Master says that there should be no physical contact at all before marriage. I don't want to put my soul and especially yours, Master Barstowe, in danger."

The grin is wiped off of Betsey's face in one swoop. The Mister chuckles and looks at me with pride as he sets the discipline club on the cocktail table next to him.

"What did I tell you about her, Betsey? She's beautiful, kind hearted, and very devoted to me and the Great Master."

"I can see that," Betsey says wryly as she tries to reconfigure her unhappy face.

I step into the dining to start my chores. I'm still trying to get the Mister's stinky feet off my mind. My heart is beating fast with what had just happened.

I gather the dishes and take them to the kitchen. They are clean of leftovers. I had already suspected that the morsels of food I would get from the wives was over with because of Betsey. Her hawk eyes don't miss anything.

As I soap up the dishes she steps in. "Last time there were some spots," she says sweetly. "Be very careful with your chores." Her smile is completely devoid of warmth.

I know the game she's playing. She's very cunning like Helga had said. She isn't treating me like she did at the Smythee household--rude and vicious. She knows the Mister would never put up with it as he hadn't put up with Stacy's behavior.

No, she's probably got something else in store for me.

"Maybe you could wash them twice," she murmurs slyly.

I nod. She smiles wickedly as her eyes glare at me with searing penetration before she steps out of the kitchen. The battle lines have been drawn between Betsey and me. We'll see who can play the game better.

### Chapter 24

I throw the boomerang with full force. It almost knocks me down when it returns. Miguel jumps on his feet.

"I'm fine," I tell him. You can sit back down.

"You're hitting that thing hard today," he says, groaning. "Does it have anything to do with the week you've just had?"

"It's everything," I say.

"Want to talk about it?"

I'm so used to keeping everything to myself that I don't know how I feel about discussing my upsets.

"C'mon," he says kindly. "I'm a good listener."

I quietly sit down next to him still unsure about divulging my insides.

"Here, I brought you something" he says, handing me a piece of chocolate.

My mouth waters. "Where did you get it?" I ask with excitement as I extend my hand and he puts the round dark miracle on my palm.

"I took it from Highest Holy Grinder's desk at church. He keeps a bunch of them in a candy dish."

"What if he had caught you?"

"He didn't."

"Miguel, you shouldn't risk it like that."

"I thought you'd like one."

I had great memories of chocolate when I was a kid and had only been allowed to have one piece on each of my birthdays. That was the extent of the Elders' generosity.

"If you don't want it," he says, "I could take it back."

"No!"

As I'm about to pop it in my watering mouth I realize how selfish I'm being and I cut it in half and hand him a piece.

"You have all of it," he tells me, refusing to take the chocolate.

"I can't have it unless you share it with me," I stubbornly declare.

He smiles before taking the piece. As the sweet candy melts on my tongue, I don't allow myself to chew it. I need to prolong it as much as possible.

When every sliver of taste is gone, I turn to Miguel. "Thank you."

He rewards me with a warm smile. "You're welcome. Do you feel better?"

"You should see what the Barstowe household is like with Betsey being the head-wife," I blurt.

"I can imagine," he says dryly.

I explain to him the horrors I had seen that week. The feet kissing thing was only the tip of the ice berg. Now Betsey had made it a rule that whenever the Mister is in the house, a wife has to be standing next to him to be ready to do his bidding. Wifely prayers are now being held once an hour with Betsey making them repeat, "Great Master, keep us worthy of the Master you have provided for us here on earth."

The Mister whacked me with the club five times this week. It was a record for him. And all because every time he'd walk into a room where I was doing my chores, Betsey would jump in as if she was _helping_ me. He was infuriated that I wasn't doing the housework on my own. Betsey would tell him I needed to be properly instructed, and she didn't want the Master's home to be anything less than perfect, so she felt the need to _help_ me. I had to keep my mouth quiet because I knew that if I told him that she only _helped_ me when he'd be in the vicinity, he'd think I was lying. Her manipulation of him is disgusting.

And I'm sure this is only the beginning.

"Keep your wits about you," Miguel tells me. "Isn't that what you always say?"

"You don't understand how sneaky this girl is."

"You're smarter than her," he states.

"I'm not sure about that."

"I'm sure," he states. "I'm very sure."

While scrubbing the bathtub at the Barstowe house, I listen carefully for any noises. I grin when I hear Betsey's footsteps. She rushes in, grabs the other scrubber from my cleaning basket, and kneels down on the other side of the tub.

"You're doing it all wrong," she grumbles.

I hear the familiar steps of the Mister as he steps into the bedroom. Betsey eyes me as her lips form their, _I got you,_ smirk.

"Betsey, are you here?" calls the Mister.

"I'm doing some work in the bathroom," she calls out, her sly eyes on me.

"Lauren told me you needed to speak to me."

"I do."

His steps in the bathroom, and Betsey takes her eyes off me to scrub fiercely. Her face contorts when she sees what happens with her scrubber.

"What do you need?--what in tarnation is this mess!" the Mister questions furiously as he sees the giant streak of mud on the porcelain of the bath tub.

"I'm . . . I'm . . . I'm cleaning it," Betsey mutters nervously.

"Monica's side is spotless. Yours is a disgusting mess!"

"Master Barstowe, I was--"

"I thought you said you were teaching her to do it right!"

"I am. I'm--"

"Shut up!"

"But--"

"Shut up!"

"Yes, Master Barstowe," she says with exasperation.

"She could teach _you_ a few tricks!"

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"From now on, I don't want you near her when she's cleaning. Is that clear, Betsey?"

"Yes, Master Barstowe," she says, her voice almost in a sob.

"You are to let her do her chores in peace, so she doesn't have to clean up after your messes."

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"Out.! We'll get out to leave you to your work, Little Bird."

I breathe out as soon as they leave. I rinse out the filthy scrubber I had caked with mud earlier. As I finish cleaning the bathtub I try not to think of what a humiliated Betsey will do next. I don't count my victories just yet.

The game has just started.

### Chapter 25

The time has finally come when I have to attend the intensive wife duty classes. First they'll show me the _spiritual_ ways of being a wife. Then I'll have to cover the more concrete matters like properly caring for your husband's things and eating with utensils.

I had been dreading this day so much that I had almost blocked it out until Helga had told me I'd better high tail it to the meetings in the ceremony room where we celebrate weddings.

The place is already full when I get there, but the classes haven't started. Thankfully, I'm not late. Since none of the men are there, a buzz of girls speaking to one another permeates the air. I take a seat next to Wanda. Her birthday is a few days before mine, and she's to be married into the Simms household.

"Did you hear about wife-Patrice?" she asks me. Patrice is the head-wife of the Simms household.

I shake my head.

"She's getting a commendation from Highest Holy Grinder," she says excitedly.

"A commendation?--for what?"

"For coming up with a new prayer for destiny-brides. We'll study it today."

"Oh," I say without enthusiasm.

"Highest Holy Grinder called the Simms household the best family for the week!"

"Oh."

"Can you believe it? I'm about to join that holy household," she gushes. "And my destiny husband is so generous. He's the one who put wife-Patrice up for the commendation."

It looks like the Mister hasn't put Betsey up for any commendations. Maybe there's some hope for him yet. A hushed quiet hits the room as Harriet steps in. She was the wife of Bledsoe and now is married to Grinder but we're confused as to what she's doing here. She's not the one who's supposed to give us the classes. She's not the head-wife in the Grinder household.

"Good morning, destiny-brides," she chirps. She's always had a very amicable personality. We greet her back. "Wife-Cordelia is sick today, so I'm taking her place."

A sound of relief spreads through the room. Cordelia is almost as bad as Betsey.

"Shall we start?" she asks, not expecting an answer in return. "We've got a lot to cover."

I make my face passive, so I don't react to anything she's about to say. She's a nice person and everything, but her head is packed with lies she believes with all her heart.

"Future family-wives, you don't know what a great privilege it is to belong to the True Faith. You're the chosen ones!"

An applause erupts through the crowd. I have to go along.

"I hope you truly understand that we, as members of the one True Faith, are going to be the ones to inherit the kingdom of the Great Master!"

Another applause. Maybe Cordelia would've been better after all.

"Everyone else in this evil world will take their place with the evil creature."

Boos for the creature resound.

"Here's the thing, though, we must be worthy of the Great Master's Kingdom. We're not getting there just because we live in Paradise Village! No! We'll be getting in there because we'll be worthy of it. We'll be worthy of our faith. We'll be worthy of our Masters."

She then takes us to the kitchen where she demonstrates how to cook breakfast. Eggs, bacon, waffles, and potatoes! I can't believe how much food we're allowed to have!

"Thank your destiny-husbands for this," she gushes. "See how generous they are with you?"

If I had known we were going to get so well fed, I wouldn't have dreaded these meetings so much. I can ignore the total garbage being fed into us if my stomach is full. She allows us to use our fingers to stuff ourselves because she says that utensil training is forthcoming, and we've got to stop sticking our mouths in the food.

After the meal, we continue the lessons. She implores us to be understanding of everything our husbands do, and that we should be willing to sacrifice anything for them. Blah-blah-blah. My mind tunes her out until lunch arrives. The family-wives had made it especially for us.

Steak, baked potatoes, barbeque beans, fresh rolls. Wow!!! And for dessert: apple pie, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, cakes!

After the food, Harriet shows us the new destiny-bride's prayer that we must say after we say the original one:

Dear Great Master,

I'm deeply unworthy of all you give me. I'm deeply unworthy of the Master you've blessed me with here on earth. If I don't live up to you or him, please cast me in the fires of the evil creature because I wouldn't deserve your love. I offer this prayer up to you with my whole heart.

This prayer is even worse than the other one! When Harriet repeats it for the third time, she's so visibly moved by it that she's pounding her chest and sobbing. Some of the other girls start crying too. I lower my head so they won't see how disgusted I am by all of this.

I'm not disgusted by them or even by Harriet who I still like very much. I'm disgusted with the Elders who've pulled the wool over their eyes so thoroughly. I realized a long time ago that the more someone repeats something, the more believable it becomes even if it's outlandish.

We were brought here when we were children, and we've been told over and over again of the Great Master and his plan for us. It became the only reality I knew except for my vivid memories of my mother. Those remembrances stopped this new reality from taking over, so I've always been able to distinguish the lies from the truth. For the other girls, it's unfortunately the opposite. The foggy memories of their lives before here seem the fake ones to them because of the constant brainwashing of the Elders.

I sigh deeply. Harriet pats me on the back with a pleased yelp. "Yeeeees, destiny-bride Monica, your prayer is being heard by the Great Master!"

It takes all I have not to clear up the misunderstanding and tell her what I think of the new prayer.

Then she has us pray for an hour. I, of course, go over my English, Spanish and math at that time.

For the rest of the long, long day Harriet goes on to explain how we should always be cognizant of our behavior since it reflects on our destiny-husbands. How we have to be beyond reproach at all times. How we always have to ask our destiny-husbands if we're in perfect accordance to them. Blah, blah, blah. I've tuned out again.

I only tune back in when she tells us we can have a snack. Nachos! Bean dip! Chicken wings! I can hardly believe my luck today. I had never eaten this much! I don't even mind that she's yapping while we're eating. "Being a wife in Paradise Village is such a wonderful thing. Everyday, when you wake up, you should thank the Great Master for your luck. You should carry your destiny-husbands in your heart with everything you do. You should ask yourselves, 'Is this what he would want me to do?'" Blah, blah, blah. I've tuned out again.

The question and answer session begins. I semi-listen. I'm curious about the questions.

"What do we do if Highest Holy Grinder tells us to do one thing and our Masters another?" a girl asks.

Good question. I'm curious as to what Harriet will answer.

She seems baffled at first, but then her eyes light up. "The Great Master is testing you. Do both."

Question: "What if the head-wife accuses you of something you didn't do?"

Answer: "She, the wisest of us, probably saw in your heart that you were about to commit that sin. Take the punishment as a reprimand from the Great Master himself."

Question: "What if you're terrified of your Master's violent temper?"

Answer: "You _should_ be terrified of your Masters. It's the wrath of the Great Master going through them. All of us should be terrified of not living up to the great responsibility of being the chosen ones in the one True Faith."

Blah, blah, blah. I'm not listening anymore.

Miguel is waiting for me when I step out that evening. On the way to the Barstowe household, I still have my chores to do there before turning in for the night, I wait for the right private moment. When no one's around, I quickly slip my hand in the pockets of my skirt and hand him a piece of steak I had hidden there.

"We had a lot of food today."

He eats it in two bites, practically swallowing it. He smiles at me as we keep walking. Suddenly, my stomach starts churning painfully. I should've known that my body wouldn't be ale to handle so much food.

"Are you okay, Frida? You look green."

Shaking my head, I point to my stomach. He quickly ushers me to behind some bushes, and all the precious food I had ingested fiercely comes up. When I stop retching, my face contorts in deep sorrow.

"Are you okay?" he asks, worried.

"What a waste," I murmur sadly. "So much food. It's on the ground now."

He chuckles as we quickly throw dirt on it before anyone walks by. I don't doubt that I'd be punished for vomiting. We swiftly continue our walk.

"Thanks for remembering me with the steak," he whispers as he leaves me at the door.

I'm still aggravated by him having to go everywhere with me, but I also appreciate his tenacity in trying to keep me safe from the wrath of the Elders.

I take a deep, prolonged breath before stepping into the house. Betsey is waiting for me in the kitchen. I force myself not to grimace.

"How were your wife-lessons?" she asks sweetly.

"Good," I lie.

"I'll leave you to your work since Master Barstowe doesn't want me to bother you while you're cleaning."

"Okay."

She steps over to the door. Is she really going to leave me alone?

But before she steps through it, she turns around to look at me. "By the way, your Barstowe-wife training begins today too. When you're finished, join us in the Master's study."

Why did I think I was going to get off so easy?

### Chapter 26

I clean, scrub, and disinfect. The house is spotless by the time I finish. I drag myself to the Mister's study where all of the family-wives except for Betsey, who is ferociously standing over them, are kneeling before Master Barstowe. His discipline club sits ominously on the top of his desk.

"Little Bird," chirps the Mister. "Join us."

"There's a spot for you here," Betsey states, pointing next to Lauren.

"No!" the Mister snaps. "She's not kneeling down with these sinners!"

"But, Master Barstowe," coos Betsey, "as your destiny-bride, she needs to learn to kneel at your presence."

"I said no!"

"It'll be good for her."

The Mister is furious. "What about _no_ don't you understand?!!!"

"Yes, Master Barstowe," she says dejectedly.

"Little Bird," he commands me, "I want you to sit away from them, over there." He points to the black sofa close to his bookcase. Holding in a disgusted growl, I go to it and sit down. I wish he would just let me leave to the slave quarters. The tension in the room is thick, and the family-wives' faces are teary and fearful

"From now on," he states, "we'll be meeting every night. Most of the times you'll be excused, Little Bird, since you're usually here during the day."

I rush of relief flows through my body.

"We could have her come here at night," offers Betsey.

The Mister gives her a cold stare. "I don't want to get her polluted by these sinners!"

"Yes, Mister Barstowe," Betsey sighs unhappily.

He stomps over to the family-wives and halts in front of them. "Betsey has been informing me of your transgressions during the day. And I'm _very_ upset!"

"We both are," Betsey chimes in.

"I'm disappointed and disgusted with you!"

"I hope you know that Master Barstowe has a right to stamp out your sinful lives at this very moment! Your reckless disobedience is shameful!"

"But I'm going to show mercy on you because my Little Bird has inspired forgiveness in me," he says, smiling at me. Betsey throws me a furious glare.

"What have we done, Master Barstowe?" asks Lauren, sobbing.

"You know what you've done!" snaps Betsey.

"Tell them," commands the Mister. "They should have their sins thrown in their faces."

"They've been thinking evil thoughts!"

What?

"A good wife just thinks good thoughts about her husband."

"I haven't been thinking bad thoughts about you, Master Barstowe," Lauren assures.

"Repent, you sinner!!!"

"Yes, repent!" the Mister demands.

"I saw how all three of you looked at Master Barstowe's discipline club--as if it was evil or something. If you think it's evil then you must think _he's_ evil"

_He is_.

"So you think _I'm_ evil," roars the Mister.

All three wives deny this vociferously.

"Stop lying!" Betsey exclaims. "Admit it and repent!"

The wives continue their denial.

"How dare you disrespect the Great Master's representative here on earth!" snaps Betsey.

"HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ME!" the Mister snarls as he grabs the discipline stick from the top of his desk.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

I redirect my eyes to the side because the violence I'm seeing against three of his wives is tearing every fiber in me. These are the times I feel like a coward--like I should do something. But if I do, I'll only infuriate the Mister more than he already is and make the situation worse.

This beating goes on for eternal moments. When it finally stops, I calm myself by counting to ten. The Mister's breathing is hard as the three victims sob and rub their wounds. Betsey smirks with a satisfied smile.

I glare furiously at her, my sight accusing and disgusted. She abruptly shifts her sight away from me. Deep inside, I'm convinced she knows of the evil she just perpetrated. She knows her actions are wrong. She may ignore the truth so that she may embrace the only power given to the wives, grabbing it with both claws, but she knows. On the surface of her mind she may tell herself she's doing the right thing by the Great Master, excusing her evil. She may even think to be 100 percent positive about the correctness of her behavior.

But inside of the part that makes us human and connects us to one another--she knows. That's why she shifted her eyes away from the truth my face was reproaching her.

"Is there anything else we have to cover?" the Mister asks, he looks exhausted from clubbing his wives.

Betsey nods, avoiding my eyes. "I've got a long list of transgressions."

"Name them," the Mister commands.

"Lauren, you left your bedroom door open since last week when doors in this house should always be closed. Bernice, you eat with your mouth open sometimes. Agatha, you breathe too loud. Stacy, you speak too loud."

Is she kidding with this stuff? And why is the Mister allowing her to waste his time with this TOTAL GARBAGE?

"Don't do those things," the Mister mutters. It seems he doesn't think their transgressions are that bad, or he would've beaten them again.

Betsey strides around the wives. "I would also like to call your attention to the fact that you neglect to thank Master Barstowe after each meal."

"But he isn't here at every meal," Stacy bravely mentions.

"You should still thank him," she snaps.

"Thank him when he gets back?" asks Agatha.

"What a stupid question!" retorts Betsey. "Of course, thank him when he gets back, but also thank him right after the meal."

"How do we do that if he isn't here?" asks Bernice.

"Do I have to do all the thinking around here?" Betsey asks furiously. "Even when Master Barstowe is physically gone, the Great Master has permitted part of his spirit to still be with us, so he can take care of things even when he's away. Thank his spirit!"

The Mister looks pleased with her reasoning. "Why do I have to be here in the flesh for you to be thankful to me?"

"Master Barstowe is a special ambassador to the Great Master," snaps Betsey. "What is so hard to understand about that?"

I have to keep my eyes from rolling out of their sockets.

### Chapter 27

The next few days at the Barstowe household are too quiet. The house had never been lively, but now it's like a tomb. The family-wives appear to be terrified of offending Betsey in any way. They barely say a word, barely chew their food, and barely make any movements on their faces.

Thankfully, I haven't been to any more of their meetings, but I've noticed fresh bruises on the wives. The Mister has definitely been beating them. I just can't understand how this feeling of power that Betsey is surely drunk with can feel better to her than living in a peaceful household? Even if you're the one making a bigger hole in the rotted boat, you're still one of the ones who are going down with it, aren't you?

In thinking of boats, a memory goes through me. I had ridden in one with my mama. There are so many experiences I went through with her that no longer exist in this world that I'm living in now. Most girls here wouldn't know what a boat is.

I sigh as I continue washing the dishes. The door suddenly opens, and I don't have to turn to know who it is. It's Betsey. I'd know her loud footsteps anywhere. She doesn't walk. She struts.

She strides to where I'm at and puts an empty glass in the soapy water my hands are in. Not saying a single word, she grins with that special smirk of hers. Her unwavering eyes bore into me. They carry a promise. She hasn't forgotten what I did to her at the bathtub. She hates the way the Mister defends me. She despises her lack of control over me.

Revenge.

It's the promise in her eyes. She's waiting for the right moment.

I shove her face out of my head and keep doing my chores. She keeps eyeballing me when we meet in various rooms. I eyeball her back. If she wants to bully me then she has to contend with my own aggression.

In Agatha's bedroom, Betsey drags the wife in as I'm dusting and polishing the furniture. Agatha looks as if she's going to burst into tears.

"Kneel," Betsey yells, pointing in the middle of the room.

Helga obliges, her face in pure anguish.

"You are disobedient and don't give me the proper respect. You will beg me for forgiveness or suffer the consequences in the meeting tonight!"

She does this in every bedroom as I'm cleaning it and with every family-wife. Her message to me is loud and clear. _Do what I tell you to do or suffer the consequences._

In the last bedroom, Stacy's one, she goes more bezerk. "You're the worst family-wife in all of Paradise Village!" she roars.

Stacy trembles in fury on the floor as she's kneeling.

"You still haven't realized who rules around here!"

Funny, I thought it was the Mister.

"Your defiant nature is purely from the evil creature!"

"I'm not evil," Stacy returns.

"Stop back-talking me!"

"But--"

"Pray for me to forgive you! Pray!"

I can't keep my mouth shut any longer. "Pray to _you_? Are you the Great Master?"

"I'm the Great Master's representative on earth," she declares, her face twitching. "Why shouldn't she pray to me?"

"I thought Master Barstowe is the Great Master's representative."

"Yes, and I'm his!" she snaps.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Is anyone asking your opinion?" she questions furiously.

"No," I simply say.

"Your insubordination to me is unforgivable!"

"I'm just trying to understand why you're so mean to the family-wives."

"I'm not mean!" she roars. "I'm doing what I'm supposed to do and guide them to the Great Master's great love for us!!!"

"The Great Master's love means you haranguing them?"

"Love means discipline!" She's so furious she's about to explode.

"How they chew their food is of great importance to the Great Master?"

Her hand makes a fist, and she shakes it in front of my face. "Respect is of great importance to him!"

"You're making the family-wives respect the Great Master by kneeling to you?"

"I already told you that I'm his representative on earth!"

"I thought you said that Master Barstowe is the representative and you're his."

She rushes to me as if she's going to smack me with her fist. As soon as she sees my defiant eyes, she knows I'm going to defend myself if she dares lay a finger on me. Instead, she smashes her hand on the powder table I'm next to. Rubbing her hand, she looks as if she's in pain.

"Are you okay?" Stacy asks sarcastically.

That does it for Betsey. She strides over to Stacy, her face in a burning flame. Grabbing fistfuls of hair, she pulls at them with ferocious force. Stacy cries out as she tries to get Betsey off of her.

"Let her go!" I cry out as I rush to Betsey and try to get her to release Stacy's hair.

The door swings open. "What's all this ruckus?" asks an angry Mister. When he sees the scene in front of him, he makes a sound of disbelief. Betsey quickly removes her hands from Stacy's now messy hair, yanking away at what's tangled in her fingers. Stacy gives a small cry when her strands are torn out of her head.

"What's going on here?" he snaps.

"Master Barstowe, I was disciplining these girls. That's all."

"Disciplining?" he asks, his eyes narrowing. "I thought that was my job."

"I didn't want to bother you with such trivial stuff. I thought I'd do it myself."

"Do it yourself?"

"Yes, but Stacy and Monica are not giving me proper respect, so I had to use physical punishment."

"Leave the room, Monica. I'll talk to you later."

I nod but as I'm going toward the door I hear the Mister's club whacking someone. I don't dare turn around to see who he's beating. Cries of pain resonate behind me.

"I'm the only one who can hit my wives," he yells as I open the door. "Betsey, you're overstepping your boundaries!" I step out of the room and walk my shaking body down the stairs.

When I finish cleaning the rest of the house, the Mister sends me a message to meet him in his study. I shudder. I've grown to hate the room after witnessing the interrogations that take place in it. When I clean it, I get in and out as soon as possible. Now it looks like it'll be the place for my own beating. It's my turn.

Expecting to see a clobbered Betsey when I step in, I'm surprised that it's only the Mister. He smiles when he sees me.

"Sit down, Little Bird," he says, indicating the chair in front of his massive, cherry desk. He doesn't have the discipline club anywhere in sight.

I sit down and wait for him to talk to me. It seems he's emotional because it takes him time to do so. I don't understand what's happening and frankly, his silence scares me.

"You can't imagine what happened today," he says excitedly.

I'm pretty sure he's not talking about the situation with Betsey.

"What happened, Master Barstowe?" I ask slowly.

"A miracle from the Great Master."

"A miracle?" I'm not liking this one bit.

"The Great Master is truly good to us," he says with fervor.

"Yes," I mumble.

"He's always looking after our well being."

"Yes," I mumble again.

"Highest Holy Grinder just informed me that Great Master told him we can move up your birthday," he states. "We can get married already!"

### Chapter 28

"I love you so much, Monica," the Mister gushes with sentiment. "You don't know how happy I am that we'll be able to get married sooner than I thought. He pauses to let the moment sink in to me.

The shock on my face must show because then he continues. "Highest Holy Grinder said we could schedule your marriage surgery next week and marry the week after that."

I look away from him, trying to not let him see the anguished tears bursting out of my eyes.

"This is emotional for me too," he states, his voice choking up. Unfortunately, he can see the tears from the side of my face.

"We can finally live our love," he gushes. I turn back to face him to see his own eyes flooding with water. "It'll be one of the greatest love stories that has ever existed."

The boomerang in my hands feels like a weapon as I toss it with unbridled frustration. When it returns, I immediately send it out again.

"Are you going to tell me what wrong?" asks Miguel, his voice rife with concern as he stands next to me.

"Sit down and stay out of my way, please," I tell him, my tone tight.

"Not until you tell me what's happening."

"They've moved up my marriage."

"What?"

"Grinder said the Great Master had moved up my birthday," I retort sarcastically.

Miguel stares at me with round eyes and a shocked expression. Then he stumbles backward, trying to ease himself to the ground.

"I've got to sit down," he says.

I keep throwing my boomerang as he eyes me from the grass. His penetrating sight unnerves me.

"Stop looking at me like that," I ask of him.

"I just can't believe they're doing this," he mumbles.

"The Elders do _anything_ they want."

"That's an understatement."

"There's nothing holy about them."

"Nothing at all! " he snaps with bitter emotion. I had never heard him this upset.

I stop throwing my boomerang and eye him with surprise.

"They're selfish, evil manipulators!" he continues.

I'm surprised at his intense reaction. He seems almost as upset as I am.

"Quiet down, Miguel," I urge him. "Someone might hear you."

"Sit down with me, Frida. Won't you please?"

"What for?" I ask with curiosity.

"I need to speak to you."

I do what he asks of me because I'm concerned for him. His face is bursting with all kinds of emotion I'm not used to seeing from him. Unhappiness, fury, and disgust stare back from the face that's usually calm and positive by nature. I'm touched that our friendship has grown to such an extent that he greatly empathizes with me.

The past few weeks with him frequently by my side have been difficult for a loner like me but have also been a blessing. His quiet, un-encroaching nature has made me feel less lonely in Paradise Village.

"Are you okay, Miguel?"

He doesn't answer me but instead stares at me with intensity. Suddenly, he grabs my face and plops a kiss on my lips. I thrash violently, his mouth on my own, until I manage to push him away.

"What did you do that for?" I ask furiously as I rub my lips, trying to scrub him off of me.

"Sorry," he says, his tone completely in misery.

"Next time you do something like that, I'm going to smack your face until it breaks!" I snap at him with a loud whisper.

"Sorry," he repeats, his eyes on the ground with shame.

"Really, Miguel! What if someone had seen you? It could mean both of our lives."

His face leaves the ground and goes back to mine. "I love you, Frida," he blurts.

"What?"

"I love you so much."

"That's crazy," I state. "The time you've had to spend with me has messed with your head."

"I loved you way before Barstowe made me look after you."

I frown. "Miguel, you're confusing a friendship with love. Your loneliness is causing you to feel what you don't."

"No, it isn't!" he snaps. It's the first time he's ever spoken to me like this. "I've loved you since I first saw you when they brought me here."

"Miguel," I say gently, "how could you have fallen for me when we were just clueless kids? Just think about it."

"Don't you believe in love at first sight?"

"Of course not."

"Don't you believe in a love so strong that it constantly beats in your heart like thunder on a stormy day?"

"Of course not."

"But you felt like that for Smythee, right?" he asks, bitterness in his tone.

"No, of course not," I semi lie. I hadn't felt a storm inside of me with Smythee, but I guess I had felt a little rain shower. The guy was nice to me after all.

"Face it, Frida, you had a crush on him."

"A crush is different from love," I state lightly.

"But it may be a step in that direction. I'd be thrilled if you just had a crush on me," he asserts wryly.

"I just can't wrap my mind around romantic love at all."

"Why?"

"You really have to ask that?"

Frida, to love someone is one of the greatest gifts of life. Don't you know that?"

"I know that the love I have for my mama keeps me going. It keeps me sane and with something other than bitterness in my heart. But I also know that the love Barstowe professes for me is one of the most messed up things I've ever seen."

"He loves you in his own way."

"Exactly! His love for me is sick and ugly. I've got the bruises to prove it."

"Frida--"

"How can you love someone and treat them like they're your property? How can you beat her spirit to the ground? How can you care so little about her needs? If that's what romantic love is then I don't want any part of it."

He frowns deeply. "Love doesn't have to be like that. It--"

"I'd rather drop this conversation."

"Frida--"

"I'm about to be forced into marrying a man I will never love. I don't want to talk about love anymore, okay?"

He breathes out a frustrated breath. "Okay."

It's the day of my marriage surgery. I, however, have to go to the Barstowe household first and do my chores. That house has to be spic and span before I have my operation. As I'm walking with Miguel, he's very quiet. Ever since our conversation about love he's pulled back from me. Maybe it's for the best. After my wedding, I'll probably see very little of him.

I'll miss my friend.

I tuck away the kiss in a corner of my brain. It was wet and yucky. I can't understand how people like putting each others' mouths together. Just thinking that I'll one day have to feel the Mister's lips on mine sends my head in a tizzy.

I shudder violently.

Miguel bids me a quick goodbye at the door. When I step inside, a strange buzz is in the air. The family-wives are all standing around the Mister who's on his cell phone and dabbing his eyes with a white handkerchief.

"I'll be right there," he says into it, sniffling.

There are no other phones in Paradise Village but the ones the Elders and Masters carry. No one else can use them since they have a secret code that only our abusers know, and they have the cells with them at all times. I've often wondered what it would be like to get on one of those things and try to get help from any authorities but like everything else around here, very little is in our hands.

"I promise I'll leave right now," he says, thick tears rolling down his face. Betsey has one hand on his right shoulder and concern on her face--the most someone as selfish as her can muster.

My curiosity is peeked. As I'm about to step into the kitchen to start my chores, the Mister shakes his head at me while still talking on the cell phone. He points to the sofa where apparently he wants me to sit.

"Don't worry," he says, "I'll be there soon. _Soon._ " He finally hangs up and Betsey puts her arms around him. He shoves her away.

"I need to speak to my Little Bird," he states, rubbing his eyes with the handkerchief. "The rest of you get out of here."

All the wives, except for Betsey, start to leave.

"Are you sure I can't do anything for you?" insists Betsey. "Maybe I can bring you something to drink or--"

"What part of scram don't you understand?" he snaps at her. Dejectedly, she saunters away.

When we're alone, he sits next to me on the sofa. Leaving a small distance between us, he puts his hand in the empty space as if wanting to touch me but knowing he can't disregard regulations. I intertwine my hands in front of me and wait for him to speak. He blows his nose in his handkerchief and turns to me.

"I've had something really bad happen to me," he tells me.

"Are you okay, Master Barstowe?" I'm not just asking out of obligation. Seeing how broken up he is opens a compassionate side to me.

"Someone died," he murmurs.

"Someone died?"

"Someone very important to me in my other life. She and I had been together for over fifty years."

"Fifty years is a long time," I say quietly.

"Even though we were in separate bedrooms and didn't spend a lot of time with each other, we were still bound together. She was my wife and the mother of my children!" He sobs loudly.

I had always suspected that most of the men here had other types of lives somewhere else. This confirms it.

"When I left her, she was as well as she's always been," he continues. "I don't know what happened? I don't know how that blood vessel burst in her head."

"How sad." I really don't know what to say.

"She was a wonderful woman even though she would threaten me with a divorce every few months."

I know what divorce means. Several members of my extended family in my old life had been divorced.

"Mildred was one of a kind. Just like you, Little Bird. But she's dead now. Gone," he mumbles.

I don't know what to say, so I stay quiet. He stays solemn for a few minutes as he gets control of his sobbing.

"Gone," he repeats.

"I'm sorry for your suffering, Master Barstowe."

"Little Bird, I'm afraid I have to give you very bad news," he states, placing his hand in the empty space between us again.

"What is it, Master Barstowe?"

"Don't let what I'm about to tell you squeeze at your heart."

"What is it, Master Barstowe?" I repeat.

"I've got to leave immediately. I don't know how long I'll be gone so . . ." He's unable to finish his sentence.

"So . . ." He keeps trying to form more words. "So . . ."

That one word he uttered gives me a glimmer of hope, and I wish he'd finish his sentence.

"Yes, Master Barstowe," I say, trying to nudge him along.

"So," he tries again and takes a huge gulp, "We'll have to postpone our wedding. Our great love will have to wait."

### Chapter 29

"I know this is devastating, but I hope you understand why we have to postpone our wedded bliss," he states, his eyes leveled on me.

"I understand," I murmur, wanting to dance with joy but then feeling bad about feeling so good when someone died.

"I knew you would," he assures, a tiny smile on his lips.

I nod solemnly.

"The postponement just can't be avoided with what just happened."

I nod.

"Monica, this whole tragedy has taught me a lesson." He eyes me as if he expects me to ask him what it is.

"It has, Master Barstowe?"

"Life is way to short, and we have to do everything possible to reach happiness."

Of course, he's only talking about himself. He's not talking about my happiness or anyone other than the Elders and the Masters. It twists my stomach to think that they believe they're the only ones entitled to be happy--to be free.

"Even though we have to put our love on hold, it's important for me to tell you how much I love you."

I take a heavy gulp.

"I've never loved anyone like I love you--not even my poor deceased Mildred."

I wonder if he treated Mildred like he treats me? Probably not.

"I know I've got other wives, but you're really my one and only. My Little Bird. The highlight of my life."

If I'm so special then why do you beat me? Why won't you give me my freedom?

"Even though our marriage will have to wait, I'll carry you in my heart while I'm away."

What kind of heart do you have that your love is so twisted?

"Another thing," he mentions, "About the holy surgery."

"Yes?" I ask with curiosity.

"I want it postponed until I get back."

"Okay, Master Barstowe." I force myself not to smile.

"I'll be here for it," he says with a shaky voice. "Mildred might've died in the hospital without me, but I'm not going to let you go to one without me overseeing your procedure."

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"I couldn't bare it if anything happened to you."

I realize that he's scared that while he's away, the Elders might take their revenge on me for having taken care of Beatrix.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he snaps. "You're safe in my hands."

But I'm not safe with you.

He sighs. "As much as I hate leaving you here while I'm away, I don't have a choice. Please forgive me."

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"Forgive me for abandoning you."

_Feel free to abandon me at any time_.

"Pack my clothes, Little Bird. I'm leaving immediately."

As I handle his attire, he sends for Miguel to give him instructions while he's away. I pack the clothes just like he likes them--perfectly folded and with crinkly tissue in between every article of clothing. Then I spray it lightly with the cologne he likes. Frankly, I don't know why he even bothers with it. The cologne, no matter how strong it is, can't mask his rancid body odor.

When I finish with his things, I start on my chores. Feeling a lot lighter than when I got there, I'm breezing through them.

"My, someone's happy," Betsey states.

"I'm just doing my work the best way I can."

She raises an eyebrow as if she doesn't believe me. I don't care what she thinks. But I know that she'll be almost as happy as I am when she finds out that my marriage has been postponed. She doesn't like the idea of me marrying the Mister anymore than I do. I'll be the one wife she'll never have complete control over because of the way he feels about me.

As the Mister steps out of his study, I hear him tell Miguel, "Remember to do everything like I told you. You have to make sure my bills are paid and those other miscellaneous things I asked of you."

"Ye-ye-yes, M-M-Master Barstowe."

"I'm trusting you, boy."

"Th-th-thank you."

"Now go to the hospital and tell them I cancelled the surgery for Monica."

Miguel nods and throws a quick glance at me before he steps over to the door. As the door closes behind him, I breathe out a long breath of relief.

"Canceling Monica's marriage surgery?" asks Betsey with a smile.

"Yes," the Mister answers gruffly.

"Why?"

"Is it your business?"

"I'm sorry, Master Barstowe," mutters Betsey. "It's just that as the head-wife, I like to keep abreast of things."

The Mister grunts. "I'll tell you what I feel you should know, is that clear?"

"Yes, Master Barstowe," she mumbles dejectedly.

"If I don't personally tell you something, it's because it's none of your business."

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"The postponement of Monica's marriage surgery is something that concerns only Monica and myself," he snaps.

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

He turns to me, dismissing her. "Are my things packed, Monica?"

"They're packed, Master Barstowe."

"Gather the wives in my study. We'll be having a meeting before I leave."

Swiftly, the family-wives and I do what he told us to do. He sits behind his massive desk and eyes us sternly.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone. A massive tragedy has befallen me."

"We'll have you in our prayers, Master Barstowe," Betsey blurts. "I'll make sure of that."

"Thank you, Betsey."

"We'll have extra prayer sessions asking the Great Master to keep you in his circle of protection and love."

"Thank you, Betsey."

"You take our love and hearts with you, Master Barstowe," she states with emotion. "You don't know how much we'll miss you. You don't know how anxious we'll be until you get back. You're void in this house will be felt profoundly."

"That's what I want to talk to all of you about--my not being here. I don't want to come back to find all kinds of problems like I've done at other times," he snaps as he eyes Stacy. "This household should be an example to all the other ones."

"You're so right, Master Barstowe," gushes Betsey.

"I hate being ashamed of my family! I hate having the Elders tell me they had to take disciplinary actions against my wives because they wouldn't behave."

Stacy had once been put in the isolation room while the Mister was away because she had failed to attend church for the day. She told them she was sick, but they said the only excuse for not being in the Great Master's home would be if she was dead.

"That's not going to happen this time, Master Barstowe," asserts Betsey, her hands on her hips.

"This time there's a head-wife. Betsey, I'm holding you personally responsible if things are not in place when I get back."

"You don't have to worry, Master Barstowe. I'll keep this household running as it should, as if you were here."

"I'm counting on you, Betsey."

She smirks. "I'm honored to have your confidence."

The Mister has us leave his study to make the final preparations. When we're in the living room, Betsey abruptly turns to me.

"He'll be gone," she states, an ugly glimmer in her eye. "No telling what can happen when the cat is away."

Her sight bores into me.

"No telling," she sneers, cackling.

### Chapter 30

When I arrive at the slave quarters, I still have Betsey's hideous smirk on my mind. Now with the Mister gone, it's revenge time. Who knows what she's got up her sleeves. I'll just have to be ready for anything.

The next morning I get my steel reserve up to go to the Barstowe Household and face whatever Betsey has in store for me. I'm not going to allow her to abuse me. I'm just not. The church bells ring as I'm about to step outside the shack.

When I hear their rhythm, I gasp.

Uh oh!

It's going to be a _Returning to the Great Master_ ceremony. Someone's about to get murdered.

I rush to the church along with the other girls. Sitting in my favorite seat, I wait with dread to see who the Elders are going to kill.

After everyone is seated, the death march on the organ starts playing. Its resounding thrusts of heavy pounding hurt my ears. Highest Holy Grinder steps out of the side of the sanctum where his office is at.

"What a glorious day!" he chirps happily. "A truly glorious day!"

Would it be such a glorious day for you if you were the one about to get killed?

A helper-boy stops playing the organ to let Grinder speak. "Today, the Great Master has chosen to take one of the family-wives to his kingdom! Let's thank the Great Master for his generosity!"

He makes us kneel to say a prayer of thanks for the murder of someone. The disgust in my throat threatens to poison me. When we get back on our feet to wait for the slab of white marble in the middle of the front to rise up with the victim, I put my hand to my heart. The death march starts playing again.

It's excruciating to see the floor open and the cement slab coming slowly up. I force myself to look and not pull my eyes away.

It's Harriet.

I didn't know that today was her thirtieth birthday. She's not lying on the slab as most wives do with drugs coursing through them. Instead, she's sitting on it with a huge grin on her face. She wears a snow-white gown that covers her whole body. Two barefoot feet peek from under it. I guess that's one of the new procedures Grinder has instituted. Now we die in white gowns.

"This isn't usual," Grinder states, "but Harriet has asked to speak to you, and I decided to grant her last wish on this earth before she goes off to our glorious maker."

"Thank you, Highest Holy Grinder," she says, tears in her eyes. "You are very generous."

"The floor is yours," he states.

"Friends, fellow-followers, Elders, and Masters, all I want to tell you is that I thank you for letting me be a part of your lives. I hope I've been a good servant who's tried to do right by all of you but if I haven't, if I've offended you or not lived up to the person the Great Master wants me to be, I'd like to apologize."

_Don't apologize_ , I want to cry out. _Don't apologize for other people's selfish motives._

"It's been my great honor and gift to live in Paradise Village--the holiest place on earth. The one the Great Master smiles at when he's looking down at earth. The True Faith is the only one that serves him as he demands. We are the chosen ones! Our responsibility is great--to serve the anointed ones. To make their great burden easier. Yes, we're privileged."

I want to shake her to make her understand that all that she believes in is total garbage. It's twisted logic crammed in her brain with years and years of brainwash. Why would our creator treat us like secondary creations?

"Family-wives, let me just say that the Great Master will reward you for all you've done like I'm about to get rewarded. He'll make your eternity with your husbands a true paradise."

I want to gag. If I have to spend an eternity with the Mister and the Elders around me, it won't be that much different from getting stuck in the other place with the evil creature.

"Highest Holy Bledsoe is waiting for me. I'm proud to die for the Great Master. I'd die a million deaths for him."

Bledsoe had been her first husband and according to what the Elders tell us, that's the spouse you're stuck with for all eternity if you've been a perfect True Faith follower.

"One life is too small of a thing to give for what the Great Master has done for us."

Why would an entity that created you want you to cut your life short instead of finishing it?

"Give me the holy drink," she states, "I'm ready to meet with Highest Holy Bledsoe."

I'm horrified as I see Grinder pour the poison from the jeweled encrusted flask into the grail. He hands it to Harriet who cheerfully drinks it up. She lies down with a wide grin on her face.

The congregation waits for her to take her last breath. It doesn't take long. I'm so sick to my stomach that I can't wait to run out of here.

Poor, poor Harriet. My heart breaks for her misguided sacrifice.

"Wife-Harriet is a true example of what a wife should be," preaches Grinder from the pulpit. "I hope all of you listened carefully to her inspiring words. Right at this moment, she's with the Great Master himself! What a day!"

When's this bag of hot air going to let us go?

"Today is a big day! And in more ways than one. Before we finish our service I need to share something with you--something that'll change all of your lives!"

Uh-oh!

What total garbage does he want to feed us now?

What horrible change does he have for us?

"The Great Master has spoken to me!!!"

Uh-oh!

"He told me that without question I'm his son!!!"

What?

"The Great Master told me that I'm a direct descendent of his! My blood lines come from his. I'm his son!"

Bledsoe was never this crazy!

"As his only son, I'm blessed in everything I do, and my people are blessed too if they do everything I tell them to do. You are my people!"

When I was a child and my mother told me about Jesus, I don't remember he ever acting anywhere near like Grinder. I don't remember him enslaving girls and murdering them. I don't remember him wearing such expensive, jewel encrusted clothing or even wearing an expensive crown and scepter.

"Followers, remember this day because the True Faith has just moved into a whole new realm."

He finally dismisses us but only after we kneel and thank the Great Master for his son. Eeek!!!

Miguel walks me to the Barstowe household. He's very quiet until we're alone on a deserted street.

"He's gone nuts," Miguel mumbles. I'm relieved he's talking to me again.

"He's taking the game to a new level," I explain.

"What game?"

I tell him about the night that Smythee was in the isolation room, and I had heard Bledsoe admit to everything being a set-up. Miguel doesn't look surprised.

"I know about their game as you call it," he says quietly.

"You already knew?!"

"You forget that I'm around the Elders all the time. They forget I'm there and their tongues get loose."

"You really do know a lot of secrets, right?"

"Some," he says uncomfortably. "I wish I knew something that could get us out of here, but I don't."

I sigh. "What can be done?" I ask sadly.

"Unfortunately, nothing and now with Grinder becoming a zealot . . ."

"He's going overboard."

Miguel nods. "The problem is that he really believes in the True Faith."

"What?"

"He actually believes he's the true son of the Great Master."

"He's not faking it?" I ask in complete disbelief.

"Somewhere along the line he started to believe all that stuff he's professing. He brainwashed himself."

"How do you know?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm around the guy a lot. The other Elders are a little nervous about him, but they decided it may be a good thing for the spiritual leader to be a true believer."

"They're allowing him to say he's the son of the Great Master?"

"They didn't know what Grinder was going to say today. I'm sure they're as shocked as we are. The guy is going nuts before their very eyes."

I breathe out a long breath. "They're probably going to let him keep sinking into his craziness, right?"

Miguel's face looks unhappy. "Right."

"As long as we're the ones mostly affected by that nut, they don't really care, right?"

"Right."

We hear a far-away noise and zip it as we continue moving towards the Barstowe household. It's a bone-chilling walk with my mind in a worried frenzy. Betsey impatiently waits for us outside the house.

"What took you so long," she snaps.

I stare back at her without answering.

"There's a lot of work to be done around here," she snarls. "Monica, you'll need to scrub every inch of the floors in every room. I don't want them just mopped! I want you on your hands and knees. And I'm warning you, they have to be cleaned to my satisfaction! I'm not living in this pigs sty anymore! Your lazy days are over!"

She eyes me with her deformed smirk, daring me to go against her. She knows that she can go to the Elders if I disobey her. The Mister will be furious with me if the Elders have to intervene in a matter like this. I will hardly be given a chance to defend myself.

"After you finish with that," she sneers, her face bursting with glee. "I have a whole list of things for you to do."

The revenge has begun.

### Chapter 31

"M-M-Monica can't s-s-scrub the f-f-floors," states Miguel.

"What are you talking about?" questions Betsey with fury.

"H-h-her routine can't ch-ch-change."

"You'd better tell me what you're talking about," threatens Betsey.

"O-o-orders of M-M-Master Barstowe."

Betsey's face wants to ignite. "Master Barstowe said that Monica can't properly clean the house?"

"Sh-sh-she must follow her u-u-usual r-r-routine."

I don't believe it! You're lying!" she snaps, her voice shaking as if it wants to cry with fury.

"W-w-we can s-s-settle it with an E-E-Elder if you w-w-want. Th-th-they can call M-M-Master Barstowe and v-v-verify."

"No! Let's not bother the Elders with petty things," she says quickly. I finally allow myself to release a deep breath. "Okay, Monica, you'll do your work like you always do," she states sweetly. "No problem."

She's got something up her sleeve.

"Monica, why don't you get in the house and start your chores?" she continues. "Miguelito, you can leave now."

So that's what she's planning. As soon as Miguel is out of sight, she'll have me scrubbing the floors or threatening to tell the Elders that I refuse to do my chores.

"I-I-I'm staying," Miguel announces.

"What?!"

"M-M-Master Barstowe told me t-t-to stay w-w-with her."

Betsey's face turns the bright red of an explosion. "You're going to be here with Monica every day?"

"Un-un-until M-M-Master Barstowe r-r-returns."

"But I don't want you here!" she cries loudly, her voice in a whine.

He shrugs as if what she thinks is not important. "Co-co-come on, M-M-Monica," he says as he walks past Betsey, who is seething so much that tears are rolling down her face.

I do my chores in half the time with Miguel helping me. In the meantime, Betsey retires to her bedroom with a migraine headache. She won't even let us in to clean her room. Fine with me. I hate touching her things in case her ugliness rubs off on me.

When I'm done, Stacy steps up to me. "Can I talk to you in private?" she asks, eyeing Miguel. I look at him and give him a nod. We follow Stacy to her bedroom, but Miguel stays outside. Normally, I'd be impatient with him sticking to me like gum but with what just happened with Betsey, I'm grateful for him.

"What can I do for you, Stacy?" I question. I'm more than a little curious as to why she wants to speak to me. Of course, this is the perfect time for a private conversation being that Betsey is holed up in her room and not nosing around everywhere like she normally does.

"I'd like to apologize," she states, her eyes firmly on me.

"You'd like to apologize?"

She nods. "Yes."

"For what?"

"For everything I made you go through in the past," she rushes, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. "I was horrible to you. Just like Betsey is being horrible to me. I now know what it feels like to have someone undermining you all the time."

I'm flabbergasted with her words.

"Please forgive me if you're able to after everything I did to you."

I find my words. "I forgive you, Stacy. I know we're all set against each other in this place."

"Thank you," she gushes, hugging me. I hug her back.

"Thank you too."

"For what?" she asks with curiosity,

"Thank you for never mentioning to anyone the conversation I had with you about how the girls here should stick together instead of fighting each other."

"You don't have to thank me. Monica. I'm just glad you're my friend now."

As I'm walking to the slave quarters with Miguel, I feel a warmth inside of me I've rarely felt since I got to Paradise Village. I suggest we take the long way. There are a few questions I have for Miguel.

"Master Barstowe told you to protect me from Betsey?" I ask him when we're alone.

"Her and other people."

"I'm surprised."

"Why? The man is obsessed with you, after all," he groans, angry spikes in his voice..

I don't like his tone. "He left Betsey in charge. I wouldn't have thought he'd undermine her like this."

"He told me that while Betsey is a good wife and the head one, she gets overzealous sometimes," Miguel explains. "He wanted to make sure she wouldn't overdo it with you."

"Sorry," I say.

He looks at me with a puzzled expression. "Sorry?--for what?"

"For getting stuck babysitting me. Believe me, I hate it as much as you do."

"I don't hate it," he grumbles.

"How can you not hate having to tag after me like a puppy dog?"

"I can never hate being around you," he says quietly. "You might hate being around me, but I _live_ for being with you."

I stare at him with surprise. "I don't hate being around you," I murmur.

"Isn't that what you just said?"

"I said that I hate being babysat. I'm not a child."

"But you don't hate being with me, Frida?" he questions, his eyes sitting on me--waiting for my answer.

"Of course not, Miguel. To be honest with you, I like your company."

He smiles, a light coming through his features. "You've forgiven me for the kiss I gave you?"

"Forgiven." For some kind of reason, today had turned out to be a day for apologies.

"Frida, if friendship is all you can give me then I'll take it."

### Chapter 32

The time the Mister is gone is probably the best time I've ever had since I got to Paradise Village. I've got Miguel to thank for that. Having him as my constant companion has been much better than I thought. He's quiet, he helps me with everything, and Betsey stays away from me when he's around. What more can I ask for?

But my respite from my tortuous life is short lived because the Mister comes back after just one week. I was hoping he'd be gone for at least a month but luck wasn't with me. After I unpack his clothes exactly the way he likes, he asks to see me in his study. I cringe with a sharp pain in my stomach. He's probably going to continue the plans for an early marriage.

"I've missed you so much, Little Bird," he says when I sit in front of his desk. His discipline club is on it, next to his right hand..

I wish I could say the same.

"I came back early because I couldn't be away from you."

Why are you so obsessed with me?

"How did everything go here?"

"Fine, Master Barstowe."

"Miguelito took care of things?" he questions.

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"Betsey is a great wife, but I can see she's jealous of you," he sighs. "Who could blame her? I can never feel the same for her as I feel for you. She tries hard to please me and I'm happy with her for the most part, but she just doesn't move my heart."

I stare at the top of the desk in front of me, my head slightly down. He must not see how much I'm cringing or how I'm avoiding looking at his club of terror. He places his hand on the spot I'm staring at as if he's touching me.

"Little Bird, we need to talk about our marriage."

I take in a sharp, painful breath.

"I'm anxious to make you my wife. I'm anxious that you officially belong to my family. I'm anxious that we start our new life together. ."

_Here it comes,_ I want to cry, _the new wedding date_.

"However . . ." He's unable to finish the sentence, and I feel a sliver of hope.

"However," he continues, swallowing hard, "Mildred's death has thrown me for a loop. I don't want to do things in a rush and then have them turn out badly. I especially don't want to rush your holy surgery."

The small piece of hope is getting larger and larger.

"I've decided that we do things as originally planned. I hope you're not too disappointed."

I want to collapse in relief.

"Whatever you decide, Master Barstowe, is fine with me."

He smiles at me, content with my fake answer. "Our day will come soon enough, Little Bird. You don't have to fret."

The Mister commands me to leave his office and finish my chores. I gladly bounce out of there. Miguel is waiting to see him after me. When he sees the relieved look on my face, he smiles back at me. I'm sure he suspects what went on in there. Miguel has good intuition.

As I'm about to start on the dishes, Stacy steps inside the kitchen and hands me a cloth napkin with remnants of her meals. She's been doing it all week, and we're fortunate that Betsey hasn't caught her sneaking it off the table or me eating it. I devour the leftovers in just a few bites.

"Is everything okay with Master Barstowe?" she whispers. She had seen me as I had stepped into his office and had thrown me a worried glance.

"Everything's fine," I whisper back.

"When will you marry him?'

"In about a month."

"Oh." Her features soften with happiness for me when she realizes the wedding won't be next week. "Betsey won't have so much power when you're his wife."

"She'll find a way of lording over me," I blurt.

Stacy doesn't say anything. She knows it's true. She's more aware than anyone else about how sneaky and twisted Betsey is.

"You've got to find a way of beating her at her own game."

I sigh. "It's hard to do that when she's the head-wife."

Stacy nods disconsolately. "You can't let her beat your spirit down."

I'm sure she is thinking of Jana like I am. Poor Jana is now just a shadow of her former self. Living in the Grinder household must've robbed her of her whole spirit because when I see her during church, her head is always down. When I greet her, she barely says hello back. Her eyes have a faraway look to them as if she's halfway out of this world.

"I won't let Betsey beat me down," I promise Stacy.

"She won't ever stop trying to do it, but don't you let her."

"I won't."

"Don't give her the satisfaction of knowing she can mess with you."

"I won't."

"The rest of us pretty much have our hands tied, but you're Master Barstowe's favorite. That's a huge advantage against her."

"I'll remember that."

"And beyond anything, Monica, she can't see you being scared of her like she sees with me and the other wives. She feeds off that stuff."

"I won't ever let her see how she gets to me."

"Please don't."

"I won't."

The door swings open and as if sensing we're talking about her, Betsey strides in. She glares at us with suspicion.

"I couldn't find you, Stacy," she snaps accusingly.

"I was right here."

"Doing what?" she questions, her voice in a deep growl.

Stacy stares at her with fear. I can tell her mind went blank.

"She was telling me that I need to wash the curtains in her room. I hadn't noticed how dirty they were," I chime in, my tone firm and steady.

Betsey doesn't believe me, but she has no choice but to let the matter drop. If she starts making a scene on the first day the Mister is back, there's no telling what his reaction might be.

"Stacy, you already told her what you needed to so leave her to her chores," she demands, almost screeching. "You're wasting her time and Master Barstowe doesn't like anyone to bother Monica while she's doing her chores."

"Yes, wife-Betsey," Stacy mumbles as she moves towards the door.

"That's head-wife Betsey," she corrects venomously.

Stacy doesn't bother to say anything as she steps out the door. I continue washing the dishes as Betsey circles me as if she wants to ask me something but can't find the right words.

"Has Master Barstowe told you what we'll be serving for the wedding banquet?" she finally asks.

She's fishing for answers about when the marriage will be. I know her game.

"No," I say simply.

She waits for me to elaborate. I keep washing dishes in silence. Her face twitches in frustration.

"He hasn't said anything about it?" she snaps.

"No."

"As the head-wife I need to know what we're supposed to be serving and when!" Her tone is exasperated.

"You'll have to ask him."

"So when is your holy surgery?" she questions, trying to sound casual

"I don't know."

Her face contorts in complete fury. "Has he or hasn't he told you when the wedding will be?"

"You'll have to ask him"

She eyes me with a look that could chill a corps's bones. A penetrating, drilling stare. There's that promise again.

The promise of revenge.

### Chapter 33

"How's the week been with Barstowe back?" asks Miguel as I throw the boomerang.

"Okay. It's almost too quiet in that house. I know that Betsey is busy trying to scheme against me."

"Maybe she's given up," he says hopefully.

I shake my head. "Someone like her never gives up."

"She knows Barstowe adores you," he states dryly. "What can she do?"

"There's a lot of damage people like her can do."

"I guess you'll have to keep your eyes peeled for anything."

"I have to watch my back," I mumble, remembering Helga's words to me.

"On the bright side," he says, smiling, "Barstowe isn't moving things to marry you next week."

"I have a few more weeks of _freedom._ "

"How much do you remember of when you were really free?"

"You mean before I got here?" I ask.

"Yes."

"I remember a lot."

"Tell me about it," he entreats.

"I will if you tell me what you remember of your past."

"Okay, it's a deal."

I put down my boomerang and sit next to him. It's a pretty day today with sunshine and birds flying around. It's the kind of day that in my previous life I would've been out with my mother at some park with the entire family of cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents and so on and a colorful piñata.

"I remember my mama," I tell him. "She was smart, courageous, and pretty."

"Do you know anything about your father?"

I smile at Miguel. It surprised me that he had remembered the one time I had mentioned that my father had died when I was a baby. "My mother said he was a great man."

"You must've missed not having a father," he murmurs.

"When I'd see the other girls with their daddies I felt very bad."

He eyes me pensively. It's hard to tell what he's thinking with so much intensity inside him. "You haven't had much luck with guys in your life, have you?"

"My uncles on my mama's side were pretty cool."

"Thank goodness for at least that," he mumbles, still pensive.

"But my mama made up for me not having a father. We did everything together. What about you? How much do you remember?"

"I've got to admit that I barely remember stuff."

"Well, we're very young when they take us," I offer.

"But you seem to remember things pretty clearly."

I shrug. "It's just one of those things. And besides, instead of praying every night, I go over my memories and what I learned from my mama. It helps a lot."

"I never thought of doing that. In fact, I wanted to forget so life could be more bearable here."

"I think that's what happens to most of us here. What do you remember, Miguel?"

He gets quiet as he thinks back. "I remember only snippets of my life."

"What kind of snippets?"

"Playing ball with my parents, eating my grandmother's ranchero eggs--stuff like that."

"Is Miguel your real name?"

"Yes, the Elders don't usually bother to change our names. We're not as important as the destiny-brides."

I give a loud snort. "We're so important that they abuse us every day. What else do you remember, Miguel?"

"I remember that we were very poor. We used to be migrant workers and went from place to place working in the fields."

"That must've been hard."

He smiles. "Not as hard as being here."

"You know, Miguel, a thought just occurred to me."

"What is it?"

"They took me from a homeless shelter my mama volunteered in and you say your family was very poor."

"Right," he says with a quizzical expression, not knowing where I'm heading with this conversation.

"It seems to me that they take the children who are poor, so no one has the money for an intense search."

"That makes sense!" he says bitterly. "The Elders and Masters consider us throw-a-way children!"

"Yeah."

"They really think we were born to serve them."

"Yep," I agree.

He puts his face in his hands. "They talk about the evil creature, but it is them who are the evil ones on this earth," he hisses.

"True. Very true."

When the church service is over the next day, Grinder steps up to me and several of the other girls and tells us we have to clean the place. After we sweep the sanctum, he hands me and only me a toothbrush.

"Scrub the floors!" he demands. "And you'd better do it right!" He sends the other girls to clean the rest of the rooms of the church while I get on my hands and knees with a soapy bucket of water next to me.

_This is payback for having cared for Beatrix when she was sick,_ I tell myself. _Of course, he hasn't forgotten._ Even if the Mister had tried to protect me from Grinder's wrath by teaming me up with Miguel, he can't protect me from everything. He knew that Grinder would carry a grudge which is why Miguel is still around me so much. There is nothing much I can do but do as I'm told or be punished even more horribly. I start scrubbing fiercely with the small toothbrush.

When I get about halfway, I realize that it's not so bad. I may volunteer to do it in the future. Other than my knees and back aching like crazy, it's peaceful to be in the sanctum with no one around. Grinder is in his office, and the place really is beautiful with the sun streaming in from the stained glass ceiling. If I can put out of my mind the horror that usually goes on here, I can pretend I'm in a spiritual place of good. If I can ignore the statues of the Elders, I can actually feel a certain peace.

As I'm finishing, Grinder stomps in with a smirk on his face. He's clearly enjoying seeing me toiling away.

"Next, scrub the toilet with that thing," he snaps gleefully.

The sanctum door swings open. I peer up from the floor to find the Mister striding in with a furious face.

"Monica, stand up right now!"

"She's busy cleaning, Alcott," Grinder retorts.

"Get up! I don't want to repeat myself."

I stumble up, my knees weak and my body aching deeply. Balancing myself is a challenge, but I finally do it.

"You'd better get back down and finish," Grinder demands of me.

I'm not sure what to do, but the Mister makes that decision for me. He grabs me by my collar and shoves me behind him.

"She's _my_ girl, and she's got lots of work to do in my household!"

"Her responsibility is primarily with the church!"

"No, it isn't! It's with me!"

I can't believe the scene in front of me. I had never seen anything like it except when Smythee confronted Bledsoe that time I was hiding behind the isolation room. Was the Mister going to end up like Smythee? Somehow I doubted it.

"How dare you speak to me like that, Alcott!"

"How dare you take my girl away from her responsibilities with me!"

"I'm the Highest Holy person here! You're just a Master!"

"Watch what you're saying, you idiot!"

I can't believe what the Mister just said to Grinder.

"What did you just call me," Grinder snaps, flares firing from his eyes.

"I called you an idiot!"

"I'm the son of the Great Master!!! How dare you?!!!"

""Don't try that nonsense on me!"

"Nonsense?!!!"

"Yes, nonsense."

"I'm not putting up with your disrespect of me. I'm the leader here."

"You're in the Highest Holy position because I allow it," snorts the Mister.

"The Great Master has chosen me--"

"Cut the nonsense," he snaps. "Monica, let's go," he orders me as starts leading me to the doors.

Grinder rushes in front of us and pulls out his discipline club. "You're not going anywhere with her until she finishes," he menaces with the small bat pointed at the Mister.

"If that's how you want to play it," the Mister sneers, pulling out his own club. "Let's see who's the strongest."

### Chapter 34

"Stand back, Monica," the Mister demands. "This imbecile might hurt you."

I do as I'm told. I don't want to get in the middle of their flying clubs. The Mister swings first, putting all his strength into it. Grinder chuckles darkly while scurrying out of its path. The Mister tries again, but the same thing happens. Now Grinder is cackling loudly. It's his turn to swing, but the Mister doesn't stay put. He starts scampering around the sanctum with Grinder chasing him and muttering under his breath.

I roll my eyes at what's going on in front of me. Neither of these fools is so fierce when there's no easy target to hit. It takes no expertise to beat up on someone who is forced to take it! If we could just fight back, we'd put these two nincompoops in their place.

"I'm going to clobber you," yells Grinder.

"You'll have to catch me first," answers the Mister gleefully.

I sit in the pew next to me. This game these two grown men are playing may take a while.

"Wait till I catch you!" Grinder yells.

"You'll never catch up to me!"

The door of the sanctum swings open and in steps High Holy Guildenstein--the Elder who is the next in command to Grinder. The men stop scurrying and look at him with embarrassment as sweat drips from them, and they try to catch their breaths.

"What's going on here?" Guildenstein murmurs in disbelief.

"We need to put Alcott in the isolation room immediately!" Grinder commands as he breathes hard.

"We can't do that and you know it!" snaps Guildenstein.

"But he went against my orders!"

"Get a hold of yourself, Enzel!"

"Yes, get a hold of yourself, Enzel," the Mister chortles.

"I'm the Highest Holy here! Not him!"

"Correction, Enzel," states Guildenstein, "he allows you to be the Highest Holy."

"That mandate is from the Great Master and not from Alcott!"

"We're getting worried about you, Enzel," comments Guildenstein. "Very worried."

"I'm the son of the Great Master. I'm--"

"Knock it off, Enzel," grunts the Mister.

"But I'm the leader around here," Grinder insists.

"No, you're not. Alcott is."

"I'm glad you came here to clear this up," remarks the Mister. "I'm getting tired of this foolish conversation. "Let's go, Monica." I follow him as he strides out the church, leaving Grinder throwing venomous darts at him with his eyes. When we hit the street, he starts chuckling.

"What an idiot," he comments, "trying to do what he wants with my property."

Property. When you truly love someone you don't treat them like something you own. I know as much as that.

"Monica, you should know that your Master is the one who owns this place! I own practically everything here--homes, stores, and etc."

So he's the one with the money. That's why he does what he wants and Smythee couldn't get away with anything.

He suddenly stops laughing. "Enzel will pay for what he did to me. He'll pay!" he snaps.

_Revenge is the main currency at Paradise Village,_ I think to myself, sighing.

"Ill show him who really rules around here!"

Of course, that's the most important thing to you, to the other Masters, and to the Elders. Ruling. You're overstuffed egos choke on the word.

"I say what goes!"

Why is that so important? Why can't all of us live in peace and harmony instead of with abuse and slaves?

"No one here has more power than I do! As my destiny-bride, you should understand that and be proud to be mine, Little Bird!"

Are people really proud of such things? How silly.

He keeps muttering such ego-centric comments as we continue walking to his house. Rain starts splashing down. At first it's a light shower but then it comes down harder. The Mister ignores it and keeps pushing forward as he calls Grinder ugly names under his breath. By the time we arrive at the house, our footwear is muddied. I take my shoes off at the door, but the Mister barrels in without a second thought. Tracking mud all over the house, he doesn't remove them. I take a sharp breath. Betsey grins when she sees me stare at the filthy footprints. She loves that I'll have to clean every speck of them.

I start my chores by doing the floors before the mud has a chance to dry. The Mister sees what I'm doing and his face contorts in fury.

"What are you doing, Monica?" he snaps.

"Master Barstowe, I need to clean the floors before--"

"Save me your excuses! You know how I want the chores done! Do them the way I tell you to do them!"

I stop what I'm doing and head for the kitchen. Betsey gives me a sneering smile as I go past her. She's really enjoying this.

I do my chores in the sequence that the Mister demands. By the time I get to the floors, the dried mud is much harder to clean up. I'm absolutely exhausted when I leave for the slave quarters with Miguel. He had had to wait for me at least for an extra hour.

"You look tired," he comments when we're alone on the street.

"Don't ask."

"Is everything all right with Barstowe?" he asks, his tone concerned. "I had to track him down today to tell him that I couldn't walk you to his house since Grinder had made you stay in church to clean it."

"So that's how he found out," I murmur.

"I've got orders from him to tell him about any exchange that Grinder has with you. I hope I didn't cause you any problems," he asks gently.

"No, not really," I say, chuckling as I think back on two foolish men trying to smack one another.

The next day, I make it to the Barstowe house on time, without anyone forcing me to do any other chores. When I step in, my mouth drops wide open. It hadn't rained at all today but the floor is completely caked with mud.

Slimy, icky mud.

### Chapter 35

I stare at the filthy floor with astonishment. I just don't know what could've happened to it. Betsey's cackling laughter breaks me out of my stupor.

"You'd better clean like I tell you to, Little Bird," she chortles, imitating the Mister.

_Revenge. That's what this is about._ Betsey finally found the way to get back at me.

I head towards the kitchen to start my chores. A loud knock makes me return to the living room. When I open it the front door, the Elders stand nonchalantly on the other side. I have them sit down on the sofas as I get Barstowe from his study. They're eyeing the muddy tile when I get back with the Mister. They try to cover the disgust on their faces, but they can't pull it off. The Mister's face shows embarrassment.

"What can I do for you?" he asks, his tone not as domineering as it usually is.

He doesn't dismiss me, so I have to stay in the living room in case they need anything. I try not to look to the ground. The mess makes me cringe.

"We're here because Enzel has something very important to tell you," declares Guildenstein.

Grinder clears his throat. "I'd like to apologize for yesterday."

This Mister eyes him suspiciously. "This apology isn't good enough!"

"Be reasonable, Alcott. The man apologized to you," says an Elder. "What more do you want?"

"I just don't think he's sorry!"

"I am," assures Grinder. "I'm very sorry."

"You'll never get in my business again?" asks the Mister.

"No, never."

"You'll abide by my rules?"

"Yes, Alcott."

"Okay, I'll _consider_ forgiving you."

"Thank you, Alcott," states Grinder. "You're truly a great man."

I guess he realizes who really has the power in Paradise Village.

When the men leave, the Mister turns his glaring sight to me. His eyes burn with fire. Uh oh! This is the face to fear. And he seems to be furious with me!

"Why are these floors like this?!" he snaps, spit coming out of his mouth.

"They were like this when I came in the house, Master Barstowe," I explain, keeping my voice steady and even.

"Do you realize how embarrassed I am that the Elders saw this mess?!" he yells, his hand indicating the floor. "I suppose not! What do you know with your easy life? What do you know about having so much responsibility on your shoulders like I have?"

I just listen as he continues ranting, trying to keep myself calm. If I interrupt, it'll make matters worse.

"Now I'll be a laughingstock! They're probably laughing at me as we speak!"

He's yelling so loud that the family-wives step into the living room to see what's happening. Betsey wears a self satisfied grin.

"For goodness sake, Monica, why haven't you cleaned this up?!" he roars.

"I was following the chore sequence you have for me."

"Excuses! Just excuses!"

I stare at him without blinking. I know what's coming. Pain!

"Betsey, bring me my discipline club! It's on my desk."

She happily bounces away, almost skipping. The other wives stare at me with horror.

"Monica, you have no idea how much you've disappointed me! I try to give you everything! I try to protect you and keep you away from harm! This is the way you repay me--by shirking your responsibilities?! Maybe Betsey is right! I spoil you too much!"

Betsey hears the last part as she's stepping in the living room with the club. Her wide smile covers all her smirking features.

"This will hurt me more than you, but I've got to teach you respect!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

My eyes glue together trying to shut out what's occurring to me, trying to concentrate on something other than the excruciating pain.

THUD! THUD1 THUD!

The _agony._ Doesn't stop. Doesn't alleviate. Pulsating and brutal, the ferocious thuds seem never-ending.

The Mister gives me the worst beating I've ever had. It is so bad that afterward I have to finish my chores very slowly because every part of me is bruised and barely able to function. My breathing is hard and ragged. My eyes are blurry with agony.

The wives try to help me with the housekeeping, but Betsey orders them not to touch anything. The sneering grin on her face stays in place the entire time I'm at the house. Miguel gasps when I finally come out after he spent several hours waiting for me. Even though the Mister hadn't hit my face and Miguel can't see the dark purple bruises underneath my clothing, he can see my limp.

"What happened?" he questions loudly.

I shush him. He had forgotten to speak quietly so no one hears us. I quickly look to all sides and am relieved nobody is around.

"Let me help you," he whispers as he nears me.

"No," I blurt.

He forgets that he can't touch me. It can mean a death sentence for him if he does. He nods forlornly at me, his eyes indicating he understands what I'm thinking. We start walking slowly and without speaking, his eyes fixed on me with agony.

"Don't worry," I whisper to him. But his eyes don't loosen their pained stance.

We don't speak until we're in an isolated area.

"What happened?" he questions again, upset and with a shaky tone.

"Betsey had her revenge," I state. "And it's only the beginning."

I can barely stand up the next day when I wake up. Forcing myself, I start doing my chores in the slave quarters.

"What's wrong with you?" barks Helga.

I lift up my blouse and show her the many purple-red bruises permeating my skin. She gasps.

"Betsey?" she asks.

I nod.

"Did she hit you, or did she manipulate Master Barstowe to do it?"

"She manipulated the Master."

"I thought so."

"She's totally unhinged."

"I warned you. Have you been watching your back like I told you?" she asks, snapping.

I nod again. "Sometimes you just can't watch for everything."

To my surprise, instead of making a scathing remark over my inability to have protected myself, she orders another girl to help me.

"You're going to have to find a way to protect yourself from her," Helga states.

"I' know."

As Miguel walks me to the Barstowe household, he keeps having to stop himself from helping me. I have to remind him he can't touch me. My limp got worse today, and I'm even slower than the day before.

"I found out what Betsey's doing," he states when we reach an isolated spot.

"What?"

"I know how she's tracking the mud in."

"How is she doing it? It hasn't rained since the other day."

"She's having one of the helper-boys water the lawn first thing in the morning. Then she has the family-wives say their prayers underneath the big oak tree where no grass grows."

"So when they walk into the house, their shoes are full of mud," I state.

"That's right."

"The wives have tried to take off their shoes before coming in but . . ."

"Betsey won't let them," I say, finishing the sentence for him.

"Betsey is an evil mastermind."

"You can say that again."

When he leaves me at the door, he whispers, "Good luck. Take care of yourself."

I wince as I step into the house. I don't know what to expect.

"You're finally here," snaps the Mister, his eyes in wild fury. He's smacking the black mini-bat on his left palm. "You left this house in a mess yesterday!"

### Chapter 36

When I wake up, I'm in the hospital. I moan in piercing, unrelenting pain. I can't move. _Is all of me broken?_ I ask myself. Every part of me throbs.

The nurse in the room reads my mind. "Don't worry, Monica. Nothing is broken. You've got quiet a few things sprained though."

I stare at her and sigh at my predicament. I'm glad she's the nurse taking care of me. Doctor Eckhold has eight wives, all nurses he's trained himself, and Nurse Greta is the nicest one.

The Mister comes barreling in the door. "Is she awake?" he asks as he makes it to my bedside.

"She just woke up, Master Barstowe."

"Are you okay, Monica?"

_Am I okay after you nearly killed me?!!!_ I want to yell at him. _What kind of an idiot are you?_

"I don't think she can speak yet," Nurse Greta states.

I make gestures as if I can't form words. I can, but I'd rather not speak to the cruel beast.

"Why can't she talk?" he asks.

"Sometimes patients are so traumatized, Master Barstowe, that they lose their voices."

"Traumatized?" he snorts. "Over what?"

Nurse Greta quietly stares at him. _Because you knocked the blazes out of her,_ her eyes seem to say, but she quickly shuts them off. I can see she's searching for the right words to not anger him. "Her body throbs with pain everywhere, Master Barstowe."

"Little Bird, I'm sorry you're here," he says in an agonized voice," But . . . but . . . you forced me to do this to you. If you had only taken care of your duties like you're supposed to, I wouldn't have had to discipline you. Why, oh why, didn't you do your chores?!" He beats his chest as if not being able to comprehend. "You left last night without having cleaned the floors!"

When I had left, they were so clean that you could eat off of them. Betsey had probably made the wives go outside for prayers again and trample mud back in. I frown on the inside. She was certainly getting her revenge.

"You forced me to hit you, Monica! You did it to yourself!" His eyes tear up and water starts flowing out. Wiping his face with his sleeves, he says, "You see what you do to me, Little Bird? You make a marshmallow out of me."

I wish you were a marshmallow when you were beating me nearly to death.

"Master Barstowe," the nurse says quietly, "the patient needs to rest."

"Yes, of course," he says, wiping some more tears with a tissue next to my bed. "Before I leave, I want you to know, Little Bird, that I forgive you. I'm sure your sloth will never be repeated again. I forgive you for making me discipline you. I forgive your lack of consideration for me. I forgive you for the agony I'm feeling right now. I forgive you, Little Bird. Now rest easy."

Furious adrenaline flows through me. _Jerk!!! Monster!!! Evil creature!!!_ I had almost grabbed the club from his hands when he was beating me but had thought about the last girl who had done that to her Master. She had ended up in the isolation room for a week without food or water. Then she was taken, almost unconscious, to the sanctum where the Elders and her Master had beaten her to death with their clubs. We were forced to watch to see what can happen to those who fight back.

"Get some rest, Monica," Nurse Greta tells me as she injects liquid into my I.V.

It doesn't take long for me to black out. I dream of my mother telling me she loves me over and over again.

When I wake up, a familiar face is staring at me. His eyes are fixed on me as if he can't tear them away.

"Hi, Miguel," I mumble.

"How are you?' he asks anxiously.

My eyes dart to the door. It's closed. It's safe to talk.

"Terrible," I answer back.

With moist eyes, he caresses my face--the only part of me that's not bruised. I should tell him not to do it. I'm terrified that someone might come in and catch his hand on my person, but I don't say anything. Instead, I allow his gentile fingers to stay on me. It's the first time we've touched.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to you," he blurts furiously, taking his hand away from my face and forming a fist. "I feel like beating Barstowe until he can't walk anymore, until he begs for mercy, until--"

"Stop," I tell him. "You can't do that so you might as well keep those thoughts away from yourself."

"But--"

"But nothing. We have to be smart about this. We can't commit suicide by hurting the Masters."

He breathes out a long strain of air. "You're right."

"Now, Miguel, as much as I like having you here, I'm worried that you might get in trouble. You should leave."

"Don't worry. Barstowe told me to come and check on you."

"Really?" I ask incredulously. He puts me here, and then he wants to make certain I'm okay. The irony is not lost on me.

"He wants to make sure you're being treated well." His own voice is rife with sarcasm.

"Isn't that nice of him?" I snap.

"He's a _wonderful_ guy," Miguel snickers. "Just all around _wonderful._ "

When I finally get out of the hospital after almost a week, I'm still limping and hurting, but the doctor forces me out. He says it's time to go back to my chores. The girls at the slave quarters can't be nicer and do my work there. Even Helga is being nice as she orders me to my bunk for rest.

What they can't help me with, though, are my chores at the Barstowe house. I wince when I arrive there, not knowing what to expect. The Mister greets me with an enormous smile, and he has all the wives lightly hug me. I cringe when Betsey puts her arms around me.

"Welcome back," she says with her mouth but her eyes bore into me with _the_ promise.

The revenge isn't over with. Not just yet,

I start my chores by stepping into the kitchen as Master Barstowe goes to his study, and the family-wives follow Betsey who says they've got important matters to attend to. As I wash dishes, I think about the house being too quiet. _Something's up,_ I tell myself with unease. _I can feel it._

When I step out of the kitchen to finish my chores, the floor is caked with mud. I hear the door to the Mister's study open.

Uh-oh.

### Chapter 37

"For goodness sake!--what is this?!!" the Mister yells when he sees the floor. "Monica, why haven't you cleaned this mess?!"

By now, the family-wives are rushing inside the living room. Betsey wears a huge, crooked grin on her face.

"I can't believe you defied me again!" he yells, his hand carrying the discipline club. This time he wouldn't have to ask Betsey to bring it to him.

"What's gotten into you, Monica?!!! I just don't understand," he roars, raising the club. I brace myself for another trip to the emergency room.

Stacy steps in between us.

"Get out of the way," the Mister barks.

"I just want to apologize," she rushes.

"Apologize?" the Mister asks with curiosity. "For what?"

"For trampling mud in."

"You did this?" he asks furiously as his hand sweeps over the floor. "I'm going to give you a beating you'll never forget!"

"I did it too," states Lauren.

"Met too," interjects Bernice.

"I did the same thing," Agatha chimes in.

"Why would all of you do this?" questions the Mister, his nostrils flaring.

"We didn't do it on purpose," explains Stacy.

"We were outside in prayer," rushes Agatha, "And our feet got muddied."

The Mister glances over to their shoes which are caked in wet dirt. His face turns quizzical.

"It hasn't rained," he points out. "Why are you muddy?"

"I have the lawns watered every morning," explains Betsey, her voice shaky. "I want our house to be the most beautiful out there."

"But haven't you noticed what you're doing to my floors?" he roars.

"A little elbow grease never hurt anybody, Master Barstowe. It's good for Monica to do a little hard work."

"I don't like anybody trampling mud into my house!!!" he snarls, his face red. "Why are you having the wives pray outside when the ground is wet?!"

"They need lots of prayer," she says nervously. "They--"

"Why outside?!" he questions furiously.

"Because . . . Because . . . they can get closer to the Great Master out in nature and--"

"Shut up! I'm going to give you a pounding you'll never forget!" He strides over to her. Raising the club over her, she drops to the floor and curls herself in a fetal position. Vociferous sobs from her reverberate through the room.

As the club is coming down, he suddenly stops in mid air. "I can't do this!" he snaps furiously as he brings down the weapon to his side. "If I put another one of my girls in the hospital, I'll be the laughingstock of Paradise Village for not being able to control my household!"

After a few seconds of no activity, Betsey muffles her sobs and starts uncurling her body.

"But you haven't gotten away with this, Betsey," the Mister growls. "I've got the right punishment for you. A worse one."

"Master Barstowe--"

"Shut up, Betsey. I've decided that from this day forward you're no longer the head-wife."

"What?!" she asks, the word choking her throat.

"You're not the head-wife anymore."

"But, Master Barstowe," she says stumbling to her feet, "the Elders gave me that position. They said--"

"I don't give a flip what they said! I say what goes in my household!"

"But--"

He turns his blaring eyes to her. "Shut up, Betsey, before I punish you for insubordination!"

"Please, Master Barstowe, don't take my position away from me."

"I've made my decision!"

"Please, I'm begging you," she says kneeling in front of him. "Please don't humiliate me like that."

"I said, 'I've made my decision'!"

"Please, Master Barstowe," she cries, "Please don't do this to me."

"Betsey, if you don't stop your caterwauling, I'm going to throw you in the isolation room! Are you hearing me?"

Her face drops towards the ground. "Yes, Master Barstowe."

"Stacy, you're the new head-wife. Is that understood?"

A smile spreads across Stacy's lips. "Yes, Master Barstowe."

"You'd better put order to my house now!" he yells.

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"I'll be in my study. I want to see order when I come out."

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

When the door shuts behind him, Stacy puts on her stern face. It's an expression I haven't seen since the days when she hated me.

"You heard Master Barstowe," she barks. "It's time to put order in this house. The first thing is to clean this mess."

It worries me that she's sounding a lot like her old self.

"The floors are disgusting. If someone was to come over again then we'd be laughed at!" Her face is in a sneer not much different from Betsey's.

"Monica!" she snaps, her face in an iron mask.

"Yes?" I ask, waiting for her to try to humiliate me like she used to.

"About the floors--"

"I'll go get the mop and bucket," I say, heading to the supply closet.

"Wait," Stacy states. "You're not the one who made this mess. Betsey will clean it up!"

"What?!" snaps Betsey. "I'm not a destiny-bride. I'm not cleaning anything!"

"Yes, you are," threatens Stacy.

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are," she repeats.

" _No_ , I'm _not_."

"What's all this shouting," the Mister asks furiously as he steps out of his study. "Can't I get some peace and quiet around here?"

"Stacy is demanding that I do Monica's work," rushes Betsey.

"Is that true, Stacy?" snaps the Mister.

"I just thought she should clean the floors since it's her fault they're dirty, Master Barstowe," Stacy explains, stumbling nervously over her words.

"It's unheard of for a wife to do the chores of the destiny-bride," Betsey retorts, staring furiously at Stacy.

"Do you really think she should do the floors, Stacy?" questions the Mister with a growling voice.

"Yes, I do," Stacy answers, her voice shaky but firm.

"I agree," the Mister answers. "Betsey, do the floors and they'd better be perfect!"

"But--"

"Next time you talk back to me or disrespect me with your attitude, I'll kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master Barstowe," she utters with a breaking voice.

"Stop pushing my buttons or I'll have to show you what I'm capable of!"

"Yes, Master Barstowe."

"Clean up, right now!"

Before going to the supply closet, Betsey glares at me with the stare. Revenge. It's still boiling in her head.

I have to keep watching my back. Maybe now more than ever.

### Chapter 38

On the outside, it looks like the beast has been tamed. Betsey is very quiet when I do my chores at the Barstowe household. She doesn't even look my way. To be honest, I find this more disconcerting than when she'd viciously stare at me. I can't help thinking she's plotting against me.

I try to ignore my growing suspicions because everything else in the house is going well. The other family-wives love Stacy. She doesn't make them pray at all hours, nor does she spy on them. The only one who she tells on is Betsey, so the former head-wife constantly finds herself in hot water with the Mister.

I'm thrilled to say that the wives have continued with their old habit of leaving me their leftover food. My stomach thanks them as I gobble up the tasty morsels. I'm thinking about how much better the atmosphere is in the Barstowe household as I start washing the dishes. Then I hear Stacy angrily reprimand Betsey from the other room.

"What's wrong with you?" questions Stacy. "Master Barstowe is about to get here, and you haven't gotten his weekly bath ready. I'll have to do it myself."

"I'll do it," snaps Betsey.

"No, you prepare him his coffee. He wants instant coffee today. You'd better make it the way he likes it!"

"Monica can do that. She--"

"I said for you to prepare it."

Betsey stomps into the kitchen. Pouring some water in a sauce pan, she glares at the instant coffee. She scampers to a cabinet and grabs his favorite mug with the Santa on it. I keep washing the dishes and ignoring her.

"I bet you're enjoying all of this," she snaps.

I don't look up from my soapy dishes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"One day I'll be the head-wife again!" she assures.

I shrug. "Okay."

"I mean it!"

"Okay."

"You're so smug," she retorts. "I hate you so much."

"Okay."

"You wouldn't be so smug if the Mister didn't spoil you."

"I've got work to do, Betsey. I don't have time to argue with you," I state.

"I hate you, I **hate** you, _I HATE YOU!"_

"I don't really care how you feel about me."

"You will when I show you how much I hate you!" Betsey shouts as she snatches the saucepan with the boiling water from the stove and lifts it over me.

"What are you doing, Betsey?" I say, trying to sound much calmer than I am.

"Accidents happen! You accidentally knocked some hot water on yourself. Let's see how much Master Barstowe loves you after you're damaged?"

"Put the pan down, Betsey," I say softly. If I make any sudden moves, I'm sure she'll throw the water on me. Her eyes are so wild that I'm certain she doesn't just want to stop at burning me. _Keep calm,_ I keep telling myself.

"You'll be so ugly that no one can will ever love you!--or with any luck you'll be dead!"

"Betsey," I coax, "if you burn me, you'll get into lots of trouble."

"No one is going to know."

"There's no way I'd be burning myself from the angle you want to throw the water on me from."

"I'll think of something." Her dead-set eyes bore into mine.

"Betsey, don't do this. You'll end up messing your own self up."

"I have to do this, Monica. The Great Master told me to take care of the unfaithful and bad followers like you." A small smile plays on her lips. The hand with the saucepan is twitching. If I don't do something, I'm a goner. She doesn't just want to scorch me; she wants to burn me to death!

Swiftly, I start moving away from her. She flings the saucepan at me as the kitchen door opens. I don't look to see who it is because as the water and burning pan land on the entire right side of my arm, I shriek with blistering agony.

Ahhhhhh!!!!!!!!

" _WHAT DID YOU DO, BETSEY?!_ " the Mister roars.

"I . . . I . . ."

In the meantime, I force myself to the sink where I turn on the cold water. Some relief rolls over me with the cool liquid, but the scorching pain is still melting off my skin.

Ahhhhhhh!

I struggle not to pass out, but waves and waves of fresh pain are trying to take me under.

_"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?!"_ the Mister demands to know as he strides over to Betsey who sinks to the floor and then cowers next to the kitchen cabinets. **"YOU** _WILL_ **PAY FOR THIS! YOU** _WILL_ **PAY DEARLY!"**

The last thing I remember before passing out is the Mister grabbing Betsey off the floor and flinging her to the wall.

### Chapter 39

For the second time in a few weeks, I wake up in the hospital. The pain is harsher this time. The whole left side of my arm is throbbing from very deep inside. I climb in and out of consciousness.

What is strange during the few lucid moments I wake up is that no one has visited me. Not one person. Even Miguel hasn't come.

"You're outta here," the Doctor Eckhold tells me one day. I'm still throbbing and in pain but he tells me I have to go to the destiny-bride shack. "We can't have you lazy and taking up room around here. There you will do some light chores as you're convalescing."

As Nurse Greta helps me dress, I take a good look at my arm. It's red, puckered and ugly. She looks sympathetically at me. "I'm sorry," she says.

"It's not your fault I got burned."

"I'm sorry we couldn't do more for you," she mumbles, he eyes watery.

"What do you mean?"

"Plastic surgery can't help you."

As I'm finishing dressing, it hits me. I can no longer be a destiny-bride. That's why no one had visited me. I no longer matter to anyone. And as for Miguel, he can only visit me if the Mister orders him to.

The Mister!

I no longer have to marry him!

But the happiness lasts me only a short time when I realize that I'm not useful to a Master anymore. _They'll kill me for sure._ _They'll put me to sleep._ They had left me in the doctor's care because they liked a relatively healthy body to sacrifice in the church.

Nurse Greta helps me to my feet. My legs are a little shaky with having been in the hospital for days and days. As I start slowly moving outside, people stop and gawk at me. I can see the pity in their eyes.

I stop my sight from scampering about and concentrate on taking one step at a time. When I finally make it to the slave quarters, Helga rushes to the door where she puts her arms around me and takes me to my bunk. The place is empty except for us.

"If I would've known that they were letting you out today, I would've gone to the hospital for you."

"They would've allowed that?" I ask.

"They might've not allowed for me to see you, but they would've allowed for me to help you here."

"They would've?" I inquire with curiosity.

She stares intently at me. "A lot has happened, Monica."

"Like what?"

"Well," she says delicately, "you're not marrying Master Barstowe after all."

"I had already guessed that."

The front door swings open as I'm about to question Helga on what else has happened. A panting Miguel rushes in.

"I've got some work to do outside. Miguel, can you stay with her while I finish?" asks Helga.

"Y-y-yes."

She throws him a smile as she leaves the shack. Miguel puts his left arm around me as he tries to get his breath back. His right half limb stays on his side. I feel strange with his embrace. No guy had ever been allowed in Paradise Village to touch me, much less hug me.

"I'm so sorry, Monica! I couldn't see you because they wouldn't let me. Someone just told me they saw you out, and I ran over here as fast as I could!"

"I'm okay, Miguel."

He looks at my horrifying arm and his eyes grow moist. "Betsey really did it to you," he states.

"She hates me."

"She _hated_ you."

"She doesn't hate me anymore?" I ask with a slight chuckle. "I can't believe that."

He solemnly stares at me with a grim face. "She can't hate you anymore because she's dead."

The smile vanishes from my lips. "What?"

"She's dead," he repeats.

I'm flabbergasted. "How . . . Why . . ."

"Master Barstowe."

"He killed her?"

"He threw her against the wall when she burned you."

"I remember that happening before I passed out."

"Betsey hit her head. She died in the middle of the violence she created."

"Poor Betsey."

His eyebrows come together. "You can say that after what she did to you?"

"Maybe under different circumstances she would've been different," I murmur.

"Maybe."

"Miguel, if I ask you something, would you tell me the truth."

"Okay," he says, his eyes curious as to what I'm going to ask him.

"Are the Elders going to kill me?" I blurt, taking in a breath.

"They wanted to but . . ."

"But what?"

"Master Barstowe wouldn't let them."

"I don't understand," I say, my voice puzzled. "I thought our marriage was off."

"It is."

"Then?"

"He still doesn't want you dead even though you won't be his wife. You're his Little Bird, remember?" Miguel says, chuckling.

I roll my eyes. "I always hated what he called me."

"You'll probably never hear it again."

"Good!"

"The poor guy was so shaken over what happened to you that he left Paradise Village for a while."

"He's not here?"

"No."

I could hardly believe my ears. I don't have to marry the smelly creep and he's gone.

"What a relief!" I gush.

"The Elders recommended he be away for a time--to get his bearings back."

"They might kill me while he's gone," I say dryly.

"Not likely. They'll never go against his wishes."

I nod. "I suppose you're right."

"I'm right," he asserts with confidence.

"What'll happen to me now?"

"You'll be in Helga's charge. You won't be a destiny-bride anymore but a servant-girl."

I'm so excited by what he said that I kiss him on the check. He gazes sheepishly at me. I want to shout with joy! I want to stand up and dance with happiness. I want to sob with overwhelming bliss.

"A servant-girl," I murmur.

"Yep."

"Not a destiny-bride—not ever."

"Nope."

_Thank you, Betsey,_ I tell her in my head. _May you rest in peace._

Check out other young adult novels by Mia Rodriguez including the sequel to Paradise Abductions. Paradise Escape is now available.

Paradise Escape

Supernova

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