-Zoey’s POV-

  Tick, tick, tick. The clock had finally indicated that it had been twenty-four hours since I first arrived at this cabin. Outside of the less-than-comfortable chair they’d so graciously chained me to within minutes of arriving, I would say that my captivity has gone far better than expected so far. I haven’t been physically assaulted, I’m allowed to eat and use the restroom as I please, and I’m even free to talk back to that dunce of a woman with impunity. At least, I’m free to until feels insulted enough to call for the gag.

  But the time had come at last. As it had been twenty-four hours, it was time to face Oliver once more. Peter and James had set up a tablet on a table before me and had gone through the trouble of video calling him through one of those encrypted peer-to-peer chat apps that people engaging in less than savory activities fancy using. The two of them sat over on the sides as Jude, the girl who had taken it upon herself to glue her eyes to me as I showered a few moments earlier, stood up behind me, reflected in the video feed of the call on the tablet. It felt like I was being treated as an unpredictable inmate on the inside of a maximum-security prison, but I preferred to think of it as a sort of variation of the princess treatment.

  Once the call connected, our video feed shrunk in size and was joined by a new feed featuring a man with a mask, his greasy hair and patchy facial hair reminiscent of the man who had dragged me to the cabin the day before, who offered a simple nod. The black backdrop lit by what was probably a simple overhead light bulb led me to believe that this was either an office space he had reserved or his own personal abode.

  “Oh, Great Prophet,” they all said in unison. The bow they offered him was once again quite new to me, but for whatever reason I had already become numb its strangeness.

  “Oh hey, glad you could make it,” I said. “They even removed my gag so I could look my best for you.”

  “Show some respect, fool,” Jude muttered.

  After taking a moment to, as I assume, analyze the room before him, he finally opened his mouth.

  “Let’s get right down to business. I searched through the girl’s social media contacts and found no trace of anyone who knows about the spirit, nor anyone who rejected my link.”

  He got into my phone? That’s strange. I made sure not to use face recognition precisely to avoid that kind of situation. How did he guess the numbers?

  James whistled. “Wow, incognito.”

  “As of right now, my main suspect happens to be a Gwen, whose Instagram account appears to have been pulled from the service as of last week. She apparently transferred the week after I made contact with Zoey, which suggests to me that she may be on the run.”

  Gwen? Well, I supposed that would make sense. He wasn’t too far off, but at the very least this would buy me some time to get in contact with Tristan.

  “However, I did manage to find a few other persons of interest, including a few who weren’t on her social media. Namely, Enzo Cortez, who had been repeatedly texting the phone since she’s gone missing, as well as the three new members of her school club.”

  I did my best to appear unaffected. It appeared that I had underestimated him. He found them already? Really? No, I supposed that it made sense. If he could scour people’s memories then it’s only natural that he could point out any sudden, distinct changes in my life.

  “I have low confidence in this Enzo person, but once I find out what he looks like I’ll be sure to give him a check regardless. As for the club members, these three joined a week after the incident with the mother Brahm, which leads me to believe that they could also be involved with Dream Paralysis. My two persons of interest are the male students: Lance Harley and Tristan Collins. The former’s Instagram account is private and isn’t followed on Zoey’s account, so I’ll need to follow through with that first in order to get a look at his face. The latter appears to have no social media to speak of, so I’ll have to meet him in person to confirm my suspicions. However, I’ll primarily be focusing on confirming Gwen’s identity for the time being.

  “Anything to say for yourself?” Jude said, poking the back of my head with the cold metal of the pistol.

  “Nope, you guys seem to have a good handle of it. Keep it up. Hopefully I’ll be able to leave in time for Thanksgiving.”

  “This girl…” Jude sighed.

  Peter, on my left, appeared to be bored out of his mind. His eyes kept returning to the desk he was working at earlier. James, on the other hand, was the opposite. He just kept on smiling as if the whole thing amused him.

  “Fraulein,” Oliver said.

  “Oliver,” I replied.

  “I would like to groom you for a high-ranking position in the Order. Would you be interested in becoming an archbishop.”

  “Wha-“ An outburst came from Jude who was standing behind me. “An archbishop!? Her!? She doesn’t even believe in Lady Irma!”

  “Jude, not now,” James whispered from behind the tablet. Jude recoiled at his words and covered her mouth.

  “I-I apologize for the outburst, oh Great Prophet. But… this girl? Are you sure you can trust her?”

  He wants me…? An archbishop? What is an archbishop? I wasn’t sure, but one thing I could tell from Jude’s reaction was that it was an important role within their little cult.

  “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of mud and mire;

  He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.

  He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.

  Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him.”

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  Jude’s mouth hung for a moment. “Psalm 40 verses 2 and 3…”

  Oliver nodded. “I understand your discomfort. As I am unable to link to her mind, I cannot confirm her trustworthiness. However, would I not be a hypocrite if I did not extend to her the same forgiveness that I have extended to all of you? And yes, I do genuinely believe that she contains the most potential to hold the position out of the prospects I’ve spoken with so far.”

  No, it was a trick. He’s trying to win me over so that I can guide Tristan into the lion’s den for him. It had to be. After all, there was no reason for him to believe that I was fit for a high role in something he’d spent what must have been at least a decade building. In any case, regardless of the truth, for the time being I’ll operate under the assumption that it is a trick. I suppose pretending to be ensnared will be fine for now, but I won’t give him anything that will link Tristan to Castro.

  “I’m a little surprised,” I said. “I don’t think I’m all that special. Why would you choose me?”

  “You’re a secondary host for the other half of the spirit, which means that you’re inexplicably tied to the order whether you like it or not. My options are, therefore, either to kill your or keep you. And I believe that your wit and your tongue will be an asset to the order. You can serve as a sort of diplomat or figurehead for the order. Think Malcolm X and the Nation of Islam. While Elijah Muhammad served as the founder and messenger of Allah for the Nation, it was ultimately Malcolm X who spread his teachings across America through his media presence.”

  “I see. It seems like you’re in more need of assistance that you let on, oh Great Prophet.”

  He paused. “If we’re to take over this country, then we need access to not just income, but votes as well. And to do that, we need to galvanize support through a figurehead.”

  A figurehead, huh? I wonder if he knew how much I’ve read into American history. Malcolm X was effective at spreading the Nation’s teachings, sure, but his influence had grown so great that Elijah Muhammad eventually was forced to stripped him of his rights as a minister. His status as a figurehead was the nation’s greatest asset, but it had grown so much larger than life that the true head’s position and influence was eventually threatened by said status.

  Plus, Oliver, was a man who could so easily dispose of his subordinates once he deemed them to be a liability. How could I claim to respect myself and my life if I voluntarily placed myself in the hands of someone like that, especially knowing how such a situation played out in the past?

  James whistled. “Wow, archbishop huh? Good for you Zoey. Play your cards right and you might end up being the most famous woman in America. Which… would pretty much make you the most famous woman in the world.”

  “I’m flattered. Now if you’d be so kind as to unchain me…”

  Oliver shook his head. “You won’t be unchained until the meeting we’re holding next week Wednesday.”

  I recalled Tristan receiving a pamphlet at his door last week. He must have a significant amount of money and clout if he can afford to book Jacob Hill Hall.

  “The day before Thanksgiving?” I smiled. “And a Wednesday to boot? Do you really think you’re that important? I’ll be surprised if you could fit even a small congregation in that giant concert hall.”

  “There’s nothing and no one more important than the Lord, Fraulein. You’d best learn that quickly if you have plans on leaving that chair alive.”

  I didn’t respond, but I continued to smile at him. If I was going to play at brown nosing him to save my own life then I would have to hold my tongue, I suppose.

  “James, Jude. Get her up to speed on the internal workings of the Order by next week.”

  “Understood,” James said.

  “Dude, I’m already sick of her…” Jude muttered from behind me.

  Her words caused me to scoff. “Feeling’s mutual, honey.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “You heard me. James will be fine on his own, thanks.”

  Jude clenched her fist. I couldn’t turn to see her, but the tablet had given me a good idea of what she was doing behind me.

  “Jude, please remember to treat Zoey with respect from now on. Remember that if things go well, she will outrank you soon.”

  “Yeah Jude,” I said. “We wouldn’t a Judas in our midst, would we?”

  For once, the girl did not protest with me. Instead, she merely bowed before the tablet. “I apologize, oh Great Prophet.”

  Oliver nodded. “We’ll reconvene once I’ve ascertained whether or not this Gwen Diaz is the host. But for the time being, I’ll have one of our followers who attends Deer Valley High keep an eye on the other two.”

  He had followers at school? No, if his cult is as big as he claims then it shouldn’t be a surprise. But who? I’m at least vaguely familiar with everyone who’s anyone at school, and no one has mentioned so much as a word about the Order. Would it really be someone who could get close to Tristan without any problem? I doubt that a younger student would be able to penetrate that social barrier unless they joined the photography club.

  But still, that doesn’t necessarily mean that Tristan would just open up about Dream Paralysis to this person. But at the very least, if they could sneakily get a picture of him to Oliver then he’ll be discovered immediately, won’t he? In the end, it all comes down to whether or not Tristan hacks me before he’s discovered. If he does, then I have a few ideas as for how to get myself out of this mess.

  “Happy hunting, Oliver,” I said.

  For the first time since the call began, a smile formed beneath the mask. “I appreciate kind words, Fraulein. Praise be to the Lady Irma.”

  “Praise be to the Lady Irma,” the other three said before Oliver’s video feed shrunk into the empty space on the screen. The great meeting was over at last, and it seemed like things weren’t going to be as bad as I had initially thought.

  “So as you can see, I’m going to be your new boss soon, Judas. Now, as your new boss, if you wouldn’t mind unchaini-“

  My words got stuck in my throat.

  The shock from what had happened caused me to go quiet.

  My head whipped to the side.

  It was like my face had been thrust momentarily into a fire.

  For a second, my vision went hazy.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I couldn’t believe it, but I wouldn’t be allowed to contemplate said disbelief as my head was pulled forward by the woman grabbing a handful of my hair.

  “Listen to me, you fucking whore. If you ever, EVER humiliate me in front of the Prophet again, I will make your every waking moment the most miserable experience you could ever imagine. Do you hear me? I don’t give a shit if he’s gonna make you the fucking POPE, ‘kay bitch? You do NOT do that again. Do you hear me?”

  I was growing angrier by the second.

  This loudmouthed woman with no ambition besides groveling at that old man’s feet was far too comfortable with herself getting in my face. But, it wasn’t her fault. It was these chains. If it weren’t for these chains…

  “Do. You. Hear. Me?”

  She had thrust her face about two or three inches away from mine. Our noses were a hair’s breadth apart as the anger in her eyes searched my own for any hint of rebellion. As much as I loathed it, this woman’s deranged love for Oliver may have been a catalyst for something far worse than a mere slap if I continued poking her. So, for the time being, I decided to give in to her demands.

  “Sure, I hear you. I won’t poke fun of you in front of Ol- of the Prophet anymore.”

  “You mean it?”

  “I… mean it.”

  “Good.” She thrust my head back into the chair.

  My now disheveled hair hung over my face.

  It was humiliating.

  To be treated like that in front of others again.

  It’s been so long that I almost forgot what it felt like.

  I felt a grin creep beneath the curtains of my hair.

  Enjoy this moment Jude, I will remember this.

  Because hell hath no fury like mine when I’m condescended.