Page 1 of Remorseless Sinner

Gracie

B irds twittered blithely outside my window as I woke up on a beautiful May morning in Honeywood.

I stretched and began to braid my golden-brown hair into a long plait.

For the past few years, I had rented a little cottage in the idyllic small mountain town of Honeywood, feeling incredibly lucky to have gotten this place on my salary as a preschool teacher.

My little cottage was made of ancient, soft-hewn gray rock and wood, and sat off a little lane in town near a beautiful dappled meadow and sparkling brook.

Soft falls of honeysuckle and roses dangled outside against the glass, and as I inhaled the crisp morning air, my phone rang.

“Sweetie, you headed down here?” my mom asked. “It’s particularly important to be on time to service today.”

“I will be,” I said. “You know I never miss a day.”

“I know,” Mom said. “You’re a good girl.”

She ended the call and I pulled on a long soft gray skirt and a lightweight gray cotton turtleneck.

The Eye sees all

But after all I was a good girl. I had worked very hard to serve the Eye and do my duty as an obedient daughter.

After brushing my teeth, I headed out the door and to my car.

“Good morning, Grace!” caroled Mr. and Mrs. Potter, my energetic 70-year-old neighbors, who were out weeding their beautiful rose garden as they were every morning.

“Good morning!” I sang back. “Best little town in all the land, isn’t it?”

They agreed, and I smiled to see their simple joy in each other as the sun shone on my head.

Maybe that would be me soon, if the Eye was willing.

“Your usual, Grace?” Mr. Martinez asked as I swung into the Honeywood Home Café for my morning cup.

“Yes, please, one cinnamon dolce latte to go,” I chirped. “After all, you can’t beat the Honeywood coffee.”

Then I was down the street in my little beat-up truck. It wasn’t much to look at, but it got me from my job to church to home, and that was pretty much all I did.

All I wanted to do. I served the Eye, as I always did.

After passing by the tiny, picturesque Honeywood downtown—coffee shop, grocery store, and City Hall—I drove by the public library where the head librarian William Perkins was just opening his doors for the day.

He was a kind man with soft blonde hair, an easy grin, and a library full of my favorite books, so of course we were good friends.

Maybe more . I couldn’t deny I had a massive crush on him.

He was just everything I wanted in a man.

Good-natured, endlessly patient, with a kind word for everyone.

Maybe this would be the week he asked me out on a date.

After all, I was 26 years old and I’d never been kissed.

Well, nothing that counted anyways. Not a proper kiss you could tell anyone about.

I lingered past when I should have, talking about the newest release in my favorite cozy series.

But it wouldn’t be today that William asked me out.

As always, there was something in his eyes.

Something when he said, “Have a good time at church.”

Something that made me think he did have an interest in me, that for some reason he wasn’t acting on.

Well, there was always next time.

Then I was driving a little too fast down the hills and into the next town over, where my mom and stepdad lived and we went to church.

The parking lot for the Church of the Holy Eye of Nimhe was crowded, and I eased my car in carefully.

The Church was a small, aged dark wood building, roofed with high jagged peaks topped with long-necked symbols of the Eye That Always Watches, that swiveled back and forth in an ever-present inspection, to represent the great serpent who ruled our world.

The church was nestled up against the heavy, overhanging forest, the branches scraping over the roof reminding me of arms reaching out, the eternal reach of the Eye.

“Blessed be the Eye, May the Eye see my goodness,” I recited as I stood outside.

I was running late, so it looked like everyone else was already inside. But I would have to wait for the inspection that had been a weekly occurrence ever since I turned 18.

The biggest Eye made a metallic screech as it detached from the building with a voracious crunching sound, rotating up and down, the great silvery limb winding its way down to my body as the mechanical lid blinked, a whirring green light emitting from inside.

I raised my head to the skies and spread my arms wide, hearing the thick wet hiss of the machine zeroing in on me, then clamping down on the top of my head with dozens of sharp metallic probes.

“May the Eye see me as I truly am,” I said as the machine began to work down my body in concentric circles, combing through my braid with long strokes.

The mechanical device whirred and hissed as it moved down my head, first to the slope of my nose, feeling like dozens of tiny bee stings, then to my lips and throat, the probes circling my neck as the machine let out soft jets of steam.

It moved to my left breast, which the machine arms rotated carefully around.

I had to bite my lip as it passed roughly by my nipple. For the last few years my nipples had been so sensitive, even at times leaking a creamy, sweet-tasting liquid that couldn’t possibly be milk because I had never been pregnant!

I had to resist the thoughts again.

Bodily pleasure is a depravity

You must be zealous to root out impure thoughts

I tightened my thighs together to try to stem the tingling warm sensation there. The strange feeling that always reminded me unwillingly of things I knew were forbidden.

After a few breathless moments, the representative of the Eye moved to my right breast, kneading the full globe with every thin metallic probe, making this nipple tingle painfully with the pressure.

Although I was in a hurry to get inside, the machine circled my breast over and over, each concentric circle winding closer and closer to my nipple, then squeezing with painful intensity over my oversensitive tips.

Did the Eye know?

Did the Eye know what I had done?

Your thoughts are pure, Gracie , I reminded myself. You are a servant of the Eye.

Finally with a creak the machine moved down to my waist, slowly rotating up and down my curves.

I forced my breathing to still, let the representative of the Eye do its work, as it delved past my hips with little nips and pricks on my flesh through my skirt, then between my legs.

Obediently, I spread my thighs a little wider, and the probes ran up and down them, encircling each leg with the scrape of metallic fingers.

I was in a hurry, so I hoped this would be a quick inspection, but there was a loud blare from the speaker atop the church, then a tinny voice trumpeted out,

“REMOVE ALL OBSTACLES OR YOU WILL BE IN VIOLATION OF VERSE 1054.”

Hastily, I yanked out my skirt so the long neck of the Eye could delve past the skirt band and twine around my naked legs, probing where my panties covered the place between my thighs.

I held my breath as the metallic pinchers probed the thin fabric, making sharp little dips and pinching my sensitive skin.

I felt sweat break out on my neck as the other clamps pressed my thighs together so there was only one slender probe between my legs, thrusting in little bursts against my panties, but then the gears ground out and a mechanical voice spoke: “DESIGNATION: VIRGIN. YOU MAY ENTER.”

“Bless the arms of the Eye,” I said quickly, then pulled open the big steel doors into the sanctuary.

I had just made it inside when Dr. Meier appeared beside me. He was a tall man in his early 50s with thick white hair and a kindly, tanned face and easy grin.

He had been our family doctor since I was 18, and I would have trusted him with my life.

Until the last few months.

His bright white teeth flashed at me as strong fingers held the tip of my elbow.

“Gracie. Blessed be the Eye. Have you changed your mind?”

“About what?” I asked, stalling for time.

He had done a lot for me. I should remember that. And any man could be tempted. Even an Elder.

“My proposal,” he said.

My hands trembled, as I tried to gently pull my elbow away.

But his grip was firmer than it looked, and I glanced down the hallway where the rest of the Eye-blessed waited for the services to begin, hoping for anyone to come interrupt this awful conversation.

Ever since his horrible proposal to me, I had been in agony lest he mention it again. Was this a punishment for my previous hidden sins?

“No—no, thank you. You are—married,” I hissed at him anxiously. “I cannot be your—mistress.”

My face burned.

Dr. Meier frowned at me.

“It is no shame to satisfy a married man’s sexual desires,” he said sternly.

“Especially an Eye-blessed man like myself. I am an Elder, Gracie, and have been your friend and advisor ever since you were 18 years old. It is with the benefit of my years of experience that I am asking you to do this. You are 26 and unmarried. This is an opportunity for you to obey the Eye and to do good.”

“I just--” I began hastily. “I cannot--”

Taking a deep breath, I began again.

“I don’t think our Eye-Father would want me to do this. I am not convinced it is the right thing to do. I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I am not changing my mind on this.”

William’s sweet face flashed into my head. Now that was the kind of man I was hoping to marry. He had never spoken out or made any sign that he was interested, but sometimes. . . sometimes I caught a look from him, a glance, a quick intake of breath. . .

When Dr. Meier made as if to speak again, I interrupted, even though it was improper for a mere Virgin to contradict an Elder.

“I will not be your mistress.”

He frowned at me, and then the kind, firm hand slid off my arm and his eyes darkened.

“You are going to regret this, Gracie,” Dr. Meier snapped. “I have given you an opportunity to use your disgusting female holes for good and yet you reject it. I am disappointed in you. I am sure the Eye is disappointed in you. You should have listened to your elders.”

He abruptly turned and left, and I hurried on trembling legs to join my parents in the dark, tight-knit sanctuary.

Hopefully that was the end of the matter.

I greeted them both with a smile, taking their shoes off and beginning to clean them with the hem of my skirt as was traditional for virgins in the service of Nimhe.

My mother Diane was in her 40s, beautiful and elegant, and I whispered a prayer over her silver heels, that if it came to blessings, the Eye of Nimhe would bless her and not me. It was a daughter’s duty to serve her parents.

Mother came from great wealth and left it all to marry my father. After he had died when I was a teen, she had met my stepfather Rufus at church.

My stepfather was a tall, silent intellectual man, who worked at the local college as a theologian, and there was a crust on his shiny black shoes from walking the grounds to get to his courses, and I worked diligently on it, the dirt crumbling off and staining my gray skirt.

They had gotten married when I was 18 years old, and were both very active in the church.

Rufus was not the warmest man in the world, but he definitely was very devout and encouraged devotion in the family as well.

I certainly didn't blame him for what had happened.

It wasn’t his fault he had grown a sinner, instead of a saint. I knew he had tried everything.

Some sinners can’t be reformed.

The Service began as it always did, with the long-necked surveillance arms of the great serpent writhing about the Congregation members as we sung the opening hymn.

But I had done my daughter’s duty well, each pair of shoes was clean, the mud staining my gown, as was proper, and I had no fear the Eye would find my obedience wanting.

Worshipers of the Eye of Nimhe had grown in strength since I was a girl, dozens of members now were packed into the small sanctuary as we sat still and waited.

The arms were there to tell us if anyone present was full of sin or not before our pastor gave the sermon.

They were there to be the mechanical eyes and arms of Nimhe.

We all made sibilant hissing noises as we waited patiently for the judgment, the repetitive sounds a prayer, a hope, and a promise.

Were we devoted or not?

The Eye knew.

Eyes wavered above our heads, the arms flowing like milk down a mountain, the gears grinding as our pastor waited in the pulpit, his arms gripping the sides as he looked down over the Congregation.

Suddenly, the machine above my head made a discordant grating sound, like a metal claw scraping across concrete.

My blood instantly ran cold, a terrible icy dread drawing down my spine like a knife.

What was happening?

I had been to services every week since I was a little girl, and the Eye had never made noise like this. And certainly never as loud as this.

I did not know the meaning of it, but I sat in my pew, waiting to see what would happen.

Had someone not tithed appropriately? Had someone not given their all to the Serpent?

I looked around anxiously.

Surely it was only a coincidence that the machine was hovering over my head.

“Grace O’Brien,” Pastor Mickelson rumbled.

He was a gaunt, strong man in his 50s with a lined face and sparse gray hair.

“Do you have a sin you’d like to confess?” the pastor asked me sternly.

My mind instantly went blank.

Could I have angered Nimhe in some way?

“My—I—maybe-- I was late for Sunday services today,” I suggested timidly.

Glancing over at my parents for help, I was shocked to see their faces looking stern and angry.

“ Nothing else, Gracie?” Mom asked.

“Be honest,” my stepdad ordered sharply.

They stood up, jostling me to my feet and I was startled to see the rest of the Congregation doing the same.

I was being herded, gathered, into the center of a circle, as the machines whirred above me, the probes darting, pulling at my hair, backing up, then doing it again, little pinches of pain as the investigation began.

“ I regret to inform the Eye of an instance of Gracie’s depravity,” Dr. Meier said.

My cheeks flamed and I felt weak and voiceless, as I stared aghast at his face that I had thought was so kind and supportive.

The potlucks, the time he had run antibiotics over to me in the middle of the night when I was sick, the way he had supported me after what happened seven years ago. . .

All that meant nothing after I had rejected him.

The idea that he would dare try to condemn me, after he had. . .made such a very improper proposition to me. As a married man!

Then to my horror Dr. Meier turned and pointed to me.

“Gracie is a whore tempting men to lust. She needs to be punished and Abandoned to the forest.”