Page 4 of Sinner: Before Rain (The Devil’s Society)

Chapter

Four

ELIJAH - AGE TEN

BLACKWOOD, NC

I t didn’t take me long to discover my new stepfather was a fucking cult leader. I am always observing, even when they think I’m not. Pretending to be asleep, making them feel safe to talk when it wasn’t.

Information is power. You would be a fucking moron if you thought otherwise.

One month is all it took.

At first, when we moved to this hot and humid state, I wasn’t used to it. I stayed inside, where the A/C blew twenty-four-seven, which got boring fast. But I was not about to go outside. The heat was hot, sticky, and uncomfortable. My body was still used to the dry climate of the mountains .

But I was getting antsy. My tendencies hadn’t been utilized for thirty fucking days.

Something my body craves was being withheld.

My skin itches with withdrawal symptoms. Saliva filled my mouth at the thought of ending another's life.

Dismembering them. Torturing. Biting my own lip would ignite the familiar copper taste on my tongue.

It satisfied the urge in the short term, but it would never be enough.

Bored in my thoughts, it is time to snoop.

Starting upstairs, I make my way through the spare rooms of this large home, nothing of interest catching my attention.

It wasn’t until I made my way through my mom and her dumb fuck husband’s room, that I found something of interest. Standing in the doorframe of their walk-in closet, something doesn’t fit in here.

Something piques my interest. Immediately they stand out, these cliche black robes with gold trim hanging in their closet with white plain face masks with gold designs tied around the same hanger.

Stepping closer, brushing my hand against the soft fabric, a smirk forms on my lips.

What do we have here?

Bringing the dark fabric to my nose, the immediate smell of smoke invades my senses.

Interesting.

“You could be a great asset to The Chapel, son. ”

The deep voice of a prick I have no use for fills the silence.

Letting go of the robe, I turn around. Not one guilty feeling of being caught, because why would I?

Very annoyed though, I’m not done.

Snapping back at the imbecile, “I’m not your son.”

He nods his head down, chuckling, amused by my response.

Looking back up at me, he takes a step in. “I have heard of your talents.”

What’s his angle here?

Not responding, I let him give me information while giving him nothing in return.

“In the circles I run in, it’s no secret what happens up in those Rocky Mountains.”

My face remains expressionless, my arms crossed as I lean against the wardrobe. “Go on, tell me what happens then.”

“Your last name means you have reach. You have access. You, along with other very wealthy families in that area, can get away with anything.” He has yet to tell me what happens. I wait in silence for him to continue.

He shakes his finger at me. “Smart boy.”

Yes, and I will always be smarter than you, Maxton, even at the age of ten. My eyes linger on his exposed arm. A small black tattoo, the outline of bat wings, catches my attention, as if they are coming out of his skin .

Noted.

Maxton interrupts my observations with his authoritative tone, “People go missing. People never get found. And I have heard you are very much a part of this. You may not be the one in charge of it, but you are someone who helps to ensure they are never found.”

My dad saw at an early age what an asset I would be. After that dinner when I was five, he assigned me a mentor who started by teaching me how to torture, dismember, and dispose of people.

The fundamentals.

Most would think killing is the most important thing, but it’s not. It’s how to extract information, remind them of what naughty individuals they have been, and watch them realize they are never getting out of here. The defeat that washes over their faces each time always makes me smile.

Then, once they are dead.

If we don’t want them to be found, dismemberment is key.

The smaller the pieces, the quicker they decompose in the small hole we have put them in.

All the tiny critters that roam the soil feast on their organs, skin, and eyes.

Typically, we dispose of said people in my fucking backyard.

Deep within the forest that resides on acres of my dad’s property.

Once, my mentor Adam advised my dad that I was up to his high standard, which didn’t take long. I fucking thrived in that environment, he built my own torture shed on the property.

The floor is white tile with a drain in the middle. The walls are lined with stainless steel cabinets and countertops, along with a sink. It has everything a boy could want.

Knee splitter, hammers, pliers, bone cutters, and a table with restraints.

My dick gets hard thinking about it now. I fucking miss it.

Next, I was shown how to kill.

If I need to end them quickly or if we need to prolong the agony.

The slow burn was becoming a favorite of mine.

It goes hand-in-hand with torture. Watching the phases of realization wash over their faces.

Then the begging and pleading comes next.

Which always makes me laugh. People show their true selves before they die.

It’s always the most pathetic version of themselves.

What people would say or do to stay alive.

I had the idea just before my seventh birthday, when I added the wheel to my table which controls the restraints. With each turn, it pulls on their limbs. The pain becomes unbearable as the limbs begin to disconnect. Popping noises from it fill the space alongside the screams.

Then, I leave them like this for hours or days even depending on how annoying I find them. Only to come back later to finish the job. The limbs detach, but the body is still very much alive as they bleed out, which only results in their death.

Sometimes I play along, giving them a glimmer of hope, just to watch their faces drop once I take it away. Severing the femoral artery would cause blood to gush out rapidly. Hands and legs are restrained as they watch their own ending.

Shivers begin as they get cold from all the blood leaving them. Then the heart stops, with nothing more to pump through it.

We had just begun the hunting and kidnapping months before I left. But I was getting good at it. And I was eager to continue honing my skills. It’s part of what I crave.

This is all a piece of me now.

Never did I think the withdrawal would be this intense. Thinking about it in such detail is only torturing myself.

My body language doesn’t change while looking at him, unamused. Another skill I am very fucking good at. Even with all these vivid images floating through my mind.

The curious mind I have, I continue to observe him instead.

Come on old man, keep talking.

“I can give you what you need, but in return, you must help me. And The Chapel. ”

Here we go.

“Go on.” Intrigued by his proposition.

“I am a vessel for the Devil, The Dark One, if you will. He communicates through me who is a threat and we remove them. We do not see age, race, or gender. We see good and evil. We eliminate the evil that threatens us and our work, our purpose within The Chapel. Do you understand?”

Interesting.

“The person we have now assisting in such efforts is sloppy. Because of that, curious minds have been snooping, civilians, the police. They are causing us headaches. They are becoming additional threats we do not desire. Perhaps you could work with our current member, who is failing us deeply?”

Rolling my eyes because I work alone.

“No.”

Maxton’s face distorts in confusion.

“What do you mean, no?”

His nostrils flare. He is easily agitated. Interesting indeed.

“What is your role exactly? A vessel, I heard you say that, but what the fuck does that even mean?”

“Our members confide in me. The Dark One, at the beginning, would give us blackmail to absolve our members' problems. Then as time progressed, as he began to trust us, names started to appear before me. Names of those no longer privileged to live on this earth. I am their Master. They are my people. And together we are The Chapel.”

He is charismatic, I see why he is the leader.

“How did you meet my mom?”

His answer will give me everything I need to know.

“Online. I pursued her. She was apprehensive, naturally. But I convinced her the life she was leading wasn’t one of happiness and joy. That I could give her everything she needs.”

Now, did he learn about me before or after my mom? That remains to be solved.

But for now, I will humor him. Even though I don’t believe a fucking word coming from his mouth. Another skill I have is seeing a bullshitter for what they are. And he is that.

“I work alone. I’ll give you a list of things I will require. And one of those items on the list will be you staying in your fucking lane. Understood?”

Maxton chuckles, “For a ten-year-old, you sure are ballsy.” He thinks I’m amusing. Cute.

“I’m not sure why you’re laughing. I am being very fucking serious, Maxton.” My tone remains unchanged. He never notices how utterly useless I find him.

“Tonight is the last meeting at the house. Join us. Next time we will be in our new home, the cliffs by the coast.”

He turns to leave the closet as I spit back at him, “I’m not wearing those fucking outfits.”

Maxton stops in place, not responding. A moment passes as he continues to walk out, leaving me alone again.

I don’t trust the fucker. But I will humor him, for now.