A writing of the cult

Prologue part 1

Why am I here? I wondered looking around myself. I'd been dragged from a small room with only a mattress on the floor and a toilet on one wall to this room with the two men who sat before me. Everything felt foggy and ethereal as if my brain had decided to short out that day.

Still confused, I looked around the stark room with a large mirror on one wall. I can't remember how I got here. I thought squinting up at the fluorescent light that buzzed with power. I wished it would stop that incessant noise as I thought. Where am I? I know I'm in a...

"So Miss Brock tell me what you are doing here?" The tall detective asked as he pulled his papers towards himself, drawing my eyes back to him.

The tall detective glared at me like I was causing a nuisance. I looked at the folder he fiddled with. It had a sticker on the front that said church of... written in bold. I couldn't read the last word but I knew what it was. I frowned at the folder. It's so thick... do they know that much?

Looking around again I tried to orientate myself.  I know I'm in the police station. How did I get here? I was... I frowned at the deeply scared table top trying to remember what happened before I was here. It was a blur of colour and noise, nothing more.

The tall detective shifted and I jumped meeting the tall man's eyes. He narrowed them at me trying to bully me into speaking. His suit made a noise that screamed danger in my mind which was why I jumped when he moved. At least I remember that much. I thought as I stared at the man.

For some reason, I felt fragile. At any moment this world I was in was going to pop like a balloon and I was going to disappear.

I looked between him and the other detective. He was shorter and fatter. His round face didn't match with his stern expression. They both wore suits. The tall one wore a brown one with his tie crooked and the shorter one wore blue and looked neat, despite the buttons straining to keep his jacket closed. Both suits had a cheap look about them, unlike the one that stuck in my mind. 

I shuddered at the memory of that unrelenting black suit. I tried to make my shudder look like the shivers I was doing every now and then. The room was cold and I couldn't help but shiver at it as I sat there in a thin shirt and skirt. I was not sure I managed it.

The tall one knocked on the desk and I jumped looking at him. "Miss Brock! Why are you here?" He yelled.

"I-I..." I stammered unable to answer him.

"You are a cultist." The smaller detective said in his soft quiet voice.

"No!" I cried.

"Then give us something Miss Brock. Who were you in the cult?" The tall one asked.

 The question raised the answer instantly to my mind.  "The wife of the knife. That title means I was the wife of the second in command." That answer was followed by the reason I was there. "I escaped them... please help keep them away from me," I begged.

The two detectives shared a look then the tall one smiled at me. It never reached his eyes.  "We will make you a deal. If you go back in and get us information on the way they work. We will put you in witness protection."

"I can tell you how they work." I offered desperately.

"Then get to it." The tall one said.

I sighed and started to recount what I knew was safe to tell strangers. "They make the younger members make things, arts and crafts for selling. The older members manage the business and if they are trusted they venture out into the world to earn more. Their wages are taken and used to buy everything we need and can't grow or make. Every penny of what they earn is put into the account. If you put a hold on it, you will cripple them."