Interrupted Journey

Chapter 2 - Unholy Sacrament

The next thing I was aware of, apart from the overwhelming, crushing pain in my head, was being half-dragged, half-walked along a rough path or track. I couldn't tell which because I had some sort of bag over my head.

"Where..." I tried. Not terribly original, I admit but it was the best I could think of at the time.

"No talking," a rough voice said, shaking my shoulder and triggering fresh blossoms of pain through my head.

In places the path was boggy and wet and soon my feet were soaking

After a long time, the footing became smoother and then we were on a road. Then after some indeterminate but long time, I was taken into a building and dumped on the floor. My feet were tied together and further tied, behind my back, to my hands

I allowed myself to slip back into the blissful release of unconsciousness.

I drifted back towards consciousness a couple of times. At one stage, the bag was removed, dazzling me with the light, and I was given water to drink. Mostly, though, it was dark and I was exhausted so I allowed myself to sleep.

I was woken by the buzz of conversation in a nearby room. Though securely tied, I could, at least, look around. It was light - it felt like early morning and I was in some sort of room in a church. Perversely, there were still notices on the wall about the flower rota and the youth club, though they were faded and out of date. I guessed that the noise that woke me was coming from the main body of the church; it had the right sort of echo.

Straining to look round further, I could see Ashley and an unknown young man, both also hog-tied, lying on the floor. I could see a wave of relief washing over Ashley's face when I smiled, or at least grimaced, at her. "I thought you were dead," she said simply.

"Rap on the head," I told her. "How long have I been out?"

"They dragged us in late yesterday afternoon," she answered. "It's early morning now."

A service was beginning in the main body of the church. Though I can't claim to be a regular church-goer I'm familiar enough to recognise what was going on. The familiar pattern gave me some hope that perhaps things were not quite as grim as they seemed. After a while, I recognised the preacher. It was Anthony, the intense young curate whom Mike and I had met on that second day, cycling to the farm. Perhaps, I thought, there had been some misunderstanding and things wouldn't be as bad as I had feared.

But that hope didn't last long.

About half an hour into the service, two burly men entered the room, carrying a large, solid wooden cross between them. Without looking at Ash or me they went straight over to the young man who was lying between us. With practiced efficiency, they lashed him to the cross. He didn't resist but was quietly murmuring, "No... no..." as they were doing it.

They left the door open and we could sense the tension rising in the congregation as the man was dragged out of our little room. His shouts became louder as the words of the sacrament rang through the church. "And He took the bread, gave thanks and broke it..." I'd heard the words before, of course, but never spoken with such intensity and fervour. There was further stirring from the congregation and the shouts of the young man were becoming hysterical.

The dramatic pause was broken by the thud of a heavy hammer blow. The shouts were cut off by a single scream of pain.

Another thud, another scream.

Then another... and another...

By now the screams were fading to be replaced by a continuous moan of pain.

"And gave it to them, saying, "This is My body, given for you; do this in remembrance of Me." In the same way, after supper He took the cup, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in My blood, which is poured out for you..."

The moaning was suddenly and sharply cut off.

As the hubbub of motion began in the church, I managed to roll over and look at Ashley. She had turned white.

"Ash, listen to me," I whispered. I had to say something, anything, to get her mind off what had just happened. "Ashley listen!" I said, slightly louder, trusting to the hubbub of people moving in the main body of the church to hide my voice.

She stared at me with unalloyed panic etched on her face.

"Ashley, we're going to get out of this," I promised her. I wasn't lying. For some reason I truly believed it.

She still looked terrified, of course, but the panic had gone. I needed to build on this. "We're going to get one chance to get free," I told her, "and it's going to fall to you because they'll think you're 'just a kid'. When it happens, you are to be ready to act, OK?"

She nodded.

The service drew to a close and, with no conversation, the congregation left the church. Ashley and I were left on our own.

It is a source of intense pride that, for the next few hours, I kept Ashley talking. I knew that if I left her to brood on our situation, she would probably become catatonic or hysterical. In all likelihood, so would I.

We talked about everything: school... friends... boyfriend... "he's not really a boyfriend; he's just a friend who's a boy"... boy bands... hopes... ambitions... television... I'd been a bit of a nerd when young and never really had anything to do with teenage girls, so it was all a bit of an eye opener for me. Something to look forward to with my two if, by some miracle, we all survive!

After about three hours, we heard movement outside and I shushed Ashley and prepared myself. An elderly, middle class lady entered the room. Her hair was covered by a dark shawl and she was carrying a jug of water and two plastic tumblers.

She went to Ashley first and helped her to drink with a, 'there you go, dear." I nearly lost it at that. Who did this woman think she was? She must know that she is an accessory to Ashley's impending brutal murder. She has no right to talk to her with anything approaching affection. With an enormous effort of will, I kept myself under control. I remembered one of Laura's mottoes: 'Use your anger, don't let it use you'.

"Thank you, sister," I said, when she had given me something to drink, too. "I understand that we are to die but please could you, at least, tell us something about your faith so that we do not die in ignorance." I was relying on the years of little old ladyhood and the evangelical nature of cults to get her talking.

"But of course," she replied with a smile.