Cleansing His Sins.

The Sisters of Apathetic Mercy were not like other Orders; instead of spending their time praising their god, they spent most of the time fixing his mistakes. It was into this Order that a girl who had not even known her own name before it was taken from her had been recruited.  

     She had arrived at their doorstep, entirely alone in the world. She had been crying, she knew that much. The heartbroken sobs of a small girl that didn't understand what was happening. A sister, she forgets which one, took her to the washroom and burned all her clothes. The clothes weren’t much, just a cotton dress she’d sewn herself. Her plimsols had been discarded at the door – she now knew she was not likely to see any of her previous belongings ever again.  

     The girl who has since forgotten the name she was born into stood in front of the woman, shivering and as naked as the day she was born. Blood, dried and black, was washed from her by tender hands. Scrubbed clean, she was given a white robe to wrap around her. In some lights, the robe was translucent. It reminded her of the silks she used to see the women in the market wearing, women that had grown into their bodies.  

     Her hair was washed and combed, the sweat and grease that had accumulated during the time before now was washed from her. She felt deft fingers running scented oils through her hair, the smell of jasmine – something she remembered from her mother’s dresser - and a softer, sweeter note – rose maybe? – soon filled her senses. She began to relax as those strong, work-toughened fingers spun the strands of hair into thick braids.  

     Now, twenty years later, the girl who had been given a new name yawned as the same deft fingers twisted her hair into a different style. These hands belonged to one of the oldest Sisters, a woman who went by the name of Sister Rebecca.  

      Sarah, as she was to be called now, watched as the mirror slowly unmisted. The figure looking back at her was a twenty something year old college student, bubble-gum pink lipstick and a little brown beauty spot on her cheek. She recognised, under the layers of disguise, herself, but shook that thought away.  

      The girl that had arrived crying her eyes out had been dead for nearly twenty years now; the girl in the mirror changed each time she sat down. Sometimes she was called Rachel, sometimes Abigail, or Beth, or Chloe. Today it was Sarah. Sarah was a college student; she was educated on things like feminism and race politics. She was a left-leaning girl, one who thought that animals had rights and that the environment meant something.  

      It had all been in the dossier. The manila folder that had been left at the foot of Sister Mary’s bed. She loathed the name Mary, but it was the one that had been assigned to her. Not for the Blessed Mother, or even the corrupt whore who changed her ways at the behest of Christ himself. No, she had been named after Saint Mary of Egypt, seductress turned hermit. That, after all, was why she had arrived here all those years ago.  

- - - - - 

The lipstick stains on his collar shamed him, the bright childish pink against the starched white. He wasn’t the kind of man who would do this, but recently something had overwhelmed him. Some desire long held back had forced its way into the front of his mind, into his loins, and had stolen common sense away from him. Ever since that girl had struggled against his hands as he caressed her. Her frightened doe-eyes begging him not to do what he was about to. Since then, the feeling in his chest raged every time he saw a girl who would struggle against him, his cock twitching at the thought of the tears that would stream down each girl’s pretty face as he took something from them that they’d never get back.  

     Tim was a college professor. Not a bad one, but then again, he wasn’t a good one either. His students passed with adequate grades and his superiors never mentioned his name, it was a stable life he had been living these past ten years. His wife lived in the suburbs, a short hour away from the city college he taught at. She had been instilled there once he realised this job was permanent, so probably somewhere in the range of seven or eight years ago. Tim himself had a small flat that he kept next to the college grounds, prime estate should he choose to sell it on in his later years.  

     It was in this flat that Tim was watching himself dress as the young girl he had brought back from the bus stop rearranged her clothing. She was wearing some tight jeans, something that he longed to rip from her body, and a college hoodie. Her auburn hair matched the colouring of her hoodie well, but she didn’t even say goodbye as she turned on her heel and walked out of his apartment.  

     What was he to make of that? It didn’t matter, really, the girl was just another one of the thousands on campus. He never needed to try to sate his sexual appetites, the allure of an older man, a college professor even, made enough of these over-educated women use him as an outlet for their daddy issues. It was easy enough to gain their trust, to invite them back to his flat, and to encourage them to give him what he wanted. The next time he needed to fulfil an urge, he checked his watch, would be just after the final lectures of the day. Maybe this time he could go for a black girl.  

- - - - - 

Sarah looked up at the man as his naked body writhed over hers. He was older than her, but not a significant amount. She almost pitied him, her legs spread open but unmoving with each pained thrust of his hips. Her hands rested, bored, on his left bicep and his neck. Sarah was by no means dispassionate about the sex she was having. She actually enjoyed the physical aspect of it, the way that her body responded to the touch of this man. He was technically proficient. That was something she had learned that most people didn’t consider a compliment. She waited for him to be over, and surely, the moment came with a gasping wheeze.  

     The man pulled himself out of her, apologising for the mess. She smiled at him, her pink lipstick smudged, and her hair ruffled. She wasn’t sure if she felt bad for him or not. She knew he had a wife, although they had no children. It wasn’t something most people would pry into, but she wasn’t most people. The folder had told her a lot about this man as well.  

     “Where’s your kitchen?” She asked, her voice soft and timid to her own ears, “I think I need a drink.” 

      Tim, that was his name, looked up from where he was pulling his boxers on. They were a size too small and pinched around the hips. “It’s the second door on the right.”  

     “Thanks.” She grabbed up her lacy pink underwear and slipped into the bottoms before wiggling herself into the sundress. It was a soft purple, and her hair this time was a faded blonde. Her hair fell into her eyes, the ringlets that had been so carefully styled were crushed from their time on top of the pillows.  

     She moved into the kitchen where a single washed dish greeted her. With the precision she prided herself on, she identified the glasses cupboard and fished out one half-pint glass. She touched her lipstick covered lips to the rim, sealing a small kiss onto the glass. Into it, from a pocket sewn into the hem of her dress, she poured the contents of a small sachet. The glass she filled to half full before taking it back to the bedroom.  

     “Here,” she offered the glass, “I thought you could use some as well.”  

     Tim, the professor, took the glass without a word. Sarah studied him for a moment, he was sort of handsome for his age. Brown hair that was just beginning to thin, a strong jaw covered in stubble. If it wasn’t for her intent here today, Sarah might have felt some attraction for this doomed man.  

     He downed the drink, not bothering with the politeness he had displayed previously. His entire attitude to her had changed, going from a friendly, almost fatherly, approach to this cold man who stood before her. She didn’t regret what she was about to watch happen, not one tiny iota.  

     Seconds after the poison hit his system, Tim, the college professor, bent over double and began choking. His hands grasped at his throat, the wheezing noise he made earlier returned, but doubled in its ferocity to let air into his tightening throat. Sarah watched as he buckled to the floor.  

     With her pink heels in hand, she leaned over him. “Do you remember Lyla?”  

     The response she received was a wheeze, some begging hands as he reached for her hem. She stepped back, avoiding getting involved in the mess that was now beginning to leak out of the college professor. His saliva was running in thick strands across his face and the floor, his bowels had begun the process of voiding themselves as he struggled against a toxin so potent, there was no antidote.  

     “Well, she remembers you,” Sarah leaned in over his face, watching his skin turn a nasty shade of purple, “She prays for your death every single night. I have never let a woman down when it comes to the prayers she offers to my god. I heard her prayers, I am here in her place.”  

     Sarah looked over the body, his heart was due to stop any second now, “Say thank you to Lyla. This way you may have atoned for your sins.”  

    With that, and her delicate heels in hand, Sarah stepped out of the bedroom. She wandered out of the front door and slowly put her heels on. A young man across the hall saw her, his eyes travelling up her legs and over her breasts before reaching her face. She stared at him, her expression unyielding. His eyes hit the floor as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys, pushing them into the door with such force that she wondered how many women he’d disappointed in bed before.  

      Her shoes done, she slipped down the stairs and out into the real world. Here she could breathe in the traffic fumes and cloying sweetness of the coffee shop that she had left with the man who now lay dead on his own bedroom floor.  

      It didn’t take her long to walk back to her car, a blue Ford she’d left parked in the back of the sciences building. She’d wanted something non-descript, something most students wouldn’t recognise as abnormal. The second she was inside the car with the doors locked, her entire body began to shake.  

     Harsh laughter echoed through the small space. One less bastard in the world, wasn’t that a good thing? One more name to add to her list, depending on how that list looked at the end of her time in the service, she might make her way out of spending the rest of eternity with them.  

     Her laughter was cut off by a noise. A mobile phone ringing, one she kept stuffed in the glove box of all her cars. She picked it out of the clean compartment and answered it, already knowing who was calling.  

     “Sister.”  

     “Sister,” the voice at the other end of the phone was clipped and sharp, “I take it your conversion was a success?” 

     “That would be true, yes. I found him very deserving of our gracious offer of redemption.”  

     “Good. That’s the way most of them should be.” The voice was silent for a second, “But we need you back here. Something has happened with the training of the new girl, and only your guiding hand can help us.”  

      “I will be back imminently.” She ended the phone-call a split second after the voice at the other end of the line did. She’d never get how the old bat could anticipate her reactions like that.  

     Just as Sarah had driven her ford onto campus, Sister Mary drove away. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the new girl, but that didn’t matter until she knew what the problem was. Hopefully, the Order would be nicer to this girl than it was to her.