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In times of emotional crisis, our families and friends become more valuable than ever. The support and understanding they offer can help us overcome most any traumatic experience.
But what if there is no one to turn to? What if, as in this story, a victim feels too much at fault to discuss her pain? For young Abbey Williams, the answer to her need for consolation and companionship seems to be a group, a religious cult, whose members and leaders appear to have the love and support she needs.
As Abbey opens herself up to Brother Geronimus and Brother Septillian, men she believes will help her, the girl only finds herself abused, degraded and debased further. What she and her unsuspecting cousin, Betty, think are men of religion and honor turn out to be sadists worse than any street-corner pervert.
Abbey Williams pushed her long chestnut-colored hair from her face, smoothing her dampened palms on her dress. She had noticed more than four or five boys following her from the convenience store. The teenager hugged the brown paper sack to her tits, quickening her pace down the deserted country road. Abbey recognized two of the boys. Her cousin had warned her about them, calling them trouble-makers, when she first arrived for her three-week country vacation.
There were only two behind her now. Where had the others gone? Abbey felt her heart quickening as her sandals scuffed along the hard dirt road. She looked again over her narrow shoulder and walked more quickly. Just over the next hillock, she’d be able to see her Aunt Helen’s small white clapboard house and she’d be safe.
There they were, the other three boys. They strolled out of the thick pine woods to her right and stepped onto the road. Abbey nearly crushed the milk carton in the sack. Al, the tallest and the oldest boy, came up to her slowly, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his faded Levi’s.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.