The Wright Way

Chapter 22 - The Wright Way

The floor is wet and my hands keep slipping as I try to get up. Eventually, I stop and just remain on my fours, trying to catch my breath, my ears still ringing from the blow, blood dripping from my mouth.

"I can't find it," says Sarah. "I checked the rug and under the bed."

She straightens up to the other side of the bed, and I can hear her back click.

"I'll look in the corridor," says Quinten. His feet leave my field of vision, heading out of the room, moving slowly as he continues looking for the pill. Uncle doesn't like to leave such things behind. I wonder what they're going to do with all the blood.

Then Barnaby's boot connects with my ribs again and I drop like a sack, annihilating the progress I have made in getting up. Heaving, I curl into a ball. I can't fight back. The worst thing would be to fight back. Also, they're right in punishing me. They don't even know how right they are.

Except for Uncle.

He always knows.

"You were given so much," he says in a soothing tone. "People spend their lives seeking the truth. You were born into it, yet you had to find your own way. What you found here—has it justified the betrayal?"

I shake my head and try to get up again, to explain myself, but then Barnaby's foot finds me again. He's wearing heavy boots under that robe of his, not sneakers or loafers. I wonder if he's put them on purpose, knowing that the visit here might come down to this.

"Stop, please!" comes another voice. "You're hurting him! He hasn't done anything!"

I open my eyes and see Joshua still sitting on the couch, hugging himself. Joseph stands next to him, where Barnaby used to be. He's not touching Joshua, but apparently his mere presence is enough to prevent Joshua from moving. Trying to escape would be hopeless with at least four unfriendly strangers between him and the door, and an attempt to call for help would likely bring upon him the violence that I'm receiving now. I'm surprised he even dared to speak.

"He sinned." Uncle's voice sounds closer, as if he's bending over me, but I don't look up. Faces swim in the background, coming in and out of my sight in the semi darkness of the room illuminated only by the bedside lamp. I make another attempt to rise, but my hand slips in my blood. There's quite a lot of it. I probe with my tongue inside my mouth. One of my molars is gone. I also bit my lower lip when Barnaby first hit me.

"It's not in the corridor," says Quinten, his shoes passing briefly through my field of vision.

"I didn't do anything," I whisper.

"You did in your head." Uncle's finger taps at my forehead. "Do you think I didn't know that?"

"You did?" I mutter before catching myself and saying, "I didn't."

He shakes his head, his finger pressing at my sweaty forehead like a barrel of a gun.

"I hoped that facing sins would make you overcome them in yourself. Instead, you got to the edge of embracing them." Without looking, he nods at Joshua who, still hugging himself, begins to rock back and forth in what seems like a beginning of hysterics. "Apparently you do not want to do the right thing."

That hits me hard. Everything I ever did was about that. "No, I..."

"You wanted to escape," continues Uncle, ignoring me. "You wanted to avoid the healthy marriage I arranged for you, and the happy, meaningful life that could have come with it."

With the rusting of clothes he kneels on the floor, facing me. His cool hand touches my cheek, urging me to look at him. His expression is kindly, but I'm not fooled by that.

"I wanted to understand," I say. "One needs to understand the bad to deal with it. They have their reasons, they have their views, they're not completely right or wrong."

"You can't be a little right or a little wrong, like a woman can't be a little pregnant. Attempts to understand and justify the sinners only weaken your resolve. Doubts pave way to more doubts, interpretations invite more interpretation, and, eventually, you lose your way. Don't you miss the simplicity of knowing what's right?"

I nod, swallowing hard. I do miss that. Living in this city, facing all the different and confusing people has been a torture of confusion.

"When you stray too much into the land of sin, you might lose your way," Uncle continues. "We know our way. We know what's right. If you choose to come back with us, you will have that certainty back. You will have your family again. Leave the sinners to burn."

"They're people, too. Some of them just need help."

"Looking at them too closely makes you lose the sight of the bigger picture. You see a tree, but it's a part of a big, dark, haunted forest that you better stay clear of. You weren't hardened enough when you entered it."

I swallow again, tasting my own blood and tears. The man is wise. Arguing with him is useless. There's nothing I can teach him. There's everything he can teach me.

He rises up and stands in front of me, offering his hand. I pause, unwilling to stain him, my hand smeared with blood, but he keeps his hand in the air, waiting. I reach out and grab it and he pulls me up to my feet.

A wave of gratitude washes over me at this. He gave me his hand. He's not disgusted by me.

"Come here," says Uncle, and Joseph pulls Joshua by the arm up to his feet and pushes him towards us.

Joshua's face, wet with tears, turns from me to Uncle and back to me. He doesn't look pretty when he's crying. He looks scared. He has every reason to be.

"You must choose," Uncle says to me, his voice soft again. "Choose us, or choose him."

I stare at Uncle. Does this mean he's still willing to forgive me? Despite my misgivings, is he still going to take me back? Not having a family to belong to has been a dull ache I carried with me since I'd left them. Perhaps belonging to a family, even when you're different from them, is still better than being alone.

"Yes, Uncle," I say. "I have chosen."

With that, I slap Joshua across the face, sending him tumbling to the floor.