With all the forces of the universe you created, we pray for harmony as we grow forever young together. Amen.”
Ember and Richard both say, “Amen,” but I can’t bring myself to speak.
Scarecrow nearly chants the words, and they sound more satanic than holy. And now it dawns on me why when you see pictures from old backwoods weddings in the Appalachian Mountains or some other small town, the people never smiled. They stood side by side with the look of death on their faces. Dark circles under their eyes and sunken cheekbones.
This is me. I’m the ghostly man in these pictures. I completely understand.
If someone could take a picture of me now, what would they see?
I’m trying to tell myself this is not real. This is an act. This is all a game so I can win in the end.
I’m not really getting married.
This Scarecrow man can’t be a real pastor, and even if he is… this isn’t real. I’m chained to my bride. I’m fucking chained.
I’m not really holding the hand of my bride—soon to be my wife.
This isn’t real.
Scarecrow opens his dirty hands before us, and resting in his palm are two gold bands. I take the smaller one, and Ember takes the larger.
Oh Jesus, this is getting more real by the second. Wedding bands. Something for me to wear every single day. Will it choke the life out of me?
I’m fucking getting married!
“Brother Christopher,” Scarecrow breaks my thoughts. “Do you take Sister Ember to be your bride, to honor, to cherish, and to walk under God’s eyes together as one?”
“I do,” I somehow say as I slide the ring onto Ember’s finger.
I have to. I have to stay focused on the plan. The only way to escape is to marry her. At least in this fucked up world I’m locked in.
“Sister Ember.” Scarecrow has spittle spewing from his chapped lips, and I force myself to look at the woman before me which is a far better sight. “Do you take Brother Christopher to be your husband, to honor, obey, and walk under God’s eyes together as one?”
“I do,” she says softly as her eyes connect with mine. She wants this so badly. I can see it in the way her face nearly beams like an angel. I can feel it.
The band slides on my finger and actually fits perfectly even though I wonder if it will blister my skin with the evil it’s laced with.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
I actually have to kiss her. It’s the only thing to keep me standing as my entire being is swirling in complete chaos. I need a grounding force, and the lips of this sweet and pure woman before me are all I have to cling to.
As gently, and as lovingly as I can muster, I bring my lips to hers. She deserves a wedding kiss to remember. She deserves a memory that isn’t blanketed in thick darkness. I want to give her that gift. I want her to look back on this moment and remember how happy I truly believe she is.
My lips touch hers and I feel her release a breath. I inhale in hopes that her innocent view on life will help me chase away the horror flowing through my veins. I need her strength. I need her optimism. Otherwise, I’ll be swallowed up whole just as if I had been thrown in the acid pits.
“Ember Davenport,” Scarecrow says. “Christopher Davenport.” His words break our kiss. “You are now joined as one under God.”
As I look upon this delicate flower, I want to make my own wedding vows to her.
I want to promise her we will find a way to leave this Hell.
I want to make a vow that she will never have to live this existence again.
I want to offer my words for a future that will be better, safer, and normal.
On this land, in Hallelujah Junction and in the eyes of all who stand and look upon me, Ember is my wife.
She is my captive bride.
16
Ember
I dreamed of this day.
When hopelessness surrounded me, that my existence would be nothing more than being the ghost of Hallelujah Junction, I had dreamed of a Prince Charming arriving from afar who would kiss away all the bad and bring me only good.
I stand before my Prince Charming.
My husband.
I know this isn’t what he wants. I know he wants to be free. I know he wants my father dead. But I also