Chapter One
Paigelynn
* * *
I am nothing but a body.
I exist purely for purposes known to men who will decide my fate. These men cannot hurt me. They will never torture me. Under no circumstances will I ever be harmed.
I have a purpose.
I am unique in the world. I have been told that there are no more than six of us alive at the same time.
Someday I hope to meet one of my sisters.
I am a princess, a queen, a goddess. To the outside world I am a myth of legend, a fairytale, a silly story that ancient cultures told themselves to explain the world they did not understand.
They were wrong about so much.
They were right about one thing: I am real.
“Paigelynn,” he says, walking out of the bedroom and down the hall of our home.
“Rudy?” I reply with a gentle head bow.
“Are you ready?” he asks, looking out the picture window, the neighbors across the street waving. He smiles broadly, as if a director gave him a cue.
I lean in, as I’ve been programmed, and wave, too.
With gentle precision, Rudy tucks a stray curl of long blond hair behind my ear that has escaped from the thick French braid that traps my locks. The neighbors across the street, Brooke and Taylor, watch us. They often watch us. And why wouldn’t they?
We are the perfect couple.
Rudy stands six feet four with broad, wide shoulders and a firmness to his jaw that makes people follow his command. I’m a foot shorter, petite and in peak health, told my exact weight and measurements by my keepers, which I meet with precision, like Rudy’s affectionate gesture.
Designed to be perfect. Noticed. Seen.
Catalogued.
My body is not mine.
It is a temple for the ages.
We live on this cul-de-sac, a small neighborhood of ten homes, a horseshoe ring with the houses at the end of the semi-circle the smallest. In the center at the top, there are two that dominate, ours and Brooke and Taylor’s.
Subtle forms of competition make it clear they’re watching us, comparing, competing. Rudy gets our car detailed - Taylor buys new, shiny tires. We add three Honeycrisp apple trees to the side yard - Taylor plants two pear trees. We upgrade our outdoor grill - Taylor puts in a beehive fireplace.
And when we acquired our Teacup Chihuahua, Winnie, suddenly Brooke and Taylor had a Havanese puppy in their yard, complete with three months of daily training sessions from a professional dog handler.
Oh, yes, we are watched. They watch me and Rudy.
And I am watched by Rudy.
They don’t know why they watch me.
I do.
And the men who control me most certainly do. I’m deeply grateful. Without them, I would not know who I truly am, and without them, I would waste my gift.
Destiny is a higher power than any other.
Even love.
Winnie’s collar jingles as she prances at Rudy’s feet, excited to go out. With ruthless efficiency, he bends, clips the leash on the dog’s collar, and opens the door with a fierce, chivalrous gesture that forces my shoulders back, my chin up. My breasts thrust forward, hips rolling as I walk, the soles of my feet grounding me.
Trained to walk this way, I find it intuitive now. My core connects me to the power of Mother Earth.
It is exactly seven p.m. Not one minute earlier, nor later.
Every action has an equal but opposite reaction in our world. While that may be a law of physics, I have been trained differently. Nothing I do is the opposite of what Rudy demonstrates. I am too aligned. We mirror each other, though nothing is equal here.
Equality is for the masses.
I am anything but part of a crowd.
Winnie takes the lead, pulling hard on the leash. After voiding herself, she takes to the sidewalk with a practiced grace, headed for the car. Rudy opens the door, and she hops in, headed straight for the small, secured carrier on the seat. A waterproof mat covers the upholstery.
We are six-tenths of a mile from our dog obedience class. Instead of walking, we drive. Chris, one of my other bodyguards, waves from his post at the side of the house where he poses as a gardener.
Only recently has Rudy gained my masters’ approval for trips without a second man on watch.
“Oh, God,” Rudy groans the second I climb in the front, Winnie beginning to whine for attention. “Shut that dog up.”
Fear spikes through me, but I do not cower. Overriding my body’s responses is one of my purposes in life.
A man like Rudy will not be the cause of my failure.
I refuse to let him.
Out of view of others, he takes liberties. Verbal liberties, of course. Even Rudy dare not touch me.
Touching me means certain death.
I say nothing. Winnie stops. Rudy turns on the radio, flipping to a music station that features oldies from the 1980s and 1990s.
A Pearl Jam song begins. I know the name of the band only because of him. Rudy is vocal about his likes and dislikes.
“You ever get tired of all this, Princess?” he asks me, the question rhetorical as he turns left. We’re only three minutes away, the drive easy, but Rudy relishes it. My masters trust very few people to be alone with me.
Rudy is one of them.
He’s useful, too. Listening to unapproved radio stations fills a hunger in me I didn’t know was there. It is forbidden, yet I like it.
Worry catches in my lungs like wet tissue paper, making it hard to breathe, but oh, how I yearn to learn. The radio announcers talk about wars in other countries, economic progress and decline, the lascivious behavior of music stars I have never heard of – and all of it soaks into me like a sponge.
When you are parched, every drop has more meaning.
“Join us!” cries out a man from the radio, his voice bold and full, seductive and strong. “We are a community of believers. What do you believe? Find friends, find community, and find salvation in the Lord at 14th and Vine every Wednesday night at seven and every Sunday morning at nine. Check our website at -- ”
The voice ends abruptly.
“Stupid fake preachers,” Rudy mutters as he shuts off the radio. “Who lets this crap be played on a Classic Rock radio station?”
“Preachers,” I say with a sigh. “So misinformed.”
He snorts. “You think you know the true religion?”
“I am the true religion,” I remind him, my words solid and true. The look he gives me makes my skin chill, his eyes narrowing. Do men’s eyes drift up and down every woman’s body the way Rudy’s do?
“You think that, don’t you?”
“I know it. It’s what I have been taught. It is truth.”
“You do realize just because someone tells you something, doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“I am the prophecy.”
“You’ve been told that. How do you know it’s true?”
“I know because -- ” The rest of the words don’t come to me as they should. How do I know?
He laughs with a mocking tone that makes me shiver. “You’re a piece of work.”
“I am the culmination of centuries of work.”
“Piece of work,” he says as he parks the car in a spot marked Handicapped. We do not have permission to park here, but Rudy does it anyhow. “Like I said.”
Ignoring him, I climb out of the car and open the back door, letting Winnie loose from her carrier. Dog obedience training is new. After Winnie bit one of my bodyguards, Rudy tried to take her away, but I refused. Rarely do I ask my masters for help, but this was one such case.