On Hallowed Ground, Chapter 1- Xena Uber
Apr. 22nd, 2009 11:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
calliopes_museAUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I'm a little late doing this. This was submitted for Ralst's Epic Proportions challenge. I thought I'd do a little self-pimping. This is more or less an original fic that I have been meaning to write for a long time, but I used the basic charactistics of Xena and Gabrielle for our main characters.
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: I will post this in chapters for those who like it that way, but the link to the full story is below.
THANKS: To my primary beta, Sofia Lindsay, for listening to my insecurities and reading and re-reading this fic. It wouldn’t have been done had she not poked the daylights out of me. That sounded very wrong! Also, thanks to my secondary betas on this fic, Darkbardzero and Sinjenkai. Last but not least, to my partner Michelle for puttng up with my late nights working on this.
SUMMARY: Young and ambitious journalist Riley Jacobsen returns home to Alabama for an undercover story on her town’s former church and opens the door to more than she ever expected.
RATING: Mature, for descriptions of violence, abuse, and f/f sex.
CHALLENGE: Submitted as part of the Epic Proportions challenge.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
©April 2009
Feedback is crack, folks. Let me know what you think.
ON HALLOWED GROUND (link to full story)
By Calliope’s Muse
CHAPTER 1
Riley let out a sigh when she dropped the duffle bag at the bottom of the stairs. She cradled her cell phone on her shoulder, listening with quickly fading patience, before sitting on her sofa facing the large floor-to-ceiling windows to tie her hiking boots. She rubbed her forehead, trying in vain to fight off a headache. Glancing out at the sun barely peaking over the downtown Chicago skyline, she blew out a breath and ran her fingers through her long dark hair.
She hated early morning flights. Partly because she really liked to sleep in, but mostly because she loved her view of the sun rising over the Hudson. It was what sold her on her obscenely expensive condo, but she wouldn’t trade it for all the money in the world.
"Al…Al, listen to me. I don't give a damn what Jack wants. This is important. I’m doing this and that’s final." Holding the phone away from her ear, she barely heard the rant on the other end – something about him going down on her sinking ship if she screws this up. Shaking her head, she made her way to the kitchen and her daily dose of caffeine – an extra tall travel mug of strong black coffee. "No, you can't talk me out of it. I'm going. Period. End of story. Yes…no, I’m not mad at you. Yes, I’ll call." She laughed as she flipped her cell shut before her well-meaning co-worker could protest further.
Alonzo “Al” Perkins, junior editor and resident shit deflector for star writer, Riley Jacobsen, had been concerned for her well-being ever since Riley was captured by a drug dealer during one of her undercover stories. Jack Jessly, their editor-in-chief, was thrilled with the story because it had finally put his two-bit Chicago news-rag, The Weekly Herald, on the map. He was less than pleased, however, with the massive doctor bills and lawsuits the paper had to cover after Riley had physically expressed her displeasure against her captor’s face. To say Riley had to work a lot of overtime to make up for it was an understatement.
Riley, in her own form of controlled recklessness, decided the only way to fix a bad situation was to snag another great story. Jack had warned her about going off on her own again. That was how she ended up in the drug dealer situation. When she pitched her new idea, he drew a new line in the sand. First, he didn't want her getting into dangerous situations. Now, he didn't want her dealing with controversial subjects at all. She'd never get a job with a major paper if he kept holding her back. To Riley, news wasn't worth reading, much less reporting, if it didn't bother, scare, or unnerve anyone. On that principle alone, the determined brunette found herself packing a bag and catching the first flight out for Alabama.
Grabbing up her mug, she hefted her duffle on her back for the long ride down the elevator. While she waited on the taxi she had called, she reflected on the life she had now. It was so vastly different from the life of her childhood.
Since leaving home six years ago for journalism school at Columbia College, Riley maintained only one piece of remaining contact with Warrior, Alabama – a subscription to the town's local paper, The Warrior Way. It was an ad in the paper that caught her eye and started the wheels turning. Sandwiched between announcements for the local councilman's daughter's wedding and the latest natural disaster in Sri Lanka was a full page ad for Warrior First Baptist Church's Real Life Through Jesus program. Riley followed the link provided on the Internet and learned that the Real Life program was really an ex-gay ministry. That alone didn't shock her, but it did unnerve her that she was on a plane bound for the one place she swore she'd never return to.
The last time Riley had stepped foot into Warrior First Baptist was also the last time she had seen the town or her family six years ago. When Riley was eight years old, a young, handsome, and enthusiastic preacher, Rev. John Porter, had taken over for the elderly, and quite frankly, senile, older reverend, Frank Smith. As a child Riley had heard stories of Rev. Frankie, how his family had lived for generations in Warrior and founded the church he eventually assumed. The Reverend had never had formal education, most townsfolk didn't, but he knew the Bible word-for-word. There was little doubt among the locals that he was ideal for the job.
Rev. Frankie's family became concerned about his ability to continue his ministry. After wandering off twice and one of those times being found naked and disoriented on the side of Highway 31, his wife and children decided to begin searching for a replacement. The natural place to look in those days was the nearest seminary. With his charms, good looks, and cutting edge ideas for developing the youth base of the church, a move that would ensure the growth of members for generations to come, John Porter easily wooed the search committee.
Quick to be good to his word, Rev. Porter and his family tackled the youth segment through the local schools. The key leader was his charming and outgoing son, John Jr., who started the first Federation of Christian Athletes, while his daughter, Samantha Renee, won over the enthusiastic younger crowd with her kind spirit and infectious smile. John Jr. made sure to show the rough and tumble country boys of Warrior that they could still be all male and Christian at the same time, or at least his definition of it. As cherubic and innocent as Samantha was, her brother was as troubled and crafty. The good looks he inherited from his father and the cover of being the preacher's son served him well in escaping many unsavory scrapes. To round out the family was the obligatory Sunday School teaching preacher's wife. Janet Porter, a petite and perky blonde of only 20, was key to bringing in and maintaining the family element. Her daycare services and eventual preschool drew in young families from all over town. Within five years of his arrival, Rev. John Porter and his family had nearly doubled church membership, more than half of which were under 25.
Riley felt a chill go down her spine at the remembrance of that enigmatic family and the powerful sway they held over so many. At 18, Riley had entered the double pine doors of Warrior First Baptist for the last time, with little more than a duffle bag containing a few mementos and clothes in tow. At the time, she had to remind herself that college students didn't need luxury to succeed, only desire. Only two desires existed for Riley at that moment – to succeed and to escape. The next day she would leave to start a new life, but as she sat in the hard wooden pews, she was letting go of an old one.
The quiet of an empty church always managed to fill Riley with a sense of awe. In her opinion, it was the best time to go to church. Her family had never been big on “Sunday morning show-and-tell,” as she remembered her father describing it, but as she grew she watched her classmates find a commonality in her small town because they all went to the same church. After much pestering, her mother finally agreed to let her walk to the church down the road, the same church all of the other kids went to. Over time, the lanky, dark-haired girl found a place to fit in. Sitting in the plane’s cramped window seat, Riley recalled the emotions and feelings of belonging in those early days at the church. There were always games and music and fun. It was an emotion she had long let go of. As a young girl, Riley gave little thought to Mrs. Janet’s Sunday School stories or noticed how they changed over the years from generic "stay out of trouble" stories associated with Jonah and the Whale and the "bravery in the face of adversity" stories of David and Goliath to warning stories of "raging hormones" and "having a lustful eye" usually connected to Samson and Delilah. Looking back with an adult's eye, the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
The summer Riley turned 13 she finally understood what Mrs. Janet had been saying when a petite redhead named Susie Graham moved to town. Her father was in the military and her mom taught at the high school. Susie joked about being a gypsy, but the truth was moving so often made it difficult to have friends. Riley didn't mind. In fact, it encouraged her to make sure that her new friend never had to do without a friend ever again. Riley thought little about why she always wanted to see Susie or why it bothered her if a boy talked to her friend. Everything Mrs. Janet had said about lust was about men and women so Riley thought that was the only way a person could get into trouble. In spite of their efforts, Riley didn't pay much attention to boys so she figured she was safe.
It wasn't until one day after church when Susie's mother was taking Riley home that she learned that not only was it wrong to like her friend but it was worse than when a man lusted for a woman. At least that's what Mrs. Janet had said when Riley's mother forced her to go to a counseling session. Her friend became scared to be alone with her and one day, as she stood crying on the young girl's front porch in the pouring rain, Susie's mother slammed the door in her face, refusing to even allow Riley in her house. Who knew that leaning over and giving Susie a simple kiss on the cheek when she got out of the car would cause so much trouble? The moment was purely instinct. She didn't think it out, just wanted to give her friend a kiss. Riley never went back to church and never faced Susie again. When school started that fall, her redheaded crush wasn't there. She asked a couple of kids from the church, and they said she moved with her family to Atlanta. The images of a crying Susie, her angry mother, and a disappointed Mrs. Janet flickered in Riley's memory. She felt her stomach unconsciously knot in a sickening spasm, and she felt like running. What the hell possessed me again to go after this story?
Riley contemplated on the flight down if her urge to go back to Warrior was revenge or simply a good story. There was nothing left for her there. Her father had walked out on her and her mother when she was only 10 years old. After the scene with Susie and her own mother's personal sense of failure and humiliation, Riley shut down. She refused to talk to her mother and made little to no effort to make friends. The whole town knew the story of her downfall. There was little she could do but focus on her escape from small-minded America. Even if it was painful, the best thing to come out of the experience was her education. She read every book she could get her hands on, spending endless hours at the town library. Anything to keep from going home to the preaching and the disappointment. Not surprisingly, Riley's mother found religion and became an avid supporter of the very church that had banished her daughter. Needless to say, when Riley left for college, she cut all communication with her mother. The only way she found out her mother died two years ago was the very brief obituary in The Warrior Way.
When she left Warrior, the striking brunette vowed never to return. Never say never, Riley mused. Being valedictorian earned her a one-way ticket to freedom. Now, the prodigal child exited the Birmingham airport and instantly knew why she had left. Taunting her from across the street was a huge billboard for First Warrior Baptist Church with the tagline: Spreading God's message of love to a lost world. She shook her head in disgust. Okay, maybe it is revenge that drives me. Still, if my gut instinct is right, this is going to make one hell of a story. No pun intended, of course.
Before the tall woman could even get her bags into the rental, her cell phone started ringing. Pushing aside pleasant images of chucking the contraption into the nearest lake, she rifled through her bags until she found the sleek piece of silver.
"What?!" The oppressive heat was already fraying her ragged nerves.
"What me! What you, Jacobsen! Where the hell are you?" Shit, fuck, damn! One of these days I'm gonna get caller ID!
"Heya, Jack, what's up?" Trying to be more nonchalant and pleasant than she felt, she slipped into the leather seats of the Jeep waiting for the inevitable explosion that didn't come.
"I'll answer your question when you answer mine." Now, Riley knew it was going to be bad because Jack was way too calm, too fast. She could almost envision the red splotches breaking out all over his face as he tried to remain calm. Holding the phone to her shoulder, she effortlessly pulled back her long dark hair in a ponytail then started the car.
"I'm in Alabama," she held her breath waiting for it to sink in.
"Ala…what the…oh, no, no, NO, Riley!!! I told you not to do this! Are you deliberately trying to shoot yourself in your one and only professional foot? Have you completely lost your mind?"
Merging onto the highway, she had to nearly yell to be heard, "Probably, Jack, but it's not my sanity we should be worrying about here. Look, I'll get you one helluva story. I promise.” She played it up, hoping a little over the top would work on the guy that thought and acted like he was a father to everyone, and not always in a good way. “Don't give up on me."
She barely caught the sigh on the other end. Come on, Jack, bend a little. "Damn it, Riley. One of these days, I swear, you're going to give me a heart attack. Fine, I want weekly updates and if I don't hear from you, I'm calling a search party, got it? I'll blow your cover and won't feel bad about it, 'kay?"
The brunette let the smile show in her voice, "Thanks, Jack, you won't regret this."
"I hope not, kid. I sure hope not." Then he was gone. She snapped the phone shut and dropped it in the passenger seat. When she first met Jack Jessly, it had irritated her that he never said "bye," but now she knew it was part of his personality. It was an aggravating part, but a part nonetheless, and she was learning that his brusqueness was what made Jack, well, Jack. It actually made it hard to stay mad at the bear of a man.
Finding the one and only rock station in the area, she turned up the radio and let the warm wind and scent of pine transport her to another moment from her childhood. Passing the same fields, she pulled a rare memory out, one with her riding with her dad on his motorcycle. When they were out of eyesight of her mom, her dad would let her stand on his legs, while he held onto the belt loop of her jeans. At that moment, she was happy and content, imagining soaring like a bird among the trees and fields.
Without realizing it, she had pulled over to the side of the road. The tears hung on the precipice ready to fall any moment.
"Bastard."
"Excuse me?" Riley nearly jumped out of her skin. Lost in her reverie and sadness, she didn't hear the other car pull up beside her. A blonde head poked out of the window, holding a hand up to shade her eyes.
"Sorry, just thinking," Riley apologized. The blonde tilted her head to the side, looking at the dark-haired woman with scrutinizing eyes.
"It is you…Riley Jacobsen," the other woman quickly slipped out of the car, "It's interesting to have you back in town. I'll be honest, I didn't expect it." She crossed her arms as she studied Riley. When she looked over the names of the incoming group, Riley's name jumped out at her. After Googling her name, the mystery was solved. Small town girl goes bad, runs away to the big city to live a life of sin and debauchery, her mom dies, the guilt eats at her until she decides to change her ways. She had seen this scenario many times over the years.
Riley felt uneasy under the scrutiny, "Yeah, well, I better get going."
"Where are my manners? My name's Samantha. Everyone calls me Sam," she held out her hand to Riley.
She stared momentarily at the small hand before finally giving a firm shake, "And some call you the preacher's daughter. Yeah, I remember you too."
"Some call me that still, but it's not usually in a nice way. Well, you're in luck, Riley. I'm the church welcome wagon. Follow me and I'll show you where you're staying," Without even looking back, Sam got back in her car and moved ahead of Riley down the road.
Taking a deep breath, Riley shifted into gear, "No turning back now, Jacobsen."
Sam watched from her rearview mirror, contemplating her memory of Riley with the woman here now. Aside from adding a few years to her face, she looked exactly the same – dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and legs that seemed to never end. Riley had been three years ahead of Sam in school, but Sam distinctly remembered her first memory of the other woman – a weekend youth retreat to the beach that her dad called “Fun in the Son.” The slogan still made her groan at its ridiculousness. She seriously doubted that worshiping God was the primary thought on the minds of the teenagers on the trip, especially after Riley came out of the beach house in a royal blue two-piece bathing suit. The guys openly ogled her and the girls talked about her behind her back. For them it was jealousy and fear that Riley would steal their boyfriends. Sam, however, simply watched her, as her dark hair fell in a shiny braid down her back and her skin glowed in the sunlight. At least the girls from the church agreed on one thing, Riley was a perfect pick for the girls versus guys game of beach volleyball. With her long legs, she effortlessly spiked ball after ball. Sam still smiles at the memory of Riley pegging John in the back with the ball. He wasn’t too happy though.
John glowered at the back of the tall girl as she turned away and high-fived Sharon Johnson, girlfriend of John’s best buddy and wide receiver for their football team, Caleb Stewart.
Sharon taunted from the other side of the net, “Come on! I thought you were big, tough men. You’re not gonna let a girl do that to you, are you?”
Sharon leaned across the net closer to John, who was still pampering his bruised ego, “Besides, I think she likes you.”
Caleb laughed and gave him a chuck on the shoulder, “How many girls does that make for you this week alone, John? Three…four?”
John smirked at Riley, who was oblivious to the conversation as she waited at the line to serve, “Quit flirtin’, Sharon! Let’s go!”
Later that night on the beach, they sat by the fire and sang hymns. John tried to coax Riley off for a walk, but she found some excuse to stay near the fire. Sam remembered spending a lot of time watching Riley, but not really sure why. There was a strange aura around her. She didn’t follow the lead of the other girls. She didn’t babble over boys and makeup, yet she seemed quietly content with herself, almost…confident, as if she didn’t need the usual social trappings to feel at ease. Sam was…intrigued.
Then one day it was as if the sun refused to shine and Riley one day simply stopped being happy. For Sam, it was an odd mix. Even if only watching her from the periphery, she had become used to seeing Riley sauntering through the church, virtually unreachable, even by her own peers, and seemingly being happy that way. Then she became a shell of the girl she once knew. The change had come on a surprisingly chilly October evening. Sam had been sitting at dinner with her parents and John, when the doorbell rang.
Her dad answered the door, ready to politely send whoever it was away, “Yes, may I help you?”
Painful sobs reverberated past the door before anyone heard a voice, “You…you don’t know me, but my daughter goes to your church.”
Fearing the worst, the death of a child, her father immediately ushered the woman in and invited her to sit on the couch. Sam’s mom, realizing the gravity of the situation, told Sam to go to her room.
“Honey, go upstairs.”
Sam could see who it was now and not seeing the dark-haired girl, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the room. Her heart clinched in a palpable ache.
“Sam, listen to your mother. Go.” Her father was more forceful, and Sam instinctively moved to the steps. It didn’t occur to her then that it was odd that John got to stay. She climbed the stairs in a daze, but as she reached her bedroom door, she opened and then closed it again without going in. Instead, she slumped against the wall across from her door where she could huddle in the shadows and listen to the conversation.
“Who’s your daughter?” her father gently directed the woman to continue.
“Riley…Jacobsen,” she barely got the name out before breaking down in sobs again.
“Please, Mrs. Jacobsen, start from the beginning. Is she okay? Is she hurt?”
The woman chuckled in a way that sent shivers up Sam’s spine. She had heard a laugh like that once before when her father took her to visit her crazy Aunt Mae in the hospital.
“She’s not hurt…not yet, and I doubt she’s okay, not anymore. I just…I don’t know what I did wrong. She didn’t learn about stuff like this from me! This…filth! This…perversity.” The words were sputtered from her mouth as if the very sound of them made her sick. Sam crouched deeper into the shadows. She didn’t like where this was going.
Her father kept a soft, soothing tone, “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. You’ve done the best you can. Sometimes you have to leave them in God’s hands.”
She came back with a soft, defeated voice, “I don’t want her to burn in hell. But, that’s what’s going to happen to her, isn’t it? That’s what we’re told in Leviticus.”
“We’re told a lot of things in Leviticus. What did she do?”
“I don’t want to say it. It’ll make it real, and I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to believe my own flesh and blood is a pervert.” Sam could practically see the older woman shaking her head in disbelief.
“If we name it, we bring it out of the dark and take away sin’s power. We can’t fight it if we can’t call out the demon by name. What is your daughter’s sin?” Her father’s voice had taken on an air of authority. He sounded like he did in the pulpit. Sam had an urge to cover her ears. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this, but she couldn’t stop herself from listening.
There was a stretch of interminable silence, only broken by occasional sniffles from Riley’s mom and now that Sam was really tuned in, she could hear the weeping of her own mother, before Mrs. Jacobsen finally spoke in a deadly calm, “Homosexuality.”
Her father took a deep breath before speaking, “Mrs. Jacobsen, I’m so sorry this has happened to you, and I’m sorry that you have to endure this pain. The good news is that Christ can fix anything. Nothing is too broken for Him. There is no evil strong enough to defeat a mother strengthened by the love of Christ. Do you want to save Riley?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then give yourself to Christ and thank Him for this opportunity to serve His will through your daughter.”
Sam felt inexplicably saddened. She wasn’t sure if it was for Riley’s mom or for Riley herself. It could have even been for her. Hearing the confession of Riley’s mom struck something within her that was familiar yet alien. For such a great evil, she was surprised she had never heard of homosexuality until that night, but the word didn’t scare her. However, to hear her own mother crying in pained sympathy for another mother of a child afflicted by this evil did scare her.
Once she heard the mumbled beginnings of prayer, she slinked over to her bedroom door and quietly entered. In the dark, she prayed for Riley.
Sam glanced in the mirror as she approached the house Riley would be staying in. She pulled to the curb and waited for her to park. So many things were starting to make sense. Looking back now, she could even see why John developed an almost obsessive interest in Riley during high school. It would be interesting to see how he would react to having Riley in the program. For her part, Sam hoped she could just make this experience as painless as possible for Riley.
******
Riley had followed Sam at a reasonable distance trying to keep the dust and dirt from coating her in a fresh layer of travel grime. As hot as it was, Riley speculated that it could turn to mud pretty quickly. After passing through a row of trees, the fields opened up to neatly manicured lawns and row after row of white fence guarding nearly identical prefab houses. At the end of the road, a white steeple rose high in the sky, reaching for the unattainable. Easing to a stop at the third house on the right, Riley slipped her shades off and rounded the front of the Jeep.
Sam practically leaped from the car, beaming a bright white smile, "Home sweet home!"
Riley was already annoyed by her, "This isn't exactly a vacation in Tahiti for me, ya know?" The dark-haired woman cut into the petite blonde with ice blue eyes. Sam had the decency to look away.
"Well, guess we better get you settled in then," the blonde moved past Riley to the back of the Jeep.
"We? There's no 'we' in this," Riley took the duffle bag from Sam's hand and started to turn.
A small hand on her arm stopped her, "Riley, you can't expect to do this on your own," the blue eyes riveted on the gentle hand before rising to bore into soft green. Sam suddenly realized how her gesture looked and pulled away quickly, her fingers still tingling.
"I just mean that we're here to help you, Riley. That's all. Let me help," Riley sighed and stretched to her full six feet. She was disarmed by the sincerity in the blonde's eyes. There was too much at stake to let emotions get in the way. She pushed down her desire to reach out to the younger woman. She had a job to do and she couldn’t let the ghosts of her past deter her.
"Maybe some other time."
Sam pushed a little further, “Good. I’m gonna need some help with something and I’m volunteering you.”
"Huh?" Riley stopped mid-step. This woman may be nuts in more ways than one.
Sam shuffled her feet and looked down at her tennis shoes, wondering at her sudden compulsion to weasel her way into Riley’s good graces.
"Actually, it’s part of the treatment – developing a feeling of family and community outside of the gay lifestyle. Anyway, the July 4th will be in less than a month and our church always puts on a picnic for the community, and I could use the help.”
"And…?" A dark eyebrow rose high waiting.
“Well, would you mind helping me? Look, if it’s not this, it’ll just be some other community project and at least I’m not a tyrant.” Riley knew she should say no but any plausible excuses that would work under normal circumstances wouldn't work here. There were no deadlines, no visiting relatives, no trips to suddenly leave on, and nowhere she needed to be. Besides, Sam looked terribly ill at ease as she babbled and fidgeted. She couldn't keep torturing her.
"Okay, sure," If the sun hadn't already been high in the sky, Sam's smile would have lit up the entire encampment.
"Great! I'll call you sometime this week!" Before Riley could respond, Sam hopped in her car and sped off down the street. Shaking her head, she turned to go in the house then realized she didn't get the key from Sam.
"Crap!" She leaned her head against the cool metal door and fumbled hopelessly with the handle, which surprisingly gave way, causing Riley to stumble into a small foyer.
"No keys?" Looking closer at the handle, she narrowed her eyes. "No lock…fabulous. Well, this should be a truly interesting experience." She kicked the door closed with her foot, "What in the hell have I gotten myself into?"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-04-23 07:01 pm (UTC)Nice job, this part was great! Poor Riley with her mom :(
The problem with epics is finding the time to read them!
no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 07:06 pm (UTC)NO KIDDING!!! I love long fics, but I can hardly find the time to sleep. One of these days I'm going to make myself sit down and read your BW EP.
Thanks, hon! I hope you like the rest of it.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 03:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-24 07:07 pm (UTC)Finished it :)
Date: 2009-04-28 03:35 am (UTC)Strangely, today I saw that a West Toronto Baptist Church was recently built on my route to school. It used to be a Catholic church. It's a pretty little thing, shame it's got such an awful history. I hope there aren't any "Philip" cases that emerge from there.