The only weapons in my arsenal are words, faith, and the desperate hope that the man who helped me to the hospital when I was seventeen is still somewhere inside the killer who stood on my porch last night. The alternative is something I refuse to even think about—that I’ll die here, that no one will ever find me, that my father will spend the rest of his life wondering what happened to his little girl.
Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs the best I can with one wrist still chained, and rest my cheek against my knee. The position is awkward, and uncomfortable, but somehow comforting in its familiarity. I used to sit like this as a child when I was scared or sad, making myself small and compact. It felt like I could protect myself just by taking up less space. I focus on my breathing, letting the rhythm steady me, and try not to think about what might happen next. Try not to imagine Calder walking through that door when darkness falls.
I think about my momma instead, let her memory wash over me like cool water.
Her soft voice and gentle hands, the way she hummed while she cooked, the patience she had when teaching me to sew or bake or pray. What she always said to me when I was trying tofind a solution to a problem but there was nothing that made sense, when I was backed into a corner with no way out.
“Give it to God, Saintlyn. Let him lead you in the direction you need to go. He sees the path even when we can’t. Trust Him.”
Her soft voice is so clear in my head I almost think she’s here in the room with me, sitting on the edge of the bed the way she used to when I was sick or scared. I can almost smell her perfume, that light floral scent she always wore. I can almost feel her hand on my forehead. My longing for her is so intense it’s a physical ache in my chest.
“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” She whispers.
That’s all the comfort I need. I start to pray, pouring every ounce of fear and hope and desperation into the words, speaking them softly into the quiet cabin.
Praying for an answer, for protection, for a miracle I’m not sure I deserve. I tug my mother’s quilt up over me, soaking in the warmth.
“Heavenly Father, deliver me from evil. Protect me the way Momma always said you would. I don’t understand why this is happening, why You brought me here, but you see everything, and you know my heart. Please, give me courage to face whatever comes. Please, keep me safe from harm. Please, don’t let this be the end of me. And if it is...” My voice breaks, tears finally spilling over and tracking down my cheeks. “If it is, please take care of my daddy. Don’t let him suffer. Let him know I loved him. Let him know I never stopped believing. Amen.”
The word hangs in the air, and then there’s only silence and the distant sound of wind through pine trees.
I’m alone and chained, waiting for the darkness to return.
Waiting for him to return.
Calder
Morning comes far too soon.I should’ve gotten out of bed hours ago since all I’ve been doing is staring at the ceiling, every attempt at shutting off my brain drowned out by the thoughts that continue to roll around in my head.
Keeping Saint alive, instead of killing her. It had to be the stupidest choice I ever made. You wouldn’t think so by the way she stays stuck in my brain like a burr.
How soft her skin was, the way her pulse felt beneath my fingers, how right it felt to touch her after a year of forcing myself to stay away.
I want to claim her. Make her mine. I am so fucked.
Sitting up in bed, I scrub a hand down my face, and try not to think about how big of a fucking mess this is. How wrong it is that I went against my father’s command. In all the years I’ve been his right hand, I’ve never hesitated, never failed to finish a job.
Even as guilt gnaws at my insides, begging for me to confess what I’ve done, I know I would choose to save her. Again and again. I don’t regret sparing Saint.
My only regret ishowshe came back to me. I wish like hell we didn’t have to meet again like this, that she wasn’t tangled up in my family’s problems. It doesn’t really matter now, since I can’t change what I’ve done.
I can only look forward, only find a solution to fix the present. The cabin’s just temporary. I can’t keep her there forever, but I also can’t risk my father, or anyone else, finding out she’s alive. Not until I make a plan.
It isn’t normal for a son to say they hate their father, but Roman and my relationship has never been normal. I’ve hated him for years—for the way he abused my mother, for the way he treated my brothers and me. Pitting us all against each other.
Loyalty to the family is all that matters to him. The Bishop’s name, and reputation, comes before everything else. That’s the rule. Always has been.
Until Saint.
But there’s no rewriting the rules, not when Roman holds the reins.
When he discovers the truth, because I can’t keep Saint hidden forever, shit is going to implode. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I clench my fist before snatching it up.
Oh, it’s only Wayne.
Wayne:Your father wants to see you. Office. 9 AM.
I’m not surprised. Wayne is known to tattle to my father any time something goes sideways. And last night went more than sideways. I can’t blame Wayne, he’s loyal to a fault.
