I can’t breathe. The air is gone, replaced by the ghost of incense and old wax. His breath shudders against my skin. “You always leave me.”
His hands drag the chain so tight it burns into my skin, the metal biting deep into the raw flesh of my ankle. “You forget me.” His voice drops to a whisper, a secret meant only for the shadows. “But I don’t.”
His lips press to the scar again, soft, reverent, and utterly terrifying, like he’s tracing a door only he remembers how to lock. “I won’t let you leave this time.”
His hands pull me closer, locking me down, pressing me into him like he can force the memory back into place by sheer physical will.
“I won’t let you forget me again.”
And I don’t know if he’s trying to cage me—or if he’s trying to crawl back into the quiet place we left behind, dragging me into the dark so he never has to be alone with the silence again.
Chapter 7
DAMIEN
The chapel is cold, a hollow, echoing ribcage of stone that has never known the warmth of a sun that didn’t feel like a spotlight. It’s always cold here. The candles don’t warm it; they only cast long, flickering shadows that look like reaching hands.
The prayers don’t soften it; they are just more noise to be swallowed by the high, vaulted ceiling. The walls don’t keep anyone out—they only keep us in.
Raven’s fingers braid my hair, tight and neat like always, her small hands moving with a frantic, rhythmic precision. I can feel the tug on my scalp, a grounding pain that keeps me from drifting away into the grey. She counts in a whisper while she weaves the strands, her voice a thin silver thread in the dark.
“One, two, three…”
Her breath is close to my ear, smelling of the peppermint sweets she stole from the sacristy. “If you stay quiet, he won’t pick you.” I nod, a small, frantic movement, chewing the insideof my cheek until the copper taste of blood fills my mouth—anything to keep from crying. Anything to be the good lamb.
“You have to be good.” Her hands shake, but she doesn’t stop. The braid is a tether. “You have to stay quiet.” Her voice cracks, and then I hear it: the soft scuff of polished shoes echoing behind the pews. The heavy, asymmetrical drag of his left foot. The cane tapping out a rhythm I know too well. Father’s steps are slow, measured, kind.
“Where are my little lambs?”
His voice is velvet, but it feels like it’s choking my ribs. Raven’s hands tighten in my hair, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. “Stay here,” she whispers. “You’ll be safe in the quiet place.”
My throat closes, the air turning to dust. “I don’t want to stay.”
“You have to.” Her fingers press against my lips, sealing the protest. “You have to stay quiet.” Her palms are damp with sweat, trembling as the cane taps closer, closer, until I hear him kneel behind us. I feel the weight of his breath on the back of my neck, a cloying warmth.
Raven’s hand covers my mouth. “Stay still. Don’t cry.”
His fingers sink into my hair, his thumb dragging over the crown of my head—slow, soft, careful—the way one might pet a favourite dog. “A good little lamb,” he breathes. My pulse slams against the cage of my chest. Raven’s hand is shaking so hard I can feel her teeth chattering, but she doesn’t move.
“If you’re good,” she whispers, desperate now, “he’ll pick someone else.”
Father’s other hand presses to my throat, gentle, warm, and terrifyingly familiar. His rosary dangles, the wooden beads dragging across my ribs with a sound like dry bone. “Let’s pray,” he murmurs.
Raven’s grip tightens. Her breath breaks. Her braid slips loose, the strands falling over my eyes. “I’ll come back for you,” she says fast, her voice cracking like it’s the first time she’s ever lied. “I’ll come back.”
The cane taps away. His hand slides down my back, and Raven’s hands leave me. She runs. I hear the chapel door slam, a final, heavy boom that echoes for eternity. I scream under the phantom print of her hand, but the quiet place keeps the sound inside.
Father’s thumb drags over my lip, his breath softening. “Good boy.” The rosary beads clink against my ribs. “You stayed.”
I don’t know how long the quiet place keeps me. I don’t know how long I waited for her to come back. I don’t know if I ever left. But I know she promised. I know she left me there.
And I know she forgot.
Father’s hand drags lower, his thumb tracing the hollow of my throat, circling, pressing just enough to make my pulse stutter. “Quiet little lamb.” His breath is soft, his words careful. His cane taps once against the floor, a rhythm only I know. His fingers slide beneath the collar of my shirt, his nails scraping the edge of my ribs. “You pray so beautifully when you cry.”
I choke on the sound caught in my throat. The scream Raven told me not to let out. I press my hands flat to the cold floor. Stay still. Stay good. Stay quiet. Father’s thumb presses to my lip, dragging it down, slow, soft, the same way I touch Raven now. “You’ll let me keep you, won’t you?”
I nod. Small. Frantic. Because if I’m good, he’ll stop. If I’m good, he’ll pick someone else. If I’m good, Raven will come back.
