“I’ll be going back to Glenfallow in the morning.”
I didn’t flinch, and no movement from my body indicated that I heard or cared about the information he just shared.
My head rested on the window, empty eyes staring into nothing as the news of all the deaths, the agonising cries of parents–knowing I was responsible for this–replayed like a video on a loop in my head.
The law enforcement had latched onto the case, every headline only deepened the frustration. It was safe to say, they had accepted that they were merely chasing a ghost. A curfew had been set. 6pm, everyone needed to be indoors. Everyone had all collectively agreed that a serial killer was on the loose. They just couldn’t understand why he seemed to be targeting high-school teachers and students.
I hadn’t slept in days. Didn’t even remember the last time I tasted food. Maybe I did but forgot. I hadn’t been myself. Sometimes I felt empty, hollowed out. And sometimes I felt too much, that I began to suffocate under the weight of guilt, a relentless parasite gnawing at my soul, a cancer metastasizing in my chest.
“Did you catch what I said?” Zaghan’s gruff voice racked me back into the black SUV gliding down the familiar road that led to my house. It had been another seven hours of school. But I would be lying if I remembered anything I was taught today.
“You are coming with me,” he said with a certain, final tone. If I wanted to protest, I wasn’t sure.
“I can’t.” My voice was barely above a whisper when I finally spoke. Too drained and emotionally wrecked to shape the words into the fury clawing at me from the inside.
“I wasn’t asking,” he stated, his eyes fixed on his iPad, tone infuriatingly calm.
My fingers curled on my lap. “So what? Is this an order?” I rose a brow, something maddening stirring in my gut as I glared at his side profile.
“It’s not a request.” He still didn’t spare me a glance. “We leave in the morning.”
“No.” I shook my head, defiance crackling through me like a live wire. “No, seriously, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to put me on a leash and drag me around like some pet then expect me to obey. You don’t get to do all these crazy things and expect me to be alright.”
He finally lifted his gaze. “You are not on a leash.” There was a pause, then with a quiet, lethal certainty, he added, “You’re mine. Which means you belong wherever I am.”
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Yours?” My voice rose, drenched in venom. I’d had enough of this man.
“You know you are literally so fucking delusional, right? Like what makes you think that just because you fuck me, you own me? Do you think that’s how relationship fucking works?” I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “I am not yours. Not your girlfriend. And God forbid, not your wife. So no, I’ll not be following you to your silly little castle because you’ve decided to play some ruthless king and his subservient queen, your majesty.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw, something dark flickering in his gaze, brief but lethal. Then he inhaled sharply and shifted his attention to the soldier behind the wheel.
“Turn the car around.” The words sliced through the air like a blade.
“What?” The question spilled from my lips, raw and breathless.
“To St. Michael’s Basilica,” he ordered, and though I could already spot the roof of my house a couple of blocks away, the tyre screeched as the driver made a bold U-turn until the car skidded down the road again.
St. Michael’s Basilica was a Catholic church.
This was a nightmare. A joke gone too far, right? I glanced at him, but he had never been a man full of humor.
“What do you think you are doing?” I demanded, my voice cracking under the weight of fear.
“You said you’ll not come with me because you are not my wife,” he reminded me. “Well, as usual, I have to fix that.”
???
A sound that mirrored a mournful groan echoed as the large oak door to the old church split open, a sudden wave of nausea hitting me. Sweat pickled under the curve of my collar, a few pebbling on my forehead.
Until we arrived here, and even when he made a stop at an expensive store to purchase wedding rings, nothing felt real. But staring at the serene vastness of the church, with the strong aroma of lit incense hitting me, reality came like a raging storm, threatening to sweep me off my feet.
I lingered on the threshold, my feet too heavy to take the next step because the next step signified acceptance, and acceptance meant my life was over.
“We don’t have all day.” His voice was rough, and unkind, as it reached my ears, his cold fingers curling around my wrist, pulling me though gently, inside the church.
As his grip on my hand tightened, so did my chest as the sordid reality cloying around me began to suffocate me.
Scanning the room, all I saw was the centuries-old brick walls, and the flickering candlelight, their glow dull and saddening.
