Wanted (The Un #2)

2. 2

The notes are so strong, sung so perfectly, the hymn is like an arrow that pierces my soul and resonates in my bones. Tears prick at my eyes again, but these tears are not from pain.

They’re from the sheer beauty of it.

I don’t know any of the words, but with the song filling me I swear I feel God.

It’s like I’m being cocooned by a soft, fluffy cloud. Then it becomes stronger, like I’m being hugged by a phantom pair of arms.

I feel His forgiveness.

I feel His love.

He knows I didn’t mean to commit any sins.

He knows I’m a good girl.

I’ll always be His good girl.

All I have to do, all that is required of me, is love Him in return…

The song ends and the pair of phantom arms hugging me fades away. Leaving me to face Sister Agatha and the Judging alone.

But I’m no longer worried or afraid.

God loves me and He’s on my side.

I will be found worthy.

I am already worthy.

“It is time,” Sister Agatha says with a finality that causes one girl to whimper.

My heart aches for her. She must not have felt God’s love in the hymn like I did.

Grabbing the red curtain, Sister Agatha pulls it back and says, “Sara, you’re first. I’ll accompany you. The rest of you, remain here and remain quiet. Continue to repent until I return.”

The first girl in line, Sara, doesn’t move. Remaining in place, she trembles, her entire body shaking.

Until Sister Agatha barks, “Now!”

Rushing forward, Sara almost collides with Sister Agatha before she stumbles through the curtain.

Rolling her eyes, Sister Agatha shakes her head and mutters something under her breath before disappearing after her.

The red curtain swings back into place and silence falls upon the rest of us. It’s so quiet now in this little curtained-off corner, it’s as if we’re all holding our breath.

There are no more whimpers. No more sniffles.

No uncomfortable shifting or rustling of gauzy dresses.

Only silence.

Ears straining, I try to listen to everything happening outside the curtain.

I hear Sister Agatha call out, but her words are in Latin, and I don’t understand them.

A deeper voice calls back in Latin.

Then there’s quiet again.

A minute or two later, I feel all the little hairs on my body stand on end. But it’s not like what I felt when my father turned to look at me before blessing me.

No, this feels like I rubbed my entire body against a rubber balloon.

A couple of girls in line ahead of me squirm and turn to look around, and I know they felt it, too.

Then my stomach squeezes so tight I want to puke.

“What?” the second girl in line gags.

Clutching her own stomach, she bends over, her red ponytail sliding over her right shoulder.

The two girls around her quickly move away with looks of worry on their faces.

“Don’t you dare puke on me!” the girl with blonde curls says.

“I won’t!” the girl clutching her stomach says irritably, but her face is an ugly shade of green.

I fight hard not to grab at my own belly. Not wanting to draw the unwanted attention of the other girls.

It seems only the red-haired girl and I are sick. The others look a little worried but fine.

“Good,” the blonde girl says and smooths her hands down her white dress. “My daddy spent a lot of money on this dress. I bet your daddy couldn’t afford to pay my daddy back.”

The sickness churning like acid behind my bellybutton disappears.

Straightening, the red-haired girl sniffs at the blonde girl. “I bet my daddy could buy—”

Loud applause suddenly erupts inside the cathedral, drowning the rest of her words out.

Glancing at the curtain nervously, the blonde girl with curls hurries to move back into line.

The other girl with pigtails isn’t as fast.

Head tipped to the side, still listening to the applause, she’s standing out of place when Sister Agatha comes sweeping back in.

“Vanessa,” Sister Agatha says in surprise, before her eyes become murderous slits. “I told you to stay in line and repent for your sins!”

Marching up to the girl with pigtails, Sister Agatha’s arm lashes out lightning fast and she slaps the girl hard across the back of the head.

Vanessa cries out in pain and begins to sob loudly as Sister Agatha grabs her by the arm and yanks her toward the curtain.

“Stay in line or you’ll regret it!” Sister Agatha orders us over her shoulder before she drags the girl out into the cathedral.

I hear Sister Agatha say, “I hope you’re happy, Vanessa. Your appearance and behavior is going to bring shame to your parents!”

Then the world falls into silence again.

Staring hard at the curtain, I try to steel myself for the stomach cramps as everything that happened with the first girl, Sara, is repeated again.

I bite my cheek, filling my mouth with blood.

But the acidic pain hits so hard and fast, I can barely breathe through it.

Groaning in her own misery, the red-haired girl bends forward and throws up all over her shoes.

“Ew!” the blonde girl with curls yells and jumps back.

Sending the entire line stumbling into each other.

When the girl in front of me, Trinity, steps on my toes, I’m grateful for the distraction. My throat burning with bile, the smell of the red-haired girl’s puke is making me even more sick.

But just like the first time, the pain gripping my belly suddenly disappears as if it never existed.

“Oh no…” the red-haired girl moans and tries to move back, away from the puddle she left on the floor.

But the girl with blonde curls shoves her forward.

The red-haired girl slips through the puddle. She flails and flaps her arms, desperately trying to stay upright, but ultimately falls, her butt landing in the middle of it.

Many of the other girls in line giggle as if the entire thing is hilarious.

Pulling the curtain back, Sister Agatha peers down at the girl on the floor. All the color drains from her face as she says with a touch of horror, “What on earth, Renee…”

Her face flushed with embarrassment, the red-haired girl looks up at Sister Agatha and sobs. “I got sick.”

Sister Agatha sniffs the air then makes a disgusted face. “I can see that.”

A part of me is afraid she is going to punish poor Renee for what happened. But when Renee begins to cry harder, Sister Agatha sighs loudly and motions for her to stand. “Come. I’ll take you to your parents so they can see to you.”

It takes Renee a couple of tries to get up and back on her feet. When she finally approaches Sister Agatha, the nun is quick to side-step her, as if she’s afraid the girl might touch her, and motions for her to go ahead.

The two disappear and the other girls giggle louder, no longer holding them back.

“That was mean, Charity!” Michelle says.

The blonde girl with curls grins. “She deserved it. She shouldn’t have been so close to me!”

The girls giggle all the harder.

Then Sister Agatha’s face suddenly reappears, pushing through the curtain. “Charity, you’re next!”

Charity instantly snaps to attention, her giggles cutting off and replaced by a look of supreme worry.

She casts a nervous glance back at her friends then darts forward.

The red curtain swings back into place.

Sister Agatha calls out in Latin and a voice answers back.

Then a few heartbeats later the pain slams into me. Squeezing my insides so tight, I begin to fear they’ll never stretch back to normal again.

My mother has warned me about crossing my eyes. Telling me if I did it too often, they would get stuck and then I would be even uglier.

Is that going to happen to my stomach? I wonder in terror as girl after girl in front of me is called out.

Whatever they’re doing beyond the curtain gripping my insides in an iron fist.

When it’s finally my turn, when I’m the only girl left, I don’t know whether to be grateful or more terrified.

I’m trembling and covered in sweat. There’s wetness under my arms and my white dress is now sticking to my knees.

I feel disgusting, and like someone used a rolling pin to roll me flat.

But I didn’t puke.

Somehow, I was strong enough not to puke and embarrass myself like Renee did.

“Alena,” Sister Agatha says, poking her head through the red velvet curtain. “Come.”

There’s no irritation in her tone now, only weariness, but I rush to obey, regardless. Ready to be done with all of this.

As I approach, though, Sister Agatha’s eyes narrow and run down my body.

Pulling the curtain back for me, I hear her hum thoughtfully in her throat before she grabs my hand.

I’ve been given no instructions. My mother didn’t prepare me for anything that is about to happen. My father only told me to do what the other girls do, but I didn’t get to see what they did when they left the curtain.

As Sister Agatha’s cold, clammy fingers squeeze tight around my hand and she leads me toward the front of the cathedral, I know I should be quiet and keep my eyes cast down, though.

If there’s one thing my mother hates more than my stupidity, it’s embarrassment.

If I make even one tiny mistake in front of everyone, she’ll punish me for days.

The hardwood flooring beneath my slippers scrolls by like the ending credits of a movie, and the heavy weight of the entire flock’s eyes watching me burns into my back.

But I don’t get a glimpse of the man now sitting in the strange throne until Sister Agatha leads me right up to him.

Jerking me to a sudden stop, she calls out something in Latin.

The man instantly answers back.

Behind the curtain, whenever he answered Sister Agatha, he simply sounded like a normal man.

But now, standing in front of him, his voice grates against my nerves.

It’s only a voice, yet my skin feels raw, as if something rough has been rubbed all over it. My ears throb and itch. Every little hair on my arms stands at attention.

And my stomach squeezes. Not as hard as earlier, but hard enough to remind me of all the pain I’ve endured so far.

Daring to sneak a peek, to see the face of the man who spoke, to make sure he really is a man and not some evil demon, I quickly glance up.

Seated on the strange chair like the evil king I first imagined, the man is clothed in a silky black robe that looks like what the priests usually wear on special occasions. The robe drapes off of him, though, and pools on the floor.

Creating a silky puddle of blackness.

With all the candles gone, the only lights comes from shafts of colored sunlight beaming through the stained glass windows.

The air is thicker here, smokier. A brazier full of incense placed on the floor at the man’s right giving everything a hazy appearance. But the golden hem of his robe shines so bright I can easily make out the pattern of an endless chain of figure eights lining the edges.

Instead of wearing a tall, embroidered hat on his head like the priests usually wear, he wears a hood so big it hides his face. His features hidden in the darkness of impenetrable shadows.

This must be the Prophet, I realize.

The one who will see me for who I really am.

Grip tightening around me, Sister Agatha suddenly jerks on my arm, forcing me closer to him.

Fearing I was caught staring, I immediately drop my gaze back to the floor. Praying I won’t get in trouble for what I’ve done.

But a mere heartbeat later, pain is slicing across my wrist.

Crying out, I try to yank my arm back.

Sister Agatha’s nails dig into my flesh, keeping me firmly in place.

I look up again in shock to see the Prophet holding a golden dagger coated in blood in his left hand.

“The future…” he hums musically, as if he’s about to start singing a hymn.

All my nerves seem to vibrate in response, like they’re strings on a guitar that someone just plucked, and the words echo strangely inside my head.

Then there’s a sudden pull in the center of my chest, as if someone is reaching behind my ribs and yanking on my heart.

The world in front of me suddenly changes. The man in the black robes disappears, replaced by another man.

A man so ethereally beautiful, the first sight of him makes my knees weak and brings tears to my eyes.

He’s even more handsome than Daddy…

“You fill the void inside me,” the beautiful man murmurs softly, his warm hands lovingly cupping my face. “I need you, Alena. Without you, I am hollow and empty. Without you, I am incomplete.”

Staring into his dark eyes, I have no words. I’m speechless.

I don’t know who he is or why he’s saying I fill the void. I’m not even quite sure what the void is.

But I feel an incredible love for him.

My heart both flutters and races, and the love only seems to grow stronger inside me the longer I look at him. Look at his almost too perfect features.

His sharp cheekbones, his blood-red lips. His smooth, utterly flawless skin. The strong line of his jaw and the glossy black hair that’s been swept back off his forehead.

He’s a stranger. A complete stranger. Yet I think I love him more even more than I love my parents.

Is he God? I wonder for a brief moment.

Is that why I love him so?

But God wouldn’t need me to fill him.

God fills me.

Maybe he’s an angel? That makes more sense.

Before I can ask who or what he is, he hums musically, “The past…”

The beautiful man disappears, replaced by a scene more terrible than my worst nightmare.

I’m outside in an open, grassy field somewhere, and it’s dark, almost pitch black, even though there’s a large red moon filling the sky.

A pile of bloody, mutilated bodies is in front of me, nearly as tall as me, but it’s the ground beneath my feet that captures my attention.

The mud created by all the blood that was spilled is trying to swallow my boots. With a huff, I yank first one foot then the other out of the hungry dirt.

One of the bodies groans just as I free my right foot and my attention immediately snaps back to the pile. My entire being focusing in on the sound.

“Y—you will b—burn in Hell for this…” a ragged voice moans.

A rage like no other rage I’ve ever felt before fills me.

I’m suddenly full of so much anger, so much fury, it’s as if I’ve been lit on fire and I’m burning from the inside out.

Gripping the slick handle of my battle axe, I raise it above my head with both hands.

“God will punish you!” another dares to cough.

Swinging my battle axe down with every ounce of strength I have, I roar, “Tell your god I’m coming for him next!”

My axe slams so hard into the bodies on top, the bones in my arms vibrate and the pile begins to split in half. Severed hands, arms, legs, feet, and heads roll down and plop onto the dirt.

Yanking the blade out of a ribcage, much like I had to yank my boots out of the mud, I lift my weapon above my head again.

Then I roar as I swing my battle axe back down. “The present!”

I snap into place.

The sensation is so jarring, I blink several times, my eyes watering, before I realize the man in the black robes is in front of me now.

Blood drips off the golden dagger gripped in his pale hand as he points the tip at me and declares, “Tainted!”

Beside me, Sister Agatha sucks in a sharp breath.

But otherwise it’s strangely quiet.

Silence falls over the cathedral, and everything seems to freeze as if this moment in time was paused.

Tainted? What does that mean? I wonder, staring at the man in the black robes in confusion.

Have I done something wrong?

“Vampire bait!” someone suddenly shouts, shattering the stillness.

“Beast lover!” another cries out before the rest of the congregation decides to join in all at once.

Their words clashing together in an angry, screaming chorus.

Words I don’t know or understand.

“Slut!”

“Whore of Babylon!”

“Evil bitch!”

Ripping my arm out of Sister Agatha’s grip, I twist around to see what is happening.

What has made everyone so angry?

Just as I turn to face the pews, though, something hard hits me in the face.

Crying out, I bring my arm up to shield myself and glimpse a black shoe dropping to the floor. A man’s black dress shoe.

Why would someone throw their shoe at me?

“Take her below,” I hear the Prophet say, his voice grating against my nerves again.

Sister Agatha nods and grabs my arm again. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

Another shoe flies through the air, a woman’s ivory heel this time, aimed for me, but Sister Agatha yanks me out of its path.

“That’s enough of that!” she snaps out.

“You’ll burn in Hell!” a man screams at me from the front row of pews. His cheeks stained red and all the veins in his neck popping out with his fury.

I recoil, my chest squeezing and my eyes burning.

What did I do?

Oh God, what did I do?

Sister Agatha drags me toward the red velvet curtain, pulling me along even as I dig in my heels.

I twist my body around again, nearly pulling my own arm out of socket to look at the cathedral. To look for my parents.

I thought I was safe when I felt God’s arms around me. I thought I was a good girl…

Yet, I see now that nearly everyone is on their feet, screaming at me. Their lips frothing. Their eyes full of hate.

“Daddy!” I cry out, unable to hold my tears back any longer.

Where is he?

He’ll help me. He’ll explain there’s been a terrible mistake.

He’ll protect me.

Searching through the watery gleam of my tears, gliding over hate-filled face after hate-filled face, I finally spot him standing behind Howard.

While Howard glares at me, his mouth bellowing along with the angry choir, my father stands utterly still. Every drop of color has been drained from his face, and he looks as if he’s aged over a dozen years.

“Daddy!” I scream for him, reaching with my free arm. “Help me!”

Pain flashes across my father’s face and his eyes fill with despair, but he makes no move toward me. Simply watching me being dragged away by Sister Agatha.

Why? Why isn’t he coming to help me? Why isn’t he defending me? Protecting me?

Does he not see? Can he not hear?

The red velvet curtain appears in the corners of my eyes, and I know with some innate certainty that once Sister Agatha drags me behind it, I will be doomed.

There will be no help. No hope. No rescue.

“Daddy, help me! Please!” I scream with everything I have in utter desperation.

He’s the only person I have.

The only one that loves me.

If I don’t have him, I have no one.

I have nothing.

My mother slides up from behind my father to grab his arm. My father’s expression tenses and he tries to pull away from her.

But then my mother stretches up and speaks into his ear.

I have no idea what my mother is saying, but after a few moments my father’s chin dips in defeat.

My mother smiles, her gaze glancing toward me as her lips continue to move, then she tugs on his arm.

Stiffening, my father resists the tug, and my heart flutters with hope.

Whatever my mother is saying, my father knows the truth.

He would never abandon me.

I’m his only child. His only daughter.

I’m his beautiful girl.

My father lifts his head and looks at me again.

On his face is that strange emotion I can’t figure out… It’s like he did something bad and he’s sorry and wishes he could take it back.

But a look like that has no place being on my father’s face. It’s so strange and foreign, it makes me feel sick.

When my mother tugs on my father’s arm again, this time with more insistence, my father finally turns with her, giving me his back.

And something inside me snaps.

“No!” I shriek, my heart shattering into a billion pieces. “Daddy! Daddy!”

Ignoring my cries, my father follows my mother, disappearing through the doorway.

But I can’t stop shrieking his name, hoping he’ll change his mind and come back.

Even when Sister Agatha finally manages to drag me behind the curtain, I scream for him. “Daddy!”

“Would you shut up!” Sister Agatha bellows, and uses my arm to pull me into her so she can slap me across the face.

My head jerks painfully on my neck and my teeth cut into my cheek, reopening the bites wounds I created earlier.

Blood fills my mouth, but I don’t need it. I don’t need the tangy, coppery taste to ease my pain. I’m so distraught, so hysterical, I’m numb to everything.

Except the throbbing, aching hole in my chest.

Everything has been taken from me. What little I had.

God’s love.

Daddy’s protection.

And no one’s told me what I did to deserve it.

Being good has done nothing to stop it. I did what I was told. I tried. I tried so hard. I repented. I begged for forgiveness.

For what? This?

If this is the reward, I’d rather not try anymore. I’d rather be bad .

Sister Agatha drags me toward the other side of the curtain, but I fight her every step of the way. Yanking and throwing my body in the other direction. Screaming my own anger and defiance.

“No! Let go of me!”

Her teeth clenched together, Sister Agatha yanks the other side of the curtain back and grinds out, “You little vampire whores are all the same! Vicious little beasts who should be exterminated without prejudice! You should be grateful His Holiness granted you mercy and allowed you to live!”

Sweeping forward and using the momentum of her own body to force me to follow her, she drags me through a stone archway that leads to a small, musty room.

The room is bare except for an unlit torch on the wall and a set of stone steps that lead down to a dark abyss.

Terror fills me at the sight of the stairs, and I turn on Sister Agatha, lashing out at her. Fear pushing me to the point of no turning back.

I slap at her. Kick at her.

My mouth fills with salvia and I try to bite her.

But it’s all for nothing.

Sister Agatha may be thin and bony, but she’s still an adult nearly twice my size. And despite all my efforts to hurt her, to stop her, I’m no match.

Most of my hits and kicks are dodged. What few I manage to land only cause her to yank on my arm harder.

Her adult strength dragging me down each step.

Even my attempt to bite her fails. The way she holds me and drags me with her arm straight out, keeping me at arm’s length, makes it impossible to reach any part of her body.

A wail of desperation tears out of my throat as she drags me ever downward. Throwing out my free arm, I claw at the stone wall. Searching for a way to stop the descent.

But this, too, proves to be futile.

Only earning me my fingernails being broken off or ripped from my nail beds.

When we finally reach the bottom, she drags me a few more feet then shoves me away from her.

I fall to my knees, my shins cracking painfully against the stone floor, almost completely exhausted.

“Jeffrey!” Sister Agatha bellows. “Come forward!”

Jerking my head up, I peer through the mess of my black hair and see a boy I recognize step out of the shadows in front of me with a wooden rod gripped in his hand.

He’s Howard’s son… and we’re both the same age. We’ve sat beside each other at almost every Mass I can remember, and he’s always been nice to me. Sometimes so nice it makes his father mad.

Jeffrey glances nervously at me and his voice trembles as he asks, “Yes, Sister Agatha?”

My sobs quieting, I peer up at him as if seeing him for the first time.

His short blonde hair has been parted in a way that makes him look older and he’s dressed in a dark suit like all the men in the cathedral were. With a white rose blossom pinned above his heart.

What is he doing down here? Is this where they kept all the boys?

Is he tainted like I am?

“You have been Judged and found worthy. Now it’s time for you to prove your devotion to God,” Sister Agatha huffs as she works on catching her breath. “It’s time for you to raise your rod in His name and carry out His justice.”

“W—what?” Jeffrey stumbles out and takes a step back.

Sister Agatha snorts and stomps up to him. Grabbing him by the arm like she did with me, she drags him closer and points at my face.

“This one has been Judged and found to be tainted! She is the spawn of Satan. A whore of Babylon. If we allow her to roam free, she will spread her legs and birth more evil into the world! Her wicked kind will destroy us all!” she heaves out, her words starting to sound husky and breathless.

Jeffrey’s eyes widen and he glances at me in surprise. “What do you want me to do?”

Sister Agatha smiles down at him, looking both pleased and relieved. “I want you to use your rod, dear boy. Use the power you’ve been granted.”

Jeffrey looks down at his rod, his expression shifting to one of horror, and his hands begin to tremble.

Voice cracking, he says, “I don’t think I can…”

His grip loosening, the rod starts to slide out of his hands.

But before it can hit the floor, Sister Agatha places both of her hands over his, forcing him to keep his grip on it.

“Is that so?” she asks softly, too softly. “Are you forsaking God, Jeffrey? Are you turning your back on Him?”

Tears filling his eyes, Jeffrey shakes his head. “No, of course not. But… I can’t…”

“Why?” Sister Agatha demands.

Jeffrey glances at me, his face full of torment. “Because I know her. I like her…”

Hope flares to life inside me. Maybe I haven’t been completely abandoned. I could run, could try to make it out on my own, but there’s too many angry people in the cathedral.

But I might be able to escape if Jeffrey helps me with that rod.

Nodding her head in understanding, Sister Agatha’s eyes light up with a strange light at his admission. “Of course you like her. That’s what her kind does. They use their wiles and charms to seduce good, honest boys like you away from God.”

Jeffrey’s forehead wrinkles as he considers her words.

Sister Agatha grins. “Dear boy, you’ve passed your Judgement. You’ve been found worthy. You’ve been chosen as a warrior of God, and I know you feel this truth inside you. Know whatever you feel for her is false. It does not compare to God’s love. She is trying to turn you away from Him.”

Jeffrey slowly nods his head, but he casts another quick glance at me, and I can see in his eyes he’s not completely convinced.

Hoping I can turn him to my side, I plead, “Jeffrey, please help me. I just want to go home. I want to see my daddy.”

“See!” Sister Agatha says, and points her finger accusingly at me. “Even now, she tries to turn you from His grace. She wants you to forsake God for her. She wants you to join her in eternal damnation! Do you want to burn for eternity, dear boy?”

“No!” Jeffrey cries out, tears spilling down his cheeks as he shakes his head.

“You will if you listen to her!” Sister Agatha insists. “Look! Is that a forked tongue coming out of her mouth?! She’s speaking for the serpent! Her words come straight from the Devil!”

“What?!” I half-gasp, half-sob at the accusation.

But Jeffrey turns fully toward me, looking at me with a new kind of horror.

“If you do not use your rod, if you do not silence her, she will doom us both!” Sister Agatha cries out in despair, helping Jeffrey lift his rod up. “Hit her! Hit her now! Or we will both suffer!”

Moving her hands away, Sister Agatha breathes heavily as she waits for Jeffrey to do as she commanded.

Jeffrey hesitates again, his arms trembling so hard I’m surprised they don’t tremble right off his body, unable to bring himself to do it.

Seeing this as my last chance to stop this madness, I cry out to him, “Don’t hit me, Jeffrey, please! Hit her! She’s the evil one!”

Jeffrey’s eyes nearly bug out in surprise.

Sister Agatha shrieks out a triumphant, “See!”

I watch Jeffrey nod his head slowly in agreement.

Then his nostrils flare a split-second before he finally brings the rod down on me, cracking me across the back of my shoulders.

My body bends forward as the pain travels down my spine and arms.

But it’s the pain in my heart that truly breaks me.

When Jeffrey lifts his rod again and brings it down hard on my back with a loud crack, I know I can never put my hope or faith in another person ever again.

It will only lead to soul-shattering betrayal and disappointment.