Wanted (The Un #2)

3. 3

“If you get up,” he goes on, “I can help you escape. I will take you somewhere safe, but we must act quickly.”

“Why?” I grit out, annoyed that the more he talks to me, the more I find myself awake.

His voice cracks with emotion as if he truly believes what he speaks. “Because you don’t deserve this fate. No one deserves this fate.”

“No… that’s not what I meant. Why are you helping me?” I groan, and do my best to ignore the taste of rot still coating my tongue.

They must have somehow forced Jeffrey’s putrid blood down me when I was unconscious. That or forced me to eat a dead rat…

“Because you need it,” the man says, “and I can stand by no longer and watch this… this farce of a church commit atrocities in God’s name.”

Slowly, painfully, I focus my strength on peeling my eyes open. To see the face of the man who would speak against the Order in such a way.

When my gaze falls upon Father McCall’s face, I find I’m not the least bit surprised. Though, I should be.

He’s a priest of the Order. He knows such words are heresy and worthy of death. Yet he’s not afraid to speak them. Unless this is some kind of test…

But no, staring into his tortured eyes, I see that what he says pains him. Pains him on a spiritual level.

Removing his hand from my shoulder, Father McCall holds it out in offer. “I know it hurts, lass, but you must be strong now.”

I stare down at his offered hand. I can’t even remember the last time a hand was held out to me in aid. It’s been so long, everything inside me screams this a trick.

But what do I have to lose?

Consciousness again?

Willing my arm to move, I groan in pain. My very bones ache, as if I was run over by a truck a few dozen times.

What did they do to me?

I roll my eyes down to my body. I’m still naked, unfortunately. Naked and spread out on a metal table like I’m a corpse. There are cuffs where my wrists and ankles are, but thankfully they’re undone.

There are also grooves and drains in the table. Grooves and drains caked with dried blood. I know that blood is mine. Know by the way it looks… or perhaps the way it smells… Yet I can see no visible injuries on my skin.

Rolling my eyes back up to Father McCall, I ask, “What happened?”

Closing the distance between our hands for me, Father McCall grabs mine and starts to pull me up. “A sacrament usually reserved for girls who already bear the mark.”

I want to ask why they performed it on me when I don’t have the mark, but so much excruciating agony flows through me all the air flees my lungs in a rush.

Black flashes in front of my eyes and I’m on the verge of passing out again.

“I’m sorry, Alena,” Father McCall says sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, but I need you to be strong now. Our survival depends on it.”

Grinding my teeth together, I fight the nausea and pain back as I get into a sitting position.

Father McCall only gives me a couple of minutes to get myself together before he’s urging, “Please, we must move before someone comes to fetch you.”

I’d nod my head in understanding but I’m pretty sure it would only make me more sick. So, I focus all of my energy on standing instead.

Father McCall moves closer, offering me the support of his arm around my waist, and purposely looks away, ignoring my nakedness.

“I have a robe for you,” he says once I get my feet under me. “Can you stand on your own?”

Two minutes ago, the answer would have been a strong no .

But now that I’m upright, I’m feeling much better. I can practically feel the blood in my head rushing down my body and flushing the pain out.

And I definitely don’t want to know why…

“Yes,” I tell him as I reach out and grab on to the table I was lying on.

Father McCall slowly removes his arm and watches me cautiously, as if he’s afraid I’ll topple over at any second. When I remain on my own two feet, he hurries over to a bench and snatches up a robe.

I look around the room as he walks back. I have no clue where we are in the cathedral. This room looks like no other room I’ve ever been in before, but it reminds me of an old locker room that’s been converted for a new purpose.

The dark walls bear no paintings or adornments, only the faded outlines of where showers and tiles once were. There are several drains in the tile floor, crusted with what could be mistaken as rust at first glance.

But the smell of blood hangs heavy in the air, old and new, twisting my weak stomach.

For whatever reason, the Order bleeds people here.

“You will have to keep your face down and we must move quick,” Father McCall says as he helps me get the robe over my head. “Your disappearance will not go unnoticed.”

While I shove my arms through the sleeves, he works on adjusting the hood around my face. His touch gentle but efficient.

“God willing,” he says as he tucks my hair in, “we’ll make it to my car before anyone catches us.”

Again, I’m tempted to ask him why he’s doing this. Why he’s willing to take on such a risk? He doesn’t know anything about me besides what he’s just witnessed. We’ve never spoken or interacted with each other until today.

But I get the feeling his answer will be the same as before.

For whatever reason, he’s taken pity on me. And while I don’t truly believe we’ll actually make it, I’m desperate enough to try.

If I was a better person, I’d make him leave me behind. If I was a better person, I wouldn’t let him risk his life for me.

But I’m not.

I’m just as rotten as the taste in my mouth, willing to do anything to be free.

Grabbing me by the elbow, Father McCall asks, “Ready?”

I dip my chin, thankful the movement doesn’t make the world spin.

Father McCall tugs me along with him, but unlike Jeffrey and Sister Agatha, his touch remains considerate and gentle. He’s careful not to pull on me too hard.

He even asks, “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

The small act of kindness causes my throat to tighten. I give him a small shake of my head, afraid speaking will cause me to tear up.

As he pulls open the door and peeks his gray head out, I’m moved to pray without being forced to for the first time in years.

God, please protect this man, I silently send up to the heavens. Don’t let him die because of me…

“It’s clear,” he says and tugs me out into a small hall.

His pace is fast, but he seems to be constantly aware of my own steps.

Again, we’re in more unfamiliar territory. But from the smell alone, the acidic smell of sweat and funk, I get the sense we’re where only men dwell. I even hear some muffled masculine voices behind one of the doors.

If I absolutely had to guess, I’d say we’re where some of the other young men of the Order, like Jeffrey, stay and train. If Jeffrey wasn’t shackled to me, this area of the cathedral is most likely where he’d live.

The thought of Jeffrey stumbling upon us sends shivers down my spine and my steps quicken. If he does come across us, there’s no way Father McCall can protect me from him.

Given his age, the only thing Father McCall could do is slow Jeffrey down to buy me some time.

It only takes about a dozen or so steps to reach the end of the hall and push open another door. This time Father McCall doesn’t bother to peek his head out, he just rushes us through it.

This hallway is twice as wide as the last the hallway, better lit, and connected to other hallways. The walls have been recently painted white and there’s carpet covering the floor. Clean carpet.

From the walls alone, I get the impression this is an addition. Not the cathedral itself, but connected.

I remember my father talking about a special compound built behind the church. A special compound that required most of the church’s funding for constant updates and renovations.

This must be it.

Why the Order needs such a large extension is anyone’s guess.

But I personally doubt it’s to help peacefully spread God’s message.

Sensing freedom lies at the end of this last hall, I nearly outpace Father McCall with my urgency.

Only a gentle tug from him makes me aware of what I’m doing. Forcing myself to slow down, I take a deep breath and swear I can taste a hint of fresh air.

Father McCall leads us past the first intersection, glancing nervously left to right, without slowing or stopping.

Voices reach us from down one of the hallways, but they’re not paying attention to us, caught up in their own conversation.

Everything is going smoothly, almost too smoothly, until we reach the next intersection. Again, Father McCall glances left to right, but then he does a double-take at the left and grumbles under his breath.

“Father McCall!” Sister Agatha calls out a second later. “I need to speak--”

Her words cut off in a gasp as her eyes fall upon me.

Dropping his bearded chin in determination, Father McCall urges me quickly past the intersection, but I catch a glimpse of Sister Agatha’s face paling in surprise.

“Father McCall!” she calls out louder. “Stop! Please stop!”

Ignoring her, Father McCall tugs me into a run.

But his short, elderly legs can only move so fast.

Behind us, Sister Agatha’s thick heels pound against the carpet. She’s probably just as old as Father McCall, if not older, but she’s mean and powered by pure spite.

Fearing she’ll catch up to us, I’m tempted to outrun Father McCall and leave him behind.

It would be too easy to rip my hand out of his grasp and use him to buy me some more time.

After all, one does not need to outrun the dragon. They only need to outrun the person behind them. At least, that’s what my father told me on once when reading me a bedtime story.

But I can’t bring myself to abandon Father McCall.

Even if it might cost me my freedom.

We make it to the end of the hall, but as soon as Father McCall pushes the bar to open the door, Sister Agatha grabs me by the back of my hood.

“Stop!” Sister Agatha screeches as she yanks me back. “You can’t do this!”

Fisting my hair through the fabric, she uses so much force I fear my neck is going to snap.

Reaching behind myself, I grab at her hands, my nails scoring into her thin skin. But it’s Father McCall that manages to free me.

Turning from the door and letting it slam shut behind him, he throws himself forward and shoves Sister Agatha hard in the chest. “Release her, you vicious old cow!”

Sister Agatha stumbles backwards and falls to her butt on the floor with a look of shock on her face.

I look at Father McCall, just as shocked. Shocked that he shoved her. Shocked that he dared to call her what I’ve always been secretly thinking.

His face flushed red, Father McCall huffs and puffs with his anger. “You will abuse her no longer! She is under my protection! God’s protection!”

Sister Agatha sputters with indignation, her legs splayed out in front of her. “Abuse her?! She is an abomination. It is our duty to keep her from doing harm to the good, godly people of this earth.”

Father McCall’s eyes brighten with fury and he looks like he’s ready to thrash her. I hold my breath, the bad part of me hoping he does. I want to see her take the pain.

I want to see her take a fist and see how she likes it.

But instead, he grabs my hand and bellows with righteous authority, “How easily you twist scripture to fit your own narrative. Let me remind you of what you have forgotten! Genesis 1:31—And God saw everything that He had made, and, behold, it was very good!”

Sister Agatha sucks in one of her shrill, shocked breaths.

Father McCall turns away from her and pushes open the door. Squeezing my hand to reassure me, he leads me out into the world.

As the door slams behind us, Sister Agatha begins to scream for, “Help!”

The full force of the sun hits me in the face like a semi-truck. Bringing my arm up, I try to shield my eyes, but they’re on fire. Melting into my skull.

Breathing in deep, I fill my lungs with fresh air, trying to cool the blaze.

I’ve longed and ached for this for so long…

To have sky above me and the world, the real world, around me.

But I didn’t expect it to hurt so bad.

And something… something deep down inside me tells me this is only the beginning. That if I want to be free, truly free, I’m going to have to take a lot more pain.

“Come,” Father McCall says, tugging me down a step. “My car is right over there.”

Unable to see, everything around me a bright, searing white, I let him lead. Trusting he won’t lead me astray.

We move down two more steps then we’re running across hard ground. Using his hold on my hand, Father McCall leads me in a straight line before he tugs me to the right.

When I cut the turn too tight, something slams into the side of my ribs.

I cry out, and Father McCall immediately stops. “What’s wrong, lass?”

Blinking away the tears in my eyes, I look down. Everything is incredibly blurry and bright, but I believe I’m staring at a car mirror.

“Nothing, let’s keep moving,” I say.

Squeezing my hand, his hold my lifeline, Father McCall guides me forward.

“Can you see?” he asks.

“No,” I grumble, pressing my arm harder into my eyes to ease the searing ache.

I swear the fire is spreading to my exposed fingers.

Is my skin so sensitive I’m already getting a sunburn?

Father McCall doesn’t respond, but I sense him tense up, gripping my hand even tighter. Though I can’t tell if it’s out of empathy or concern…

I decide to change the subject to get my mind off the growing heat. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” he asks, as if his mind is focused elsewhere.

“What you said to Sister Agatha.”

“That she’s a vicious old cow?” He chuckles. “Aye, I meant that.”

I find myself smiling in return and it feels… weird. Like I shouldn’t be doing it. Like I’m not worthy of such an action.

Unnerved by the sensation, I quickly clarify, “No, not that. The other thing you said.”

“About God looking upon everything he created and finding it good?”

“Yes,” I say, the word wanting to catch in my throat.

You’d think after living beneath a church, surrounded by nuns and priests for over a decade, someone would have read or encouraged me to read the Bible.

But the Bible the Order follows was always off limits to me.

I was not worthy to taint it with my hands or eyes.

Everything I know about God, about the Order’s doctrine, came from the mouth of Sister Agatha.

“Yes, I believe it,” Father McCall says. “It is the word of God.”

I want to ask if that’s the case then why haven’t I heard it before today? But I already know the answer.

Because that’s not what the Order believes.

My next question weighs so heavily on me, I have to take several deep breaths before I can work up the nerve to ask it. “Do you… do you think I’m good?”

We’re running for our lives, quite literally. Now is not the time for theological debates. But the seed has been planted in my brain and I need to know. I need to know what I’ve always secretly believed is true.

I need to know there’s still hope for me.

Father McCall nudges me to a gentle stop and takes his own deep breath before he answers. “Yes, lass, I believe you are good.”

“Truly?” I press.

I trust him. Trust him with my life.

Yet the scared little girl inside me, the scared little girl who has always been me, fears his first answer was a cruel trick and now he’ll yank it away to put me in my place.

My heart races and my head becomes so light I fear it might float away as I await his answer.

“Yes, I believe you are good,” he says.

I should be relieved. It’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

“But you don’t know me,” I counter.

He doesn’t know about all the horrible thoughts I’ve been having lately. Doesn’t know that just the other day I was imagining myself hurting priests like him.

Imagining it for no reason I can fantom.

Simply thinking about it all causes sweat to drip down my forehead. The sweat soaks into the sleeve pressing against my eyes, making me feel even more miserable in this blasted sunlight.

“I know enough,” he insists.

I shake my head in disbelief and immediately regret it. The world around me spins. A white, blurry world I can’t see.

Grabbing my other arm, he helps steady me. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,” I snap. “It’s just this… heat.”

I yank my arms away, something about his touch now irritating me.

“Heat?” he says in confusion.

“Do you not feel it? It must be at least a hundred and twenty degrees out here.”

“No, lass, it’s a cool day today. Nice and breezy,” he says, and I honestly don’t know if he’s telling the truth or lying to me. “We should keep moving.”

He grabs my hand again, and I feel how cool his skin is compared to mine. Cool and dry.

“Do you feel anything besides being warm?” he asks as he quickly guides me through the maze of cars.

Why are there even so many cars? How many people could possibly be in the cathedral at this hour?

“Like what?” I grit out between my teeth.

“I’m not entirely sure…” he grumbles.

My first instinct is to bite off his head by demanding to know why he even asked the question if he doesn’t know the answer. My sudden irritation with him increasing by the second.

But a loud bang sounds out. A bang that sounds like a door slamming into a wall.

“Father McCall! Stop where you are!” Father Dominic calls out. “You do not have permission to leave the grounds with our property!”

I instantly want to freeze in fear, but Father McCall keeps tugging me along only to suddenly stop.

He slides his hand out of mine, and for a moment I feel lost and abandoned. Left alone to face a strange, foreign world that has become entirely too hostile toward me.

Is he taking Father Dominic’s order seriously? After everything he’s already done?

A car beeps twice before I hear Father McCall saying, “Hurry, get in, lass. We’re out of time.”

Placing his palm against my back, he helps me get in the car then slams the door shut.

The heat inside the car is surprisingly not as bad as it was on the outside, which makes absolutely no sense.

Sliding my arm down, I dare a peek through the windshield and see Father McCall jogging around the front of the car.

When he opens his door, I hear Father Dominic rage, “Don’t think you’ll get away with this, McCall! We’ll find you! And when we do, we’ll make you pay for this sin in flesh!”

Father McCall slams his door shut and starts the car up, ignoring Father Dominic’s threat.

But it worries me.

I squint my eyes and peer out the windshield again, expecting to see an army of the Order’s young warriors bearing down on us.

As Father McCall puts the car in reverse, I ask, “Where is everybody?”

This all seems too easy. Shouldn’t Jeffrey at least be trying to come for me?

Shifting the car into drive, Father McCall declares almost happily, “God smiles on us today.”

And that explains exactly nothing.

Glancing over and seeing my frown, Father McCall grins. “Today is the Grand Induction.”

“Grand Induction?” I repeat, having no idea what he’s talking about.

Father McCall sighs and his grin wilts into a sad frown. “Ah, lass, they truly kept you in the dark, didn’t they? The Grand Induction is when all the young men in the Order are given their holy brands and formally inducted into service. With the Prophet overseeing the ceremony, no one will dare interrupt it.”

That would explain all the cars in the parking lot and the empty halls.

But I’m still not quite convinced. “Are you sure? Not everybody will be at that service.”

“I’m sure,” Father McCall says with confidence. “To interrupt such a ceremony would almost guarantee death.”

“So we have some time?” I ask as I sink into the thick leather of my seat.

When was the last time I sat on something that wasn’t as hard as a rock?

Father McCall turns the air conditioner on full blast and fiddles with the vents, pointing them all in my direction. “Yes, we have some time. Why don’t you get some rest?”

Sleep comes easier than it should.

I’ve wanted to be free for so long, I want to see everything around me. To soak in the real world and see what’s changed.

But I can’t see anything, the glare of the sunlight too bright for my sensitive eyes.

I keep telling myself it’s because I’ve lived underground so long. Like a freakish, colorless creature that exists only in the dark.

And eventually my eyes will adjust.

But no matter how hard I squint, the world remains one big blur.

After pressing my nose against the glass of my window and giving myself a massive headache, I decide to give up for now.

Closing my eyes, I lean back in my seat and listen to all the different sounds. Sounds I haven’t heard in years.

The soft hum of the engine. The tires rolling against the pavement. Other cars whizzing past us. Honking horns.

Father McCall’s steady heartbeat.

And somehow I drift off, exhaustion falling over me like a wet, heavy blanket.

But my dreams are strange and make little sense.

The face of the man I saw when I first stood in front of the Prophet flashes in front of my eyes. The too beautiful face that almost made me weep.

He seems concerned by something. His mouth tight and constantly pulled into a frown.

I see his lips move every so often, as if he’s speaking, but he’s not speaking to me. He’s speaking to someone else I can’t see.

At first, I simply watch him out of curiosity, wondering if he’ll fade away. But when he doesn’t, something tells me I should try to get his attention.

That maybe he’ll help me…

I wave my invisible arms and cry out with my silent voice. Trying my best to make myself known to him. Yet nothing seems to work. He’s too distracted and completely unaware of my existence.

A faint, steady throb starts to pulse near my heart, and I redouble my efforts. Sensing, illogically, that there should be a connection between us and he should help me.

I throw my invisible body in front of him. I try to shout into his face.

Pay attention to me!

But it’s all pointless.

No matter what I do, he continues to ignore me.

When I wake up, I’m freezing and covered in sweat from my efforts.

Blinking the weird dream away, I sit up and peer through the windshield, finally able to see.

Dusk has fallen, the sun no longer a blazing ball of misery. All around us are trees.

Trees …

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty finally wakes,” Father McCall says cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I answer without looking over at him. My eyes too busy eating up all the green around me.

“Are you sure, lass?” he asks skeptically.

Scowling at his doubt, I actually take the time to feel myself out and discover I’m far from fine.

“I feel like someone rolled me flat then smashed me back together,” I answer more honestly.

“Are you cold?”

I wrap my arms around myself and nod my head at him.

Reaching over to the dashboard, he shuts the air conditioning off. “You were so hot earlier I was afraid to turn it off.”

I nod again and glance back at my window. Wanting to see the trees more than I want to remember that.

“Are you hungry? I stopped and grabbed a couple of burgers. But you slept right through it, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

My stomach aches at the reminder that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. Yet the moment I actually smell the burger sitting in the greasy bag beside me, bile rises in my throat.

“No,” I nearly gag.

“You sure, lass?” he asks, the skepticism back. “You’ve gone through a lot of trauma and lost a lot of blood. The red meat will do you good.”

Guilt over his concern makes me reach for the bag, but the moment I open it I’m gripped by intense nausea.

Shoving the bag back, I turn my head away and take deep breaths through my mouth.

“I can’t,” I pant and swallow my salvia back.

“That’s okay,” he says reassuringly. “That’s quite all right. We’ll stop and get you something else. Something easier on your stomach.”

He rolls down his window and a blast of cool, fresh air pours in. Grabbing the bag, he tosses it out the window without a second thought. Then he lets the fresh air fill the car for a few minutes before rolling his window back up.

My stomach settling, I look over at him in awe.

His kindness… his thoughtfulness touches me so deeply I have to fight back tears.

“Ah, lass, now don’t you go crying over a hamburger,” he says. “I’m sure a raccoon will make a fine meal of it.”

Feeling silly, I jerk my face away and stare out the windshield.

The road we’re traveling on is mostly empty. Only the occasional pair of headlights flashes by, momentarily blinding me.

I have no idea where we are. I don’t think I’ve ever been in place like this before. A place without concrete sidewalks or tall, looming buildings.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

I probably should have asked that question a lot earlier, but it didn’t seem a priority. Not when I wasn’t sure we would escape in the first place.

Father McCall says almost jubilantly, “Canada.”

“Canada?” I repeat in surprise.

He’s taking me out of the country?

“Yes, I have a few… friends in the Catholic Church up there. They’ll give us shelter.”

I twist back around to face him, my mouth agape. He’s taking me to the Catholics? The same Catholics my father said have lost their way?

Was I wrong to trust him?

Will they do even worse things to me?

“Now don’t you go looking at me like that,” Father McCall says, scowling through his beard. “I haven’t betrayed you. I know you’ve probably heard some awful things about the Catholics, but my friends are good people. Good people who want to help us.”

Granting him the benefit of the doubt for the moment, I ask, “Why do they want to help us?”

Father McCall glances over at me, light reflecting off his glasses. “Because the Order of Saint Benedict has turned their faces from the light of God. The things they’re doing to women and girls like you, the things I’ve seen…” He looks away, his voice choking up. “It’s despicable and heinous.”

A chill runs through me at the mention of other women and girls. Women and girls who might be suffering like me.

Who might be suffering more than me.

I was so lost in my own torment, I never considered there were others out there going through the same things.

Staring hard through the windshield, Father McCall’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. “It isn’t right, and something must be done. It must be stopped.”

“You’re going to stop it?” I ask, my heart quickening with excitement at the prospect.

He shakes his head. “Not all of it, lass. I’m only one man and their power is growing every day. But I’m gathering friends, like the Catholics, and doing my best to help as many of you girls as I can.”

I nod slowly and sink back in my seat. His explanation grinding me back down to reality. It does feel like an impossible task to take on the entire Order.

Especially after what I, myself, have gone through and seen.

I may not know any of the finer details, but I know my father was a man of power and wealth. I lived a privileged life of luxury, despite the tension with my mother, before he abandoned me.

All the children I remember came from privileged families. And those families’s beliefs run deep. So deep they’re willing to give up their own flesh and blood in exchange for the promise of eternal paradise.

When you add in the Prophet himself, all his fanatical followers, and the army of zealous young men he’s been building…

It will take more than Father McCall and his Catholic friends to change anything.

Father McCall sighs. “Now that you know my plans, there is something I must ask of you. Something I have no right to ask.”

Unease slithers through me and I wonder if this is the moment he turns on me like everyone else in my life has.

“There’s another young lady, like you. She’s been under my care for many years, since she was a babe, and I’ve shielded her the best I can.”

I remember him speaking about another girl while the Prophet had me on my knees, but he said I wasn’t like her at the time. Was he lying?

“You said she’s not like me,” I remind him.

He glances over at me quickly and shifts in his seat like he’s nervous. “She’s not. She was born with the mark.”

“Born with the mark?” I repeat incredulously. “How?”

I’ve never heard of such a thing. Granted, I know very little, and what I’ve been told could have easily all been lies. But I was taught that the mark doesn’t appear until after a woman has had her first menstruation.

That’s why I was so upset I got my period.

Had I known it could happen before then… I don’t even want to think about what I would have done.

I probably would have found a way long ago to hang myself from my bedsheets.

“We don’t know how,” he admits, “but she’s… special. She possesses incredible healing abilities, and the Order has been using those abilities to bleed her weekly. I was at the Boston cathedral today on her behalf. I had hoped to get the Prophet to agree to transfer her to a different location.”

I simply peer at him, waiting for him to go on while I digest all this information.

“I originally planned to make this trip to Canada with her, but I couldn’t leave you behind after I saw what they did to you. Now I fear she will be in even more danger without me there to protect her…”

He trails off, his worry thickening the air between us. Whoever this woman is, it’s obvious he cares a great deal about her.

“You want to rescue her?” I ask, my stomach sinking with dread.

“Yes, lass, I do,” he says almost sadly. “It will be very dangerous, but I couldn’t live with myself if I don’t try. Just like I couldn’t live with myself if I left you behind. This may be my only chance to help her.”

I look back to my window and peer at all the trees rushing by. Their colors growing darker in the dimming sunlight.

I’m finally free and now he’s asking me to risk it all to save a woman I’ve never met. A woman who’s both like and unlike me.

A woman who could be living in misery, being bled weekly.

It feels beyond foolish to take such a risk. We were lucky to make it out of the Boston cathedral. If there wasn’t a ceremony being held, escape wouldn’t have been possible.

We can’t count on getting lucky twice.

Staring at the green leaves that are slowly darkening to black, the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach grows.

Something is telling me we won’t succeed. That what he wants is impossible.

And we’ll be walking straight into a trap.

But after all that he’s done for me, how can I deny him? How can I be the one that stands between that unknown woman and her freedom?

Burning the images of the trees into my mind, because I’m afraid this is truly the last time I’ll ever see them, I say, “All right, let’s help her.”

Father McCall looks over at me in surprise, as if he didn’t expect that answer. “You sure, lass?”

No, I’m not sure at all. In fact, I believe this is hopelessly reckless and stupid.

But I swallow down my reservations and nod my head at him, regardless.

Father McCall smiles at me and the car begins to move faster. “Thank you, lass. Thank you. Today is a blessed day. I can feel it in my bones. God’s hand is guiding us and protecting us. With His help, we’ll be successful. With His help, we’ll save her and make it safely to Canada.”

Wrapping my arms back around myself, I slump in my seat and wish I could share his enthusiasm.