Chapter 32
Grace
Iwake to find myself strapped to a chair with a bag over my head. Wonderful. I can thankfully breathe through the material. At least it’s not plastic.
I frantically try to pull my arms free, but the binding around my wrists does not give. I feel the cool, hard chair beneath my body, goosebumps forming at the contact. I shiver in the chair, feeling the familiarity of this position I was in only a few weeks ago. Milly is going to be so pissed.
I try to swallow and slow my breathing.
Inhale five seconds, exhale five.
I lean my head back against the hard chair as I try to bend my thumb, these motions all feeling far too familiar. I’m going to have to break it this time, aren’t I? I flinch at the thought, but dying will probably be way fucking worse.
I push my wrist out, taking a deep breath, and then quickly slam it back against the binding and hold a scream in, biting my tongue and tasting copper instantly.
“Shit,” I whimper as I feel blood seeping from the cut I got on the side of my thumb instead of breaking it free.
How do they break it so easily in the movies?
Small tears escape as I breathe quickly through my nose, as the pain momentarily overwhelms me. The panic begins to rise as the result of the pain continues to heighten. My heart starts pounding against my chest. No, no! It wasn’t supposed to end like this. I-I—I can’t give up this easily.
Okay, another plan. Think, Grace, think. Fuck! Another plan…I try to wiggle the bag off my head, attempting to catch it on the edge of the chair until my head feels like it's spinning. It must be tied on. I groan in frustration.
“Fuck!” I shout, not caring if anyone hears me. I’m already down here, and I’m starting to feel antsy as the inevitable seeps through my thoughts. I shake my head. No. I will not die.
Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, and all I know is… I really don’t know how long I’ve been down here, and I’m starting to lose my fucking mind. The unknown courses endless thoughts through my mind, unable to rationalize any of them.
How fucking foolish of me not to think this through. Milly was right. Love blinded my rationale, and I’m exactly where I shouldn’t have been. My heart drops. They think I’m still with Bea.
Defeat plummets in my gut as I realize how idiotic I was and how they won’t be able to save me. I did this to myself, all because I was blinded by the urge to be near her. Consequences of my actions. I can’t go out this way.
Thoughts of my demise curdle into waves of nausea that flow through me in flashes of warmth.
What if they burn me on a cross? What if they stab me through the heart like Milly?
Will they skin me alive? What do demon worshippers even do to their sacrifices?
Do they change depending on the sin? I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that being on the receiving end is not where I want to be.
I was foolish for trying to find Milly in the chapel.
Idiot. I should’ve gone to Professor Blackthorne’s room first, but then I might have gotten him in trouble if I had been caught there.
God forbid they saw him helping me, then he could’ve been in the position I’m in, too.
Regardless, I shouldn’t have changed the plan on them.
I told Milly not to, out of selfishness, and here I am selfishly in this position because I changed the plans. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I stare into the nothing, my eyes glazing over as I disassociate to the thought of Milly’s smile, her melodic laugh—
“Thank you for your help.” I startle as I hear a familiar voice, but cannot place it without my eyes. I squeeze them shut as I try to listen closer.
“Everything for the ceremony is almost complete, but Priest Brown requests that we set up this symbol to stand on. Can you grab more candles by the door? Yes, those ones.”
I squeeze the armrests of the chair, realizing it’s Professor Blackthorne. Oh, he’s going to be livid.
“Perfect, yes, those black ones will do this evening. Scatter them throughout—” He startles and clears his throat. “Who is that one?”
I swallow, knowing he must have just seen me. “Is that Jocelyn?”
The other voice answers shyly, “Well, uhm, no. Jocelyn is in the other room. She’s still recovering from her prior cleansing.”
The room fills with a silent tension as I lift my head and turn it in the direction of the voices. I can’t see him, but I can feel his glare through the bag still covering my head.
“That’s Grace Gates.”
I hear a sudden shuffle of fabric and limbs moving, smacks, and then a choking noise.
I bite my lip, wondering if anyone was still in the room as the gurgling sound of choking ceases. Suddenly, loud footsteps approach me. Oh, he’s pissed.
The bag is untied and then ripped off my head. I blink as I adjust to the lighting of the room.
Professor Blackthorne comes into my view with his bone mask.
“Hey, bud,” I say, smiling. He doesn’t change his expression; his white eyes, shrouded by dark brows, create a scowl.
His jaw is clenched, and a vein throbs a deep red along the side of his head.
I swear I could see steam blowing out of the sides of his ears.
He’s wearing a long black cape with a large golden crucifix hanging around his neck, fitting the perfect stereotype of cult regalia.
I roll my eyes. “They couldn’t have come up with another uniform with more creativity? They just went all in with the creepy cape? How boring.” I laugh, starting to lose my sanity. “This is the most demon-worshipper garb I have ever—”
“Grace,” he growls, and I immediately shut my mouth. “Now is not the time for jokes.”
I chew on my bottom lip and look around, realizing I am indeed in the confessional room.
There’s a man with a reflective mask over his face, slumped in the corner of the room.
His chest is rising and falling slowly. Professor Blackthorne didn’t kill him, at least. Whoever he is, I can only hope his life doesn’t cause us more problems than his death might.
I look back at my professor and stare at his white eyes with a soft, yet guilty smile. “I didn’t know I’d get caught.”
It’s almost like I threw a match into gasoline as the rage he feels shatters the tension. His eyes flare at my words, and he turns around with his hands running through his hair, pulling on the strands as he locks the door to the confessional.
“Jesus Christ, Grace. How do you think I’ll be able to get you out of this one?” He pulls at the bindings and starts looking around for the key. “You were told to stay put!”
My joking smile immediately drops, and the urge to laugh my way out of this vanishes at his panic.
“I don’t know. I just—I just wanted to get back to Milly.
I couldn’t see past the thought of never seeing her again.
I fucked up.” My voice drops toward the end of the sentence as the urge to shrink into myself becomes overwhelming.
“We both wanted you safe!” His voice shakes with emotion as he tosses his hands in the air. “I have watched countless students lose their lives because of this fucked up priest. You don’t think that your death wouldn’t destroy me like the others? Wouldn’t destroy Milly? We want you alive, Grace.
You deserve to live a full and happy life, however you want.
Each and every student before you deserved that just as much as you.
We were almost able to save you! God gives you free will for a reason; you have the right to love how you want.
You shouldn’t need to hide in these shadows.
But right now? The one time we needed you to remain hidden, you stepped right into the light?
” He shakes his head and closes his eyes as he tries to compose himself.
I watch him take slow breaths through his nose for a few moments before looking back at me. “Does Milly know?” he asks as he returns to looking for the key.
I shake my head, at a loss for words, knowing that anything I say won’t make up for the massive mistake I have made.
I know that they wanted to keep me safe, but what about them?
Do they think that I wouldn’t have worried about both of them the entire time?
My life isn’t above theirs, but I didn’t mean to make everything worse.
He looks over his shoulder at my silence, waiting for my response. I clear my throat of emotion, “Oh, uhm, no. She doesn’t know. I never made it to her. I got caught entering the back of the chapel. I walked right into Priest Brown.”
My voice trembles slightly at the thought of Milly. She would be so worried if she knew that I was trapped where I was a few days ago. “Wh-where is Milly?”
He finds the key by the window ledge and walks over to me, pointedly ignoring my question.
He unclasps the metal latch on my wounded wrist first. When the metal clicks apart, I hiss at the freedom and bring my hand up to my face, observing the wound on the side of my thumb.
Blood drips from the cut, and I gently wipe it along my white dress, realizing the laceration is only surface-level and not dangerously deep.
I glance at what I’m wearing and blink in confusion at the change. How long have I been unconscious? The gown is a smooth cotton, white as milk, with the occasional shimmer from the thread on the edges. I shift uncomfortably.
He unlatches the other one as we hear soft chanting echo through the hallway into the confessional. “Shit.” His eyes open wide as he looks at the door. “We’re too late.”
Alarm spreads across his features as he looks around the entire room for a solution. “Place the binds back on my wrists, but don’t latch them. Quickly! Grab the bag too.”
He bends over and places the bag gently over my head, then lays the bindings over my wrists just as the door to the confessional jiggles. “I don’t know how I’m going to get you out of this, Grace. I’m so sorry—”
“Shh. Go, we will figure it out.” I feel his presence hesitate for a moment before I hear a heavy sigh and his footsteps retreat from me.