Chapter 5 Katarina
KATARINA
On Tuesdays, part of my rehab program was working in the institute’s office. Of course, they didn’t let me handle much of anything important, but still, it felt good to look at something more intellectually stimulating than craft paper and popsicle sticks.
As I worked on filing, two cleaning ladies were wiping the floor beyond the reception desk.
“But have you seen the man?” One of them crossed herself feverishly. “No man of God should be so tempting. It is a sin.”
“Yeah, I saw him, too. Molto bello, e vero. But I heard that he’s a little strange . . . Father Benedict doesn’t like him.”
“Really? Why not?”
“I don’t know, but I think he’s deciding whether or not he’ll allow Father Vargas to come on his monthly visit next week.”
“Why wouldn’t he? Father Vargas is the guiding light of this place. Hallow Hall is lucky to have such a high-profile person taking an interest in it.”
“But you know how there have been threats; he has a bodyguard now. It’s all political. They don’t talk about Vargas at the local church anymore . . . There was some scandal.”
They moved out of earshot, and I took a deep, steadying breath.
Father Vargas. I might despise Pavol, and I might hate Father Benedict—but Father Vargas? I didn’t have the words to describe how much I loathed that man.
Mira, I promise. I’m going to get him. I’m going to get him for you. I won’t escape here until I do.
I wiped away an errant tear. Any thought of Mira made them fall.
I focused on the paperwork I’d been given.
Invoices for bulk amounts of food. Flour and porridge oats featured heavily.
The board, or whoever ran Hallow Hall, was a big fan of gluten, that was for sure.
There was always the same company name at the top of the invoices.
Centrium Group.
Whoever they were, they were the ones paying for the food, heating, and lights at the institution.
I’d gotten a shift in this office just to find that out.
That conversation between the unholy trinity the night Mira died would never leave my heart.
I might forget it when I was being a good little patient and taking my pills, but I always remembered eventually.
Someone was profiting off this place, and someone was paying the bills for it.
Were they one and the same? Until I figured that out, I’d show up for my shift and dig into Hallow Hall’s secrets.
Not that it had gotten me anywhere at all.
I was stuck here. I couldn’t escape, and no one was coming to check me out.
I had gaps in my memories, and sometimes, when I wasn’t able to skip the medication, I could go whole weeks without a single lucid thought.
I would surface and find that a month had passed.
Lately, it had felt like I was doomed to spend my entire life here, forgetting things, trying to recover those memories, trying to leave and finding out I couldn’t.
I had no idea how to break that cycle. Centrium Group . . . Were they the ones selling the organs? Were they trafficking the babies?
“Hey there, bella.” Alonso, an orderly, appeared at the edge of the reception desk.
I gave him a quick smile. Alonso was one of the only people I could trust in this place.
He wasn’t a nun or priest; he was just a local guy who was strong enough to force meds onto people and discreet enough not to run his mouth.
Still, he wasn’t a sociopath, so he had an advantage over the rest of the men in Hallow Hall.
He had no idea about the true business of the place.
“Hi.”
“Did you enjoy your day yesterday?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me. Reminding me that he’d done me a favor.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Why did you want the fire alarm tripped anyway? Just itching to get outside into the snow?”
“I love the fresh air, what can I say?” I gave him a winning smile.
When I was clearheaded enough, I got Alonso to set off the alarm for me during my sessions with Benedict.
The only person I saw every day and got my medication from was Benedict.
Others simply lined up for a little paper cup of pills in the morning, but not me. I couldn’t be trusted.
He pulled his phone out and tapped the screen.
My fingers itched to get a hold of it, but there was no point.
In the beginning, I’d stolen phones a million times and called the only number I could remember since that morning with Vargas in the operating room, but I never let it ring.
I was putting her in danger every time I reached out.
I also refused her visit requests. I couldn’t see her sitting across from me and not go completely insane.
“What’s wrong? Lael giving you trouble?”
Alonso sighed. “She wants jewelry for her birthday, but I’ve got no ideas. Care to take a look?”
“Sure, but don’t tell her another woman picked it out. It ruins it,” I added quickly.
We scrolled through the store’s website together, and I pointed out some pretty items for his girlfriend.
I could almost imagine it for a second. Going on a date, to a real restaurant, in a town.
Getting a present and wearing it. Walking home down the café-lined street, tables out on the sidewalk, people laughing and talking with friends.
The simple nothingness of being an ordinary person.
Something I’d taken for granted until I’d come here.
Something I vowed that, one day, I’d never take for granted again.
If I ever got that chance . . .
That afternoon, I had therapy with Father Benedict, and of course, my medication.
I didn’t plan on taking it. I was already gearing up to hide it.
I’d gotten pretty good at keeping it under my tongue, and Benedict didn’t always check.
If I could manage not to take it today, then that would be the third day without any.
It had been a while since I’d gotten to the third day.
I followed Sister Vera to Benedict’s office just as the door opened and the man himself appeared.
His face was pale, and he seemed to be sweating.
“Come in, come in,” he cajoled.
I entered the office and immediately spied Lucifer sitting in one of the seats in front of Benedict’s crowded desk.
My hand rose before I could help it, and I crossed my chest fearfully. Massimo’s mouth tilted up in a bemused smirk.
Benedict jerked upright and issued a small yelp. We all turned and stared at him.
“Excuse me, Sister, Father,” he said, panting. “I seem to be a little off. I will leave the patient in Father Lucciano’s capable hands, since I must take care of some private business.”
The way he waddled off clenching his butt cheeks together made it clear his personal business was with the toilet.
Sister Vera seemed a little flustered as she ushered me farther into the office.
“Ah, yes, well, Father Lucciano, how nice to meet you again,” she said, beaming at the devil in black sitting across the room.
Damn, Sister Vera’s got the hots for the new priest, the voice in my head sniggered. She’d been pretty quiet since yesterday.
“Shh,” I said before I could help myself.
Sister Vera glared at me.
“Well, I’ll leave you with this one, but be warned, she’s known to be . . . tempted by sin.” Sister Vera flashed me a look up and down.
It was obvious she wanted to call me a whore but had only just restrained herself.
“Also, she needs her meds,” Sister Vera continued.
Father Lucciano stood, looming over both of us, and strolled to my side.
“I’ve got it handled, Sister. Thank you for your careful attention to each patient. They are lucky to have you here.”
Father Lucciano took both of Sister Vera’s hands between his and squeezed them. I thought the good sister was going to pass out for a moment, or come, or something equally embarrassing, but she just squeaked a thanks and headed out the door.
“Come in, Miss Dmitrova. Make yourself at home.” He crossed the room back to the desk.
I let out a snort at that phrase.
Father Lucciano arched an elegant black brow at me. “Something amusing?”
I glanced around. “Yeah, the thought that this place could be anything like a home. It’s a prison, Father, if you’ve not worked that out yet.”
“Please, call me Massimo. No need for formalities.” He reached for a chart on the desk and flipped it open. Sat down in Benedict’s chair.
I fought a flinch. That file held all my history. Every painful moment that had led me here, to this place.
“Why don’t you tell me what brought you here?” Lucciano said.
I nodded to the file. “You can just read it for yourself.”
“I’d prefer you told me.”
I scoffed. “I need to give you my name, I need to tell you my story . . . do you get off on making people do things?”
His face didn’t move. “You have no idea. Why are you here?”
“Didn’t you catch Sister Vera’s drift? I’m a whore, remember? That’s what the unholy trinity think, anyway.”
Lucciano considered my words and shook his head. “Try again. I see your mother petitioned the board for your admittance.”
“She was worried about my eternal soul. She thought that getting me in here would save me from the corruption of the world,” I said, parroting her words from so long ago.
“And has it?”
I eyed him up and down. “What do you think? Anyway, no one listened to my mother until Ivan Markovic got involved.”
“Ah, yes, your boyfriend—sorry, fiancé.”
“No, not my boyfriend or my fiancé. He’d never be either. Never. I hated the guy, but he didn’t like hearing that, or the word no.” I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep it together.
Lucciano simply watched. “And so?”
“And so, he went telling on me to his uncle—Father Vargas. Told him I was a fallen woman, that I went after married men, that I practiced witchcraft and spoke to spirits. My mother handed me over, and the fuckers locked me up in here.”
“Three years ago,” Lucciano supplied.
The number stole my breath. My lungs seemed to close. I’d worked out as much, in my bouts of lucidity, but hearing it so plainly was hard to take.