17. Cain
CAIN
The infirmary smelled like sickness vaguely covered by the heavy scent of bleach.
My face had a severe chemical burn that turned me septic, keeping me here for a good three weeks that delayed my court appearance.
The infection had reached my brain, but I was a stubborn son of a bitch, and I clawed my way back from the brink of death.
Those fuckers couldn’t get rid of me that easily.
My hatred and rage were probably the only things that kept me tethered to this mortal plane, because I’d be damned if they didn’t pay for what they’d done.
My body might have been weak right now, but I was determined to spend every waking moment remedying that. Even if it hurt. I pushed through the pain, already speeding up my recovery by their estimated timetable.
They were releasing me back to my cell today, but they brought out breakfast first. Sitting next to the plate of powdered eggs they tried to pass off as a meal, was a newspaper neatly folded with a picture of Pastor John looking smug next to a timid looking Delilah.
Big, revolting bold words splashed across the top:
Local pastor marries troubled teen.
Married?
That piece of shit married Delilah ?
My heart sped up as I clutched the paper in my hands, bringing it up to my face. My eyes tracked the words several times and landed on the way he held onto her hip.
That motherfucking prick.
And he wanted me to know about it, why else would this be here? I never received the paper before. But now? When I was well enough to leave the infirmary after his hired goons put me in here? Yeah. That sadistic bastard set it up.
As my hands gripped the paper, a small letter floated out from the folded pages. The hell? In crude, jolted handwriting the note read:
Not a word or she’ll pay the price.
I crumpled the offensive thing in my fist and let it fall unceremoniously onto the floor. I knew that handwriting. I saw it daily when I was in his fucking class.
While I’d been in here recovering, I’d worried what would become of Delilah at that school. I’d never in a million years pictured that this would be the outcome. Her parents must have agreed to the arrangement. There’s no other way they’d legally be able to wed without it. The question was why?
Why would they willingly give their daughter over to him? Sure he was skilled in manipulating people into thinking he was holy, but he was a fully grown adult man. Delilah was still a teenager. How did they think that was okay? There had to be something I was missing.
I shook my head. Those parents of hers also thought kidnapping their own daughter was an acceptable parenting strategy as well, so really, I shouldn’t be so damn surprised.
People were capable of getting their morals all in a twist when it suited their own interests.
I ripped the paper in half, splitting Pastor John from Delilah.
My thumb ran over her angelic face and crushed that evil, crooked, smiling bastard with his hands on Delilah in the palm of my hand.
He might have had me right where he wanted me.
He might have had Delilah. But I had time.
My name was Cain Montgomery, and I would rise from the ashes of the lives I burned—starting with his.
Dear Delilah,
I’m writing this letter to you from my prison cell. Today, the judge sentenced me to five years. Five whole fucking years. I don’t know who has it worse right now, to be honest. Me or you. I’ll tell you one thing though— I won’t forget about you. Or the promise I made. I will come for you.
My parents didn’t show again. No one did.
They had me booked and on my way so fast I felt like I got whiplash. They didn’t even hear from me. They wouldn’t let me speak. Not that I could tell the truth of what happened at Kingston. No one believed either of us. But they will. One day.
I wasn’t expecting to get tried as an adult, even though they warned me I would. They’ve got this town so twisted that they’re able to do whatever they want without consequences. Well, that changes the moment I get my freedom back.
I might be locked away for five years, but I’m going to use every second I can to prepare our revenge, starting with my body. I already have a regimen that I plan to keep up with, so I’ll be strong enough to take on any threat that comes my way.
The food here fucking sucks, but it actually might be a small step up from the sludge at Kingston. Maybe the cook at Kingston could take some pointers from whoever is cooking the stuff here at the prison.
It feels weird to accept that this is where I’ve ended up.
Prison. It’s not what I pictured for myself.
If I’m honest, I’d hoped for a life far away from here.
Maybe doing something with Chemistry. I’ve always been good at that subject.
I wonder what kind of job I could even get now with this on my record.
Fuck, they really wanted to obliterate our chances at a future that they didn’t curate themselves.
Well, they might have won for now. But I won’t be in here forever.
When you see me next, I’ll look a whole hell of a lot different.
I don’t even recognize myself anymore. These fuckers in here burned the shit out of my face.
Almost killed me. I’ll find a way to punish them too.
But it’ll take some getting used to, having to see my face like it is. I hope it doesn’t scare you.
There’s no way for me to send this letter to you, but it helps to get the words out anyway.
It makes me feel connected to you in a small way.
So, I’ll write and I’ll plan, and one day, I’ll hold your body in my hands again and kiss those lips I keep dreaming about.
And I’ll rip you away from this fucked up place where you can be mine forever.
Yours,
Cain.