46. Celine
Celine
“Where do you think you’re going?” Father Keaton asks in a cynical tone.
My hand begins to tremble, but Alex squeezes it, silently reminding me to stay calm and that everything will be okay. His touch comforts me, and he’s always made me feel safe. And I know he’ll do anything to protect me.
But that’s the thing… He’d do anything. He’d even risk his own life to save mine. And I can’t let that happen. We came in here together, and hell if I’ll leave without him.
I find the ounce of strength that I have left and steady myself. I won’t let Father Keaton see me break. I won’t let him find pleasure in the sadness he’s caused. I straighten my back and take a deep breath, pushing through the pain.
Slowly, I exhale through my nose and release all my worries, my heartache, and blink the tears away. I squeeze Alex’s hand, letting him know I’m okay before he turns us around.
When we face Father Keaton, I see the gun pointed straight at us. The same one I found in his desk drawer. My gaze gets pulled away from him briefly as one of the priests has taken over the job of drowning the woman who had been fighting against him. A chill runs down my spine at the sight.
“Father Keaton… please,” Alex begs, which I don’t know why he does. It won’t help in this situation.
“Aren’t you ready to grow closer to God, Celine?” Father Keaton asks, his sudden excitement bringing my attention back to him.
His eyes are crazed as the corners of his mouth go from ear to ear. With his eerie expression and the weapon aiming at us, I know I should keep quiet, but what’s the point? It doesn’t matter if I keep my mouth shut or go off on him because he will do whatever he wants.
I push the fear to the back of my mind, look him directly in his deranged eyes, and bravely say, “If this is the way to do it, then no.”
My gaze leaves his to search around the stage for a weapon. Not that anything would overpower a gun, but something is better than nothing. I spot a golden cross propped up on a podium against the back wall. It looks heavy enough to inflict pain and maybe provide a momentary window for us to escape.
Father Keaton huffs, “Mmmm, no. Wrong Answer.”
Before I can even move my eyes back to him, a deafening blast sounds near me. My hands slam against my ears as a high-pitched yelp leaves my lips. Alex acts quickly, tucking me into his side, trying to protect me from the glass that is shattering around us.
I can feel Alex’s breathing become heavy, his chest heaving, but he is still able to sound calm when he whispers, “It’s okay, baby. I got you. I’m here.”
The clashing noises begin to settle, and through a shaky voice, I ask, “What was that?”
I slowly open my eyes and see sharp, colorful pieces of glass covering the floor. Is this… stained-glass? I don’t remember seeing a window by the stage.
I glance to the side, where most of the glass lies, and peer upward to find a frame hanging on the wall. Only small spikes of glass along the edges remain, and that’s when I remember someone mentioning that the convent stores spare stained-glass windows throughout the chapel.
But why did he shoot it?
Alex and I make eye contact, both our brows furrowing as we turn our heads and see Father Keaton standing in the same spot, with his gun directed our way.
I can hear Father Keaton muttering, cursing at his clothes and kicking his foot out from under the hem of his robe, blaming the fabric for making him miss and waste a perfectly good bullet.
He didn’t want to shoot the window.
He wanted to shoot us.
But he missed.
“I was going to save you for last to be nice,” his dark eyes lift to meet mine, “but since you want to be ungrateful, then I think you should go next.”
Alex tucks me further into his side. “That’s not going to happen.”
Father Keaton laughs dryly, directing the barrel of the gun at Alex, and I feel his body go rigid. “You think you’re going to stop me?”
I glance behind Father Keaton to see that they have already brought the last woman up to the stage and are continuing the process without his help.
“What is the point of killing all these women?” I ask him as the men lower her into the water, my eyes burning as tears want to break free, but I don’t let them. I won’t let my tears add fuel to his demented satisfaction.
“This was my way of showing my commitment to God,” Father Keaton states proudly. “He told me to sacrifice all of you, and you’d be resurrected. You will all come back in a new light.”
“You’re delusional,” I laugh in disbelief, removing my eyes from the atrocity happening behind him. “He wouldn’t have asked you to do any of this.”
“What do you know, Celine?” His head cocks to the side. “You don’t believe in a God.”
“That’s enough!” Alex shouts.
“This was all part of His plan.” Father Keaton directs the gun to the ceiling, pointing to the man in the sky who made him insane, as he ignores Alex’s plea to stop this madness.
“The plan? Killing all these women?” I question, disgust rolling off my tongue. “Then what about Alex? Where does he fit into all of this?”
“I’m so happy you asked.” Father Keaton grins, lowering the gun until it is aiming at Alex again. “I can’t let him leave here now. He’ll run to the cops and tell them everything that’s happened.”
“So then what is your—” My words get cut off by another gunshot.
In an instant, I’m ripped from Alex’s arms as his body jolts backward.
Our eyes meet briefly before he drops to his knees and then completely falls to the ground.
He lands flat on his back, gasping for air, and I let out a piercing scream.
When I notice the blood seeping through his black shirt, I fall at his side.
“No, no, no!” I cry out in agony, putting pressure on the wound to try and stop the bleeding.
There is so much blood. It’s warm and coating my hands as I hold them to his chest. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, one that makes my skin crawl, but I don’t move or remove my hands because I need to stop the bleeding.
“Celine.” Alex’s hoarse voice has my eyes flicking up to his. “Go. Get out of here.”
I shake my head, my face scrunching up when I see how pale he is getting from the blood loss.
Blowing out a breath, I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Then you’ll die together,” Father Keaton announces from behind me.
The twisted tone in his voice has my body tightening with fear. My hands are still on Alex, but I turn my head to see Father Keaton slowly approaching me. My fight or flight kicks in, and as much as I don’t want to, I push myself away from Alex and quickly crawl to the back wall.
Father Keaton grunts in annoyance at my escape and stalks towards me as I stand and grab the cross off the podium. He is too blinded by his insanity to realize that I’m holding it, but the movement of me lifting it to strike him steals his attention.
With a growl, his free hand quickly snatches my wrist, bending it until I hear a loud snap. I’ve never felt pain like this in my entire life, and the scream I let out is deafening. My fingers loosen around the cross, which falls from my right hand and drops to the floor with an audible clunk.
With his hand securely around my broken wrist, Father Keaton begins to drag me toward the water, not caring that he is causing more damage to the fragmented bones.
I dig my heels into the floor, discomfort shooting up my legs as I try to stop him from taking me any closer. But with how hard he is pulling me, my feet stutter with each step he takes.
Between my ribs, wrist, and the force at which my heels are digging into the ground, the pain is starting to become unbearable.
But I can’t give up.
My eyes dart from Father Keaton to where he has a hold of me, and without a second thought, I lean forward and sink my teeth into his hand. He barks out in agony, releasing my arm as a reflex, and I quickly turn, racing back for the cross when my leg gives out.
The motherfucker kicked me in the back of the knee.
I land on my stomach with a gasp, and when I look up, I see the cross is just an arm’s length away.
I snake my body forward as fast as I can, and it burns from the unbearable pain coursing through it.
Reaching for the object, my fingers graze the tip of it, and my chest blooms with hope, knowing I’m about to be able to defend myself again.
But just as my fingertips pinch the corner of the cross to pull it toward me, I feel strong hands grip my waist, and I’m being roughly flipped over onto my back. My jaw falls into a cry when the sudden movement ignites more agony, and his hand presses down onto my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Maybe I won’t drown you after all.” Father Keaton straddles me, his legs pressing into my thighs harshly so I can’t move. “You’ve been such trouble since the start. Maybe I’ll just shoot you instead to make sure you stay dead.”
The barrel of the gun meets my forehead, and my heart is like thunder in my chest as my eyes look at the cool metal, designed to end my life.
My gaze moves to Alex, who is lying there, barely breathing and watching the whole thing with tears dripping down his face.
“I love you,” he confesses, barely above a whisper.
My heart soars at the three words, and then it slowly breaks. The current situation brings me back to the story of his dad, and it’s right then that I know I can’t have him watch me die just like he watched his father.
It lights the fire in me, and I bring my determined eyes back to Father Keaton, who has now morphed into something darker.
He is too focused on holding the gun to my forehead with the urge to kill me and keeping my body still beneath him, that he doesn’t notice me lift my non-broken hand, struggling but eventually grabbing the cross.
It’s surprisingly heavy, and it would have been nice to use both hands to swing it, but I put all my strength in my left hand.
The cross nails him in the side of the head, throwing him off balance, and he topples off me.
He groans from the impact, blood seeping from his head, and his hand meets the spot where the cross nailed him.
I look to his other hand, not seeing the gun, so I move my eyes wildly across the space to find the weapon.
Once I locate it, I don’t waste a second before I’m diving for the weapon. Father Keaton drops his hand from his head once he realizes what is happening, and also goes for the gun. But he is a second too late because when his hands meet the spot where it was lying, he grabs nothing but air.
I push myself up onto unsteady legs, my broken wrist tucked into my chest, while I point the gun at him with a shaky hand.
He is kneeling, holding his head again to stop the bleeding, and looks at the men behind me who are carefully watching the scene play out.
Waiting for his word to grab me and finish what he’s started.
“Since you are on your knees, why don’t you pray, Father Keaton?” I suggest growing braver as I step up to him. His eyes are dilated, and he may have a concussion from the blow, but I don’t care. “Why don’t you pray to the God that turned you into a fucking lunatic?”
A hollow laugh leaves him. “You won’t do it.”
I ignore him, pressing the barrel to his forehead. Having the tables turned, holding the gun to his head after I was just in the same position, makes me feel powerful. I’m in charge now, and he’s going to pay for what he’s done.
“Pray for forgiveness, Father. For all the innocent lives you’ve taken today.”
He stares at the barrel of the gun, then shifts his eyes to mine.
He sighs in defeat, but I know better than to believe this act.
I know he isn’t about to do as I asked because he means it.
He is going to do it because he thinks it will get me to back down and lower the gun.
He thinks that if I hear him ask for forgiveness, then all will go back to the way it was, and he can continue to sacrifice me for his own crazed reasons.
Tough shit.
That’s not happening.
“I pray for forg—”
“That’s not how it starts.” I cut him off, venom dripping from my voice. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
He wets his lips. “Forgive me, Father, for I have—”
Blood splatters all over my white dress and neck after I pull the trigger. He stays on his knees for a second before his limp body flops to the floor. He lies there, motionless, and I nudge his leg with my foot.
I shot him in the head. I know he is dead, but I’ve seen too many horror movies where the killer somehow escapes death and comes back to life.
Once I know he is truly dead, I rush over to Alex with the gun still in my hand. His chest is moving, but barely. Dropping to my knees, I set the gun beside me on the floor and place my hands back on his chest.
“That was… bad ass.” He attempts a smile.
“You’re making jokes at a time like this?” There is a light shrug to his shoulder, which makes his face wince. “You’re not dying on me, Alex.” I apply more pressure to the wound. “I love you, too. Do you hear me?”
He lightly nods with a sleepy smile.
“I’m going to go get help, and you are going to hang in there, okay? You think of what it’s going to be like outside of this place and how I’m going to show you just how much I love you every single day of our new life.”
“Okay,” he agrees with a sad smile, and he closes his eyes.
I press a soft kiss to his lips before I release my hands and make a run for the exit to find a phone. All of the men who were in here are long gone now that their leader has been killed.
Cowards.
I sprint as fast as I can down the hall, entering the main part of the convent I know and hate. Women gasp in horror as I race past them and jump out of my way, pressing their bodies into the walls to get far away from me when they see the blood I wear as a decoration.
I rush past the chapel, paying them no attention, and take a right down the hall toward the offices, but when I turn the corner, I collide with someone.
We both grunt, and I stumble backward, placing my hand on the wall to steady myself.
When I look up, I’m surprised at who I see. “Sister Greta?”
“Celine.” Her eyes trail down my dress, widening in terror.
“We need to call the cops,” I tell her frantically, breathless. “Father Alexander has been shot and Father Keaton… he’s dead. There are so many dead—”
“I already called them,” she reassures me. “They are on their way.”
“How did you—”
“I overheard you and Father Alexander talking about this event that night in the library, and it sounded odd because Father Keaton doesn’t usually do things like this.
Then I overheard him and Sister Alice talking in secret, which made it more suspicious,” she explains quickly.
It’s the fastest I’ve ever heard her speak.
“When I was on my way to where it was taking place, I heard the first gunshot and hurried to the offices to call the cops.”
“Thank you,” I cry. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I don’t wait for her response. I turn around and book it back to Alex while sirens sound in the distance.