Page 42 of Written in Sin
“Catarina.”
That’s all he has to say before I duck under his arm. This random boost of energy feels more like desperation than anything, but it helps me run forward. As I run down the hall, I yell over my shoulder, “We’re not done!”
The alarm finally stops and I press against the sides of my head. The pressure briefly soothing the pounding behind my eyes.
I hear panicked voices in the distance, coming from the fellowship hall I’m sure. That’s our safe meeting spot when this happens. I peek through the door and can’t spot Cat anywhere.
Where is she? Why isn’t she in the auditorium? I scour through every room. They’re all empty. I make my way into the last place I haven’t searched: the kitchen. I glance out of the window above the sink, the fog is starting to lay on top of the grass. That’s when I see it. The barn.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Catarina
Ihold my breath when I hear the creaking of the barn door opening. “Cat?” Zed’s voice is a whisper but still cuts through the silence. My stomach constricts and I listen to the door closing. “Cat, please. Just talk to me. I’m sorry.”
His eyes land on me before he rushes in my direction. “There you are.” He sounds relieved, like he doesn’t notice the fear in my stance.
I snap at him, “Don’t come any closer.” The sound of the hay crunching beneath his steps stop.
“I just want to talk. You’re scared, I get it. But you don’t have to—” I pivot fast, catching him off guard, driving my fist into his jaw. He pulls back, stunned, and throws his hands up. “Stop. Let me explai—” His words are interrupted by the third alarm going off.
I’ve got minutes, and I’m not wasting them listening to anything he has to say.
Moonlight spills over his bruised face. Harold, now Zed?
Rushing me, he grabs at my wrists, but he’s too weak to get a good hold. I twist out, drop my weight, and slam my knee intohis stomach. He grunts and stumbles but he doesn’t fight back. His pleas mean nothing to me. “I don’t want to hurt you!”
I laugh, it’s too late for that. I narrow my eyes. “Well, I want to hurt you.”
He lifts both of his hands. “Please don’t do this,” he pants out, but it doesn’t matter. I’m already moving toward him. I slide my hand behind my back, my fingers wrapping around the knife’s handle before I pull it out in front of me. He sees the flash of the blade and freezes before pleading with me, “Catarina, please. Just tell me what’s going on.” A lump forms in my throat hearing his voice. This is the Zed I thought I knew.
I swallow it down. I can’t stop. If I do, he’ll never let me get away. I lunge forward, slicing him clean across his face. He looks at me like I’ve ripped the ground from under him—and maybe I have. His movements are frantic while he grabs at the torn flesh. Blood seeps past his fingers as he cradles the side of his face, applying pressure.
My heart feels it, and I know the scream rippling through the barn will haunt me for the rest of my life. Because it’s his scream—Zed’s scream. This is Zed. But I can’t let that matter. I can’t let it mean something. This is survival.
He sways and I watch as his free hand reaches out in slow motion. He’s trying to hold onto something.
Me, maybe.
But there’s nothing left to hang onto.
He staggers before his body crashes to the barn floor, hay scattering in the air from his impact. My eyes cloud over as I stare down at him. “I loved you,” I whisper. My heart cracks open, the pain nearly making my knees give out. My lungs are on fire and I can’t help but notice the blood on my hands when I open the barn doors.
I run, and I don’t look back.
I make my way to the graveyard and it feels colder than it should. Standing near the shed, rooted in place, my heart hammers like it’s trying to break out of my chest. The moon offers little comfort, its light casting eerie shadows across the weathered headstones. Not even twenty-four hours ago I was here.
The memories crash in, uninvited. The way he touched me. The way he loved me. Did he love me? I almost wish that the cold would swallow me whole, then it would be easier to ignore the world caving in around me. But it doesn’t work that way, does it? The night won’t ease its grip on me. It won’t let me forget where I am or what I’ve been through. How can I trust someone I don’t know?
I start pacing between the shed and tombstones, trying to ease the adrenaline coursing through me. My mind isn’t allowing me to watch where I’m going and I trip, dropping to the ground. I look up at the tombstone my body landed next to and stare at her name. Was it her voice I heard? Was that the shift? I start to laugh at the insanity of it all. “I killed him.” I don’t know her, but I think she would be thankful to know he’s dead. The hair on the back of my neck prickles and a long lost memory rushes to the surface—maybe it was the fall that knocked it loose, but suddenly I remember why The Collective sounded familiar, before.
I start patting myself down searching for my necklace—my pockets. Panic sets in when I realize my pockets are empty. I have to go back; I push myself up to run but stop myself. I can’t go back. Who knows what’s happened since I ran—and who knows what could happen now that I remember why the name of this place felt so familiar when I arrived.
The sound of snapping branches beneath footsteps moving through the underbrush cuts through my inner thoughts. My head turns in the direction of the noise, and I freeze.Instinctively, I crawl out of the moonlight into the shadows just as the figure steps into the clearing. Only a silhouette at first, and then the outline of a man emerges from the trees. He’s really young to be someone who’s meant to help.
His movements are quick and measured, it’s like he’s used to moving under the radar. He’s scrawny. The faintest trace of moonlight catches on his face as he approaches, illuminating the features of someone who looks like he could be a hundred different people, none of them really stand out. He stops a few feet away, finding me in the shadows. He lets the tension hang in the air before speaking. “Are you Catrina?” I nod, not correcting him. It seems too miniscule to worry about that right now.
His voice is soft when he continues. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, there’s a rawness in his tone. “The fellowship took everything from me, too.” I don’t ask what he means, but my eyes narrow, and I look over him as much as I can with the moon as my only light. “Come on,” he says, his voice suddenly firm. “Let’s get you out of here.”
