Page 43 of Written in Sin
He looks at me with a soft expression, like he feels bad for me. I don’t need anyone to pity me. He repeats himself, “I’m not going to hurt you. Follow me, alright? We’ll get you somewhere safe.”
While his words sound rehearsed; there’s something in his tone that makes me believe him. I take a deep breath and he leads me out of the graveyard and into the darkened forest. I can’t help but ask, “What’s your name?”
He glances over his shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nathaniel.”
“Where are you taking me?” He doesn’t answer right away, the beating of my heart filling the silence.
“Just follow me. I’ll get you to a place where you’ll be safe. I promise.”
We keep walking, the trees thinning as we move. I can see the faint glow of headlights through the trees, a car waiting for us. My pulse quickens as we near the car, and Nathaniel pauses, glancing at me one last time.The tension lingers for a moment longer, but then he opens the passenger door for me. I get in without another word, the door closing behind me with a soft click.
I lean back and sink into the seat, feeling the weight of my body like I’ve been carrying it for far too long. I don’t fight it. I let myself be consumed by the stillness.
The sound from the tires on the road soothes my mind. I find myself focusing on their rhythm, letting the noise drown out the rest of the world. Air slips through the cracked window, brushing my face gently. The random caresses of cold keeps me from slipping too deep into my own thoughts. But it only furthers the heaviness in all four of my limbs and the way my eyelids grow heavier with each second.
The signs’ bold letters glow up ahead in the headlights. I never thought I would see that sign and not be excited. I’d at least expect to feel some glimmer of hope, but I don’t.
Asheville
20 Miles
I just stare at it as we pass by, then watch it disappear in the side mirror. Nathaniel tries talking to me here and there before he gives up. “You can rest if you want.” I look at him, trailing over the features I can make out, my eyes drifting to where his hands grip the steering wheel. He doesn’t look nervous, but he is. It’s in the way his fingers flex against the leather, and I see the shimmer from the crooked scars that cover his hand when they catch in the moonlight.
I shift back in my seat, trying to breathe through the knot forming in my chest. “Yeah. I’ll go ahead and do that. Nothing like fleeing religious captivity to relax someone.” I turn my headback toward the window and cross my arms. My head falls back against the seat, and the world outside blurs together. My mind drifts into the dark, into a place Zed can’t reach me.
But somewhere deep down, even as I let sleep pull me under, I know. I’m not free. They took everything from me, but he was the only thing I wanted to keep.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Zedediah
I’d kiss the knife in Cat’s hands if it meant feeling her breath on my skin again, but she’s fading. Where is she going? Why is she looking at me like that, like, like I’m one of them? Cat! I scream. Please just tell me what part of me is making you run?
My head is throbbing, but it’s nothing compared to the fire tearing through the left side of my face. Harold’s harsh grip is on my shoulders and as he shakes me I feel the hay from the barn floor sticking to the side of my wet face. Some blood has dried, but a steady pour continues down my cheek. It’s dripping from the tip of my nose to the straw. In my peripheral I see it turning the once-pale yellow pieces a deep crimson color. I don’t have to touch the cut to know it’s deep. It’s also the fact that I can taste blood just from breathing.
I don’t move right away. I just try to breathe through the pain, letting my limbs stay limp. My vision’s swimming, but I manage to squint open my eyes and catch it—the glint of metal under his coat. Where the fuck has Harold been hiding a gun?
I keep still, letting him think I’m weaker than I am. My breath rattles in my throat as I shift just enough to groan, before letting my arm flop back to the floor like dead weight.
I cough, attempting to sound as pitiful as possible. “Help me up,” I croak, keeping my eyes half lidded. “I can’t…”
He hesitates before he leans down, his thick arms slide underneath my armpits and haul me upright. That’s when I move. My hand slips between us, not to fight, to take. My fingers close around the cold steel of the gun, freeing it with one swipe and using my free hand to push him down. His back lands on the ground and he freezes.
I release the safety and raise it, pointing it toward his face.
I remember something as I push myself up. The same thought that flashed through my mind on my way to the barn. The only one with a figure so large is Harold. I know he was the one who brought her here. “Where is she?” I snarl.
I’m suddenly wide awake. The pain in my face, my skin, is stinging like it’s being peeled away. “Safe,” is all he says.
My finger itches with a desire to pull the trigger. “I’m not going to ask you again.” Harold shakes his head, his eyes wide.
“I can’t tell you.” I’ve never imagined a look like this on Harold’s face. Who knew giants scare too.
He just stares, his silence is doing more than pissing me off. It makes me feel helpless, and I don’t do helpless.
I push the metal of the gun against his temple, tempted to pull the trigger right here, right now. My rage makes me feel larger than him for once. The blood pouring from my cheek feels like it may have clotted up. But, every thrum of my heartbeat feels like a hammer to the face.
His eyes roll up meeting mine, but he says nothing. My boot drives into his ribs with a crunch that vibrates all the way up my leg. He folds over, spitting out blood and groaning. Thesound isn’t satisfying, it’s sickening. But it does make me feel in control.
