Mors

Chapter 15

Trigger warning : This chapter contains scenes many viewers will feel uncomfortable about, so please scroll if you don't wish to read it. I'm giving you a warning because this chapter is pretty dark and abusive.

I walked toward the back of the church, my hand reaching for the heavy iron handle of the door. I was ready to go back to Mrs. Gable’s, pack my things, and move even further west. I’d find a job, a real one. I’d change my name legally. I would start over.

But life has a cruel way of letting you taste hope right before it rips the floor out from under you.

Over the next two days, I lived like a ghost. I planned my exit with a feverish intensity, ready to vanish into the horizon for good.

Yet, on my final day in Oakhaven, a strange, magnetic pull hit me. I felt a desperate urge to go back to the church. It wasn't for the sake of prayer or confession, and I certainly wasn't there to make amends for the blood on my hands. I went back because it was the only place where the screaming in my head turned into a hum. It was the only place that felt quiet.

Since it was Sunday, the small stone sanctuary wasn't empty. A few locals were scattered in the pews, their presence a thin, comforting shield of normalcy. I clutched my backpack to my chest, feeling the hard edges of my remaining jewelry through the fabric, and slipped into a middle row. I stayed away from the others, burying myself in the stillness of the stone walls.

I clasped my hands together and squeezed my eyes shut, resting my forehead against my knuckles. I let the silence wash over me like cool water. I tried to let the strength of the place fill the hollowed-out parts of my chest. For a few minutes, I actually believed I was safe.

Until the air in the church froze.

It wasn't a draft. It was a sudden, violent drop in pressure that made the hair on my arms stand up. Then came the sound. Slow, deliberate, predatory steps clicking against the floorboards. Each footfall felt like a hammer nailing my coffin shut. My heart stopped, then started again with a painful rhythm.

I shivered, my nails digging into the backs of my hands until I broke the skin.

No, God, no. Let it be someone else. Someone safe. Please, God. Please! I pleaded into the dark of my closed eyelids.

A heavy, suffocating stillness fell over the room. I heard the frantic shuffling of the few parishioners as they hurried out, sensing the sudden arrival of a wolf in their fold. The heavy oak doors creaked and shut with a finality that sounded like a tomb closing.

"Are you... are you here to pray, sir?" the pastor’s voice drifted over, thin and shaky. He sounded like a man who had just seen the devil walk into his house.

"Everly."

He slurred my name, dragging the syllables out until they sounded like a death sentence. I didn't dare look up. I couldn't. If I didn't see him, maybe he wasn't real. Maybe he was just a nightmare I hadn't woken up from.

"You look well," he taunted. I could hear the smirk in his voice, the mocking edge as he took in my shabby hoodie, my unwashed hair, and the desperate way I was curled into myself.

I looked down, trying to shrink, trying to vanish into the very air, but Augustino wasn't a man who allowed for disappearance. His hand, large, warm, and smelling of expensive tobacco suddenly fisted into my hair. He yanked me out of the pew with a violent jerk that sent a white-hot flash of pain through my scalp.

I let out a choked sob as he forced me to stand, my head tilted back at an agonizing angle so I was forced to look at him. He looked perfect. Not a hair out of place. Not a hint of the prison I thought I'd sent him to.

"Let her go," the pastor tried to intervene, taking a hesitant step forward.

Augustino didn't even look at him. He didn't glare. He didn't growl. He simply shifted his gaze toward the priest for a fraction of a second, a cold, empty stare that carried the weight of a thousand murders. The pastor froze, the words dying in his throat as he realized exactly what kind of monster had crossed his threshold. The man of God stepped back, his face turning an ashen grey.

"I believe you have a role to fulfill, Everly," Augustino whispered, leaning in so close his breath stirred the loose hairs at my temple. "You see, I have a real knack for pissing God off, and tainting his place of worship... well, it sounds like a perfect idea, don't you think?"

I started crying. Not the quiet, controlled tears of a victim, but full-on, body-wracking sobs. I cried because the hope I’d nurtured for forty-eight hours had been a lie. I cried because I saw nothing but darkness stretching out in front of me.

"Shhh," he whispered, his other hand coming up to trace the line of my jaw with terrifying tenderness. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as my tears wet his silk tie. "Don't cry yet, little bird. I haven't even given you something to cry about."

“Now, kneel. It’s about bloody time you fulfilled your end of the bargain,” he commanded.

The words were cold, sharp, and carried the weight of a physical blow. I sobbed, the sound echoing off the high stone arches of the church. I was paralyzed by fear, but more than that, I was weak. I was weak in front of death, and I was weak in front of him. I didn't want to die, not here, not like this. Not like a dog in the dirt. Every shred of my human survival instinct kicked in, screaming at me to do whatever it took to keep breathing, even if it meant throwing my dignity into the fire.

I sank to my knees. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely control them as I reached for his zipper. I could feel the Pastor’s eyes on us, wide and horrified, his breath hitching in his chest. As he tried to scramble away, to find some exit from this nightmare, the metallic click of a gun being drawn stopped him cold.

Augustino didn't even look at the man as he leveled the barrel. “You’re the direct witness for your Lord, aren't you? You’ll stay and watch. Let your God watch through you.”

It wasn't about the Pastor, and it certainly wasn't about God. It was about me. He wanted to stomp on my soul, to crush my pride under his heel in a way I would never recover from. He wanted to turn a sanctuary into a crime scene.

I closed my eyes, the humiliation burning hotter than any physical pain, as I pulled his zipper down.

The rasp of the metal felt deafening in the silence of the church. My hands hovered, trembling, over his crotch. I could feel the heat radiating from him, a dark, pulsing energy that made my skin crawl.

Augustino didn't say a word. He just stood there, watching me with a twisted sense of amusement, like a predator enjoying the final moments of a hunt.

It took me a full minute just to find the strength to touch him. My heart was lodged in my throat, choking me, as I finally gripped him and freed him from his pants. He wasn’t hard yet, but he was already monstrous. I kept my head down, staring at the floor, feeling completely and utterly mortified.

I’ll be honest, I wasn’t a prude. s*x just wasn't something I made time for. My life was too busy, too cluttered for men. Whenever I felt an itch, I took care of it myself and moved on. That was enough. I wasn’t clueless about what was supposed to happen next, but I was nowhere near ready, not against my will, and definitely not with a monster who was forcing my hand in a house of worship.

As I stared at the floor, Augustino let out a low, rough sound.

“f*****g hell,” he muttered. “Get on your f*****g knees properly.”

He didn't wait for me to register the command. He took matters into his own hands. With a sudden, forceful shove, he pushed me into position, looming over me from behind.

“I hate falling on my knees for anything,” he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper as he knelt behind me. “But the thought of tainting you and this altar at the same time? That’s inciting enough.”

The Pastor, sensing a momentary distraction, took a desperate gamble. He tried to bolt for the side door. Because he was in front of us, he had to try and scramble past, but he didn't even make it three steps before the silence was shattered by a deafening crack.

The Pastor screamed, a raw, piercing sound that cut through my heart as he collapsed to the floor directly in front of me. He clutched his leg, blood beginning to pool on the ancient stone.

“I told you to bear witness to this union, didn’t I?” Augustino didn't even spare the bleeding man a second glance. He reached out and gripped the fabric of my clothes, tearing them away with a brutal, efficient strength that left me exposed to the cold air, to him, and to the sobbing man on the floor.

~•~