Page 18 of Wanted

“Evil bitch!”

Ripping my arm out of Sister Agatha’s grip, I twist around to see what is happening.

What has made everyone so angry?

Just as I turn to face the pews, though, something hard hits me in the face.

Crying out, I bring my arm up to shield myself and glimpse a black shoe dropping to the floor. A man’s black dress shoe.

Why would someone throw their shoe at me?

“Take her below,” I hear the Prophet say, his voice grating against my nerves again.

Sister Agatha nods and grabs my arm again. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

Another shoe flies through the air, a woman’s ivory heel this time, aimed for me, but Sister Agatha yanks me out of its path.

“That’s enough of that!” she snaps out.

“You’ll burn in Hell!” a man screams at me from the front row of pews. His cheeks stained red and all the veins in his neck popping out with his fury.

I recoil, my chest squeezing and my eyes burning.

What did I do?

Oh God, what did I do?

Sister Agatha drags me toward the red velvet curtain, pulling me along even as I dig in my heels.

I twist my body around again, nearly pulling my own arm out of socket to look at the cathedral. To look for my parents.

I thought I was safe when I felt God’s arms around me. I thought I was a good girl…

Yet, I see now that nearly everyone is on their feet, screaming at me. Their lips frothing. Their eyes full of hate.

“Daddy!” I cry out, unable to hold my tears back any longer.

Where is he?

He’ll help me. He’ll explain there’s been a terrible mistake.

He’ll protect me.

Searching through the watery gleam of my tears, gliding over hate-filled face after hate-filled face, I finally spot him standing behind Howard.

While Howard glares at me, his mouth bellowing along with the angry choir, my father stands utterly still. Every drop of color has been drained from his face, and he looks as if he’s aged over a dozen years.

“Daddy!” I scream for him, reaching with my free arm. “Help me!”

Pain flashes across my father’s face and his eyes fill with despair, but he makes no move toward me. Simply watching me being dragged away by Sister Agatha.

Why? Why isn’t he coming to help me? Why isn’t he defending me? Protecting me?

Does he not see? Can he not hear?

The red velvet curtain appears in the corners of my eyes, and I know with some innate certainty that once Sister Agatha drags me behind it, I will be doomed.

There will be no help. No hope. No rescue.

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