Page 41 of Wanted

Voices reach us from down one of the hallways, but they’re not paying attention to us, caught up in their own conversation.

Everything is going smoothly, almost too smoothly, until we reach the next intersection. Again, Father McCall glances left to right, but then he does a double-take at the left and grumbles under his breath.

“Father McCall!” Sister Agatha calls out a second later. “I need to speak--”

Her words cut off in a gasp as her eyes fall upon me.

Dropping his bearded chin in determination, Father McCall urges me quickly past the intersection, but I catch a glimpse of Sister Agatha’s face paling in surprise.

“Father McCall!” she calls out louder. “Stop! Please stop!”

Ignoring her, Father McCall tugs me into a run.

But his short, elderly legs can only move so fast.

Behind us, Sister Agatha’s thick heels pound against the carpet. She’s probably just as old as Father McCall, if not older, but she’s mean and powered by pure spite.

Fearing she’ll catch up to us, I’m tempted to outrun Father McCall and leave him behind.

It would be too easy to rip my hand out of his grasp and use him to buy me some more time.

After all, one does not need to outrun the dragon. They only need to outrun the person behind them. At least, that’s what my father told me on once when reading me a bedtime story.

But I can’t bring myself to abandon Father McCall.

Even if it might cost me my freedom.

We make it to the end of the hall, but as soon as Father McCall pushes the bar to open the door, Sister Agatha grabs me by the back of my hood.

“Stop!” Sister Agatha screeches as she yanks me back. “You can’t do this!”

Fisting my hair through the fabric, she uses so much force I fear my neck is going to snap.

Reaching behind myself, I grab at her hands, my nails scoring into her thin skin. But it’s Father McCall that manages to free me.

Turning from the door and letting it slam shut behind him, he throws himself forward and shoves Sister Agatha hard in the chest. “Release her, you vicious old cow!”

Sister Agatha stumbles backwards and falls to her butt on the floor with a look of shock on her face.

I look at Father McCall, just as shocked. Shocked that he shoved her. Shocked that he dared to call her what I’ve always been secretly thinking.

His face flushed red, Father McCall huffs and puffs with his anger. “You will abuse her no longer! She is under my protection! God’s protection!”

Sister Agatha sputters with indignation, her legs splayed out in front of her. “Abuse her?! She is an abomination. It is our duty to keep her from doing harm to the good, godly people of this earth.”

Father McCall’s eyes brighten with fury and he looks like he’s ready to thrash her. I hold my breath, the bad part of me hoping he does. I want to see her take the pain.

I want to see her take a fist and see how she likes it.

But instead, he grabs my hand and bellows with righteous authority, “How easily you twist scripture to fit your own narrative. Let me remind you of what you have forgotten! Genesis 1:31—And God saw everything that He had made, and, behold, it was very good!”

Sister Agatha sucks in one of her shrill, shocked breaths.

Father McCall turns away from her and pushes open the door. Squeezing my hand to reassure me, he leads me out into the world.

As the door slams behind us, Sister Agatha begins to scream for, “Help!”

The full force of the sun hits me in the face like a semi-truck. Bringing my arm up, I try to shield my eyes, but they’re on fire. Melting into my skull.

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