Page 49 of Broken

Undiscovered - James Morrison

She’s insane.

That’s the onlywayI can accept what she’s saying.

At my silence, she continues, “Is it true what they wrote in the articles? About the rebels who held you?”

Tension fills me. I didn’t expect her to speak about my past. No one ever does. It’s there, a big shadow that looms over everything, but it’s avoided by all—be they my flock or the higher-ups in the Church.

“There were many articles written about them. How am I supposed to know which one you mean?”

She ignores my defensive retort and clarifies, “The authorities said they found dozens of women’s and girl’s bodies buried on the compound when they finally infiltrated it.”

My throat feels too tight, too thick to swallow. Air doesn’t penetrate my lungs as I’m transported back to that time, to that place.

To the heat.

The stench.

The terror.

The pleas.

Fingers touch me, bringing me back. Grounding me. I stare at them, at the soft palm that’s free from calluses but stained red from my lifeblood.

Her palm brushes my chest like she has the right to touch me there, andpar Dieu, if I hadn’t felt the same way when I rubbed my hand over her hair.

Insanity—I’ve hovered near the precipice before but I’ve never felt so close to the edge as I do now. Perhaps we’re twins in that?

“They were all raped before they died,” she says huskily, stepping closer to me once she’s back on her feet, not allowing me to move away from her.

Not allowing me to hide.

“Yes. All of them,” I rasp, shuttering my eyes like I wish I could shutter my mind to the memories.

In front of me.

My jaw clenches at the memory.

Sixty-six women.

All butchered in front of me.

Sixty-six victims were used as leverage to force me to absolve souls who deserved to rot in hell.

“It’s amazing you’re still in one piece,” she whispers, eyes wide at my revelation.

But she’s wrong.

I’m fractured into a million pieces. I’m not whole. I haven’t been since Oran.

People have suspected, but they never come out with it. That’s the only joy to nobody discussing my past.

“God sent me to you,” she rasps. “To help you.”

She’s unhinged.

“He gave me wings to fly to you.”

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