Page 50 of Of Heathens & Havoc

I know I’ll be more than a few minutes late, but I’ll have to take my punishment the same way the boys did when I turned them in. Or maybe she’ll worry and send someone after me, and they’ll save me from the deviance of the three lawless heathens in whose hands I’m willingly placing myself. Thoughts of running rise again, of hiding behind a mask the way I have so many times, of disappearing. But my feet move on their own, leading me as if they know my fate is already sealed, as inevitable as the crucifixion.

Three stray students race past me, trying to make it back to the girls’ dorm in time to avoid the nun’s wrath, and then I’m alone. The deserted campus lays spread before me like an offering, an unholy temptation that quickens my steps and my heartbeat as I move across the empty lawn. The wind tears at my cardigan, and I clutch it tight around me. There’s no use fighting. That’s what I tell myself, because if I don’t have a choice, it’s not a sin.

I dart a glance around, making sure I’m alone before I let myself lift my face to greet the force of the gusts like a challenge, drinking in the cool edge in it, the whisper of promise that sends a delicious shiver down my spine. After all, I’m the kind of girl who ducks my head against the wind, who doesn’t watch it bend the trees to its will, making them sigh in pleasure as it tugs at their leaves and forces them to bow for their master.

A few minutes later I step into the atrium, my heart pounding erratically as my eyes adjust. No one is here. I take a few minutes to collect myself before I march into the chapel, my clogs announcing my approach. Three robed men stand waiting at the altar, each wearing a skull mask of a different color. My heart skips, but my stride never wavers.

I stop at the pedestal where a porcelain bowl of holy water stands. Closing my eyes, I dip my trembling fingers into the water, searching for some comfort, maybe even purification, before I step into the unknown. My lips move, but no sound comes out as I cross myself.

No one moves or speaks as I finish and open my eyes before climbing the three wooden steps that lead to the heart of the church, where mass is conducted. The pulpit stands to my left, and to my right, the choir’s seats sit empty. Ahead, a row of cushions wait at the railing where we take communion, and past that, the altar stands backed by a tall wooden cross. High above, a crucifixion scene is cast in stained glass, each delicate pane burned into my memory, though it’s nothing more than a shadowy hollow in the dark of night.

“Here I am,” I say, stopping at the railing.

“Have you decided to accept your lot as our sacrifice?” asks the one in the black mask.

My palms are itching, and I curl my fingers into fists, letting my nails bite into my scarred skin. A single word echoes in my head, a result of the waves of adrenaline beating at the shore of my mind.

Fight.

But fighting won’t get me what I want—to be closer, to be one of them again, to find the truth about Eternity.

“Yes,” I say.

“Let’s give her one more chance,” says Red Skull.

“You just want to chase her,” says White Skull.

“Yeah, so?” Red Skull says, cracking his knuckles.

“So what if I get away?” I ask. “Then I don’t get your protection?”

He laughs, the mirthless sound echoing through the empty pews. “You’ll never get away.”

“Then what’s the point?” I ask. “If I have no chance, there’s no reason to run. I accept my fate.”

“The point is, it gets my dick hard,” he says harshly.

“You can’t fuck her,” Black Skull says. “His Holiness has to choose you.”

“You’re just hoping he’ll choose you,” Red Skull says, elbowing him. “Sicko.”

“Should we prepare her for the Master?” asks White Skull, going to the back wall, where the tall wooden cross stands below the stained-glass window. “Help me with this.”

“Good idea,” Black Skull says, joining him.

White Skull wraps his arms around the upright beam of polished wood, straining to lift it from the brass base where it stands. Black Skull lends a hand, and together they heave it out. It starts to tip, and Red Skull rushes to help support it as the three of them lower it to the floor. It’s so tall they can’t lay it flat, and instead it comes to rest at a slight angle with the top few feet jutting over the railing where we take communion.

“Alright,” Black Skull says, shrugging to adjust the black robe that was pulled askew when they were working. “Let’s strap her on.”

“What?” I gasp, stepping back and shaking my head. “You can’t!”

The very thought of being put on a cross is sacrilege.

Red Skull’s masked face swings my way, and a menacing chuckle echoes through the vaulted ceiling overhead. He steps toward me, his body tensed as if to spring the moment I make arun for it. Black Skull’s arm extends in front of Red Skull’s chest, stopping him with a silent command.

“If you want to leave,” he says to me. “Go.”

I swallow hard, glancing over my shoulder as I calculate how long it will take me to snatch the clogs off my feet and run if they’re playing some kind of trick on me, letting Red Skull have his fun.

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