Page 6 of The Preacher's Pet

The name makes my blood race with fear. It’s too close to another name I’d feared for so long—him, the Prophet.

“Yes, that’s what Cain, Roman, and Malachi go by. Cain said he knows you. What did he do to make you run like that?”

I don’t even know how to answer that question. I’m not entirely sure myself.

“He didn’t do anything. I-I just panicked.”

She grimaces. “I know they can look a little freaky with those creepy masks they wear, but they tend to keep to themselves. Cain said you knew each other as kids.”

“Yeah, he’s from my hometown, but I haven’t seen him in years.”

“How come? Did he move away?”

I glance down, not wanting to meet her eyes. The whole reason behind me attending Verona Falls was so I’d learn to spread my wings, overcome some of my fears, and hopefully act more like my peers. I think it’s like when you have a nervous dog, the trainer puts them with a more confident dog to teach the nervous one how to behave. Except people don’t have the same non-judgmental hearts as dogs. No, if everyone here learns what happened to me, they’ll all start talking, and I’ll become even more of a freak than I already am.

Then I realize at least some of the story is going to get around college now. Cain is here, and he knows the first part of what happened, at least.

I clear my throat and go to sit on the edge of my bed. Camile follows, perching next to me.

“When I was twelve years old, I was abducted.”

Her jaw drops and her eyes just about pop out of her head. “What? For how long?”

My cheeks flush. Why should I feel so ashamed when I had nothing to do with what happened? It hadn’t been my fault, but still, I blame myself. If only I hadn’t wandered off that day, I’d have been safe.

“Almost six years.”

I thought she hadn’t been able to look more shocked, but I’d been wrong.

“Six years?” she parrots back at me.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, God, Ophelia, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine. How awful. Please tell me it wasn’t one of those situations where someone takes you and locks you in a basement for all that time, like you read about sometimes.”

I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I was part of a…community. I lived with them all that time.”

“I can’t imagine that. Did you try to escape at any point?”

Automatically, I raise my hand to touch the scar on my face. “Yes, I did, at first. But we were in the middle of nowhere, and I was just a kid. There was nowhere I could go.”

“Surely someone could have helped you?” Her face twists in sympathy. “Sorry, I’m sounding like I’m being judgmental, and I’m not. I just can’t imagine how awful it must have been.”

“No, they were all in on it. Even the cops in the nearest towns were allegedly in my kidnapper’s pocket.”

“Fucking hell.”

“After a while, I stopped trying to escape,” I admit. “I think it was easier to just give in than keep fighting it. Years went by, and I kind of forgot about my old life, or at least tried to. But then the leader of the town said I was almost eighteen and it was time we should get married, and that’s when I realized I had to try again. I had to run.”

“How did you get away?” Her voice is breathy with horror.

I twist my hands in my lap and stare down at them. Recalling that time isn’t easy. “Honestly, it nearly killed me. I left on foot, because we were never allowed to learn to drive. I decided I’d rather die in the wilderness than marry that man. I took some supplies with me that I’d stolen, and they kept me going, and when they ran out, I foraged berries and drank from rivers. Even now, I’ve no idea how long I was lost, but I kept going. Eventually, I came across a road, and a couple who were doing a road trip down through the country picked me up." I give a small laugh. “I hid from them at first. I was scared they might take me back to that place. But they saw me hiding in the bushes and coaxed me out.”

“What happened then?” Camile asks, eyes wide at my story.

“They took me to the nearest sheriff’s office. I was able to tell them my real name, and they got in touch with my parents, and, well…here I am.”

I don’t tell her that I sat in the sheriff’s office for more than twenty-four hours without saying a word. I’d been so convinced they’d take me back even though rationally I knew I was far away from the community’s territory. I’d wanted to run again, but at that point, I was so weak and half-starved that I hadn’t been in any physical shape to run anywhere. Mentally and emotionally, I’d been a mess, too. I still am.

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