Page 131 of Forgive Me Father
“No,” I hiss, “I think it sends a message.”
I slide the blade across his throat, and his shock is palpable. As his blood spills onto my face, I shift the knife to his chest, stabbing him repeatedly until his movements cease. Feeling around, I find the church keys and decide to lock him inside.
When this is all over, I’d gladly face any jail time if it means I’m one step closer to Eden.
I search for anything else of use, finding his phone and tucking it into my pocket. Stepping over his bloodied body, I remove my shoes and wipe my face with my jacket before draping it over him.
As I exit the office, I lock the door behind me. The phone buzzes in my pocket. Checking the screen, a flicker of hope ignites.
David Faulkner:
Everything is ready.
Eden is fine.
Bidders will arrive tonight.
Are we clear? Is the office cleared out?
I reply with a terse “yes,” slipping the phone back into my pocket.
If God is watching me now, let’s hope He still has some forgiveness left.
Colossians 3:13 "Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you."
Chapter 37
Eden
My head—it's like a drum pounding incessantly, the pain unbearable.
Why does it hurt so damn much?
I roll onto my back, gripping my throbbing head, desperately trying to piece together the fragments of my fractured memory. The phone call from my mother echoes in my mind, her voice quivering with fear.
And my father. He seized her. He hurt her.
My house. I rushed to my house.
I close my eyes, and the horrific image of my mother’s lifeless body sprawled on the floor floods my mind. My hand reaches for Roman’s gun before—
The impact. He struck me in the head.
Forcing my eyes open, I try to stand, only to be jolted by a sharp collision with cold metal. Blinking through the veil of darkness still clouding my vision, my eyes gradually adjust to the dim, oppressive gloom of the room.
I feel around, my hands encountering nothing but metal. The realization dawns on me: I am enclosed in a cage.
A dog cage.
What the hell is this?
I shake the bars, the rattling sound mingling with faint, sorrowful sobs nearby. The room is illuminated only by the flickering glow of candles, casting erratic shadows that dance across the walls. The air is thick with the musty scent of dampness and decay.
I hear the sobbing again and shake the bars harder, my fingers probing through the gaps in an attempt to grip them tightly.
“Is someone there?” I croak, surprised by how parched my throat feels.
Movement catches my eye a few feet away. Another metal cage shifts, and I realize that I am not alone.
