Page 82 of Dreadful
I rush out of the office, not even bothering to close the door behind me as I head straight to the graveyard. The icy wind pinches my cheeks, and I tug the white headdress forward to protect me from the chill. Thankfully, I used wool for the costume, both for warmth and to hide my true figure from any witnesses.
I slink farther inside the cemetery gardens and try to avoid looking at one grave in particular. Despite my best efforts, though, I catch a glimpse of the bouquet of black tulips I left a few weeks ago, now wilted on the gravestone. Although mynonniwon’t admit it, I know Antonella helped pay for the stone. It’s certainly more than either one of my families could have ever afforded. I would normally want to destroy anything that Claudio’s money touched, but this was another one of Antonella’s acts of atonement. As much as I hate the Vincelli name, Antonella was the only one on my list who tried to help me. I won’t take my forgiveness from her now.
By the time I make it to the grave, the last few mourners have all but disappeared between the tall granite statues, graves, and trees. A thrill of excitement buzzes over my skin at the sound of the front main gate squeaking open and clanking closed. The priest and I are truly alone in the secluded graveyard, hidden from the outside world by the formidable stone wall that surrounds it.
Perfect.
I lurk in the shadows along the main building, thankful that it’s already dusk. Gray and white statues of saints and angels stare on in silent testimony like dark omens. The light fog that has settled over the grounds and the thick trees that were planted centuries ago give me the sense that the cemetery itself supports me in what I’m about to do.
The priest and I seem to both be waiting to make sure that no grieving stragglers will return. Once it seems the coast is clear, the priest nods to himself once, crosses himself over his chest, and turns around to walk back into the church.
I step out onto the stone path, my heart racing, wondering if he’ll recognize me. All he does is give a cursory smile without even meeting my eyes. His gaze darts to the scar I’ve left uncovered, and his face twists in disgust.
“Sister,” he grumbles, still refusing to look at me as he walks past.
“Father Lucas.” I don’t mask the anger in my voice.
He halts mid-step but doesn’t turn around to face me.
“Sister, did you have something you wish to discuss?” he asks with a labored sigh.
“More like…confess,” I hiss.
He scowls at me over his shoulder, and I make my move while he’s off-kilter. I pounce on his back and hold on as he collapses to his knees on the stone walkway. Once we’re on the ground, I straddle his back and grab him by his white collar. He manages to get out half of a yelp before I hold my blade to his throat, shutting him up.
“Don’t. Scream.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” His growl makes blood trickle from beneath the blade, and he quickly changes his tune. “I-I mean, whatever it is you’re enduring, I can—I can help you.”
“Oh, like youhelpedme fifteen years ago?”
He stills below me, and confusion wrinkles his brow. “I…I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, my child.”
“Let me remind you, then,Father.” I lean closer so he can see my face and I can watch his expression. “Does the name Chiara Bianchi ring a bell?”
His frown deepens. “N-no. I’m sorry—”
I scoff. “Figures. It really fucking figures that you plague my nightmares, but I don’t even appear in your memories.”
I’m going to savor this kill so fucking much.
“Nightmares? Ah, I see. The Lord has sent you to me to heal you, of course. I’ve dealt with many disturbed individuals—”
My knife edges into the paper-thin skin of his neck. He whimpers as he bleeds into the hard-packed dirt.
“I’m disturbed, alright. Claudio Vincelli killed my parents, used me, and then he brought me to you so that you could brainwash me into thinking everything that he put me through was all in my head.” My prey’s entire body grows rigid with fear. “Ah, are you remembering all my ‘confessions’ now, Father? I wondered if name-dropping St. Catherine’s largest benefactor would trigger your memory.”
“You…you’re the little girl? I thought you were—oh, heavens, child, I never wanted to go along with it, but he made me—”
“Claudiomadeyou? Was that before he gave the church enough money to drip in gold? Or after supplying you with your top-of-the-line sports cars and toys?”
“Watch your tongue when you speak to a man of God, girl! I’ve never taken a bribe, and whatever money Claudio did give me was solely for the orphanage’s food pantry—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” The blade bites farther into his neck, and he wheezes in panicked breaths. “Don’t give me the ‘I did it for the children,’ bullshit. You did it for yourself. Claudio—and God knows who else—has had you in his pocket for years. You may have fooled everyone else, but not me.”
“Fine! Fine! You’re right! Just please! Let me go.”
“Not before you tell me what I need to know.”
