Page 32 of That Sik Luv

“Miss Strait, Bishop Caldwell would like to speak with you after class.”

“We’d be glad to speak with him about this unfortunate display we walked into this morning,” Saint answers for me. “Tell me, does this school not own cameras to allow misdemeanors like this to continue?”

“Mr. Westwood—“

“I’m genuinely concerned for the safety of the teachers here at The Covenant Academy. Clearly there has been a direct attack on one of your own, and I’d love to see how the board is going to handle this one.”

“This isn’t about the graffiti, young man, and you would be well advised to lower your voice when speaking with me,” he says with a stern tone, letting Saint know that even if his father has pull within the church, it doesn’t give him the right to talk back to someone of the deacon’s rank.

“What?” Saint asks, looking appalled.

“What is it about, then?” I ask, drawing both their eyes back at me.

“Your lack of respect for this institution.” His eyes fall to my pants, and frustration floods through me. “Directly after class.”

Saint shakes his head in disgust as the deacon continues on his way. I stare at his departure; the wheels turning in my mind. His hand falls on my shoulder, guiding me towards the room. “Come on Briony. Let’s go.”

We finish up classes for the day, but my thoughts continue to cycle back to the recent events. My mind is tirelessly working to solve this puzzle. Everything Aero does is calculated. I’ve come to realize that. The cryptic notes, the fire in the church, the knife to protect myself. Everything he does is for a reason. A specific reason I’ve yet to figure out. Could this be the same? What purpose would destroying all of my underwear serve other than to guarantee me a trip to the bishop’s office? How could branding me a slut benefit me?

He’s continuously testing me; wanting me to fight, pushing my limits, needing to see if I have what it takes. But why? For what? Is there more to the games of a sick and twisted man?

I take one last deep breath in, letting it out before wiping my palms down the infamous pants that were a complete slap in the face to this institution.

Twisting the knob on the door, I walk into the main office for my meeting with the bishop. The hallway is dark and eerie, leading towards the doors of the elected officials. Silence rings in my ears as I take a few steps forward. Approaching Bishop Caldwell’s door, I raise my hand to knock, attempting to shake off my nerves, when I hear someone sniff.

“It’s the Lord’s will,” I hear Bishop Caldwell’s voice in a hushed tone.

Someone is already in there.

“You don’t want to disappoint him, do you, Brady?” he continues.

I turn to go sit in the chair near the door, waiting for this meeting before me to finish when I hear crying ensue. Curiosity has me leaning against the door to listen. Intuition has my feet planted in place.

“I-I don’t want to disappoint him. But I’m scared. I-I’m confused.”

“There, there, son,” Bishop Caldwell says as I hear the boy whose name I now know to be Brady, crying. “You know what the Bible says, don’t you? Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. This is God’s will. Accept the Holy Spirit into your life.”

More crying comes from the boy.

Something isn’t right.

I grab the door handle, twisting the old knob, and push through the door with my shoulder.

Stumbling into the room, I gasp as my feet become rooted in place. Breathing feels like an idea I’ve yet to discover at the sight of Bishop Caldwell standing over top of a young boy. His black cassock is lifted to his waist, his belt buckle to his pants beneath, hanging open.

But it’s the terror plastered all over his guilt-ridden face, the vexation in his dark, displeased gaze, that screams its obscenities.

Chapter eighteen

Reign

Frozeninfearwithmy mouth agape, I haven’t blinked since opening the door.

My jaw is lax and my stomach in knots as the crying young boy scurries out of the room, pushing past me in complete humiliation.

Have my eyes deceived me? Was Bishop Caldwell really about to molest this child behind closed doors with deceptions of the Lord’s will?

My chest feels compressed, and that need to breathe is still a thought left in another life.

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