by S D Hegyes
Her mother jerked at the title change, her eyes searching her daughter’s face.
“He wasn’t always a cruel man,” Sorsha pointed out. “I do have fond memories of him. Back before all—” She gestured about them. “—this.”
The older woman nodded and patted Sorsha’s hands. “You’re right. He wasn’t always a cruel man. Do you remember what happened? What changed?”
At that, Sorsha had to shake her head. “And you won’t tell me, will you?”
“No. It’s not for me to tell. If you’ve forgotten, there’s a reason. Your mind will let you remember when the time is right.”
There’d been two incidents according to her mother. The first only Sorsha and her father had witnessed, and Sorsha had no memory of it.
The second had occurred only a couple months later. Every once in a while, she remembered angry smoke, scarlet eyes or cruel fangs, but that was all.
It had been the first time her mother saw her powers at work. It apparently terrified the woman. She refused to tell Sorsha much other than the man her father had hired to help with her “affliction” hadn’t been able to cure her.
She knew enough to know she’d done something to him. She remembered rousing with her hands bound above her head. Her feet had been strapped together to the end of her bed, as if she laid out for crucifixion.
The symbology hadn’t been lost on her, especially when she’d seen the man lying on her bedroom floor, barely breathing, was a Catholic priest. Her family wasn’t even Catholic. Why had there been a priest in her room? Her mother refused to say and she hadn’t dared ask her father.
He’d been too upset to learn whatever treatment he’d hired the man to perform on her hadn’t worked. He couldn’t be reasoned with after that.
Both incidents had been eight years prior. Before that, Sorsha had fought with her father, but still loved him and called him Dad. She was sure she still loved him, deep down, but he’d moved them to Shaded Glade and changed to conform to its theology.
Her mother had adapted. She hadn’t.
She hated her dad as he was now, and only referred to him as “Father”, a title she didn’t think he deserved at all. If she knew she could get away with calling him by his first name, she would.
“He’ll never let you go. Especially if he learned your plan. You know how much he despises the military.”
“He won’t have a choice.”
Her mother must have seen something on her face. “You already have a plan, don’t you?”
Sorsha shrugged. “Not a full one, but—and please don’t take offense to this—I’m not telling you, Mom. I love you, but if I tell you anything, you’ll tell him. I know.”
Her mother’s shoulders slumped once more as she admitted her own defeat. Sorsha’s heart ripped to see the tears in the corners of her mother’s eyes. “I would. Not on purpose. You know I can’t lie to him.”
Another nod. “I know.” Her mother was honest with everyone by choice. It was only because of her ability to know when others were lying.
Neither of them had ever mentioned it aloud before, but there was no denying that her mother’s ability to see the truth someone spoke was magic. Like Sorsha’s ability to see ghosts. Maybe Sorsha’s abilities were genetic, although she knew for a fact her mother could not see ghosts.
She shuddered. If her mother had gone through half of what she’d gone through at the hands of angry ghosts. She started to reach up to the healed scar on her bicep again, but stopped herself from actually touching it.
Her mother noticed the movement. “Does it still hurt?”
Sorsha shook her head. “No. Old habits die hard. Memories die harder.” A dark chuckle rose in her throat. “That night I do remember.”
How could she forget? It had been the worst experience with a ghost she’d ever had—that she could remember. She couldn’t remember much about the ghost. The image of the man’s twisted and angry features was as he ran toward her with a long dagger and sliced at her was burned into her memory.
That man, who’s name she’d never caught, was the reason she didn’t speak to ghosts when she could help it and the reason her parents had found out about her abilities at all.
Before that, they’d just assumed she had imaginary friends she talked to all the time.
“Melinda!” Her father’s voice broke her train of thought at the memory, and she shook her head to clear it. “Come to bed.”
“Coming, dear,” her mother called back.
She turned to Sorsha and brushed the back of her hand against her daughter’s cheek. “You’ve grown so much,” she said. “And some of that’s in part due to your father and me.” Her expression softened. “Most kids your age are going to college? You? You never even graduated high school proper.”
“I have my GED,” Sorsha pointed out. “I know I need to have that or a diploma, no matter what I choose to do when I leave.”
Her mother smiled. “I know, dear. I just…” She sighed. “I just wish things were different. This isn’t right. This isn’t how your father and I planned it when you were born.”
“Father didn’t want me, Mom. I knew it back then. I know it now. I’m more of a hassle to him that anything else.” She’d accepted that her father hadn’t wanted a child. It was her mother’s choice to have a child. It might have bothered her once upon a time, but she’d grown up and it was what it was. Nothing she could do would change her father’s feelings, so why should she waste energy trying to?
“Still,” her mother started to say, but Sorsha shook her head.
“Mom, don’t.”
The older woman sagged, looking much older than she was. “Alright.”
“Thank you.”
Her mother looked up at her, and a little light came back to her eyes. “I’ll help you how I can. I’m sorry I can’t do more than that.”
“That’s all I ask. My plans are flexible at the moment. Unless Father changes his mind about when he wants the wedding.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Preston Barr? I still can’t believe it. Wait. Actually, I can.”
Her gaze returned to her mother’s face. “Maybe we can make everything happen prior to that. We know how quickly Father likes to change his mind to better his own predicament.”
“Melinda, come to bed.” The command in her father’s voice made Sorsha’s throat tighten around the sound of a growl.
“Maybe.” Her mother seemed to consider her words even as she stood and headed toward the door. “Maybe.”
3
On Sunday, the rest of Shaded Glade learned about Preston and Sorsha’s impending marriage. When Sorsha followed her parents through the church doors, she wasn’t at all surprised to see Preston standing just inside and to the left.
Her father paused before Preston, a grand smile on his face. Of course he was happy. His daughter was going to be the wife of one of the most respected young men in the community.
To the adults of Shaded Glade, Preston was the most upstanding citizen. He did what was expected of him, when it was expected. He was nice and obliging to their every whim. He’d help an old lady across the street to keep his image pure.
But Sorsha had seen him when there weren’t any other adults around. She’d seen him as they grew up together over the past eight years, and she knew the truth. He wasn’t anything more than a snake in the grass, winning favor with those he needed to and ostracizing those, like herself, who didn’t belong.
“Preston,” her father greeted the young man waiting. “It’s so nice to see you here today.”
Preston, ever the people-pleaser, smiled wide, revealing pure white teeth. “Mr. Johnston, a pleasure, always.”
Sorsha studied him, watching the annoyed glint in his brown eyes that her father missed. She hid her smirk behind one hand. Preston could fool her father, could fool almost everyone in the community, but he couldn’t fool her.
Preston narrowed his eyes at her when her father turned his attention to another community member call
ing him.
“Excuse me, Preston.”
“By all means, Mr. Johnston,” Preston said and tipped his head to her father. “Would you like me to wheel you over there?”
Her father shook his head. “No, thank you. You stay and talk with Sorsha. Melinda?”
Ever the obedient one, Melinda Johnston placed her hands on the bars of her husband’s wheelchair and pushed him inside the church. Sorsha frowned. She knew her father didn’t need the help. It was all a show for the community. His wife behaved and obeyed. Like she should. Unlike Sorsha.
“You look beautiful today, Sorsha.”
Sorsha turned her gaze from her parents and looked at Preston, eyes wide. His face was carefully neutral.
She looked the same as she did every Sunday. As a member of the community, she had to attend church every Sunday unless she was sick. She was to wear a dress with sensible good shoes. A quick glance around the church filling up showed every woman in a dress and every man in a dress shirt with a tie and a pair of slacks.
This was one area where she was never allowed to rebel, and she didn’t try. She glanced down at herself.
She wore a simple sleeveless yellow dress. When they’d first moved to Shaded Glade and she and her mother traveled to the store for church clothes, it was the first thing she picked out.
“Why yellow?” her mother had asked, surprised at her daughter’s choice.
“It makes me happy,” was the girl’s reply. “And if I have to wear something I don’t want to wear to a place I don’t want to be, I want it to make me happy.”
After that, every dress her mother bought her as she grew older was yellow. It still made her happy to wear it.
The yellow dress was paired with a black belt at her waist and a pair of black dance slippers. Her mother claimed she looked like a bumblebee. The effect only got worse during the winter when Sorsha wore a white long-sleeved shirt under the dress and a pair of black leggings to stay warm.
The sun outside beamed through the stained glass windows of the church and heated the pews, so Sorsha didn’t have to worry about staying warm. No black leggings or white long-sleeved shirt today.
She reached up and toyed with the end of her hair, which she’d pulled to the side and braided for church. She smiled at Preston. “Thank you.”
“So, have you heard the news?” Preston asked, leaning toward her and keeping his voice low. He reached toward her, as if to take her elbow, but she noted how he stopped before touching her.
Briefly, she wondered if he was as disgusted with her as she was with him.
“I have.” She nodded. “Is it a secret?”
He shook his head. “I imagine it won’t be for long, even if it is now.”
She nodded. Shaded Glade was small. There were a total of twenty-three families in the community, all descended from the original six that had built Shaded Glade—except hers of course. They moved in only eight years prior.
“Shall we?” Preston held out his hand to her, but his hand twitched, betraying his reluctance to do even that.
Her mouth quirked up in an ironic smile. “Careful. I may infect you.”
His brown eyes hardened as they narrowed on her. “Freak,” he snarled in a voice too low for anyone else to hear.
She flinched away from him. It didn’t matter how many times someone called her a freak, it hurt every time. It hurt worse when Preston did it because he’d been the first, and the rest of their peers followed suit.
A satisfied grin crossed his face and he looked down upon her in triumph. “You’re no match for me, Sorsha. This is a war you can’t win.” He glanced around and nodded to those watching their interaction, reminding Sorsha where they were.
There was nothing to be said to that. Sorsha knew, in a lot of ways, he was right. Preston was infallible here in the community.
With a frown, Sorsha lifted her chin and straightened her stance. Then she gave Preston a cocky smile and turned away from him. She ignored his outstretched hand and followed the path her parents had taken.
She heard Preston’s sneer of contempt, but she ignored it.
The Johnstons sat at the front of the church, her father’s wheelchair pulled close to the pew and her mother next to him. Sorsha walked around her father’s wheelchair and took a seat to the right of her mother, as she always did.
She sat with her back straight and her head held high, ignoring the young man who followed her and sat next to her.
At least, she ignored Preston until he clasped her right hand in his left. He entwined their fingers and left no doubt to anyone who saw that they were together.
She quietly tried to untangle her hand from his, but his grip was like a vice, and he leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “You need to quit. You’re making a scene.”
Sorsha froze, the hair on the back of her neck prickling at the teenager’s nearness. She glared at him.
“Let go of my hand,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“No.” He gave her a triumphant smile and sat back in the pew, looking toward the podium where his father appeared to start the day’s sermon.
Ears burning, Sorsha sat back as well, fuming with silent rage at Preston’s audacity. She barely heard Andrew’s sermon, moving like a robot when she saw others do so for prayers and hymns.
When she didn’t sit or stand fast enough, Preston tugged on her hand, squeezing it until she winced and complied with his silent commands. She sent him a glare every time, but it only made his eyes dance with glee at her misery.
None of Andrew’s words made it to her ears. She didn’t hear the verses he read or the morals he conveyed. Her mind was on Preston.
Sorsha often found herself rolling her eyes at Andrew during his sermons. He was a fire and brimstone kind of man. The world was going to Hell in a handbasket. If his followers didn’t repent their sins and follow the lessons laid out for them in the lessons within the good book, they would lose their immortal soul for eternity when the end came.
Preston was worse in the opposite direction. Where Andrew was kind, his son was mean. Preston also believed they were going to Hell in a handbasket, but that was as far as he followed his father’s teachings.
Andrew preached love and compassion and prayed for Sorsha’s soul on what she assumed was a daily basis. Preston was the kind who’d lead the witch hunt he’d convinced everyone else they wanted in the first place.
It was why he was the ringleader among those who tormented Sorsha.
Eight years ago, Sorsha had been among those who thought Preston walked on the sun. When she’d first moved to Shaded Glade, he’d asked her if she wanted to play with him while their parents talked.
He’d declared she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and he vowed to marry her. How he hadn’t already been paired with another girl from the community, Sorsha never learned.
Foolish ten-year-old he’d been at the time, he didn’t know she could see ghosts. The moment he found out though was the moment he turned his back on Sorsha and started bullying her.
He was the first to call her a freak, the first to push her around, the first to make her feel unwelcome in the community.
He was also the first to start harassing her, bragging about being the one to tame her and convert her to Shaded Glade concepts. As if.
Preston had one thing going for him. He was definitely the most good-looking young man in Shaded Glade. He had brown hair that fell to his shoulders in loose waves. He often pulled it back into a queue at the back of his head. His brown eyes were warm and portrayed all his emotions, but Sorsha wondered if she was the only one who could see it.
She’d been smitten with him from the moment she laid eyes on him. Until he became her worst tormentor. Then, she avoided him like the plague if she could.
It seemed her luck of escaping him had run out.
“Everyone, I have an announcement to make.”
Sorsha blinked and looked up at Andrew. Announcement? She glanced over at Preston.
He wore a grim expression as if he were being sacrificed for the good of his people.
“As you all know, I have never matched my son, Preston—” He looked at Preston and gestured to him with one arm. “—with anyone else. I wanted to make sure who I matched him with would be for the good of the community since Preston’s going to be your leader someday.”
Sorsha narrowed her eyes at the preacher. That was why he hadn’t matched Preston before? Somehow, she didn’t believe it. For the good of the community? It sounded like a load of bull.
“I’m pleased to announce I’ve finally chosen a match for Preston.” He beamed at his son, and Sorsha saw the pride on the man’s face like a beacon of light. “Preston? Would you and your bride-to-be please stand?”
Preston nodded and stood. Sorsha blinked at Andrew and then blinked at Preston. The teenager looked down upon her, waiting to see if she’d comply, and when she didn’t right away, he squeezed her hand and tugged upward.
She winced in pain and stood, rising slowly. Her face burned with shame. She’d never been one to embarrass easily, but she could hear the whispers of those around them.
“Her?”
“Sorsha Johnston? Really?”
“Father Barr must be mad!”
She agreed with every one of them. The preacher was mad. There was no way she was what was best for the community.
“Now, I hear you,” Andrew continued. “You’re asking yourself ‘how can Sorsha be what’s best for Shaded Glade?’ I hear you. I promise. I do.” Andrew held up his hands and then rested them against his podium, looking out over his congregation.
“This isn’t what’s best for the community in the usual standard. This is a test for Preston, to see if he’s what’s best for the community.”
At that, the voices around them grew louder. Preston? Not right for the community? No way.
“Now, we all know Sorsha Johnston is possibly the worst sinner among us. She deals with devils and communes with evil spirits.”
Sorsha raised her brows at that. That’s really what the preacher thought? Seriously? She snorted at the idea.