by LP Lovell
"It's okay. We all fall short."
The door to the confessional groans, and I fear the priest is coming to console me. Dave's ears perk up, and he growls.
"Please," I hear the priest whisper followed by gurgled breaths. I glance up to the metal screen, and there's a thud on the confessional wall. Dave places himself between me and the door, his growls growing more threatening.
"Evelyn." My name pours through the screen in a hiss. My heart stops. Adrenaline jolts through me like an electrical current. Dave barks. I reach for the door to the booth, but it's jerked open and off its hinges.
"Did you like the flowers I sent you? I do hope they didn't get you into too much trouble with old Ez."
I can't breathe. I can't move. I stand, backed into a confessional, Zachariah blocking my exit, a blood-stained knife clutched in his hand. Dave's ears lay flat against his head, and he jumps at Zachariah, latching onto his forearm.
"Stupid fucking mutt!" He takes the knife and jabs it into the side of Dave's thick neck. Dave yelps and falls to the floor. I scream, my heart threatening to burst through my chest. Zachariah's laughter rumbles into the steeple as he kicks Dave across the floor, a trail of blood smearing over the tile. "A fucking animal is the only thing that would ever try to protect you."
He grabs my shoulders and yanks me into the open sanctuary. I scream again, and he punches me in the stomach. When I hit the floor the wind is knocked from my lungs. Zachariah takes a fistful of hair, slinging me around like a ragdoll as he drags me toward the altar. My scalp burns, and I grab his hands to try and lessen the pain. I glance frantically at the door, willing someone to walk through it. My gaze locks on the open confessional booth. Father Pritchard lies sprawled out on the stone floor, blood pouring from his throat, and next to him is Dave.
I kick and scream, clawing at Zachariah's hands, but all he does is laugh. "You've been a busy little whore, haven't you, Evelyn?" He yanks me up the steps before he bends over and jerks me to my feet. He holds me up, so I'm level with his face. I dangle from his grip, my toes barely touching the floor. "How I've missed you little Evelyn," he hisses in my ear before I feel his tongue trail up my neck. "Dear, sweet, innocent, Evie."
My stomach knots just before he throws me down. I immediately roll over on my hands and knees and try to force myself up, but I feel his boot press down on my lower back, slamming me face first into the worn carpet of the altar. More of his weight presses over me. My vertebrae pop, my chest pressed so flat I can hardly drag in a breath. The next thing I know, Zachariah flips me over and straddles me. His lips curl into a sadistically satisfied smirk, his blue eyes burning into me.
"I've waited so long to have you again, Evelyn. I missed you." He squeezes my breast, and I want to cry, but I refuse to shed a tear for him. My tears are Ezra's. He laughs. "Always so resolute, Evelyn. Hannah was always a screamer, but not you. Do you remember the time I made you scream?"
I remember the blade slicing my back open. I remember him calling me a sinner, and a whore while he carved the cross on my back. Let a righteous man mark you so you can be saved, Evelyn.
"Those were the days," he laughs. "I killed Hannah, just like I'm going to kill you. How far you both fell, bathed in the fires of hell, selling yourselves to the highest bidder. Your father would be so disappointed," he says. "Hannah sold herself to me, without even knowing who I was. I blindfolded her while I fucked her, and she moaned like the wanton whore she was, and then, I killed her."
I close my eyes. I will not cry. But the thought of Hannah, trapped, beaten, raped, and alone with him breaks a little piece of me. We ran, we saved each other, but in the end he found us, just like I knew he always would. My pulse races, my mind reeling.
He leans in, pressing his lips against mine as he holds the blade of the knife under my chin. "You are mine, and yet you let that filthy fucking pimp touch you!" he screams.
"It wasn't filthy because I loved him."
He growls and grabs my throat, lifting me up and smashing my head against the floor. Black spots dot my vision. My head spins. Pain ricochets through my skull. I attempt to buck him off of me, and a deep frown sets on his face, his eyes going void as the tip of the sharp blade bites into my flesh.
"You never fought me before, Evelyn, you liked it." I did not. I hated you for it. "You liked it because you are a filthy whore. Why start fighting now?" Keeping the knife at my throat, he grabs the collar of my dress and rips it down. The sound of the material shredding echoes in my ears.
Zachariah's free hand glides over my exposed flesh and bile hits the back of my throat. I hum "Knocking on Heaven's Door" in an attempt to disassociate myself. The farther up my thigh his hand goes, the louder I hum. Ezra was right. I am a monster. The things I've done have not been justified, ever. I am sick. Tortured. Fucked up. We're all fucked up, and the only penance for a person like me is death. I didn't do this for God; I did it for myself because I am sick. Because I get off on having power over the people, I blame for making my life hell.
I take peace in the thought that there is no hell. I've already lived through that. I've already served my sentence in the abyss, and in death, I will find peace. I will find nothingness. The demons will stop screaming, the nightmare will end, and I can stop loving a man who will never love me back.
I wake with a start. The bed is cold, and there's no trace of Evie. I glance at the clock, and it's only seven thirty in the morning.
"Evie," I call, but there's no answer. When I climb out of bed, I realize Dave is gone as well. After last night, I cannot believe she's defied me again. Anger consumes me as I quickly get dressed and make my way downstairs. I slam the car door and crank the engine, my breaths uneven and ragged. I clench and release my fingers on the steering wheel as I floor it through the awakening streets of New York towards the church. Evie is a creature of habit. If she's not with me, she's either killing someone or praying over the fact that she killed someone. She killed last night, and I can almost see her on her knees pleading to her god for forgiveness. I'm not sure she has this sin and forgiveness shit quite worked out.
As soon as I spot the enormous stone building, I pull the car over to the side of the road, the tires screeching to a halt at the curb. I will drag her out of there by her hair if I have to. It's bad enough that she killed my ex-fuck in my own damn bed last night, but now she defies me again by sneaking out of the house. She likes to fucking push me, I swear.
The heavy wooden door doesn't budge when I push against it. I try it again, the wood creaking as I ram it with my shoulder. Maybe the church is a nine to five thing. I'm about to walk away when I hear a noise, barely a squeak, but it sounds like a faint scream coming from inside the church. I could be wrong, but over the years I've learned to trust my instincts, and right now my gut is screaming at me to get inside that church.
I jog around the back, my heart pounding in my chest. At the very back of the building, beside a bush, is another door. I try it, fully expecting it to be locked, but it gives way. The moment I step inside; my senses are assaulted by incense.
I pull my gun from the back of my jeans and press my thumb against the trigger as I make my way through the back of the church. I hear muffled voices, and when I step into the main part of the church, the first thing I see is my dog. Dead. I clench my jaw and my chest tightens. Next to him, half sprawled from the confessional box is a priest. That never bodes well.
"Please forgive me. Please bless my soul..." I hear Evie mumble through sobs and screams.
Panic rips through me. I raise my gun and hold it out in front of me. I round the corner, coming to a halt when I reach the bottom of the altar. It takes me a second to process what's going on in front of me. Everything around me seems to slow. My blood pressure rockets. The only thing I can hear is the blood ringing in my ears. All I can see; all I can think about is Evie. She's stripped, bleeding, and Zee is fucking touching her. The bastard is standing on the pulpit with Evie naked and bent over in front of him. He has her pinn
ed down by the back of her neck, her cheek pressed against the marble. His hands roam over her body. She's crying, praying, pleading with her god to save her.
An ice-cold rage creeps over my body, and my mind sharpens, focusing solely on the task at hand. Possession demands that I rip his head from his fucking body for touching what is mine.
I close one eye, steadying my hand as I aim at his fucking head. Zee catches the movement and yanks Evie's body in front of his, pressing the blade of a knife against her throat. She whimpers when he pulls her against him, and then, her eyes find me. Her expression looks so broken, so defeated that I can't help but wonder what he's already done to her.
"Ah, Ezra." A sick smile twists his lips. "You made it. I had a feeling you might show up. You seem rather attached to my little sister here."
My eyes shift back to Evie, and she slams her eyes closed, twisting her face away from Zee as much as possible. Brother? Zee is her brother. Fuck!
"I thought it was only fair that I take something of yours. Seeing as you fucked my business up for me. Oh, but then, I had Evelyn long before you ever did." He laughs, groping at her tits. Rage descends, consuming me completely. "Oh, she didn't tell you about me? That's not nice, Evelyn. After all, we were so close when we were younger." He drags his lips over the side of her face before licking her cheek. She trembles, leaning into the blade at her neck in an attempt to get away from him. "Introduce us properly, Evelyn."
"This is Zachariah," she chokes, and I watch the tip of the blade dig into her skin.
"Ah, ah, ah. I said properly. Like you were taught."
"Ezra," she sobs my name like it's a fucking prayer, "this is my brother, Zachariah."
And as his name roll from her lips I suddenly remember everything she's ever said, every crazy rambling that I dismissed, all her religious bullshit, her self-hatred. Zachariah is the one she grew up with, Zachariah is her brother. Zee is the one who broke Evie.
You don't understand. I am a whore. I always have been. I have always been a temptation without even trying.
God chose Zachariah. It was my fault he strayed. He was righteous, and everyone knew I forced him to sin. He was punishing me so that I could be forgiven, but I hate him for it.
God loves sinners, but he hates the sin, and I am sin, Ezra. I am sin, so even God can't love me.
"I'm going to kill you." My voice is calm, free of emotion even though my body is on fire with rage.
"You can't kill me, Ezra," he laughs. "Remember? Surely you aren't going to go to prison, all for a filthy," he hisses in her ear. "Dirty." His hand gropes at her tit and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from losing it. "Whore."
Evie sobs, her chest heaving as shame morphs her features. "I am a whore. I am a filthy whore," she cries. Her tear filled eyes land on me, pinning me in place. "And that's why you can't love me. I cannot be saved. I am sin. And he is sin. Kill us both." She drags in a breath. "Absolve me, Ezra. Let me know forgiveness."
Zee snarls as he yanks her hair, jerking her head back and pressing the tip of the blade against her perfect skin.
"Please, God, forgive me," she pleads.
I watch a single drop of blood trickle down her neck. When my gaze lifts back to hers, something inside of me breaks, cracking wide open. I imagine him slicing her throat open, spilling her blood all over the cold stone floor of the church she loves so much, and a sharp pain rips through my chest. He might have made her a monster, but it is I who broke her, it is I who own her, and it is I alone who will make her fucking bleed.
"I told you, Evie,” I aim the gun and pull the trigger, "I'm the only god you need." The bang echoes off the walls of the church, and then all I see is blood.
The gunshot echoes from the cathedral, and there's a thud behind me. Pain tears through my shoulder, burning and ripping. I can't breathe. I collapse to the floor on my hand and knees, my heart pounding in my chest. Warm blood spills from the bullet wound and stains the floor beneath me. He shot me!
Zachariah groans. I glance behind me and see him lying on the floor, writhing in pain as he clutches his chest, blood bubbling between his fingers. Ezra squats in front of me and grabs my chin. “Evie." He forces chin up. "Focus, look at me."
"You shot me..." I gasp for breath, staring at him behind my tears.
Cocking an eyebrow, he smirks. "I always said I would make you bleed, little killer." He reaches to the altar and takes the altar cloth, pressing it over the bullet hole. "Hold that tight," he says before yanking his shirt over his head and pulling it down over mine, covering my naked body. The shirt has his warmth. He gently slips my arms through the sleeves, and I wonder why he's doing this. He was supposed to kill me, absolve me, but he saved me. I drag in a breath at the thought of that, and all I can smell is him—Chanel Blue. And I smile because I am his.
I glance back over my shoulder at Zachariah. A noise reminiscent of a bubbling spring echoes from the walls as the blood pools in the back of his throat. I should feel something. Relief, satisfaction—something. But as I stare at him, watching him struggle to draw his last breaths, all I feel is disgust and anger.
"I hate you!" I attempt to stand, but my legs fail me. "I hate you!" I crawl on my knees toward him, pain shooting through my shoulder. I groan as I struggle to straddle his large frame. I drop the cloth, grabbing the knife he's dropped beside his head. My chest heaves, my heart hammers violently in my throat. This is my moment when all those sins will vanish. This is how my absolution comes. Through blood. Through the blood of the man who broke me when I didn't want to be broken, and while the man who possessed me when I needed to be possessed stands over me like a shepherd.
I lean down next to Zachariah's ear, my gaze focused on the weakening pulse thumping in his neck. "You are sin," I whisper, and with one swift movement, I slash the blade across his throat. I watch the blood spill from the fresh cut, and I drop the knife because this is not enough. I wrap my hands around his throat, my fingers slipping in blood as I squeeze. Staring into his bloodshot eyes, I see fear, and that makes me smile.
"You are wrong," I say. "I am not a whore. And may you never be forgiven."
His eyes flutter before they roll into the back of his head. And at this moment I know I am absolved. The little demon inside of me withers away and vanishes.
I climb off Zachariah and sit beside his body, staring at my blood soaked hands.
When I look up, I find Ezra leaning against the side of the pulpit, his ankles crossed as he inhales on his cigarette. "Feel better?"
"You can't smoke in here, Ezra."
He exhales a cloud of smoke, that arrogant smile creeping onto his lips. "There's a dead guy on the altar, a dead priest in the confessional, not to mention my dead fucking dog." He groans, and his emotionless face slips into grief for just a fraction of a second.
My gaze veers down to the front of the sanctuary, and my heart falls into the pit of my stomach. I manage to stand, using the edge of the pews to guide me as I stagger toward the entrance. I fall to my knees beside my friend, stroking a hand over his bloodied fur.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. I drag him into my lap, clutching him as I rest my chin on the top of his cool head. Ezra's hand rests over my shoulder, but I don't move. "He tried to save me, Ezra." Tears sting my eyes and my chest tightens.
"He did his job then," he says dismissively, frowning at Dave's body. I know he's upset but would never show it. I can feel his grief. Even though he thinks he can't love, he loved Dave.
He hands me his phone before leaning down and scooping Dave's body from my arms. "Call number one and tell them to do a pick up for two. Give them the address then hang the phone up." He turns and walks toward the doors.
I find the number, call it, leave the message, and hang up. I follow Ezra outside, the cold air nipping at my bare legs when I step out of the doors. People on the sidewalk stop and stare at us. There's snow on the ground and Ezra's outside of a church with no shirt on, carefully placing a dead dog into his trunk, whi
le I stand on the steps of a church wearing nothing but a man's t-shirt and covered in blood. I hurry down the stairs and climb inside the car afraid that someone will stop us.
Ezra gets into the car, slams the door, and pulls off as soon as he starts the engine. "You need to get that stitched up. And then we need to run," he says without taking his eyes off the road.
All I can think is he said we. He saved me, and he said we.
"Why?" I ask, hoping he'll give me some deeper reason than the two dead bodies in the church.
"What did I tell you about asking questions, Evie?"
Fucking shit. I have no idea what's going to happen now, but I know I can't risk hanging around to find out. I glance at Evie. Her legs are pulled up on the seat, her chin resting on her knees. Blood has soaked through my shirt, but she seems unfazed.
I've pointed a gun at hundreds of people, pulled the trigger countless times and never felt anything except the need to do what must be done. This was different. This was personal. There was no way Zee was walking out of there alive, regardless of the consequences. I made a choice—shoot her to kill him, and for the first time in my life, pulling that trigger was hard because I didn't want to lose her.
I dial Jonty's number, and his groggy voice comes over the car speakers. "What the fuck, Ez? It's not even nine o' clock."
"I need you to get me two passports, cash, plane tickets out of Newark to Russia, some clothes for Evie, and a new car. Meet me at University Hospital, by the airport."
"What happened?" He's suddenly alert.
"Zee. He's dead. We're leaving."
"Shit. I'll call Seamus, and I'll meet you there as soon as I can," he promises before hanging up.
I've never run from anything in my life. I always face shit head on, and I annihilate anyone who gets in my way. This situation is different. I can't stand against the entire fucking British government. I need to lay low at least until I know what the consequences of Zee's death will be. For all I know he was bluffing, but he was a wily fucker.