Collective surprise wavers around the class, but they quickly do as he orders while I continue to stare in shock at the priest’s back.
What just happened?
But I don’t have much time to dwell on it though, because the bell rings and everyone rises, bowing to the priest who with a loud huff dusts his hands, sending pieces of white chalk flying. He marches toward the door, disappearing in the loud hallway where kids from other grades emerge.
Our school has only one floor with around twelve rooms where different priests or nuns—we have two of those—teach us different subjects depending on our age. The walls are bare. Everything is made out of wood, even the desks, which are very uncomfortable as they make one sit straight all the time.
We rarely get access to any books or information unless they want to share it with us, and whenever I question them, they tell me that’s how God wants us to study. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have sent us here.
On most days I’m afraid of this place with its weird rules, but Mommy loves it here. She is always smiling and jumping around with joy. Now, she even sings when cooking… and her skin is bruise free.
And even though it should be enough for me to stay here and accept this life, I can’t help but feel sad whenever people say we can’t travel.
That’s one absolute law here.
No one has the right to venture outside the borders where evil rules, according to Pastor. We welcome anyone who comes to our town, enveloping them with love and understanding. But traveling outside, back to the world that hurt us, is a no-no.
Which is not a problem to most people, because they love it here, but I don’t want to spend my entire life in this town.
Especially if I want to become a doctor… shouldn’t I go to a university?
Leslie’s harsh voice pushes through my dark musing as she shakes my shoulder a little, so I turn my gaze to her. “Why do you always get special treatment?” Two other girls from the class stand behind her, nodding while giving me the stink eye.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” I mumble, gathering my books into my bag and wanting to leave, but she pulls me back, my hip hitting the corner of the table, and I cry out in pain. “Ouch. What are you doing?” I ask, but she only huffs, flipping her hair back while pointing an accusing finger at me.
“Whenever you do something bad, you never get the punishment the rest of us do. Why are you so special?”
“I’m not special.”
“Yes, you are. If I had done what you did, he’d beat me.” She places her hands on her hips and takes a step closer to me, so I stumble back a little, but strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me.
Glancing back, I see Caspian holding me in his arms before he moves me to the side and faces Leslie instead of me. “Is there a problem?”
Leslie pales a little, fear flickering in her eyes. Maybe because kids rarely go against Caspian.
“What do you want from Callista?” My heart warms when he calls me by my real name, as he’s the only one here who does.
Everyone knows my real name, but they call me Chloe, because Pastor said so. Oddly enough, Caspian never follows the order, and no one corrects him when he doesn’t.
Maybe it’s not me who gets special treatment here, but him?
Leslie finally shakes her head and steps back, ushering her girls outside the classroom too, but she stops in her tracks when Caspian tells her, “Next time you want to question things related to Callista, be ready to do it in front of the priest and Pastor.” I hear her sharp intake of breath before her friends pull her by her elbows, leaving us standing all alone.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly, but it only earns me a chuckle.
“You need to learn how to defend yourself from them. Especially now. Otherwise, they are gonna swallow you whole. Think globally.” With that, he walks outside too, and I run after him.
Think globally is his go-to phrase, and I have no clue what it means.
I’m not even sure why I follow him; we aren’t close friends. At least I don’t think we are. He mostly spends his time alone, only watching over me or interfering when someone tries to mess with me.
And whenever I need to stop by the mansion to get lunch from Mama, he accompanies me silently, never saying a single word, all while I bombard him with questions he never answers.
Catching up with him outside, I put my hand to my forehead, blocking the bright sunlight streaming on us while I ask him, “Caspian, what do you mean… especially now?”
He traps my chin between his fingers and then moves my head from looking at him to the middle of the street, where a lot of people gather around, greeting Pastor who drives by us in his black car.
I frown at this. He usually visits once a month, but he was here two weeks ago. Why would he come again?
And when the car stops between people, everyone makes a space around it so no one will disturb the Pastor or God forbid step on him.
He gets out of it wearing a black suit, a bright smile on his face, and then extends his hand, keeping it splayed open for the woman emerging from the car.
She is wearing a long white dress that covers her from head to toe with long sleeves and a high neck, reminding me of the clothes the nuns wear. And then I realize it’s a wedding dress, because she has a short veil on her head, the lace hiding her face from everyone.
Several murmurs erupt in the crowd before Pastor raises his arm, and instantly everyone shuts up. “I would like to present to everyone my wife. We just got married with God as our witness. For years, I saw a dream about her before she showed up here.”
“You’ll have your answer shortly,” Caspian murmurs and then squeezes my hand so hard that a twinge of pain travels through me, but I don’t think he is doing it to hurt me.
More like he is offering support of what might come.
Why is—
“Carmen.”
My head swings so hard to look back at them it’s a wonder I don’t snap it when my mom’s name is announced.
There is silence greeting this statement, and I don’t want to believe it, but Mom doesn’t let me live an illusion for long. She removes the veil, letting everyone see her happy face while she extends her hands to me, wiggling her fingers. “Sweetie, come here.” The crowd makes more space for me, creating an easy path to go to them, but I’m standing frozen in place from shock.
She got married again?
After everything Daddy put her through, after how many times she said marriage is a trap no woman should enter…
She got married again?
I want to scream in denial and sway a little to the side, but Caspian once again steadies me, murmuring, “You just became this town’s royalty. Use your power well.”
Caspian was right.
I became royalty.
But my power was never enough to fight against the monster sitting on the throne.
Callista
My bare feet slap against the concrete, the cold stone sending shivers through me and I rub my arms, speeding up my walk back and forth in this cage, wondering what I should do next.
Truthfully, I never expected to end up in this situation, where all my usual tricks don’t work and any solution popping up in my head dies quickly when I can’t execute it.
The edge of my dress hooks on the screw on the corner of the table and I tug on it harshly, groaning inwardly when it tears again.
A few more rips and I won’t have a dress to wear.
Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown the clothes in their face when they offered them, but then I never expected for this charade to last this long.
It has been three months since Arson kidnapped me, keeping me his prisoner with no way of escape.
In these months, Levi, as I found out the grandpa’s name, continued to come with the trays of food. I took only water and tea along with bread before throwing it in his face, screaming for some kind of help until the door to the basement opened.
In my starved and
desperate mind, it gave me at least a sense of hope that someone might hear me and stop this madness.
Of course, no one came to the rescue.
For the first week, he would come with some woman who I found later was a maid, and together they held me, applying ointment on my wounds while I thrashed in their hold.
That’s the only thing they made me do though, claiming it was for my own good.
Levi sometimes tried different approaches. He would come three times a day with very delicious smelling dishes and then put them on the table, telling me what a wonderful day it was.
I ignored all his talk, because seriously? I didn’t care if the day was wonderful; this stupid cage didn’t let me see it anyway.
So the tray went on him again, but I made sure not to spill any hot things on him, too afraid to harm the guy, even if I hated myself for this weakness. Maybe if I threw enough soup on him, I could have weakened him a little and run away from this cage.
But my morals didn’t allow me to do that, and isn’t that just fucking sad?
I knew my behavior was childish, but I allowed those outbursts, because most of the time I was pacing this room back and forth without anything to do while the stupid chain trailed after me.
Sometimes it felt like the walls closed in on me and I was deprived of oxygen, but I knew it was just my imagination.
The asshole, aka Arson, knew how to tempt me too; he’d come visit once a week bringing with him a pile of different books and even some electronic device called a tablet.
He offered me those while I “milked everything I could from this resistance game” as he put it, but I never touched those things. They are tucked in one of the corners in a huge pile, tempting me with all the information they might have, but I’ll never admit it out loud.
This angel doesn’t need the monster’s crumbs.
However, the time has come to do something about this; otherwise, the monster will win this game, and where will I be? With every day I’m locked up, it feels like I’m slowly going insane, suffocating in this darkness where there is no light no matter how long I search for it.
The last time he visited me, he warned me that bravery is stupidity wrapped as a good deed only because I think I can get away with it.
Since I’ve stayed silent during his visits too, he’s never elaborated on what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but I know a threat when I hear one.
If there is one thing my mother taught me with her choices, it’s to never trust what a man says, because he will always betray you, playing with you as he sees fit.
But it’s clear as day that this man wants something from me. Otherwise, I would have been dead and he wouldn’t have tolerated my antics for long.
The question is can I give it to him and still end up a winner in this situation?
You are here to fulfill my purpose.
What kind of purpose could I possibly fulfill though?
Huffing in frustration, I bang my fist on the glass wall, and that’s when the door to the basement opens, streaming in bright light.
Pressing my palm on the glass, I almost glue my nose to it, trying to make out who’s coming to me, because Levi was here around two hours ago. Arson has a fucking big clock on the wall here for me, as if mocking my imprisonment and allowing me to know how time moves slowly when you are trapped with nothing to do.
But then I blink several times when I see a figure wearing a black garbage bag on its head, and someone pushes the person from the back, making him or her stumble forward, almost falling on the floor. A tight rope is wrapped around the middle. Finally, Arson appears from behind it, flipping a knife through his fingers.
Again, he is wearing all black while his blue hair stays an anomaly, the bright and royal color not matching his attire at all.
But then my attention shifts back to the man when he speaks out or rather begs with loud whimpers. “Please let me go. I have a family.”
Oh dear God, is it his victim? Does he plan to put him in the cage too until he agrees to his terms?
Arson pushes him harshly to the metal post right in the middle, making him step into chains designed for feet and they instantly clamp around him, the sharp edges probably digging into the man’s skin as he cries out loudly, the sound echoing around the space.
He wraps the ropes around hooks on the pole before snatching the garbage bag back, leaving the man gasping for breath, his hair soaked with sweat and blood.
There is a huge wound on his forehead that drips blood to his cheek and nose while his mouth trembles as he continues to repeat one thing. “Please, please.”
Instead of listening, Arson chuckles, sliding the knife from his neck to his collarbone, and I cry out in shock when he stabs him in the stomach. The man’s shout is so loud I have to cover my ears.
My heart beats so wildly in my chest while I try to make sense of the horrendous things happening in front of me. Instinctually, I step farther into the cage to avoid seeing all the details.
How the blood from his stomach slowly coats the knife and spills out.
How he chokes on the blood and his voice dies down; only raspy breaths leave his mouth and small burns mark his skin, indicating to me his torture started way before they showed up in this basement.
Closing my eyes, I shake my head, wishing to be anywhere but here while different, confusing scenarios play in my mind.
Who is this man? Why is Arson doing it? Why would he want to show it to me of all things?
But then another thought dawns on me, and I can’t believe how naïve I have been all this time not to think of it.
Only then do I see all the weapons and other devices of torture in a new light, as I remember the information Levi dumped on me during his visits.
Based on all that and some snippets in the books I’ve seen, there is only one logical conclusion here that…
That…
Arson is a serial killer?
Is this why Levi always advised me to surrender, warning me that making Arson bored will be one of the biggest mistakes of my life?
That’s not what makes my heart pound harder and sweat break on my skin, oh no. While my pulse beats so wildly in my neck, I feel like I can taste the fear in my throat as panic slowly envelops me in its haze, penetrating every bone.
He brought a victim here to play with.
And usually serial killers never leave any traces or witnesses.
Does this mean…
He plans to kill both of us, finally fed up with my resistance?
Arson
There is one absolute law among wild animals.
A hunter has to catch its prey in order to survive.
You don’t eat, you don’t live.
From the time they are cubs, hunters observe their parents and learn how to catch their prey easily, never starving. Those who fail die.
One might think it’s an easy task, but they couldn’t be more wrong.
It takes exceptional skill to know how various prey react to different approaches and tactics.
You have to wait for the perfect moment to strike when the prey is at its weakest, exhausted with no other way out but to surrender to the hunter.
One wrong move and you can lose it forever.
Ironically, humans are no different from wild creatures—children follow in their parents’ footsteps, copying their behavior to achieve what they want.
And if there was one thing my parents taught me…
It’s that patience is an art form that detests any rush; only in the depths of despair true surrender is born.
Ah, my beautiful captive.
We are about to play a dangerous game.
Too bad for her she already lost, because she has one thing I never did.
A heart.
A heart that will be her undoing.
Because crushing it means nothing to a monster like me.
Callista
The nagging tap echoing in my ears snaps me out of my panic, and it takes me a mom
ent to realize it’s coming from the glass. I see Arson leaning on it with his arm, while he taps with his finger.
The man still continues to croak, “Please,” over and over again, and the pool of blood by his feet grows.
“Oh, my beautiful captive,” Arson says, his husky voice wrapping around me, dropping a haze of doom over me. “How do you like my gift?”
Even though I want to ignore him and tell him to go to hell, I’m not sure with my newfound knowledge I can afford it.
Dying by his hand is not exactly on the list of things I want to do.
Clearing my throat, I repeat carefully, “My gift?”
He fishes something out of his pocket; it glistens from the single bulb shining on the victim, and it takes me a second to realize it’s a silver lighter.
He flips it back and forth between his fingers while his hawklike eyes stay trained on me; he doesn’t want to miss my reaction to his words it seems. “Well, you have been here alone for so long. Not reading or watching anything. You’re probably bored.” He flicks the lighter for a second, blinks, and then starts flipping it again. “So I brought entertainment for you.”
Once again, like a stupid parrot, I repeat, “Entertainment?”
He sighs dramatically, although I don’t miss how his face stays void of any emotion. “I should have done it sooner. You’ve started to lose your fire.” Then he snaps his fingers and addresses the man who raises his head in our direction. “How do you feel about it, Jenk? My captive here is bored. Let’s create some fun for her, shall we?”
The man shakes his head, breathing heavily, and then winces when spitting blood on the floor. “I didn’t do anything.” He shifts his focus on me. “Miss, please tell him I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know him.”
I open my mouth to say something but then cry out in shock when Arson goes over to him and slams his fist into his cheek, the crack heard across the room while a barely audible groan slips past the man’s lips.
“Don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even think about her,” he orders him, his voice dropping a few octaves while an emotion I can’t catch colors his tone.
Arson’s Captive Page 7