Chapter Fifteen

Mary pressed her ear against her door, straining to hear what John was saying through the thin wood. The sounds of his footsteps in the kitchen were muted, as was his voice.

“I’ve requested a prayer vigil from the congregations, of course.” John’s muffled words carried down the hallway. “It is the most giving sacrifice. They are to be commended. Yes, she’ll be ready when you arrive. She’s atoned and is ready to take her vows.” An extended silence and John said, “Yes, everything will be ready by the time you arrive tomorrow.”

It felt as if spiders crawled over her skin, making her cringe. Her stomach churned in panic and a bitter-tasting bile rose to the back of her throat. She moved away from the door, wanting to vomit, run and scream at the top of her lungs.

Yesterday she’d learned that prayer wasn’t the only thing her demented kinfolk had decided would keep her on the straight and narrow. In this Children of the Corn fucked-up version of hell she had to prove her worth the good old-fashioned way.

By killing a shifter.

Pretending to pray was one thing. Agreeing to kill someone was another. When Mary was taken to the girl who was her own age and told what she’d be expected to do—degrade, torture, and mutilate the poor thing until she broke—it had taken all of her willpower not to break down and show the sick freaks how disgusted, repulsed and horrified she truly felt.

“Donna and Nathaniel went into town,” John continued and she heard the sound of a cabinet being closed. “She wanted to prepare something special for your return.”

The shivering that had overtaken her body vanished, gone in the instant she heard those ever important, all-changing words.

Donna and Nathaniel went into town.

Oh dear god, it couldn’t be.

It was just her and John.

An opportunity like this would not come again, not by the time she’d be forced to sacrifice a portion of her soul in order to save her life. She’d always known that when she made her dash for freedom the opportunity would come when she least expected it.

If she wanted to get out, the time was now.

Moving away from the door, she hurried to the closet and pulled down the blankets, uncovering the backpack with a few carefully collected items inside. There wasn’t much, just a small amount of cash, a couple changes of clothing and her ID, but it would be enough until she contacted the attorney to retrieve the safety deposit box key and make the trip to Florida.

After sliding into her sneakers and retrieving her thin, weathered jacket, she tossed the backpack on the bed, returned to the closet and searched blindly with her hand until her fingers wrapped around the rubber grip of the wooden baseball bat she’d smuggled from the garage. Lifting it carefully, she took a quiet step backward and inhaled a slow, jagged breath, trying to soothe her nerves.

She listened to John as he continued prattling on. When she heard him hang up the phone she walked over to the door, opened it and took her spot on the left side of the entranceway. Her heart was racing, beating so hard and fast she could have sworn that it echoed throughout the house. She held the weapon with sweaty hands, increasing her grip until she felt the skin pinch in protest.

This is it.

Game on.

“John?” she called, clenching the bat, feeling it bite against her fingers and palm.

“Yes, Mary?” he called back, obviously moving about in the kitchen.

“Can you come here please?”

She shifted her weight, getting a feel for the length of wood in her hands as she got into position. His heavy footsteps sounded from the hallway until they were just beside her, and he stepped into the room. He didn’t see her upon entry, his gaze resting on her backpack just long enough for her to take aim.

It’s now or never.

Hefting her weight into her right leg and shoulder, she gained momentum as she brought the heavy bat around, aiming for the base of his skull. The wood kissed bone, creating a sickening crack that seemed to rip off the walls. He went down immediately and a huge swell of blood formed in his blond hair, cascading down the back of his neck and into the collar of his shirt. He didn’t move, completely motionless, and when she took a closer look she could see a solid flash of white where the skull was now dented inward.

Dropping the bat, she sank to her knees and went for his pockets. The keys to the old, battered Dodge would be there—her only escape out of purgatory. When she had them in hand, she snagged the bag on the bed and made a beeline down the hall. It wasn’t dark yet, the sun just sinking below the horizon. Hopefully by the time she made it onto the road it would be too dark to distinguish the vehicle, buying her just enough time to ditch the ancient piece of junk before making way to the Greyhound station.

As she ran from the house to the truck her conscience reared its ugly head, reminding her that there was a young woman trapped in a cage who was doomed to die. Mary shook the memory aside and climbed into the truck, throwing her bag into the empty seat beside her. Her heart was racing, adrenaline causing her to shake, making it difficult to breathe. The motor stalled several times before it roared to life. Pressing on the brake, she grabbed the column shifter on the wheel and yanked it into drive.

For the second time, her guilt surfaced. She pictured the young girl in the cage, her face caked with dirt, tearstains streaking in winding paths down her cheeks.

“If you don’t help her, you’ll regret it,” she muttered and turned her head, staring in the direction of woods. “You’ll be no better than them.”

The sun was setting. If she was going to do something, she had to make the decision now.

To hell with it.

Punching the gas, she swiveled the wheel and drove through the grass in a direct path. The building loomed ahead, coming closer as the odometer hit 60 mph. Mary slammed on the breaks just outside, put the truck into park and left the motor running when she jumped from the truck. She pried opened the door and the stench was unbearable, so rancid she gagged as she stepped inside. Staggering to the wall, she reached for a large, bloodstained axe on its appointed peg.

“Please don’t,” the young woman started to beg as Mary approached.

Mary ignored her and strode to the cage. She lifted the blunt edge of the axe and brought it down on the lock until the thick latch and casing ripped away, leaving behind a mess of metal and splinter. The moment Mary had the door ajar and the woman could flee, she dropped the tool used in ways she didn’t want to imagine and returned the way she came.

Time was passing too quickly. If she didn’t hurry someone could show up and stop her.

There was no way she’d survive another night in this place.

As she ran from the building and climbed into the truck the shifter walked through the entrance and came into view. Her clothing was shredded, her hair was a mess and there was a panic that Mary understood all too well written all over her face. She stumbled as she ran for the truck.

“Don’t leave me here,” she cried, swaying on her feet. “Please!”

Damn it.

Mary drove forward so the woman could climb into the passenger side. The moment the door was closed Mary gunned the gas, spraying loose gravel and grass all over. As they drove through the field and past the house, Mary stared at the porch, terrified that John had come around and would call someone to stop them. To her relief, no one appeared. The house remained quiet with no outward signs of life.

Mary’s skin crawled when she imagined how Elijah would react when he returned home and found his rogue niece gone and was forced to track her down. And he would track her, of that she was certain. She remembered his warning before he had left with his kin, had clung to it almost as much as the pain she received via the cane for releasing the shifters and betraying her own family.

“Don’t force my hand, Mary girl. I don’t want to kill you but I will.”

“Thank you,” the shifter whispered and Mary glanced at the woman in the seat beside her. She was swiping at her tearstained cheeks, smearing mud all over her face.

“Don’t thank me.” Mary punched the accelerator, put on speed and drove as fast as she could in the direction of the state line. “Not yet.”