The Merciless II (12 page)

I
don't stick around to watch the play. I duck into one of the dressing rooms and hunch down on a stool at the makeup table, hiding like a coward. My reflection stares out from the mirror. I shift my eyes to my knees. I can't stand to look at myself.

Speakers hang from the ceiling, broadcasting the play to the empty room. Leena's staticky voice bounces off the walls around me. She recites every line perfectly.

I hide there until the play is over, and then I busy myself backstage, sweeping sand and gathering props until I'm sure Leena has headed back to the dorm. I've
practiced my apology a dozen times by then, but it still sounds wrong. Forced. Leena will never forgive me.

Our dorm is empty when I get back, but there's a note waiting on my bed.

We're meeting up with Dean and his friend at the chapel to toast Leena's AMAZING performance. Come meet us (use the back door)!!! —Sutton

ps—destroy this message after you've read it. xoxoxo

Leena snuck out? I swear under my breath, crumpling the piece of paper in one hand. She'd never risk getting in trouble if she hadn't seen Jude and me backstage. I push myself to my feet and grab my coat.

• • •

Moonlight paints the chapel's whitewashed siding silver. It glints off the stained glass windows, making them wink in the darkness.

I stop at the gate. Something dashes through the brush, rustling the leaves before going still. I flinch and glance over my shoulder, certain I'm going to see Father Marcus step out of the trees, the word
expelled
already on his lips. But there's no one. Clouds drift over the moon, blocking the last tendrils of light.

Voices echo from inside the chapel. I shiver and slip through the gate, pushing it closed with a creak.

The chapel's back door opens into a narrow room. A small table leans against the wall to my left, holding a leather Bible and a heavy brass candleholder. I brush my fingertips lightly over the candleholder, looking around the space. The room feels familiar. I frown, studying the shadows gathering in the corners, the stained glass window, the paintings staring down from the walls—

I feel the hot splash of blood hitting my cheek. I hear the sound of leather slapping against skin.
Thwap!

I jerk my hand away from the table, horror rushing over me. This room seems familiar to me because I've seen it before. Jude knelt naked on the floor just feet from where I'm standing, cringing as Father Marcus whipped him.

I hold my breath and hurry through the heavy velvet curtains hanging open on the far wall. I don't inhale again until I reach the main altar. The air in that tiny room felt
wrong
, somehow. Spoiled.

Prayer candles flicker from the altar, casting a dull golden glow over the rows of wooden pews. I spot Sutton sitting on a windowsill near the front entrance. Dean hovers over her, his mouth buried in her neck. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. I blush and avert my eyes. A boy I don't recognize hunches down
in the front pew a few feet away, holding a Budweiser bottle and studying something on his cell phone.

A shape separates from the shadows to my left. I stumble away from it, smacking my hip into the altar. The candles wobble, wicks flaring.

“Leena?” I groan, a dull pain spreading through my side. “Is that you?”

Leena is still wearing her stage makeup. Dark circles of blush cover her cheeks, and she's smudged her lipstick. Sweaty strands of black hair fall loose from her braid and stick to her neck and forehead. She's changed out of her costume, though. A thick sweater hangs from her shoulders, half covering a pair of ripped jeans. She had to cut one of the legs short to fit it over her chunky white cast.

“You came.” Booze makes her voice thick and sloppy. She hobbles toward me, balancing on just one crutch. A bottle of coconut rum dangles from her free hand. “I didn't know if you would.”

I stare at the bottle. “Are you drunk?”

Leena wrinkles her nose. Her breath smells sickly sweet. “Brian bet me I couldn't drink the whole bottle,” she says. “If I win, he's going to show me his car.”

“Brian?” I glance at the boy sitting in the front pew. He's older than Dean. Greasy black hair falls over his forehead, and the corner of a tattoo peeks out from beneath his T-shirt. It looks like a woman's leg.

“You're not going anywhere with that guy.” I shoot a glance at Sutton, but she's too distracted by Dean to catch my dirty look. I can't believe she left Leena alone with some creep. I take a step away from the altar and Leena stumbles backward, swaying. I grab her crutch to steady her before she falls. “Maybe you should sit down. I can find you some water.”

“Don't do that.” Leena's words slur. “Don't pretend to be nice.”

She pulls her crutch away from me and rocks back on her feet, nearly stumbling over own her cast. We're standing near the edge of the pulpit, just inches from the stairs leading down to the pews. There isn't far to fall, but if Leena hit the ground at the right angle, she could reinjure her leg.

She lifts the rum to her mouth and tips it back, leaving her lips wet and sticky. I need to take the bottle away from her. I edge forward, like she's an animal I don't want to spook.

“Why don't you give me that?” I say, reaching for the rum. “You're going to hurt yourself.”

“You don't care if I get hurt.” Leena hugs the bottle to her chest. A tear spills onto her cheek and she wipes it away angrily with the back of her hand. “You
want
me to get hurt.”

She rocks backward another step, sliding the
rubber-tipped foot of her crutch an inch closer to the edge of the pulpit. I cringe. “Leena, come on, you're really close to the stairs—”

“All this time I thought you were my
friend
. And then, when I saw you with Jude, I realized you were just playing me.” Leena motions to me with her arm, sending an arc of coconut rum splattering across the floor. “You want me to get hurt so you can have him all to yourself. That's why you left the trapdoor unlocked, and that's why . . .”

Leena blinks, and it takes a long moment for her eyes to flutter open again. Another tear runs down her face, tracing a pink line in her makeup.

“I know you did something to Heathcliff,” she says, her voice cracking. I swallow. My mouth feels dry.

“I didn't, Leena. I swear.”

“You didn't like him.” Leena leans into her crutch. The wood creaks beneath her weight. “And then, all of a sudden, he was
gone
.”

My skin pricks with nerves. “What are you talking about?”

“You do terrible things. If you want something, you just take it, even if someone else gets hurt. You're . . . you're evil.”

Heat spreads through my chest. I stare into Leena's unfocused eyes and, for a second, I want to push her.
She doesn't deserve her perfect life any more than I deserve my shitty one. I can practically feel her body tipping backward beneath my hands. If she weren't here, Jude and I could be together, and I wouldn't have to feel guilty about that damn bunny or the trapdoor. I could wipe the past clean and start over.

“You should be careful what you wish for, Sofia,” Leena says in a small, trembling voice. “Jude may have chosen you, but God punishes sinners. You'll see.”

Candlelight wavers behind me, casting our shadows across the floor. I study Leena. She's drunk. I could make it to the back door before she does, easy. And then,
oops
, all I'd have to do is slam the door and twist the dead bolt. I could stand back and watch this place burn.

I hear Brooklyn's voice whispering in my ear:
The evil lives inside of you already . . .

Shame washes over me, and I stumble away from the altar. What the hell is wrong with me? I would never think those things.
Never
.

The sound of metal clicking against metal cuts through the chapel. I flinch, and jerk my head toward the front entrance.
Keys
.

“Shit! Someone's here!” Sutton hisses. She grabs Dean by the collar of his shirt and drags him behind a pew.

“Come on.” I take Leena's arm and pull her toward the back room. She murmurs something and tries to push
me away, but I dig my fingers into her wrist, holding tight. She stumbles forward on her crutch.

The keys jangle, then go still. We don't have time to make it to the back room now. I pull Leena's crutch out from under her arm, and help her crouch down behind the altar. Someone swears, and I see movement from the corner of my eye as Brian ducks behind the pew with Sutton and Dean. Dean knocks over an empty beer can with his foot, but Brian grabs it before it rolls into the aisle.

A creak echoes through the chapel. Someone releases a deep, phlegmy cough.

“Who's there?” he asks. Cold fingers walk down my spine. It's Father Marcus.

“Dammit,” Leena whispers, huddling closer to me. Her ragged breath hits the back of my neck. I motion for her to keep quiet.

Footsteps make their way down the aisle.

I hold my breath and edge forward. Leena digs her fingers into my shoulders and I freeze, my heart thudding.

Father Marcus stops walking. “I heard voices. I know someone's here.”

I glance over my shoulder. Leena stares back at me, her eyes rimmed with red. Sweat glistens on her forehead. I lift a finger to my mouth, then turn back
around. Slowly, I lean past the edge of the altar and peer into the darkness.

Father Marcus stands near the center of the chapel, head cocked—listening. Shadows obscure his face, but moonlight glints in from the stained glass windows, painting the top of his head silver. He drifts forward, the hem of his black robes dragging along the floor.

Three shadows rise, silently, from the pews behind him. Sutton, Dean, and Brian hurry for the front door, their footsteps soundless on the tile. Sutton stays behind for a second, looking for me and Leena. She raises her shoulders in a desperate shrug—
there's nothing I can do
—before hurrying after the boys.

I hold my breath as she eases the door open and slips outside. The door clicks shut and Father Marcus whirls around. But Sutton's gone.

Leena's fingernails pinch the skin on my shoulders. “We're going to be expelled,” she whispers.

Quiet.
I mouth the word rather than say it out loud. Leena presses her lips together. Nods.

There's about three feet of open space between the altar and the velvet curtains that lead to the back room. If Leena and I can make it through there, we can get to the door without Father Marcus seeing us. I shift my weight to my front leg, poised to run.

“I know there's someone here,” Father Marcus calls. “Best to just come out from where you're hiding.”

Three feet. Maybe less. I could be out the door before Father Marcus made it to the pulpit. Leena would never make it with her cast, but Father Marcus would probably follow me outside, giving her a chance to get away.

The legs in my muscles tighten, itching to move. I lean forward.

A spray of pebbles hits the window, rattling the glass in the pane. I hear laughter outside, then running. Father Marcus whirls around.

“Little punks,” he mutters, sweeping back to the front door. I shoot forward, dragging Leena behind me. The booze has made her slow and clumsy. She stumbles, banging a shoulder into the altar and nearly fumbling her crutch. A candle topples off the side of the altar and smashes into the floor. A hairline crack shoots across the candleholder. The flame flickers and sparks, but stays lit.

I shoot a nervous glance at the front entrance, but Father Marcus has already left to chase down whoever threw the stones. We're alone. The candle rolls across the floor, coming to rest next to a curtain. The flame grows and leaps onto the fabric. Leena blinks at it, her eyes not quite focusing.

“Just
go
,” I tell her.

Leena looks at me, then lurches through the curtains. The flame gently licks the edge of the velvet. Something dark and hungry rises in my chest. I could just let it burn. Leena stumbles into something in the back room and swears loudly. It would be so easy to push past her on that stupid crutch. I could lock the door behind me. No one would ever know.

My fingers fumble for the cross at my neck. Jude's cross. I stomp out the flame, disgusted with myself. I hurry through the small room. It's empty—Leena must've made a break for the woods. I push the door open and hurry outside, letting it slam shut behind me.

“Come on!” Sutton calls from the woods. I catch a glimpse of her blonde hair and tanned legs before she disappears into the gloom.

It's too dark to see where I'm going, so I rely on muscle memory to carry me across the grounds. Muffled sounds reach me: footsteps crashing through the brush, heavy breathing, Sutton shouting “
Hurry!
” They seem far away, as if I'm hearing them underwater. I want to call out to the others, but I'm afraid Father Marcus is hiding in the shadows. Waiting to catch me.

I'm relieved when the trees part, revealing redbrick walls and my room's familiar window. Wind moves the curtain—the window's still open.

“Sutton?” I whisper.

A slim hand pushes the curtain aside and Sutton's blonde head appears in the window.

“Did it work?” She reaches for me and her fingers close around my wrist. “The pebbles? It was Dean's idea. He said we had to distract Father Marcus so you guys could get out.”

“It worked.” I wedge a foot against the wall, grabbing the windowsill with my other hand. Sutton grunts, half dragging me into the room as I struggle to pull my weight through the window. I lose my balance and wobble forward, but Sutton catches me before I crash into anything.

“Thanks,” I say, brushing the dirt off the back of my jeans. A muscle in my shoulder twinges. I grimace and try to stretch it out.