His to Keep by Lydia Goodfellow
Chapter Four
My body is frozen. All I can do is stare at the door slammed shut in my face, trapping me in a room I shouldn’t be in. This isn’t real—it can’t be. But it is. Father Aaron has locked me in his house. In this room.
A shuffle behind me reminds me that I’m not alone. Turning to glance at the other occupant in the room, he stands over by the wall staring at me. With bewildered eyes, I take in his appearance. Tall and slim, he wears a black shirt, matching pants, and shoes. His skin is pale, and slightly messy hair falls over eyes with sleepless bruises beneath them. Eyes so blue they remind me of an ocean. There’s something strangely attractive about his face, but as I search for any hint he might hurt me, his eyes are vacant. So unsettlingly empty, it’s like no one is there.
“Please,” I beg him, hoping he isn’t like the others. “Will you help me?”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes drift to the door. His entire body stiffens as he jerks his head sharply to the left. Be quiet.
My heart sinks, and my eyes dart around the room in panic. The only bed is the one I’m sitting on. Wrought iron with white sheets. Near the end of the bed are an old chest of drawers and a desk with a matching chair. The walls are gray, and the floor wooden. The only bit of light comes from a tiny window on the other side of the room. I spot another door slightly beyond where the young man stands, and I edge around him to peek inside. He doesn’t move as I observe the tiny space. It’s a small bathroom. Dank and smelling musty, there’s an old-fashioned toilet with a dangly chain, a large tub, and a sink with a small mirror above it.
Stumbling back into the room, my chest squeezes. I’m trapped. Running over to the window, I rip back the curtains. We’re higher than I thought, trees thick below. A long fall, the drop bone breaking. Not that I’ll be able to get past the jagged nails that have been hammered into the frame to stop it from opening.
“No.” Panic sets in, and I’m crippled under the intensity. The only way out is the way I came in—
A hand suddenly settles over my collar, and I whirl around. The man drops his hand and takes a step back. I can’t be sure if he’s trying to calm me, but whatever it is, doesn’t work. I’m scared. No, terrified.
“Please. Let me go home. I can’t be here. Do you understand?”
His shoulders lift and fall in a silent sigh, and I know it. Know inside my aching heart I’m not getting out of here. My thoughts drift to Father Aaron’s black car, the same one I kept seeing following me. Did he plan this? Waited for the perfect moment to strike?
If it’s true, why pick me up outside of school with so many witnesses? In front of Adam? Surely, he realizes this is kidnapping. But it hits me, and my knees buckle. Collapsing to the floor, I stare ahead. I got into Father Aaron’s car myself. No one saw him physically force me inside. It’d been so easy for him to trick me, and I believed him when he said Gran was at his house, because maybe he knew I wouldn’t ever disobey her. The mention of her name is a crack of a whip.
As tears of frustration, anger and fear sting my cheeks, I stare up at the man again. He silently watches my tears drip from my face and onto the floor. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again. Backing away, he sits on the chair by the desk. Putting a shaky hand over my mouth, bile crawls up my throat. If it weren’t for the sudden snap of a lock behind me, I might’ve vomited. I lurch to my feet as Father Aaron strides inside.
“Ava.” His grin is still intact, as if he’s dropped the reserved act he had at church and is finally revealing the real man he is. Someone obviously insane. “I have a gift for you.”
Something is slung across his forearm that he gingerly unfolds and holds out before him—a long, white dress. The shape is simple, but the cream ribbon dangling around its tiny waist reminds me of something a doll might wear. Innocent, pristine, and pure.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” There’s an admiring note in his tone, excitement shining in his eyes. “It’s just for you.”
My head shakes, and I instinctively grab my school blouse, as if the light blue cotton is armor. “I don’t want it.”
I know, even before the words have left my mouth, that I’ve made a mistake. Father Aaron’s left eye twitches and his smile slowly drops. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t want new clothes. I just want to go—”
“Home?” He sounds mocking. Disgruntled. I stupidly nod, though a part of me knows I’m treading on dangerous ground.
Surging forward, I cry out when he catches me by the wrist and pulls me so hard, I slam into his chest. His rich scent assaults me, and I can only eye the dark cotton of his shirt, blurred by a sheet of fresh tears.
“This is your home now,” he sneers, using the same tone he uses on Sundays to drill his point that we’re all damned sinners no matter what we do. “You.” I follow his line of vision to where the young man is sitting watching us. “Hold her.”
He remains seated, expression blank, though his eyes ruin the façade. Burning with an emotion that doesn’t take me long to name—defiance.
“Now!” Father Aaron barks, his grip tightening over my forearm, now trembling with barely suppressed rage. There’s a sadistic thrill to his tone, almost as if he’s excited about being challenged. A muscle works in the young man’s jaw as he eventually gets up. Father Aaron lets go of me, though I don’t have long to stagger back before a pair of cold hands take over and grab my shoulders. “Her blouse. Take it off.”
“No!” I shriek, not that either pay attention to me.
“Do it,” Father Aaron orders. “You know I can’t. Not yet.”
Not yet?
The man’s grip is stiff. Painful. Bruises rise to life over my skin as he loosens his hold a fraction of an inch, enough to catch the fabric of my blouse between his fingers.
My head shakes. This isn’t happening. This isn’t—
My sleeves are tugged from either end, straining the last few remaining buttons at the front of my blouse. I stare down at the floor, trying to block out the sound of fabric being pulled to breaking point before finally giving way. Cold air stings my bare chest, my cotton bra now visible for all to see, including Father Aaron. He observes parts of my body no one has ever seen before, and it’s sick.
“Be gentle,” he hisses as the man begins to yank the rest of my blouse down my arms. “She’s not a doll.” The man’s fingers draw back, barely touching me now. Through clenched teeth, Father Aaron demands, “The skirt.”
His hands clumsily go to my waist, and I try to push him away before fingers catch the latch that holds my skirt together. I can’t keep him from snapping it and dragging it down my legs. As my last defense falls to the floor, shame smothers me. Humiliation and confusion because this shouldn’t be happening. “Look at me, Ava.”
I’m as helpless as a puppet as my teary eyes lift and settle over his face. His eyes are too bright, the knuckles of his hands clutching the dress nearly the same shade of ivory.
“Beautiful,” he whispers as reverently as he voices the scripture. The young man’s grip tightens as I jerk back in disgust, but it only makes Father Aaron chuckle deeply. “I’ve chosen well.”
Hate flares within me, then despair. Why is he doing this to me?
I’m about to tell him to go to hell when the lifeless grip on my body softens, and I swear the man whispers, “Don’t”, too quiet for Father Aaron to hear. I swallow my words, not sure why I adhere to him.
“Put on the dress.”
All at once, the terror coils into one word, “No.”
“Oh?” Smiling in a way that scares me, Father Aaron throws the dress at me. My hands fail to catch it, and it falls to the floor. My limbs freeze when he grabs my chin and forces me to look at him, cramming me between him and the man. “I’ll let you have this one act of insolence since you don’t know the rules in this house. But I warn you now, I won’t think twice about bending you over the bed and using my belt on your soft—”
I yelp when his hand squeezes my backside. Shaking my head frantically, I try to move back, but the man behind me won’t let me. “Please, no. Don’t.”
Laughing, Father Aaron drops his hands and steps back. There’s a soft hiss as the dress is lifted from the floor by the man. A hand brushes my own in a silent coaxing.
Lift your arms.
I lift them into the air. The dress is tiny and constricting, hugging my body in a way my modest school uniform never did as he pulls it over my head. I’m suffocated by lace and cotton as the cream ribbon is tied tightly around my waist.
“Watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation.” Father Aaron’s gaze is still fixed on me. “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is...weak.”
My skin crawls beneath his observation until he finally goes to leave.
“You know what I require of you, Callum.” He glances at the young man. “She sleeps in the bed, and you on the floor. If anything happens to her under your watch, you will suffer tenfold. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I jump at the slow, halting tenor that comes behind me. Without another word, Father Aaron wrenches the door and leaves. I don’t relax, not even as his footsteps drift down the hall in the direction the stairs are.
Each breath I take is rasped with fear. Tension holds me immobile until a rustle at my side snaps me back to reality. The man I now know to be called Callum sits back down at the desk, though this time, he turns away from me completely. His arm moves back and forth, and the sound of pencil scraping against paper fills the silence in the room. He’s writing or drawing, but I can’t see which as his body hulks over the table. The room has darkened some, the sun now setting behind the trees. With the darkness comes coldness, and my teeth chatter as icy exhaustion takes hold.
Oh God. What am I doing here?
Gran doesn’t know where I am. She’ll be annoyed at me for not coming home. I hope she knows this isn’t like me and tells someone. Hopefully, the police. My parents.
Going over to the bedroom door, I take in the cracked, white paint of the only thing blocking me from leaving this horrible place with despair. Wrapping my fingers around the cool metal of the handle, I pull it down, and my heart skips a beat when it opens. Quickly turning to see if Callum has noticed, I can’t believe his head is still bent over his book, none the wiser to my heart pounding from what I’ve just done.
Quietly pulling the door open a little more, I pray it doesn’t creak and give away my attempt of escaping as I slip my body to the other side when the gap is wide enough. Sweat beads on the back of my neck as I step out of the room. Is this too easy? It feels unbelievable as I make my way to the stairs. Once there, I listen out for the other occupants in the house. Muffled chatter comes from the lounge. Dampening my lips, my eyes settle on the front door. It’s right there. So close.
Putting my foot on one step, I halt when a door opens downstairs. “This discussion is over,” Father Aaron says irritably to whoever he’s talking to.
“Why does he have all the fun?” I don’t recognize the speaker’s voice. Maybe John’s? “I think—”
There’s the sound of a slap.
“You think nothing. Do not question me again, Nephew. Know your place and have patience. Your rewards will come in time.”
There’s a shuffle of footsteps and then nothing. Lifting my hand to wipe the sweat off my forehead, I take another step, cautiously peeking over the banister to see if they’re still there. The hallway’s now empty, and I try to keep my movements steady as I descend the stairs. As I put my foot on the last step, my heart stops when it groans beneath me.
Coldness licks my spine, as I almost expect Father Aaron to be standing there with his arms folded when I look over my shoulder. He isn’t there—no one is. Taking my chance, I dart forward. Once I’m at the door, I grab the handle to wrench it open. But the moment I do, a hand slams against the wood next to my head. Screaming, I whirl around, coming face to face with Father Aaron. “Going somewhere?”
There’s movement behind us, and Callum stops on the bottom step, his chest rising and falling, like he must’ve finally noticed I was no longer in the room and ran to get me.
“I want to go home,” I say, but Father Aaron isn’t listening. Instead, he’s pointing his glare at Callum.
“You weren’t watching her.”
“The door was unlocked,” Callum says through gritted teeth, the accusation clear. Had Father Aaron left the door open on purpose? Inching forward, Callum’s fingers clasp around my arm. But Father Aaron grabs his neck and slams him into the wall. I scream when Callum’s head bounces off the cement and he falls back with blood gushing from a cut on his forehead.
“Maybe that will knock some fucking sense into you,” Father Aaron growls menacingly. “I left it unlocked because I knew. Like how I knew last time. Take her back and do what you’re supposed to.”
Grabbing my arm again, Callum smears blood across his forehead as he wipes it with the back of his hand. There’s no emotion in his eyes, and it’s strange. He doesn’t seem in pain. Almost like he’s used to it.
Taking me back upstairs, he shoves me into the room. As I stumble inside, he slams the door behind us, shoulders stiff. Without expecting it, he whirls around, and I’m surprised by the anger in his eyes. The first real emotion I’ve seen from him so far.
“Don’t do that again.” His voice is blunt, and I stare at him with wide eyes. “There’s no escape.”
Turning his back on me, he walks away.