Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

WINIFRED CHAPEL

M uch to my frustration, Sister Christine is less than accommodating when I approach her with my plight after class.

While her eyes do at least fill with some sympathy…the rest of her remains as cold and aloof as always. Save for that one time three years ago, when she found me crying in the B hall corridor when I was supposed to be at lunch, and took me to her office to chat.

And not unlike what she told me back then, she says again now, "You know the Lord works in mysterious ways when it comes to His grand design, Miss Chapel." She doesn't take her attention away from the papers scattered around her desk as she goes on. "What He lays out for us is never for naught. And nor does He give us more than He knows we can bear. So long as you don't veer from Him, and keep Jesus in your heart always, you shall endure anything thrown your way."

In other words…this is a test.

I try not to feel bitter about it. If anything, this is a good thing, and I know I should be grateful. For it has to be a sign that my prayers and penance are not going ignored; that He finally thinks I'm ready—strong enough—to confront what led me astray three years ago, and prove my unwavering deference to God's plan. My divine purpose.

Sending up a silent prayer— Lord, grant me strength —I make my way out of the classroom, and cut a sharp left, heading for the stairwell at the end of the hallway. History is next, according to my schedule. Second floor.

On autopilot, I hasten my steps, not wanting to risk being late again. Hopefully this time, Trinity saves me a seat. Why she didn't in homeroom, I have no idea. Perhaps to teach me a lesson.

Well, lesson learned.

Remembering how I got myself into this predicament, I adjust my grip on my books, careful as I check to ensure my sleeve is covering my hand.

It still tingles, but at least it no longer burns like it was minutes ago.

"Stalking me, little bunny?"

My neck heats at the silken echo of her words, my chest squeezing at the memory of all that it conjured up.

So caught up in trying to shove them back to where they came from?—

Days spent as girls frolicking and playing make-believe in the woods and along the rocky beaches, weaving crowns made of the white baby's breath that grows rampant along the grassy dunes. Recreating the fanciful stories from our favorite stories…

Long summer afternoons spent laying in the swaying tall grass, watching the clouds gather and take shape against slate skies that could never quite turn blue…

Sleepovers spent being her doll as she brushed and braided my hair…

—I'm not paying attention when a hand thrusts seemingly out of nowhere from my left, grabbing me by the arm, and I'm all but thrown into what smells like a janitor's closet a split second before my world plummets into black with the click of the door being shut.

There's a distinct snick of a lock being slid into place, and just as my gasp goes to turn into a yell, there's the rattle of a chain, immediately followed by the buzzing of a lightbulb sparking to life and a hand slamming over my mouth.

My books tumble to the floor with a thud and light smack.

Eyes wide and unblinking, they lock with the glittering dark brown orbs boring back at me.

A whimper throttles up my throat, suppressed by my clenched teeth.

Ophelia arches a perfectly sculpted brow, as if silently daring me to try something, and it's only then that I realize just how still I am. Frozen in place, with my arms hanging lifelessly at my sides.

I'm free to move…

And I didn't even try.

"Why don't I ever get to be the snake?" I hear eight-year-old me asking in the back of my head.

"Because, you're the cute and quiet one."

The ghost of my giggled protests as a lanky, far less uptight Ophelia tackled me to the grass thrashes around my skull—the image of her wrapping herself around my limbs, slithering under my arm, and licking my cheek flashing once more across my mind's eye. Followed by flashes of more memories I'd shoved back for years?—

Stop!

In the closet, my cheeks blaze, nostrils flaring, and I lift my hands to shove her off me. But she's too quick.

Not removing the hand from my mouth, she uses the other to wrap around my wrist at the same time she pushes forward, forcing me to stumble back. My free hand slides just enough down her shoulder for her to manage to trap my arm between our bodies, pinning me to a narrow free space of wall. So narrow, my shoulders brush shelves on either side.

I try to bring my knee up, but it only brings her closer when she has to all but lean her entire figure against mine to keep me immobile.

I tense, a sharp inhale expanding my ribcage, pushing my chest out. If it weren't for my arm squeezed between us, our breasts would be pressed flush together. It's already bad enough that she's got her thigh digging into my pelvis.

Much to my horror, my neck tingles with goosebumps, my core tightening. Frustrated tears bite at the back of my eyes, and I have to swallow against a surge of bile rushing up my throat.

Ophelia narrows her eyes, searching mine.

And I suddenly feel very, very exposed. In a way I've never felt before. Not even the last time we were this close…

Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight a shudder. A drop of sweat trickles down my temple, and my glasses are about halfway down my nose at this point, making the face inches from mine look softer around the edges, but no less captivating.

Behind my lids, an image of her in class takes shape. That haughty upturn of her nose when slips into know-it-all lecture-mode. The long, smooth creamy column of her neck, branching out into the narrow, rounded shoulders. The starched flats of her Peter Pan collared shirt buttoned right up to the base of her throat. The sharp, yet soft-looking lines of her jaw, accentuated by the rigid, confident way she carries herself.

How someone could look so severe, yet delicate at the same time…

Well, it's something only Ophelia St. Maud can pull off. She wields grace and beauty like a weapon. Always has.

There's a harsh sigh, and a moment later, with a gentleness that belies her muttered, irritable, "For fuck's sake" and the disdained purse of her lips I see when my eyes fly open, she uses two fingers to nudge my glasses back into place.

Everything inside me grows still.

I don't even so much as breathe.

It's not until I get a flash of teeth when she bites her full bottom lip that I realize where I'm staring.

My gaze snaps up to her heated one, and I blink, my face growing as hot as the water I used to try and scrub the black off my hand earlier.

A rueful sort of wistfulness flickers back at me. "Don't scream, okay? I just want to talk." Her words are stilted, if not a little raspier than usual. Like she's choking something back.

Under that though, I catch a hint of something else—something that has me giving her a jerky nod and relaxing my body.

Desperation.

She searches my face, visibly debating whether or not I'm going to cooperate. Whatever she sees must satisfy her enough, because a moment later, she removes her hand and takes a small step back, putting some much needed distance between us.

I gasp, followed by a couple swallows as my shoulders curl forward.

Ophelia's head is cocked as she watches me cross my arms tightly over my chest, trying to suppress the tremor running through me. Her eyes drop, and I tense, nausea churning when my nipples instantly harden from behind my arms.

But then I realize it's not my chest she's looking at, it's the side of my hand, the only one she can see, the one with the black spot on it that won't come off. My sleeve's pushed back just enough to bare it to her scrutinizing gaze.

"Can I have a closer look?" she murmurs.

I sink even deeper between my shoulders. "Why?"

She studies me for a beat. "You were in the woods." Not a question.

"Yeah, so? I was running late."

Her lip twitches, but a sobering expression is quick to replace whatever amused her. "You shouldn't?—"

"Did you follow me?" I blurt for a second time. And this time, rather than back down, I take a page from her book and jut my chin up. "Because I saw you come out. Minutes after me. And I—" I abruptly choke back my next words.

"And you…?"

Sucking in my cheeks, I avert my gaze.

Sighing, she says, "I didn't follow you. I had no idea you were in there. Not until I saw that ." She gestures at my hand. "So again, I ask. How did it happen?"

"How did you know I got it in the woods?"

Our eyes connect for several long seconds, before she finally says, "Let's just call it a hunch." Before I can press, she goes on to say, "Now, will you please stop stalling, before I really lose my patience?"

Snorting softly, I shake my head and glance around the small, congested space reeking of cleaning supplies and dirty water. Just as I open my mouth to fire back a sarcastic retort, the bell rings, and I tense.

"Great, just great," I mutter. Bending down, I gather my scattered books.

"Forget class. Answer my?—"

"A snake, okay?" I exclaim, shooting to a stand. Chest heaving, I dart my eyes around her face, watching as the color leaves it and her eyes grow round and distant. "Are you happy now?" My voice cracks.

I go to push past her, but she quickly jolts out of her daze and cuts me off, grabbing my hand in hers before I even realize what she's doing. Somehow, I manage to catch my books with the other arm just before I drop them again.

The cool feel of her soft skin on mine startles me enough that it takes me a second longer than it should to react.

"Don't touch it," I snap, ripping out of her grasp.

She rolls her eyes.

"I'm serious," I say, holding my hand to my chest. "It might be contagious."

The second the words fall from my lips, I instantly want to take them back. Not only does Ophelia seem highly amused by the possibility of catching whatever it is that snake infected me with, if the sparkling mirth and tilt of her lip is anything to go by…

But it invites her to ask in a deceptively soft, dangerous voice, "Worried about me, Winnie?"

My heart thunks in my chest.

Winnie.

Hearing it echoed in my memories is one thing.

The reality of it spoken right to my face…something completely different.

Ophelia's throat bobs, something indecipherable flickering through her darkening eyes. Like maybe she too just realized what she called me. Because not only has it been years since I've heard my name from her lips…but to hear her call me Winnie, not Winifred… But Winnie, like we're still best friends… Winnie , like she called me that night, when she tempted me down a path I'd later regret so much, for so many reasons, just as I imagine she does too deep down…

Well, it hurts.

I swallow hard, and shake my head. "Not worried."

And just like that, whatever glimpse of the girl I once knew was there a moment ago, is quickly walled off by that ever-present cold shell I've come to know.

And I feel sick. Knowing it's my fault it's there in the first place.

It's for the best… for both of us, even if she can't see that.

"Ssssssure about that?" a voice that is not mine rings out in my head, and I freeze.

It's the same one from the woods.

Oddly enough, it's at that moment that Ophelia tilts her head, gaze growing far-off, like she's…

Like she's listening to something.

Or someone.

Heart pounding, I whisper, "Can I please go now? You got what you wanted."

Even before I finish the sentence, she's shaking her head, and I expel a harsh breath.

"It's not coming out, is it?"

I frown. "What?"

She gestures at my hand, and I'm thrown back to earlier, before class, in the bathroom. Scrubbing my hand raw with scalding hot water and soap. Desperate and on the verge of tears when I realized?—

"The black stuff. It's coming from your pores."

I still. "How…" When my voice fails me, I try again, no louder than a whisper. "How do you know that?" My pulse hammers against my throat, thundering in my ears.

Her lips tighten into a bloodless line. Eyes creased with a knowing sort of resignation.

I'm not hallucinating.

My stomach bottoms out as the reality slowly settles over me.

It was real.

Shaking my head, I beg Ophelia with my eyes. For answers… for reassurance… for a miracle.

But that's not what I get.

What I get is far worse.

What I get is more questions.

What I get is a throat filled with acid.

"Because," she murmurs, unbuttoning the top three buttons of her shirt.

My eyes widen, nerves fluttering rapidly in my chest. "Wh-what are you?—"

The second she twists her head away, and tugs the collar of her shirt down to reveal a thin flesh-colored square bandage, my words die right along with any hope I had that what happened this morning—what's wrong with my hand—is anything short of tied to her, to us, to what happened that night three years ago.

Her next words confirm as much.

"I first thought it was soot."

It starts in my fingers—a bone-deep numbness that spreads up my arms. Spreading everywhere…

Except the side of my hand where I'm marked.

There, it burns.

Ophelia begins to peel away the bandage, revealing just a hint of what's underneath, when I throw out my hand, stopping her. "Don't."

Her fingers pause, brown eyes flashing to mine, and I give a short shake of my head. Brows knitted, she drops her gaze to the hand hovering the air between us—the hand with the burning black substance oozing from my pores. I follow her gaze, half-expecting to find smoke lifting from my skin, it burns that bad now.

In fact, the closer I am to her, the worse it gets.

"Yours is hurting too," she murmurs.

Our gazes lock together.

A silent conversation passes between us. One made up of everything I've tried so hard to forget; everything I've tried to atone for. One made up of questions I don't even want to consider finding the answers to. I just want this to go away. I just want to rewind to this morning, when I made the decision at the base of the church steps to turn left.

"This isn't happening," I hear myself say.

This time, when I shove past her, shoulder-checking her out of my way, she doesn't try to stop me. Not physically. Instead she uses her words—wielding them like a blade she knows will cut me right where it hurts most, right across my chest, tearing my heart in two.

"Yeah, that's right. Bolt. It's what spineless little bunnies do best after all."

I freeze with my back to her, one hand wrapped around the door knob.

"You know, I don't even know why I bother sometimes." She scoffs. "Ever the fucking victim…"

She might as well have slapped me.

Closing my eyes, I will back a sudden rush of tears.

"You'd think you were the one who lost everything that night." Her voice is raw and filled with so much pain—so much hatred—my knees nearly give out from the force of it. "When you lost nothing!"

The knob creaks under my grip.

"You deserve what's coming. I hope you know that." Her voice quakes, deepening into something guttural.

Sniffing, I scramble to unlock the door and throw it open. Not sparing her a single glance back as her final, ominous words chase me into the hall. It's her voice…but not. It's all wrong.

"God won't save you now."

Wiping the back of my hand across my nose, I race for the stairs at the end of the hall, her parting words replaying on a horrible loop in my head, one I don't think I'll be shaking any time soon

Ever the fucking victim…

Choking back a sob, I round the corner, out of sight and fall back against the wall.

A single tear spills from the corner of my eye, and I wipe that away too.

"Sssssshe's not wrong…"

Again, it's that hissing voice I heard in the closet. The same one I heard in the woods. Shuddering, I seal my eyes shut. My voice is shaky, watery, and I mumble, "I will fear no evil, for You are with me."

A cackle fills my ears, churning my stomach. " God won't save you now…" The words are Ophelia's, but the voice repeating them in my head carries the same twisted edge I heard moments ago.

Wrong…it's all wrong…

My mind flashes back to the blackened spot I caught a glimpse of on her neck.

Soot. She thought it was soot.

The fire.

Has she had it since that night?

That was three years ago.

"You lost nothing!"

Regret and despair squeeze my throat.

She's wrong. She's so utterly wrong, it's a sucker punch to my chest.

I might not have lost everything, like her, but I did lose something.

I lost the most important person in my life.