Bitter Falls (Stillhouse Lake #4)(93)

But if I’m wrong, if I really am sneaking around and get caught . . . Sam gets hurt. So I stick to being sneaky.

It takes a while; I end up hiding in the small stand of trees next to a big cabin that must belong to Father Tom; it’s way nicer than any of the other places here, and it still has lights on inside. Curfew’s for everybody else. Not for him.

My mom would go in there and make him let her and Sam go. For a second I imagine how that would feel, seeing him afraid. Making him do what I tell him. Feels really good in fantasy, but I feel kind of dirty when I stop thinking about it. I know I can’t make him do anything. Not when he’s got all the guns and power and people.

I work my way around to the back of the cabin and to the shadows of the trees.

Then I’m curving on the path. It’s not as easy as I thought; the gravel’s sharp and tricky, and in places it slopes down at a steep angle. I don’t fall, but it’d be real easy. The trees feel like they’re closing in. Wind hisses through branches, and it’s so cold that I wish I’d worn that stupid jacket.

The falls sound like radio static. It starts low, then builds into a heavy hiss, then a roar when I come out of the trees and see the place for the first time. It’s pretty. It’s not a big waterfall, maybe twenty feet up or so, but I’ve never seen one in person before. I like it.

The lake, though. I don’t like that. It’s too dark. Too still. And it smells like rotten fish.

Aria’s waiting for me. She’s standing by the shore with her hands clasped in front of her, but her head isn’t down like it usually is. It’s up, and she’s smiling, and when I come toward her that smile just gets wider. “You came,” she says. “Thank you, Brother Connor.”

“Just Connor,” I say. The moonlight is stronger here, and I’m glad. I want to be able to see what she’s doing. “Why did you want to see me?”

She steps up to me and puts her hand on my chest, and it’s like putting my tongue on a battery, the energy that zips through me and leaves my ears ringing. Aria’s shorter than I am. Small and pretty and kind of fragile. It isn’t that I wasn’t aware of that before, but all of a sudden it’s real.

She stretches up on her toes, graceful as a ballerina, and kisses me.

I’m so surprised I don’t know how to react. I just . . . freeze, everything crashing and burning in my head because it feels so good. Kissing feels really good, and I never knew that. Guess I should have—everybody talks about it like it’s amazing, but there’s something more real about that feeling than I’ve ever known before. I don’t know how to kiss her back, but I try, pressing my lips back on hers, moving into it . . .

. . . and then I wonder why she’s kissing me. It feels great. But it doesn’t feel right.

I step back, and when I turn my head, I see Father Tom standing there. Watching us. I feel angry and sick at the same time. I feel . . . naked. And he’s smiling at us.

“I chose her for you,” he tells me. “A flower from my garden. I see you like her.”

I look at Aria. I expect her to look angry too. Or shocked. Or something. But she’s still smiling, like she’s happy. I grab her and shake her. “You’re not a flower,” I tell her. “And he can’t tell you what to do!”

She blinks at me, and I feel bad for shaking her, because she just seems . . . confused. “Father Tom’s always right,” she says. “Why shouldn’t I do what he says? And I do like you, Connor. You’re nice.”

“You don’t even know me!” I yell it at her, and she flinches backward and clasps her hands and looks down, and I feel like shit. “Stop it! He can’t just give you away! You don’t belong to him!”

“No,” she says, and looks up at me then. “I belong to you now.”

“That’s sick. And I’m thirteen.”

“I’m twelve,” she says. “But I’m a full woman now. It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” I have no idea what to say to make her understand that. I turn back to Father Tom. He knows this isn’t right. It’s why he locks people in here in the first place. “I’m not doing this.”

“Of course not,” he says. Smooth as oil. “Not yet, of course. But she’ll be held chaste for you, Connor. She’ll be yours when you’re ready.”

“No.” I say it flatly, and I mean it. I’ll put a chair back. I’ll wear the stupid clothes, if that helps. But I’m not doing this.

My old dad would tell me to do it. That’s why I won’t.

Father Tom just shakes his head. Sadly, as if he already knew this would happen. “All right,” he says. “On your head be it.” He raises his hand above his head, and people come out of the trees, up the path. There’s Caleb, with a nasty-looking assault rifle slung over his chest. And the other two from the RV. They weren’t asleep. Of course they weren’t.

My stomach drops when I see who they’re holding. Dad.

He’s still got chains on his ankles and wrists, and he’s got another one wrapped around his throat like a thick metal leash. I feel like I’m sinking into quicksand. It’s awful and horrible and Caleb’s leading him by that chain and I need to do something. Sam looks awful; he’s barely standing up, and he’s dirty and bloody and has no shirt on. The only clean thing about him is the white bandage that wraps around his waist.