Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter twenty of "Cross". My oh my, are we really twenty chapters in already? I cannot believe how quickly this story is flying by!
As always, I would like to thank my fantastic/awesome/wonderful readers and reviewers, FireChildSlytherin5, Lady Krystalyn, Lystan, saichick, Mss Heart of Swords01, Dr E Mode and Lonely Bleeding Liar. Also, I would like to thank everyone who has added this story to their favorites/author alerts list so far. I do hope you enjoy this installment!
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Priest.
Part XX Fight
It was the darkness that bothered her the most, the impenetrable gloom that so aptly mirrored her own despair. Priestess sat tucked in the corner of the drainage ditch, away from the dripping water, her thighs and buttocks chilled by the wet sludge that covered the floor. Marcus was gone and he had taken the lantern with him. Thinking back on it now, Priestess remembered that he always did have a flair for the dramatic. He had left her without a farewell, giving her instead the agony of uncertainty, the plague of doubt.
Childbirth. She died in childbirth.
A prayer ran through Priestess's mind. It was something she was certain that she had made-up, pulled together from bits of psalms and pieces of hymns. She tried to focus on the mantra, but the words seemed to change with each repeat. Our Father easilybecame Our Lord. Priestess hugged her arms tightly around her knees and tried to concentrate. Her heart was palpitating, skipping a beat every now and then. She was left feeling sick, unable to breathe, choking. Oh God, she was choking.
"Enough," she warned the darkness. It was invasive. It was alive. Priestess looked into the black and saw a predator waiting for her, all hungry jaws and carrion breath. And there was absolutely nothing she could do but stare back at it. Stare right back.
But that was the trouble with the darkness, wasn't it? Who could ever tell where it began and where it ended?
Priest ruined her. He violated her.
The bile was slick in her throat, a noxious oil. She swallowed and clamped down on her tongue, hard. A few tears of pain pricked the corners of her eyes. She blinked. Even when she closed her eyes, the black remained.
I'm holding onto something, Priestess thought. I'm holding on for dear life and I'm not letting go.
But what was it she was actually fighting against? Was it the dark? Was it the cunning, undefined villain that lurked eagerly in the shadows, looking for the weakest lamb to pick off? Or was it something she already knew? Was it the truth, cold, hard, unforgiving, but not unknown?
In the back of her mind, beyond the rambling reaches of her prayers, Priestess wondered if she knew. She wondered if she had known all along.
I've kept secrets from you.
"Why?" she asked, cursing the fetid air around her. "Why did you do this?"
But had he done this? Was she absolutely certain that Priest had…that he had lain with the red-haired Priestess?
Oh God. She turned her head to the side, unable to avoid the images that rushed upon her. It was the worst kind of fantasy. The sickest nightmare. She saw them together and their lust was ugly, unworthy, a defilement. Or perhaps it wasn't his lust, only hers.
Priestess's muscles tensed. The darkness was leaking into her, gnawing, devouring. She would be swallowed whole
What was that prayer again? She couldn't remember it. Lord, strengthen me in this time of need. You are my refuge. You are…you are…
His lips. He had kissed her with his lips. Priestess had felt his mouth, the skin rough and chapped, only a hint of tenderness amidst abundant shame. But what if he had kissed her as well? What if she had experienced things that Priestess had only dreamt of, had felt him in those places that were forbidden, had kept him in inside of her…
Priestess was on her feet an instant, her apathy abandoned in favor of wild terror. She raced across the pit, a scream brimming against her teeth and vomited in the corner. Her stomach was empty, though and she dry heaved. Fingers tightened over her gut, forming a fist. She pressed her knuckles into her stomach and waited for the nausea to subside. It didn't, really.
"Enough," she warned herself again, this time more forcefully. Her weakness was nothing short of disgraceful, and at that moment, Priestess felt more ashamed than she ever had in her entire life. Naivety was an insult and she had never consider herself gullible. Marcus could be lying, he had the tongue of a serpent, after all. Why was she ready to believe him?
Because you've known. You've known.
When she was only fifteen, catching them in the corridor together. Priestess with her hair unbound. The shy smile. The threat of a caress and a kiss. Priest had been willing, too. Yes, he had been willing
She straightened, bottling up the thought and storing it in some shadowed alcove in her mind. There was danger here. Priestess had to recognize the utter peril of her situation. Never mind the crowding darkness. Never mind Marcus, who had always been an instigator. Never mind Priest and the red-haired Priestess, who was cruel. She was alone now and that suited her. She was alone and she could be free.
What ever happened to their child?
She drove her fist against the stone wall in an act of defiance. Where was her resolve? Where was her faith?
Dead, Priestess thought. Damned. And she wanted so much to lay the blame at Priest's feet. She wanted him to be with her now, only for an instant, so she could lash him with her fury. Priestess knew she could be cruel too, and brutal. She would hurt him. She would beat him and thrash him and curse him.
How could he have chosen her? How could he? The red-haired Priestess wasn't even a worthy rival, unlike Shannon.
And what of Shannon? Priest would never have betrayed his wife. He would never have tarnished the memory of their marriage with that wretched woman, that base, heartless woman who had hurt children and had hurt Priestess and who deserved to be damned for what she'd done. Deserved to rot in Hell.
But then Priest would burn too, wouldn't he? Because he had shared in her sin. He had taken her into his arms and kissed her and loved her. What if he had loved her…
Priestess found herself leaning her head against the stone, the damp soothing her aching temples. She forced herself to stand there, perfectly still, until her heartbeat evened. It took a while. It took a long while.
God, she had to get out of here.
And in a strange way, she was glad for the distraction, happy to think critically, to plot and plan. Walking to the middle of the ditch, Priestess looked up and saw the faint outline of the grate overhead. The darkness was less there, but even if she could reach the opening, the iron grid was certainly locked in place. Marcus had, of course, taken her rope dart from her, along with the rest of her weapons, otherwise, she might have been able to pull herself up to the grid and work the lock with her knife.
Priestess paced around the ditch, counting her steps. The stone walls were rough with erosion, but the shape of the hole itself was a perfect circle. Heel to heel, she counted nearly fifty steps around the perimeter. She paused and considered. Marcus had said this was a sewage system, hadn't he? The drain had to lead somewhere. There must be another grate, another opening that led to an underground aqueduct or tunnel. It would be close to the floor, wouldn't it?
Priestess dropped to her knees and crawled around the ditch. She kept the palm of her right hand pressed to the wall, feeling for any slight indentation or gap. She circled the hole twice before she found the second grate. It was narrow, the iron bars sticky with moisture.
Priestess smiled to herself. Marcus obviously hadn't been down in this ditch, he hadn't checked to make sure his prison was secure. She would thoroughly repay him for his neglect.
Squatting by the grid, she went to work, prying at the slippery bolts that held the grate in place. Her fingers were raw and blistered by the time she managed to free the first bolt. Fortunately for her, the constant rush of water had weakened the fastenings and even though she struggled with the rest, she felt that her task was not a hopeless one.
Priestess had to remind herself that patience was a virtue when she finally got to the last bolt. Her knuckles were throbbing by the time she loosened it. The grid itself gave way easily and she laid it flat on the ground besides her. Feeling the size of the hole, she realized that it would indeed be a tight squeeze, and without the benefit of any light, she'd be pitching herself into complete darkness.
The risk was worth it, she thought, even if the tunnel led to a deep cistern and she fell to her death. Even if she came to a dead end and had to crawl all the way back to the opening. She was going to fight to survive. She was going to fight.
Shimmying her shoulders through the narrow gap, she slid forward on her stomach, keeping her arms directly in front of her so she could pull herself inch by agonizing inch. The first few feet were torturous, the walls of the tunnel squeezing her shoulders and hips. Priestess could only lift her chin about an inch off the muddy bottom of the tube. The top of her head brushed against the ceiling.
Foot by foot she dragged herself along, fearing that the tunnel might very well run for miles and miles. After a few yards, however, she experienced a surge of dizzying relief when the pipe widened. Soon, she was able to push herself up onto her hands and knees, the gradient shifting, moving upward.
Right to the surface, Priestess told herself. I'm going to climb right to the surface.
She hoped it would be daytime when she got to the top. She hoped the sun would be shining down through some grate or vent and she could feel the warmth again, let it seep into her bones and warm her frozen marrow. But there was still that spot inside her, that layer of permanent ice that held her heart and drove splinters of frigid distrust into her subconscious.
What had it felt like when they were together? Had Priest enjoyed what he did with her? Had he claimed her body greedily, his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her breasts, his hips rolling against hers, moving, thrusting…
Priestess dug her fingers into the tiny cracks in the bottom of the tunnel and she nearly screamed when one of her nails bent back. Blood trailed down her hand, but the pain drove her on.
Pain, she thought. I can live with the pain. I can fight it. Fight.
She was almost at the top now. Almost there. And to her utter joy, a beam of light lured her onward, slicing down from what appeared to be a vent just up ahead. Priestess's strength was renewed. She conquered the last few feet of tunnel, emerging with her face pressed to another iron grid. The bottom of this grate was loose, though. She could lift it and slide right through. She could lift it open and be free…
But not yet. Priestess retreated back into the shadows, giving herself a moment to survey her surroundings. There was a room just beyond the vent, wooden floorboards, iron walls, a table. Several metal valves used to control water flow. This had to be the sewage system's control room, directly above the drainage ditch.
Priestess pushed herself against the wall of the tunnel. She recognized the lantern on the table. It was the one Marcus had used…
A shape stalked across the room, the gait tense, purposeful. Priestess noticed a set of broad shoulders, clad in black leather, coattails swinging. Heavy boots. He was hatless and she could see the cross on his forehead.
Marcus crossed the room again, rubbing the side of his face vigorously. His lips were a delirious shade of red and Priestess saw that the rest of his skin had healed. Her heart skipped another beat. Did that mean he had fed again already?
She was sickened and it took every shred of restraint she ever possessed to keep her from pushing her way out of that vent and onto him. He was stronger, yes, and faster, but she might be able to break his neck if she got behind him. She might, if she only tried, if she fought.
Priestess laced her fingers over the grid. Now, she thought. Do it now.
The sound of an approaching motorcycle startled them both. Priestess immediately retreated into the shadows once more and Marcus stopped his pacing. He stood in the center of the control room, his head cocked to the side. The eager smile on his face told her everything she needed to know.
She waited breathlessly. She waited and waited in the dark and then he came. Priest walked into the room.
Author's Note: Thanks a million for reading! If you have a free moment, please leave me a review. I adore any and all feedback. The next chapter is in the works and should be posted in ten days. Until then, take care and be well!