Setting my Bible down on the seat of one of the pews, I head back toward my office to investigate. The closer I get, I start to hear voices arguing and things getting tossed around. I distinguish there’s only a couple people inside, and that they’re most likely teenagers.
“Bro, it’s gotta be here somewhere. Keep looking,” one voice orders.
“The fuck do you think I’m doing? I’m not standing over yanking my dick. Shut the hell up.”
“Are you even sure they’d keep it in his office?”
“Where the fuck else would they keep it? Any luck over there, dude?”
I move over to the door, peeking in to find three boys, no older than sixteen or seventeen, ransacking my office. One pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. He pulls one from the pack, puts it between his lips, and lights it. The area is instantly filled with the smell of cigarette smoke.
“Dude! What the hell are you thinking?” The tallest boy walks over to the smoker, getting into his face. “They’re gonna know someone was in here.”
The smoker pulls smoke into his lungs before exhaling and blowing smoke into his friend’s face. He makes a point to look around the room at the mess they’ve already created. “I think they’ll figure it out when they walk in here to find the place torn to shit. Just get the fuck to work and find the damn cash box so we can get the hell out of here. Churches give me the damn creeps.”
“Uh, guys,” the third boy speaks up, pointing in my direction.
I react. I walk inside, ready to reason with them, to give them a chance to walk away like this never happened. I don’t get the chance to because the smoker yells, “get him!” to his buddies, and I’m forced to fight off the two teenagers who match me in height and speed. Punches and kicks are coming at me from all sides. I bring my elbow back toward the boy in charge’s face, knocking the cigarette from his mouth and catching him off guard, but then a sharp pain slices my gut. I look forward to find the third boy holding the handle to the knife he’s just shoved into my stomach.
“What the fuck did you just do, Jimmy?” one of the boys shouts as I fall to the floor.
“Let’s get out of here!” another boy bellows before they all run out of the room, leaving me on the floor in my own blood.
I pull the knife from my body, try to get up, but I can’t. Black dots spot across my vision, and the room starts to spin. The room around me blurs, then everything goes black.
Chapter Seven
Noah
“He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” Isaiah 40:29 NIV
The smell of smoke brings me to, and I watch as my bookshelf is engulfed in flames, which has spread across the wall and ceiling.
I need to get out of here.
I need to put the fire out, but it’s past the point of no return.
I’m weak, but I refuse to burn to death. I pull myself to my feet and stumble to the door, holding my hand over the stab wound in my stomach. I make it down to the aisle between the pews, using them to keep me upright. The room is quickly filling with the smoke exiting my office. It happens fast, like wildfire. The flames hit the carpet and the whole back of the church is buried under fire. I pick up my pace, determined to get out before the building collapses on top of me, but just as I’m about to head out the front doors, my heart stops.
She’s locked downstairs.
I no longer care if I survive this, as long as she does. I almost fall down the stairs in my haste to get to her. I get to the locked door and stumble for the keys in my pocket. I can’t see the door in front of me due to all of the smoke. I cough, trying to expel the smoke from my lungs as I poke the key around until I find the keyhole. I twist the lock and yank the door open.
“Run!” I shout as I fall to my knees. “Get out now!” I get out between hacking coughs.
I try to pick myself back up, but it’s become too much.
I’ve hit my limit.
I’m not going to make it out.
I’m so tired.
I just.
I need.
To sleep.
Chapter Eight
Camie
It is better to repent a sin than regret the loss of a pleasure. -Oscar Wilde
I don’t stop to question what is happening. He screams at me to run and I do. The basement had begun to fill with smoke, but it’s nothing compared to the thick cloud that surrounds me as I rush to the front doors.
I push my way out of the church and take off at a run toward my apartment. Halfway there I stop to breathe, my lungs giving me coughing fits from the smoke inhalation. I gulp oxygen like I’m drinking water, forcing it into my throat faster than my body is able. I end up choking and coughing again, but my lungs no longer burn and breathing is easier.
I hear sirens and look back at the church. I can see the smoke billowing out of the doors I left open and flames are visible near a back window. As I watch the building burn with a bittersweet ache in my heart, I realize my captor didn’t come after me.
I return to the church, searching the street filling with spectators for his dark eyes. I don’t find him.
Stopping at the steps that lead to the front entrance, I stare and contemplate my next move. I could turn and walk away, let my kidnapper suffer and go on with my life knowing I survived. Or I could go back inside and try to save the man who saved my life just now.
My feelings toward the pastor have evolved into something more affectionate than should be considering he has kept me locked in a basement for weeks. These same feelings decide my actions for me, and I am rushing up the steps and inside before I clearly think things through.
The heat from the flames is blistering and the smoke is thicker than before. My eyes water and I pull the collar of his shirt over my nose and mouth in an attempt to breathe easier.
I reach the hall leading to the basement and I see him lying on the floor right outside the door. I step over wooden beams that have fallen from the ceiling and kneel beside him.
He’s not moving and I’m afraid he might be dead. Reaching for his neck, I feel for a pulse with one hand and place the other on his chest like I’ve seen on TV. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but there’s a thumping against my fingers and the rising of his chest against my palm.
He’s still alive, but not for long if I can’t get him out of here. I begin shaking him, trying to wake him. He groans a little at the jostling but doesn’t stir.
The air has grown heavier, the smoke thicker, and another coughing fit wracks my body. I need to get us out of here now.
I crouch near his head and push my arms underneath his armpits. Pushing through the balls of my feet to standing, I yank him up with me. His deadweight makes it hard to keep his body upright, but I lock my hands across his chest and begin to walk backward while dragging him with me.
Something wet drips on to my hands, causing them to become slick and my grip to loosen. I stop to lean against a wall just enough so I can rest his body on mine and I wipe my hands on the sides of my shirt, the bright red letting me know the wetness is blood. Readjusting my grip around him, I continue dragging him out of the church.
I can hear the snapping and crackling of the walls and ceiling. The open doors are just a few feet away now.
“You owe me a name and an explanation when we get out of here.”
I finally manage to get us outside and down the steps, not stopping until we are on the grass of the front lawn. I collapse on top of him, blood seeping into the shirt I’m wearing from the wound in his stomach.
Flashing lights sweep over us and a frenzy of firefighters and EMTs surround us.
“Miss, can you tell us what happened?” a man in a blue paramedic uniform asks.
“I don’t know, but he won’t wake up. And he’s bleeding. You need to help him. He’s the pastor. This is his church. He can’t die, he...he...he’s my fiancé.”
Now why did I say that?
I’ll have to dissect my rambling stupidity later, but
for now, I need to make sure he doesn’t die.
The paramedic calls over his partner and they work together to get the pastor on a stretcher. I follow as they make their way to an ambulance. Climbing inside, no one questions me as I grip my captor’s hand in a bloody grip.
“Will he be okay?” I ask the man fitting an oxygen mask over my face.
“I can’t say for sure, but seeing that he’s still breathing, I’d say he has a good chance.”
I nod at him and watch as he fits a mask over dark eyes’ face and then checks his pulse and all that other shit that medical people do.
At the hospital I’m taken to the family waiting area after being checked out and given a bill of health that only consists of minor smoke inhalation. I sit in silence for hours until a doctor approaches me to let me know that Noah—dark eyes’ name is Noah, how fitting—is now recovering in a private room.
“Can I see him?” I ask.
The doctor nods, then sends for a nurse to escort me to his room, assuring me he’ll wake soon and will want to see his fiancée. Following behind the nurse, I wonder what Noah will think when he hears the lie I told. No doubt he’ll want to read to me from his Bible about the sin of lying. I find myself smiling at the thought.
When I enter the room, I see that he is hooked up to a lot of monitors and a breathing machine.
“I thought the doctor said he was recovering. Does he need all this?” I’m worried the doctor didn’t tell me everything and that Noah is still in danger of dying.
The nurse smiles at me, a genuine smile, and reaches out her hand to squeeze my shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s standard procedure. Once your fiancé wakes, most of this will go.”
She places a chair beside the bed and gestures for me to sit. “Talk to him. It’ll help you both.”
I sit once she leaves the room. I don’t know what to say to Noah, this man I don’t truly know. It doesn’t matter. Exhaustion pulls at me and I lay my head on Noah’s lap and grip his hand as it takes me under.
Chapter Nine
Noah
“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8 NIV
My head pounds as I pull myself from the fog. I’m exhausted. I ache all over. Consistent, irritating beeping, and people talking close by, but not directly near me, are the first things I hear when I open my eyes. I’m assaulted with an unforgiving blast of fluorescent lighting and the smell of smoke and disinfectant. It’s not the best smell, but it’s also not the worst. If I can smell anything at all just means that I survived.
I try to lift my hand, but it's being weighed down and held in place. I look down to find a mess of tangled dark brown hair scattered across my lap.
She made it out.
My chest fills with relief as I watch as she sleeps soundly at my side, slightly snoring, slightly drooling. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She’s safe, and she’s here.
I’m confused, but I’m also relieved. Did she come back for me? I can’t imagine her being able to carry me out of the church, but I also never expected her to keep vigil at my bedside. I assumed that once she ran, she would keep going. I don’t understand why she’s here, but I’m grateful for it.
I love her. I’m not stupid enough to deny it, and I’m not determined to fight it any longer. I set her free, and she returned to me. God wouldn’t have allowed me to have these feelings if they were wrong. I pull my hand free and bring it through her silky, disheveled locks. Even with ratty hair and soot all over her face, she manages to take my breath away.
I continue to stroke her hair gently, careful not to wake sleeping beauty, but after a couple minutes her eyes flutter open. I expect her to pull away, but she only sits up and reaches for my hand. She smiles timidly, keeping her eyes locked with my own. We stare into each other’s eyes silently for what feels like hours, when in reality, it’s only a couple minutes.
I rub my thumb in circles against the top of her hand, then break the silence. I clear my throat. “You’re here.” It’s probably not the most eloquent thing to say, but I’m still awed that she’s sitting before me. I’m not even convinced she’s actually here, that this isn’t my mind playing cruel tricks on me.
“I am.” She continues to look at me with an expression I can’t decipher.
“I figured you’d—” I start to say, but am interrupted when a nurse enters the room humming loudly.
“Oh! Look who’s finally awake!” She smiles warmly, walking around to get to the monitors.
For a plump little woman, she gets around faster than you would expect. She pulls at the IV and checks my vitals, humming merrily the whole time. I can’t even bring myself to be irritated by her intrusion, because I’m amused by her positive energy and overall sunny disposition. I glance over at my girl, my girl, to find she’s enjoying the nurse’s presence too.
A knock sounds at the door, and a tall blond man in a plaid button-up shirt, a navy blue tie, and a white lab coat walks into the room holding a silver metal clipboard. “Hello, Mr. Clark, my name’s Dr. Singh.” He holds out his hand, and I reluctantly release my girl’s hand to shake his.
The jolly nurse hums as she scurries out of the room. My hand returns to its original place, and I give my girl’s hand a little squeeze. I really need to find out her name, instead of constantly referring to her as my girl, though I’ll admit it does have a pretty good ring to it.
“You were touch and go there for a second, but you pulled through nicely. As long as your numbers don’t change and your condition continues to improve, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to go home in the morning. At this point, you’re only here under observation,” Dr. Singh continues. “I’ll be back later to check on you, give you some time alone with your fiancée.”
I nod.
Wait, did he say fiancée?
He turns to her. “I’ll have the nurses scrounge you up some scrubs, miss. They’ll be a lot warmer than what you’re currently wearing.” His eyes rake down her body as he checks her out wearing only my suit shirt.
I’m surprised by the overwhelming feelings of possessiveness that overcome me. The good doctor needs to leave before I do or say something I’ll regret. Luckily he does, shooting me a wink and exiting the room.
The room falls back to silence.
“I told them I was your fiancée so they’d let me back here. I had to see that you were okay.” She blushes as she explains.
I don’t know exactly what to say. I’m rendered speechless as I try to contemplate why she would want to be here in the first place. She fidgets in her seat. I know she’s waiting for a reply, but I don’t know what to say.
“I can go if you want me to.” She starts to stand up, but I tighten my hold on her hand and pull her back down.
“Don’t. Please stay.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“I figured you would want to be as far away from me as possible. I’ve done a lot of questionable things where you’re concerned.” I look down in shame. “Why’d you stay?”
“I don’t know,” she confesses. “But I feel things for you I’ve never felt for anyone else in my entire life. I think I might be in love with you.”
I return my gaze to hers. “I sure hope so, because I’m absolutely in love with you.”
She chokes back a gasp. Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t speak. She leans down and brushes her lips against mine. I let her hand go and bring it up to weave it through her hair, so I can take our kiss deeper. She moans into my mouth, and it goes straight south. If I wasn’t hooked up to an IV and stuck in this tiny hospital bed, I’d want to take this further than just a kiss. Instead, I pull away to ask the one question I desperately need to know.
“I have just one question.”
“Yes?”
“What should I tell people my fiancée’s name is?”
She chokes out a sob, mixed with a giggle. “Camie. My name’s Camie.”
I tuck a strand o
f her hair behind her ear, stroking her face as I do. “Well, I love you, Camie.”
“I love you too, Noah.”
My name on her lips almost has me tear up along with her. It’s my new favorite sound. She climbs up onto the bed beside me, curling up next to me, careful not to disturb the IV or hit the stitches pulling at the skin on my stomach. She snuggles close, as I hold her as tight as I can in our position.
I brush my nose against hers. “Camie.”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
“Okay.”
Chapter Ten
Camie
You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit. -Oscar Wilde
Two Years Later
I can’t stop smiling as we walk into the newly rebuilt Brookdale First Christian Church. The fire destroyed everything, giving us a chance to start over from scratch and make improvements, like a bigger basement. Noah led his parishioners in the rebuilding, telling them it was a chance to define a sense of community with each other they could lean on in times of need.
I look at my husband as we greet our guests and rub a hand over my round belly. After that day in the hospital, Noah and I fostered our affection for each other into a loving relationship, and I had discovered that in some weird way I had grown to like hearing him preach his Bible verses to me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still very much the person I was before. I still enjoy a drink and a high, and I will never turn down a good fuck. The only thing that’s changed is Noah. His touch is my high and the way he fucks me...I’ve never had better. Not even Justin and his perfectly curved dick. My drink now consists of a glass of wine after dinner while my husband reads to me about sin and forgiveness.
I know, I know. How can I love the man who kidnapped me and held me hostage for weeks? Truthfully? I don’t fucking know. It’s not like I can make sense of the strange connection we have. I just know this man fulfills a need in me I didn’t even know I had. We shouldn’t work. I know this. We’re opposites in every way, but I’m not the only one who’s made changes to accommodate the one I love. When I get itchy and can’t sit still, he’ll take me to The Underground and dirty dance with me before fucking in the men’s room. But never on Sunday.
Thou Shall Not: A Dark Ten Commandments Anthology Page 11
