Page 70 of Forgive Me Father

"Father Briar," Booms a voice I know all too well, the sound of it sending a chill down my spine.

"David, I—" Roman begins, his voice noticeably strained, but my father cuts him off with a genial tone that only deepens my unease.

"No, let me start. I apologize for intruding so close to Mass," My father says, his words accompanied by the sound of a hearty pat on Roman’s back. I shrink back further into the shadows, pressing myself against the wall, heart hammering in my chest as I struggle to remain unseen.

What the fuck was my dad doing here?

"What can I do for you, David?" Roman asks, his voice carefully modulated to its usual affable tone, though I can sense the strain beneath it.

"I was wondering if you had a chance to go over the material I left with you, given our meeting is this Sunday—"

Meeting?

What fucking meeting?

"Yes, I did have a chance," Roman replies, his voice steady, but there’s a slight hesitation. "I was a bit confused by the last page, given there was no photo—"

"Zoey," My father interjects smoothly. "She recently shared with her family her plans to break away from the Church once she goes back to college, and her father was eager to see that it doesn’t happen. She’s been marked as tainted and needs to be led back to God’s righteous path. I think we’ve found someone eager to take on the task.”

What was he talking about?

“How are your lessons with Eden going, by the way? Has she shown any signs of improvement?" My father’s words cut through the fog of shock, twisting my stomach into knots.

My father asked Roman to instruct me.

And he accepted?

"It’s been fine," Roman sighs, tugging at his tie in a gesture of discomfort. "I struggle to see some of the things you’ve described to me," He states, but I can hear the slight edge to his voice, the tension he’s trying to mask.

"Trust me, Father, she has plenty of demons that need to be exorcised. Physical punishment seems to work best. But I’m sure you’ve found that out." My father’s words hang in the air like a poisonous cloud, suffocating me with their cruelty.

My gaze flicks to Roman’s bed, the memory of his forceful touch suddenly taking on a new, sinister light. Was this all part of some sick plan to break me, to make me submissive to my father’s will?

The room feels like it’s closing in on me, the walls too close, the air too thick. I glare at them through the narrow crack in the door, my heart pounding in my chest as I glance down at the time on my phone.

Fifteen minutes until Mass.

"You know, she didn’t come home last night."

"I believe she was with Zoey. At least that’s what she mentioned to me yesterday during her service hours." Roman lies smoothly, though I can see the way his fingers fidget with his ring, a telltale sign of his discomfort. "Although, given the circumstances, I’m not sure how much you'd want the two of them being around one another.”

What in the hell are they talking about?

"It’s best Zoey stays close to our family. Her mother is a hothead who’s poisoned her mind with ideas of leaving the church.The more time she spends with Eden is less time she spends with her heretic mother of hers." My father laughs, the sound grating on my nerves.

My gaze drifts around the room, searching for some clue to the cryptic conversation. My eyes land on a dark leather binder, half-hidden under a chair, its corner peeking out between a few miscellaneous books. The sight of it sends a surge of curiosity through me, a need to understand what kind of business Roman could possibly have with my father.

Creeping closer, I carefully tug the binder free from its hiding place, my fingers working the latch as my heart pounds in my chest.

What the hell could Roman be hiding?

Nothing could have prepared me for what I see when the binder slips from my grasp, spilling its contents onto the floor. I cover my mouth with a trembling hand, stifling the scream that threatens to break free. My eyes widen in horror as I stare down at the photos—blank, fearful faces of children, each one accompanied by a substantial price tag.

Panic seizes me, my stomach lurching as the reality of what I’m seeing crashes over me like a tidal wave.

All those children.

The numbers next to their names.