Page 13 of Remorseless Sinner

Gracie

I woke up to nausea rolling over my body.

Was it the meal last night?

Was it the fact that I was married to my stepbrother ?

A change in the seasons?

My gut heaved at me, and I ran to the bathroom, barely making it in the door before throwing up in the toilet.

Those pregnancy tests looked almost tauntingly over at me.

Where most people had fancy soaps or extra toothbrushes on their counter organizers, Saul had stuffed mine with a regular cornucopia of pregnancy tests, all different brands, as well as big bottles of prenatal vitamins and some ginger chews for nausea.

Before I could scare myself, I ripped one of the tests from its packaging, and pissed on it.

Then I waited, nervously pacing back and forth on the tiled floor.

Surely it was too early to tell. Either way.

I hadn’t even gotten a chance to escape him yet.

It would be inconclusive and then I could devote my time to making escape plans.

After all, Saul Brennan was the last person I ever wanted to have a child with.

Right? He was a godsdamn psychopath, after all.

I shoved any doubts away and looked resolutely at the test.

Positive!

The pink line was faint, but it was there . Unmistakably there.

Pregnant

I pressed my hand tight over my mouth to stop the bubble of hysterical laughter.

Of course Saul would get me pregnant on the first shot.

Of course I’d be so pregnant, so fast that the line would be this strong days before my period was even due.

As I sunk my head in my hands, my ruby-red ring jabbed into my skull, like the fangs of a serpent.

What was Nimhe without his fangs? What was Nimhe without his Eye? What kind of god was Nimhe if he could be bested by my husband?

I ripped the ring off my finger and threw it in the garbage.

It was like some twisted demon I didn’t recognize got a hold of my body and made it move to his will.

I felt almost mad with anger at Saul.

It was all his fault. Everything. Ever since I had met him, he had been nothing but trouble.

I remembered what had happened the first time he had ever kissed me.

It was after those boys had died. I could still hear the rattle of breath in his lungs as he gasped through the broken bones, I could still see the look in his eyes as the dark shock of hair fell over his battered face.

But he kissed me anyway.

And as soon as I felt those lips on mine, I planned that birth control, knew I would have to do whatever it took to get Saul away from me.

Because that kiss tasted like something more than just desire. It tasted like dangerous, unnatural obsession.

He was a sinful temptation.

Why had Nimhe ever cursed me with him?

I threw myself onto the bed and cried bitterly.

What had been the point of those years of faithful worship? Had I absolved myself of my sins or just added new ones?

What was the point of being a good girl when I could be condemned by one man and sold off to another?

Flopping down onto my bed, I rolled on top of something small and crinkly.

Rubbing my eyes, I grabbed curiously at it.

A note.

Back soon. Love you .

Love me?

I crumpled the note up angrily.

Saul didn’t love me.

How could a freaking psychopath like him love anyone?

I went to the window and looked out. To my surprise, Saul’s big Jeep wasn’t there.

Then, my heart pounding with excitement, I realized.

He was gone.

I could get help.

This might be my last chance.

I raced out the door. It was another beautiful morning in Honeywood.

And who knew how long Saul would be gone for?

I didn’t even want to risk taking my car. What if he’d put a tracker on it? I wouldn’t put it past him.

So I ran. As fast as I could, all the way down the lane until I hit Honeywood Main Street.

The town was bustling in the usual happy, busy Sunday morning activities: families at the grocery store, the diner hopping, delicious smells of coffee and pastries wafting from the café.

“Help me!” I cried at the door of the coffee shop.

Everyone turned to stare at me as I burst in with my eyes wide, my long hair curly and wild.

“Can I use someone’s phone?” I begged.

Kind Mr. Martinez darted his eyes around.

“I-I don’t think—"

“Mr. Martinez, please!” I cried.

“The phones are not—not working,” he said.

There was a murmur of agreement from the other townspeople.

Their cellphones were not working.

“None of them—none of them are?” I cried.

They shook their heads, looking down at their phones in consternation.

What had Saul done to the phone line?

Had he somehow locked my cozy little mountain town away from the rest of the world? Would I look over and he’d put huge gates around the town, trapping me here?

But no gates.

Turning, I ran out and down the street.

Was there a light on in City Hall?

Was the Sheriff there?

My lungs bursting, I shot in the door.

Saul wasn’t back yet, and who knew how long I’d have?

Sheriff McGinty was leaning back in his chair, going through paperwork.

Thank the Eye!

“Please,” I gasped, panting with anticipation, tasting my freedom on my tongue. “Help me! I’m still in danger! Please!”

Sheriff McGinty would know what to do.

Now he would know all about Saul’s crimes.

“Grace? What’s wrong?”

The Sheriff hurried over to me, hand on his gun. His stern but kind face looked anxious, and I could feel my fear melting away.

I had every confidence he could help me figure out what to do.

“It’s my—husband,” I gasped. “That big—man you put in jail. He broke out. Surely you saw that! He has been controlling me. He forced me to marry him, and I need your help to escape!”

The Sheriff stopped in his tracks, and I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

He looked at me with those eyes, scratching his thick gray beard.

“Honey, you should—go back to your house. You look tired.”

“Why?” I demanded. “I’m telling you this man kidnapped me and is holding me hostage! You must help me! I think he’s got a tracker in my car, so can you take me in yours to the next town over so I can report him?”

He swallowed.

I had seen our Sheriff as so decisive and firm in the past.

But now, he wasn’t.

“Did you have a lovers’ quarrel? It’s—important not to let one fight ruin a perfectly good marriage,” he said, sounding kind of stiff and strange.

Rage threatened to choke me as he patted my shoulder reassuringly. All the rage I had never been allowed to express or articulate before.

“Help me!” I shrieked, hearing birds flap away from me in the quiet.

When he still said nothing, I clenched my fists together.

“I am going to run away then! Since you apparently have no interest in the fact that I’ve been kidnapped!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Grace,” Sheriff said. His voice was low, soothing.

“Whatever,” I seethed, whirling around. “I’m gone.”

“Perhaps your husband can explain better,” Sheriff McGinty said, suddenly darting toward the door and sweating profusely. “He should be back any moment now.”

He was now blocking the door, and suddenly I was so filled with rage at the whole world that I was choking on it—rage at my parents for not giving two pennies about me, rage at the Pastor and everyone at church, rage at William for being such a weenie, rage at the Sheriff, and most of all, rage at Saul for somehow, always getting his way.

I grabbed at the gun in the Sheriff’s belt, not knowing what I wanted except having a hazy idea that maybe I’d force him to take me somewhere in his police car.

He went down to grab my wrist.

“Grace!” Be reasonable!”

Furious, I bit him on the arm, wrestling the gun from his grip, and the Sheriff fell back.

Now that I had it in my hands I didn’t know what to do. I felt fury surging through my veins, fury at everything that had happened to me. But I didn’t know the first thing about guns.

“Now take me away from here!” I demanded, pointing the gun at him.

“Grace, I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands out placatingly. “But I cannot do that. It just wouldn’t be safe.”

Now, was I going to shoot him? Of course not. But I did want to scare him.

I turned and aimed the gun at all the commendations on the wall, all those awards the Sheriff had earned for meritorious service and bravery. But he wasn’t brave at all. He was nothing but a low-down chicken.

Holding the gun the way I’d seen it done in old movies, I aimed carefully and pulled the trigger, tensing my body for the loud report.

But nothing happened.

I looked at the gun.

What the devil? Was I doing it wrong?

I tried it again. Still nothing.

“Put the gun down,” Sheriff McGinty pleaded with me.

I picked it up again, twisting it this way and that, and the whole thing fell apart in my hands.

Wait, what the fuck ?

“Arrest me,” I said.

Sheriff McGinty looked green in the face.

“Arrest you? Why—no, not necessary. Just be a good girl and go home and wait for your husband.”

“Yes, it is,” I said angrily, “I stole your gun. I just tried to shoot at the wall of the sheriff’s office.”

“It’s fine, Grace,” he said again.

“What are you waiting for?” I cried impatiently, gesturing at him with my wrists. “Arrest me. Put me in jail. At least that way I’ll be safe from my husband.”

Sheriff McGinty shook his head, backing away as I advanced on him with my wrists out.

How could I make him do what I wanted?

“Well, with witnesses you can’t ignore me!” I cried, running outside of the open door and down to the coffee shop.

At least the ruined end of this gun was good for something.

“Out of the way!” I cried. “Watch out!”

Then I swung the butt of the gun wildly at the lovely glass window of the coffee shop and it shattered, exploding glass all over me and the stunned patrons.

“I—sorry, Mr. Martinez,” I said. “I will pay for it later. After I’m free. After I serve my time. I promise.”

But they all just stared at me.

Then I whirled on the Sheriff. “Look what I did. Now I demand that you do your job and arrest me. Lock me in that cell. And do a good job of it this time so he can’t get in.”

“No, no,” he bleated.

“I just smashed a. . . damn window and you’re not even going to arrest me?” I asked.