Chapter 2

Lena's POV Wondering how I got here in the first place? *It’s two months ago.* I’m running. I’m not running like a woman on a treadmill; I’m running like a woman who knows that if she stops moving for even ten seconds, she’s going to be part of the pavement. The world is a blurred smear of neon streetlights. I'm soaked to the bone, my dress clinging to my skin in ways that would have usually netted me a hundred bucks in tips back at the club, but tonight just makes me feel like a target. I have been on the run since I witnessed something I shouldn't have, one of the nights I danced I walked in and witnessed a first hand murder of a man. He was being shot by someone I don't know…he fell and something rolled out of his pocket to where I was standing, without thinking I took the thing I absconded, flip throwing my heels away so I could run. I escaped that night but I didn't have peace I feel watched and being followed. I even stopped going to the club to dance. I left home some minutes ago to go get medicine even though I was already getting ready to sleep after bathing but the banging headache won't stop. I got the medicine and headed back home and noticed the door was slightly open. I remember stopping for a second, but I still went in. Inside, things were not where I left them. Drawers were pulled out, items scattered, everything searched. I heard movement and then I saw him. He was inside my space, looking for something. When his eyes met mine, he didn’t hesitate. He started toward me, and I turned and ran. I didn’t think. I just ran back outside into the rain. I was wearing a nightie, nothing underneath, and the rain soaked through me immediately. It made it harder to see, harder to breathe, but I kept moving. My feet hit the ground fast, slipping, but I didn’t stop. Behind me, he was still chasing me…I threw the medicine I got at him. I knew what he wanted. I knew why he came. The evidence was on me, taped to my inner thigh, hidden under the nightie where no one would notice. That was what he was after. I absolutely know nothing about the drive but I know if it is worth killing for then it's powerful. My heart was loud in my ears as I ran, not daring to look back. I only focused on staying ahead, on not letting him catch me, because if he did, I knew he would find it. I saw a dark corner and hid there making him run past me and I took off and ran in the opposite direction as fast as I could. Then I stopped to catch my breath. My chest was beating so fast I felt I might faint right there..then I saw it. A chapel…without thinking I ran towards it. I slam into the heavy, ancient wooden doors of the citadel, clawing at the iron handle. It’s locked. Obviously. It’s a holy place, not a walk-in clinic for desperate, traumatized women with a target on their backs. "Please," I sob, my voice cracking. "Please." The door opens just a crack. A sliver of light hits my face. I expect a nun, or maybe an old man with a cane. Instead, I see him. He doesn't look like a priest. Not really. He looks like a bouncer for the gates of hell. He’s tall, shoulders broad enough to block out the storm behind me, with dark hair plastered to his forehead and those grey eyes that seem to see straight through my wet dress, through the terror, through the USB drive I have duct-taped to my inner thigh. He doesn't ask, "How can I help you, child?" or "What brings you to God’s house?" He just pulls me inside, his hand closing around my upper arm with a grip that is firm, practiced, and surprisingly electric. He didn't look at my chest at first but then his gaze dropped on my chest and lingered for a sharp 3 seconds. my gown is effectively transparent from the rain and my nipple is so hard from the cold. He looks at the horizon behind me, scanning for threats. "Close the door," he says to someone behind him. His voice is deep, gravelly, and commands immediate obedience. I stumble on the cold stone floor, my legs shaking and trembling. He maneuvers me behind a pillar, his movements fluid, efficient. He sheds his heavy black cloak in one fluid motion and wraps it around me, cutting off the view of the rest of the chapel. It’s warm. It smells like incense and something masculine cedarwood and steel and a strong cologne a priest shouldn't be wearing. "Did they see you turn?" he asks, his face inches from mine. I blink, shivering. "No…I turned the opposite direction, I also didn't see his face. It was dark he kept running after me" "Stay here," he orders. He doesn't look like he’s praying. He looks like he’s calculating trajectories. I watched him walk away…tall, imposing, a man inside a collar. I was terrified, of course. I’d seen what they did to that poor man. I’d seen the way they cleaned up the mess after he was gone, because I was waiting for a news of a murder but nothing happened. But standing there, wrapped in a stranger's wool cloak, watching the way he moved to secure the entrance… a weird, twisted thought popped into my head. I am not safe, but it feels like the safest thing I have ever seen. He returned minutes later, his expression unreadable. He’d checked the grounds, he said. He didn't tell me he was a priest or even his name; he told me to breathe and relax…and called an elderly woman to come take care of me and give me something to wear and warm tea to drink.