Chapter 3

Desperation is a powerful motivator. I spent what felt like days in that cellar, my only light coming from a tiny, grime-covered window near the ceiling. I used an old, rusty shovel head to chip away at the mortar around one of the foundation stones. My fingers were bloody and my muscles ached, but the thought of the church, of Pastor Morris, fueled me.

Finally, late one night, the stone loosened. I worked it free, creating a hole just big enough to squeeze through. I crawled out into the cold night air, gulping it down like water. I didn't look back. I just ran.

I ran through the silent streets of Havenwood, every shadow looking like a threat. My only destination was the sheriff's office. My only hope was Matthew.

He was on the night shift, sitting alone at his desk under a buzzing fluorescent light. His face lit up when he saw me, a mixture of relief and shock.

"Gabrielle! My God, where have you been? Your parents said you were... resting."

I collapsed into the chair opposite him, gasping for breath, the story tumbling out of me in a frantic, jumbled mess-the funeral, the proposal, the cellar, Wendy.

He listened, his expression growing more and more grim. He held my hands across the desk, his grip firm and reassuring.

"It's okay," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."

He got me a glass of water. I drank it greedily, my throat parched from the dust and the screaming. The cool liquid was a relief. He told me to rest my eyes for a minute while he made some calls, found a safe place for me to stay. I trusted him. I loved him. I closed my eyes, the exhaustion of the past few days finally catching up to me.

I woke up with a jolt.

The world was blurry, and my head was pounding. I wasn't in the sheriff's office. I was in the passenger seat of a pickup truck, the familiar engine rumbling beneath me. The truck was moving.

I turned my head. Matthew was driving.

"Matthew? What's happening?" My voice was thick, my tongue clumsy. The water. He'd put something in the water.

He wouldn't look at me. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched.

"I'm sorry, Gabby," he mumbled, his voice thick with self-loathing.

We were on the road to the church. The big, imposing steeple was visible against the pre-dawn sky.

"No," I whispered, the horror dawning. "Matthew, no. You promised."

"I can't stand in the way of God's will," he said, his voice breaking. "Pastor Morris... he spoke to me. He said this is a test of my faith. A test for the whole town."

Tears streamed down his face, but he kept driving.

"He said... he said you've been chosen. You're destined for something greater now. I'm not worthy of you anymore."

I lunged for the door handle, but my body felt heavy, uncoordinated. He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Don't fight it, Gabby. It's an honor."

The truck pulled up to the church steps. The great oak doors swung open, and figures emerged from the shadows. They weren't mourning. They were waiting. For me.

Matthew dragged me out of the truck, his face a mess of tears and twisted conviction. He handed me over to the church elders. He handed me over to my fate.

The last thing I saw before they pulled me inside was his face, the face of the man I loved, as he turned his back on me and walked away.