Sinful Purity (Sinful Series) (44 page)

Thoughts of Caleb captured my awareness. I hoped that his family name had spared his life. Even if the hordes were merciful, I doubted that anyone could survive the raging conflagration devouring the buildings. I watched as firefighters washed the smoldering stone structures with powerful streams of water. Eventually the constant streams gave way to strategic bursts. Then they sent in the search crews. I prayed for a miracle but was afraid to hope.

In the distance, I spied two rescuers carrying a limp body from the flames. Beneath one of the fireman’s arms I caught of glimpse of sapphire blue. My heart plummeted to the pit of my still-aching stomach.

Oh, no! No, no! Not Caleb. Oh God, please not Caleb. He was good, perfectly good. He didn’t deserve this.
I wept to myself, begging for a supreme power to take pity on what was left of my soul.

“We’ve got a live one. We need a medic over here!” I heard someone call.

Tears of joy rushed down my face.
Oh God. Thank you!

My moment of elation was cut short by reality. If Caleb was alive, many of the others could be as well. I needed to get out of here, now. I had wasted too much time as it was. In my heart I knew it had been the right thing to do. Now I was sure that Caleb was safe. I didn’t know when or if I would be able to see him again, but at least I knew he was alive. Right now that one small fact counted for a lot.

I wandered through the city, block after block, realizing for the first time just how little of Chicago I was familiar with. I couldn’t take my usual route; it only led to St. Matthew’s. I couldn’t wander the campus; I’d be too easy to find. I meandered aimlessly through the night, stopping occasionally to nurse my wounds and ease my pain. My entire body hurt, but it was my leg and abdomen that demanded most of my attention.

The night was hopelessly black and gloomy. Fog and clouds had all but snuffed out the last rays of light from the moon. I didn’t know what to do. The shock from the past events had terminated all coherent thought. Normal sensation ceased to exist in my body. I was numb. I walked for what seemed hours, unaware of my destination. That is, until it appeared before me. Awaking from my trance like a baby from a nap, I took in the setting. I had found my way to the quaint shops of First Street, lined with the red-and-white awnings I used to adore. But now my memories were dark and morose, sullen with the recollection of Zack’s accident here.

I hadn’t even noticed that it had begun to rain until a shiver went through me. The newly rediscovered sensation of cold brought with it all the other previously lost senses. The body-wracking pain returned in one crushing blow. The grief and tears all came flooding back in a frenzy. Then there was the weakness. I made my way to the small metal bench of the corner bus stop. Sitting beneath the canopy, I was able to escape the rain.

Looking out upon the horizon into the vast darkness, I could make out the two domes in the distance. It was only a few months ago that my future had held so much promise. The thought of going off to college, being free of the iron bars of the orphanage, had thrilled me. Even just weeks ago, I’d been in love and planning a family with Zack. How my whole life could have plummeted into the bottomless pit where I was now was beyond me. My entire world had come crashing down around me.

There was nothing left for me now. Knowing the truth, I could never trust my faith again. I had no place to live, no job, and no money. Most of my friends were either dead, injured, or absent. It was clear I had no future. But I was okay with that. After everything, I had no will to go on anyway. All I wanted was to sit here and let the bitter cold and weakness take me.

“Please let my misery end. Next time, God, permit me a normal life,” I begged.

Pitiful and broken, I looked down at my jeans, taking in the sight of all that blood. There had been so much violence tonight. I couldn’t be sure whose blood it really was, although the throbbing in my leg testified to most of it being mine. My attention was diverted from my leg up to my stomach. It hurt so much. The bishop had kicked me with such force. The relentless spasms made me fear for the baby.

The baby. I need to go on for the baby.

I jumped to my feet with a burst of renewed strength and determination. Just across the street was a pay phone. I rushed across the vacant street, bounded up the curb, and seized the phone in my hand. But whom would I call? I had no one. Just because I needed help didn’t mean that loved ones would appear out of nowhere.

“Brett!” my mind urged, reminding me of his presence in town. “I can call Brett.” I reached into the pocket of my very dirty jeans and retrieved the worn and wet folded paper with his number on it and some change. For once fate was on my side.

“Please still be in town,” I pleaded as I dialed his cell.

“Hello?” I heard a groggy voice say.

“Brett?” I asked in a tone laced with equal parts panic and hope.

“Liz?”

“Yes.” My voice cracked as the tears once again flooded my eyes.

“Liz! What’s wrong?” He sounded fully awake now.

“Can you come get me? I’ve had some trouble,” I explained with the last trace of strength in my being.

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are. Wait! Where are you?”

“I’m in front of the diner on First Street.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

“Hey, Brett. Can you hurry? I think I need a doctor.”

I reached to hang up the phone as my body relinquished control to the weakness and pain. I slid down the side of the phone booth and collapsed to the ground. Huddled there in my glass cubicle was where Brett found me, utterly broken but free.

New Beginnings

It’s been six months since Brett found me and drove me out of state for some much needed medical care. A broken leg, a couple of cracked ribs, and several stitches later, I was released. Just me. The baby didn’t make it. Maybe it was for the best. After all the medications and unknown toxins, who knows what kind of life it would have had. Still, the soul-crushing loss broke my heart. Sometimes I still wake at night with my pillow damp from tears. The baby was the only part of Zack that his family or I had left. We all lost so much.

My quest for the truth and freedom cost me the most. I lost everything. Everything I loved, everything I believed in, everything I hoped for was gone. The only glimmer of salvation that remains is that the future holds infinite possibilities. I am no longer naïve and innocent to the ways of the world. My eyes are bright and clear with the knowledge and experience that only true loss can bestow.

Brett took me back to California and I moved in with him and Kelly. Caleb recovered and even came to visit once. The Price family felt so bad about my ordeal that they made me the first recipient of the Price Family Scholarship. I now attend university with Kelly and Brett. I work part time at the local library. Brett thought that assistant librarian seemed a fitting role for a booklover like me. In the last couple of months I’ve tried going back to church, although it has lost much of its wonder and magic. I refuse to go to confession.

Not surprisingly, the papers were littered with stories of the mysterious fire at St. Paul’s. There was no mention its cause or of the deaths. The passing of Monsignor Brennigan was announced in a separate and unrelated article, thus enforcing my suspicions that the conspiracy and subsequent cover-up are alive and well. I have no plans of ever returning to St. Matthew’s, Mary Immaculate Queen, or even Chicago, for that matter.

I changed my name to Sarah. It always seemed like it belonged to me anyway. Kelly, Brett, Caleb, and Lucy still call me Liz, but that’s fine by me. I took Fischer as my last name. It was the dorm where Zack and I first met. I didn’t want to forget him, not one moment. Not after all he lost to save me.

My transformation is complete. I have a name, a career, and friends of my own. I finally have what I always dreamed of, absolute freedom, although I am not sure if it was worth the price. I sacrificed more than most for the truth. Now I need to decide what to do with my costly knowledge.

My name is Sarah Elizabeth Fischer. I have a new life now.

The Eyes of Life

She was a pretty girl,

fair and young, pale of face

She would smile and glance

but forbid anyone to gaze

For her eyes told a story,

one she did not care to remember.

Her eyes revealed the pain of years,

the stress of toil and torment and

the tale of her fall from grace.

However, the very same eyes that lacked

innocence gave way to a soul untarnished and

a heart forgiving and fragile,

like that of a child.

Some of the dazzle had faded

from these baby blues

Although on occasion in a moment

of wonderment and awe

you may still catch a glimpse of

a sparkle

For the girl is full of life,

and every wound inflicted

and bruise acquired heals

Yet the eyes remain

as the only witness.

Every day she tries to forget and

continue on

Yet every day when she looks

in the mirror she is reminded

Every day I am reminded…

Acknowledgements

This book was born from a rather vivid dream I had one night. With the support and encouragement of family and friends it has become what you see before you. I would especially like to thank Stacy Mejia, Heather Loutsenhizer and Kelly Esmeralda whom without their input and critiques this would not have be possible. Also, great respect and appreciation goes to my editor Elizabeth, who helped tackle my aversion to commas. Lastly, to my husband and son who were always willing to read and re-read my work and would still come home and ask if I had more, Thank you.

Liz’s story continues in

Sinful Relations

Coming Soon…