ꜰᴇᴀʀꜱ (ᴸᵉᵒⁿ ᴷᵉⁿⁿᵉᵈʸ ˣ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ)

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 12

Outside, it was bright, as bright as it can be on a spring morning. Birds were chirping, but Nikola wasn't sure. Everything was bathed in a blurry warm light, but it felt as if she was far away from what was happening. Outside the gate, there were people. Real people. They weren't dead; no zombies, and Nikola wasn't 21 anymore but 5.

Outside, footsteps echoed on the creaking wooden floor. The floor had always been warm. She heard other children screaming. Her gaze drifted back to the window. Outside, there were masses of birch and willow trees. Their long branches hung low to the ground, and Nikola imagined what it would be like to lie down there, in the grass. What was it like out there? What were the people like? Out there beyond the walls and behind this giant gate. What more was there behind these walls? Would she find out?

Jure was standing outside in the meadow. He waved at her; he must have recognized her at the window. "Jure!" she called out softly.

She hoisted herself up from the crate that stood beneath the yellowed window and always served as her stool, allowing her to watch the world outside. She tiptoed through the pink-painted children's room. She pressed her ear against the door, listening to the distant voices of the nuns and caregivers.

Once she was sure no one was outside the door, she took the folded chessboard in hand and pushed her small nightstand towards the door to reach the handle. Quietly, she pressed down the handle and pushed the nightstand back. She peeked cautiously into the hallway, and when she couldn't see anyone, she set foot on the carpet. It creaked softly. She sneaked out of the room and gently closed the door behind her. She crept past the various rooms like a predator, but she was really only afraid of one thing:

Josef Michael Hoch.

He was the head of the institution and the priest here.

Her heart raced as she approached his office. Her steps became slower, more precise. "Oh, Saint Peter, don't let him catch me," she prayed silently. Nikola's childish voice echoed in her head.

There it was, the room, the door open. She ducked and crept forward. Halfway there, a voice broke the silence. The voice of the devil. "Nikola! Come on in," echoed from the large room. A shadow fell over her. Her eyes wandered to the left. Two brown patent leather shoes peeked out from under a white robe. She looked up. The glasses, the gray hair, the wrinkled face. Crooked teeth flashed behind thin, chapped lips, and a bony hand shot towards her. "No!" Nikola cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. "So, so, where are you off to, little miss?" Josef asked, and she could hear him laughing. Ah, how she hated him. He scared her.

"I wanted to play chess with Jure," Nikola said softly, looking at the ground. "Come in, let's see if you've earned it," Josef said, lifting her up and carrying her into the room. His fingers were rough and dug into her side; his grip was hard and painful. She pressed her lips together, making no sound, because that would anger Father Josef. And he wasn't good to her when he was angry.

Dear God, please don't let him hurt me. Nikola prayed, interlocking her small fingers. Protect me. She closed her eyes.

She was placed on a leather-covered chair in front of Father Josef's desk. "I'll ask you some questions about the material you're currently studying. If you can answer them, you can go play!" Josef explained, pulling a heavy book from one of the many shelves. When he said it like that, scenes played out in her mind: leaving the room, going to Jure, and him greeting her with a broad smile and warm, kind words. But she knew that wouldn't happen. A dark thought weighed down her optimism like an anchor on a small sailboat. She had suspicions; she knew what awaited her. Nikola remained silent, offering anxious prayers.