Prologue
Two Months Ago
Gemma
Branches slashed and whipped against my skin as if razor blades were being chucked at me from a short distance, but the pain the tiny sticks and leaves inflicted over my flesh was nothing more than a brief thought as fear wrapped itself around every last limb, pushing my feet farther and farther away from the place I’d called home my entire life.
The last few hours had completely spun my world upside down, and then again and again until my sketchbook was being shoved in my backpack and my shoelaces were being tied over my feet.
It was nearing dusk, the sun slowly dipping behind the thick clouds. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to find me. Soon, I’d be gone, far and away from him and everything he’d ever done or said. His beliefs and corrupted plans for me would be nothing more than panic-inducing thoughts that the breeze of the ocean would whisk away.
The second the guidance counselor pulled me into the principal's office, I knew what a grave mistake I’d made. My sketchbook laid right there in the center of Principal Malcoy’s desk, opened to the last sketch I’d done while waiting for the final bell to ring. I hadn’t even known it was missing. How careless was I?
It was obvious that they’d flipped through the rest of the drawings, if their faces had anything to say. Slack-jawed, glassy-eyed, suspicious glances to my body, particularly my wrists.
Another branch seemed to come out of nowhere as another piece from earlier filtered into my head: “Gemma, is there any truth to these drawings? Is someone hurting you at home?”
My fingers slipped underneath the straps of my backpack as I continued dashing through the trees. My heart flew through my chest as Tobias’ face came to the forefront of my brain, and I tried pushing that away too.
“Gemma, these are disturbing. And if this is something that is occurring, you need to let us know. We are here to help you.”
Now, looking back to a couple of hours ago, I shouldn’t have trusted them. I shouldn’t have trusted them at all. The only person I should have listened to was Tobias. He may have been more like a ghost these days, but the venomous truth had never been more clear to me than at that moment: Trust no one, and just survive, Gemma.
My foot caught on a tree root as I thudded down to my knees. My jeans had holes in the front, and I knew I was bleeding by the sharp sting against my skin. I hopped back to my feet, regardless.
“I hate that it came to this, but my niece is mentally ill. It’s why I’ve kept her home for most of her life. My mother, Anne, homeschooled her along with the girls at the group home. Once my mother had her stroke and the group home was shut down, I was forced to send Gemma to public school for the remainder of the year. The state, no matter my stance in the judicial system, wouldn’t allow for her to continue homeschooling without a parent or guardian’s help, and given the fact that the state does not require homeschooled children to have educational records other than an affidavit, a social worker thought sending her to public school would be a good starting point. I’ve had full custody of Gemma since she was a young child, right after her mother committed suicide.” My uncle’s lies had shot through the closed door of the office, and fear squeezed against every inch of my body, and before I knew what I was doing, I was running.
And I was still running.
I would run for the rest of my life if it kept me away from him.
My uncle, Judge Stallard—one of the most sought-out judges in the entire country with more sway in this town than Jesus himself—was a bad, bad man who did things to me that I once thought to be normal but learned, very recently, were not.
Running was never my intention—not until Auntie had her stroke and the group home was shut down. Not until the social worker discovered that the judge of our quaint town had a niece no one had ever heard of. Not until I started getting curious and began snooping in his office when he was gone all day, working cases with criminals that were no worse than he was. Not until I’d found the old photos and videos that he’d taken of my mother when Tobias and I were in the same exact room as young babies. And now…now things were even worse.
Running was my only option, Tobias missing or not. I had to hope, with every last ragged breath I took in the forest beyond our manor of a home, that Tobias was somewhere safe and knew better than to come back for me.
He always promised he would.
But that was then, and this was now.
Now, my only option was to survive, just l
ike he’d told me to.
My foot snagged on yet another firm root in the ground, but I was able to right myself and keep on running. My hands were still clenched around the straps of my backpack as the sun continued to disappear to make way for night. Brown strands of hair stuck to my sticky skin, and just as I reached up to push them away from my eyes, I tripped again, but this time, there was no root in the ground that caused me to fall.
Instead, there was a towering figure at my back, and without even looking behind me, I knew whose shadow it was.
“What did I tell you about good girls breaking rules, Gemma?” His hand clasped my ankle, and I was whooshed backward, the breath in my already tight chest seizing and clawing to be let out. “Now, you’ll have to be punished.”
Even through the sound of rapid heartbeats drumming in my ears, I could hear the sinister, sick pleasure in his tone.
Right then, I knew what a terrible, hasty mistake I’d made by trying to run away without a plan.
And now, I’d have to pay.
Chapter One
Gemma
Rain trickled down the side of the window in an ingenuous manner, unknowing of all the evil in the world. It was innocent and free in ways that I would never be but so desperately wished I could. I was the good girl—naive, soft, quiet, submissive—but I was the furthest thing from pure. I wasn’t shielded from the bad in the world. Instead, I was thrust head first into purgatory. Every single day was an uphill battle of wading through everything I’d ever been taught.
The moisture of the sky fell over my shoulders as Tobias’ words echoed throughout my head, “I’ll come back for you. Just do as you're told, Gemma. Survive.”
In some ways, the rain pounding my skin and soaking my long chestnut hair felt like a rebirth, like I was cutting through the choppy waves and coming out stronger on the other side. St. Mary’s boarding school, the strictest boarding school in the Western Hemisphere, probably terrified most. But it was like a beacon in the dark to someone like me. Even through the slanted rain, the building appeared like a haunted mansion with its cracked stone pillars and castle-like steeples. The archway was ominous, and the dark and looming clouds surrounding my new home should have scared me off.
But I wasn’t afraid of the dark.
I’d looked pure evil in the eye before, and this place wasn’t evil.
Creeping up the steps, my luggage bumped along the cobblestone beneath my shoes. I opened the door and stepped inside, inhaling the scent of aged, ancient books and stagnant dust. The entryway was gloomy, and a single chandelier hung above my head, casting the room in a dim light. The floor was wet below my feet as rain continued to fall off my gray jacket, and the ends of my hair looked black instead of the warm brown color they really were as they hung like ropes over my shoulders.
My head swung to the right as a tall, oak and wrought-iron door opened, and a man popped his head out. “Gemma?”
I swallowed before speaking. My voice was hesitant and hardly audible, and I hated that because, although I felt stronger here than I ever had before, I still fell back into that vulnerable, insecure version of myself that I’d been forced into since a young child. “Yes.”
The man’s expression changed for a slight moment. His green eyes dipped, a tight wrinkle etching itself onto his forehead. He squinted deeper before he shook his head, as if clearing his mind of something, and gave me a warm smile. “Please, come in. You can leave your bag right there. Do you have any more? I can send someone to grab them.”
Shifting in my squeaky shoes, I quickly shook my head. “This is all I have.”
His eyes dipped again as he glanced at my small suitcase then back to my face. “Okay, well, please come in.”
The long, checkered hallway was unmoving and quiet as my shoes squeaked along the waxed floor. I wrapped my arms around my slender torso, feeling self-conscious as I brought attention to myself. The second I was through the heavy door, the man gestured over to a seat in front of his desk.
I eyed the shiny name plate on the mahogany surface: Headmaster Tate Ellison. Scanning the man again, and his large office, I’ll admit, I was skeptical. He didn't look like a man in power. He was warm and inviting. The green in his eyes was charming, and the dark hair on his head was messy and looked in need of a haircut. In simpler terms, he was boyish. There was no way he was over the age of forty.
His crescent-like smile met his eyes as he sat down behind his desk. His chair screamed out a squeak when he leaned back, placing his hands behind his head. He was at least wearing a dress shirt and tie, but it was wrinkled. Richard said St. Mary’s was strict, but the headmaster looked anything but. Then again, I couldn’t really trust myself to judge.