Authors: Samantha Forest
BBW ROMANCE: BWWM Romance: A Cowboy’s Southern Comfort (Military Cowboy Pregnancy Romance) (Interracial Army Contemporary Fantasy Romance Short Stories) (11 page)
***
The forest near Montclair University was considered off limits for a reason. Even with the bright light of the full moon underneath the bare trees, Eve and Ash were having trouble getting to the abandoned church located at its center. The howling winds of the incoming snowstorm were one reason, but there was also the eerie sense of being watched.
Eve pulled the hood on her jacket tighter as she traversed through the myriad of fallen, snow-dusted branches. “Ash,” she said while shivering. “You should have stayed until the police came after the storm passed. These people sound insane. You could get hurt.”
“Are you insane?” he asked, helping her over a large log. “I’m not about to let my pregnant girlfriend go to hostage negotiation in the middle of a haunted forest.”
She sighed, but she knew that he was right. Eve had nearly been turned around twice from where they had started. And it did not help that mysteriously thrown rocks pelted them every five minutes. One of which whizzed dangerously close to her head.
The young woman was at the end of her rope until they both finally saw the dim light of Winsor Church. Just as she was about to tell Ash to wait outside, three figures in hooded, red robes ran out behind the nearby trees.
Two grabbed Ash by the arms, hitting him in the gut as he struggled. The other grabbed Eve and tried to drag her away.
“Stop!” she yelled. Thrashing, Eve growled at her captor, “You said it would be me in exchange for Chelsea! Let her and Ash go! I won’t put up a fight! I swear!”
`“Eve…” Ash said with a groan. “Don’t do it!”
“I don’t have a choice, Ash,” she said. “But I kept my word! So please! Just let them go!”
The hooded individuals looked at each other. The one holding her then made a loud whistle at the nearby church. In moments, an unconscious girl was being carried out by another member. Ash was then let go, and they pushed him towards the sleeping Chelsea.
“Carry her and leave,” the member said. Pulling back their hood, it was revealed to be Madam Ibori. “You won’t see us again, anyhow.”
Securing the bruised cheerleader in his arms, Ash spat, “What the hell are you doing? I thought you were a curator of spirits, not some maniac cult leader. And if you think I’m going to let you take Eve-”
She gave a sly smile. “You have no idea what you’re sitting on, child. A woman impregnated by a spirit? It’s a miracle. A miracle worth millions.”
“What do you intend on doing to her?” he snarled.
“Nothing that you can interfere with.”
And with that last sentence, Eve felt sharp pinch at her neck as it all faded to blackness. Ash…
***
Eve awoke to find that she was no longer in her body. In fact, as she looked down, she saw her physical form bound to an altar. Around it stood the hooded figures, chanting a strange incantation as they raised goblets of red liquid up and down. The symbols on the altar looked sinister, but there was one in particular that caught her attention.
“Eve,” a voice called from behind her.
Turning, she was shocked to see Colton. “Colton… am I… dead?”
He shook his head. “No, your spirit left your body during the ritual. They are trying to keep it for themselves.”
“Why would they just want my body? Is it my child?”
“Yes, they believe it will give them great power.”
“And that symbol,” Eve added, pointing to the one that resembled an upside down omega symbol with a star in the center. “Why does that look so familiar?”
“It’s a very old symbol for the university’s first fraternity,” Colton answered, his eyes looking down. “Eve… do you remember when we first spoke alone? And you asked about my death?”
“Yes…”
“I didn’t want to tell you. But the Risen Ones were a cult at the fraternity I joined. I wanted to be a member and went to a ceremony…” His eyes looked pained as he tried to continue. “Instead, they… they killed me… as a sacrifice. I was afraid that they’d somehow find you and… and then you’d end up like me!” he exclaimed. “A cursed spirit forever roaming this godforsaken earth!”
“Colton!” Eve shouted, grabbing him close. “You aren’t cursed! You’ve probably protected and cared for me more than anyone else! I’m the one who got into this… and made everyone around me suffer… If anyone’s cursed… it’s me…”
“No Eve,” he said, placing a hand to her face. “You could never be a curse. You were my one light in this existence… I never expected you to care for me as long as you did... A beautiful, kind woman that still had so much to live for – making time to converse with an old ghost like myself… And when you said you loved me… I made up my mind. I would do everything in my power to protect you.”
“Colton… What are you saying?” Eve asked, nervous about his tone.
“I’m moving on, Eve,” he said, his voice confident. “And I’m making sure those murderers don’t take the life of anyone else.”
Colton then brought his lips to hers quickly. “Goodbye, Eve.”
In that moment, Eve’s spirit flew back to her body in a painful snap. Though her vision was blurred by the sudden tears falling down her face, Eve could still see as a blinding white light grow above her. Like a vengeful angel, the light continued to expand over the Risen members who she saw scream in terror. The only way she could describe the next event was as if she was watching a supernova burst. The explosion sent all the cult individuals to the ground, making a wave of forceful energy travel throughout the empty building.
As her senses began to fail, Eve heard one last voice call out to her as the light faded skyward.
I love you, Eve.
The last thing she could recall was the sounds of sirens in the distance and a warm body holding her close.
***
Eve stared out the window of the doctor’s office. Her foot tapped the floor impatiently as she waited for the results to come in. The paternity test was just a precaution that Ash’s parents had – nicely – asked that they get after hearing the news. Even though Ash had been all for ignoring them, Eve had been adamant about starting off on the right track with her child’s grandparents.
“Hey, stop being so nervous,” Ash said, patting her gently. “You know…I’m here too…right?”
She smiled as she gave him kiss on the cheek. “Yes, I know.” With a sigh, Eve looked down at her hand. It was still there even though she could not believe it.
“You’re not having second thoughts about the engagement are you?” Ash asked with a concerned frown.
Eve rolled her eyes. “For the millionth time - of course I’m not, Ash. You know me. If I didn’t think I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure I would not have said yes in the first place.”
Ash smiled while taking hold of her hands. “I know… I guess I still can’t believe that I might just actually get a happy ending for once.”
Moving closer to him, she placed their hands on her slightly raised stomach. “Well, I suppose with all the things we went through we deserve a bit of peace.”
“Ms. Springs?” a nurse called from behind the counter. “Your documents are ready.”
Taking a deep breath, she reached for the envelope. Sitting back down, Eve prepared herself for all the potential outcomes. Her hands trembled as she struggled to open the package.
Before she could, Ash grabbed her hands. “Hey, no matter what happens I’m still with you. Okay?”
Nodding, Eve finally tore open the flap.
Alleged Father ASH PIERCE
Probability of Paternity: 99.99%
Eve could only sit in stunned happiness as she put down the papers. “Ash… it’s…”
Kissing her, he whispered, “I know, Eve. I know.”
*****
THE END
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Nun Of
The Above
by Samantha Forest
Tara woke up with the feeling that she had just been in a blackout. Her small, bare room struck her as unfamiliar as she let her eyes scan across it, waiting for her body to awaken. This wasn’t the first morning Tara had felt like this, as if there was still another dream she was still floating in.
For weeks now, she had progressed through life as if it were some sort of uncomfortable half-consciousness, waiting for something to snap her back to reality. She had taken to holding her hands over the steam of the kettle, waiting for her skin to cringe in pain just a little before she quickly drew her hand away. The sting of it ebbed away within a few minutes, but it was enough to jolt her.
The cold, hard light of winter seemed to weave through her, making it hard to move or connect with the things and people around her. She felt the gentle roar of the convent draw closer and closer towards her door. Women getting dressed, knocking on doors of younger postulants, the gentle clink and sometimes crash of the kitchen below.
Starting to brace herself for the world outside her thin, rough blankets, she slowly considered each part of her body from the top of her head all the way to her toes. Tara was trying to be aware of the world, aware of herself, and aware of God, but mostly she felt confused.
She tried to keep thoughts of Stephen at the back of her mind. She turned tiny, rhythmic prayers over and over in her head like a stone before you try to skip it across a lake, but still he rose up like a fragment of a dream.
She carefully put on her white shirt and woollen grey skirt and scapular. She then tried to fix her hair under the veil. Tara’s hair had always been rather wild, and this made it more difficult to cover. She had come to some sort of compromise with it recently by braiding it and then rolling it into a bun. Tara tried not to think about what it might be like to cut it all off one day. The subtle weight of the braided bun felt almost grounding sometimes, like a link to who she used to be.
She closed the door to her room and headed down towards the kitchen. The hallway was painted a soft, rose pink with high, rounded ceilings. Large borders of mahogany lined the walls and the same wood, though somewhat more worn, made up the floor. The day was beginning to feel less alien. The scent of the waxed floors mixing with the soft talcum smell of the other nuns felt comforting and real to her.
She took her place in the line of other postulants waiting to enter the dining hall. Beneath all the clatter of shoes and the metallic clash of cutlery, there was the gentle lilting verse of the Morning Prayer. Each morning, a new girl took her place reading a different prayer or psalm. They all half listened while their brains, still sleepy, tried to focus on God and their failings, but mostly they thought of the tea and porridge.
Tara herself had done it many times, her fear of public speaking rounded out like a small pebble. Her wool skirt was scratchy, a childhood allergy risen up in rows of irritated hives, but even this felt comforting. This small biological penance from God seemed like evidence that she was doing something right by continuing to stay in the convent, and that sin was still exiting out of her body.
Most of this sin took the form of Sister Josephine. The thought curled up in her body like a bad spasm that stretching only seemed to worsen. Sister Josephine was small and gentle, her voice rarely rising below a soft whisper. Her tight curls sometimes peaked out in delicate tendrils from beneath her habit, and her hands were raw from constantly being scrubbed with harsh lye soap. Sister Josephine had come to the convent from a large city in England, which made her even more mysterious.
Her dark skin glowed against the white starched rim of her veil, and her eyes were bright and piercing. Sister Josephine primarily worked out in the local town, her perfectly pressed habit swooping through the dirt and chaos of families and communities torn apart by alcoholism and generations of poverty. She made sure the children were clean and free of lice, picking through their hair meticulously with her fine wooden comb.
Each evening she would arrive home with huge sacks full of tiny dresses and baby clothes to be sterilized in the large convent washing machine, which was startlingly modern and a gift from a local widow given in her will. Sister Josephine, by all accounts, was unstoppable in her quest to improve people’s lives in even the smallest way. Even when her tiny frame seemed overwhelmed by the weight of it all, her eyes maintained a severe passion and hope that Tara could only hope to emulate.
Sister Josephine sat across from Tara at a table reserved for those in their senior year of the novitiate, each one looking increasingly sober over their breakfast. A growing trend of ‘fanaticism’, as Mother Kevin Thomas called it, had spread amongst them. Each one attempted a great level of asceticism, be it fasting or otherwise, in an attempt to reach some sort of contact with Christ that bordered on mania, as far as Tara could tell.