Free Redeeming Rhys by Mary E. Palmerin Page B

to make its way from her mouth again.
    “Don’t you dare look away!” she yelled to Wren, charging over to her with the yard stick.
    Before Wren had time to react, she took it high above and swatted her across the face, forcing the vomit free, splattering it across the room.
    “Look, you murdering fool. If you are lucky, God may forgive you!” she yelled, her voice like a shameful vow that Wren would never forget.
    Wren’s eyes studied the macabre pictures plastered on the screen, pictures of illegal abortions and dead babies in trash cans.
    “Do you want to lead a life as a sinner?” she boasted to Wren.
    Wren knew she would never be forgiven. She was no better than Rhys, the boy who put her there. If he really cared, he would have taken her with him. Instead, he punished her by leaving her behind.
    Wren felt a flutter in her belly. Evidence of what Rhys left behind. For the next five months, she would be trapped with reminders. Little kicks of life. Half of her, half of him. She only hoped that the child she didn’t wish for, the same one that she wanted to abort, would not be bad.
    She had run away from the house for unwed mothers the day before, searching for an abortion clinic. She remembered one outside of the city where her father used to protest. When she found the clinic, one of the protestors recognized her. She was a frequent volunteer at the house.
    Her punishment was being locked away in her room, her only friend the horrid memories from before along with what she wished to do, murder the only piece to her past. Maybe she did belong in hell.
    “I believe you’ve seen enough. Get up. Back to your room to pray. I’ll have Sister Caroline bring your supper.”
    Wren walked back to her room and kneeled beside her bed as the clink of the lock made her realize she would be sealed in that hell for three more years until she was eighteen.
    She clasped her hands together and prayed, but she knew they wouldn’t come true. Then, she felt a little kick again. When the footsteps of Sister Magdalene were silent, Wren fell to the cool wooden floors and clutched her pregnant belly, crying as she hoped that her prayers would come true.
    All she wanted was goodness to find her.

Sweet reminders weren’t good enough. The time was near for the dark reaping. May goodness be with those that lay within his path; he breathed death like a terrifying serenade.
     
     
    THE BAD BOY WAS coming home.
    Pungency filled the musty air as Rhys awoke from a dark slumber. He squeezed a cold body next to him, the realization of his actions setting in. The finality of death stared at him, the girl’s once dark eyes were now hazed over. The blood-spatter on the walls had dried completely, the vibrancy of crimson absent and now a wretched brown color. Rhys couldn’t ever get used to the smell of death, the cathartic combination of stealing and nonexistence leaving him confused. He was never sure why he felt like he could have done things differently. It wasn’t empathy or sympathy, rather he wished he could relieve himself from the fucked up thoughts that invaded his mind.
    He needed absolution from the girl who held his secrets since the beginning of time when he started to change. Madness is sometimes birthed, other times it is learned, and in other cases, it is vengeance. If you are unlucky enough, you are victim to them all.
    Rhys’ throat was dry, and oddly enough, he found himself hungry. He looked over at the small nightstand next to the bed and eyed the three-hundred-fifty dollars carefully. He decided before he filled his beat-up Ford truck, which he stole, up with gas to start the four hour trek to Hooverville, Kentucky, a small suburban area south of Louisville, he would stop at a fast food joint and grab a meal.
    He knew he wouldn’t have much time to offer the girl a proper burial. He didn’t pity her, rather he hoped for her sake, that if heaven did exist, or God for that matter, that he had answered her prayers and she