Steps

Carol lay on her back on the stone slab, the hard surface pressing against her shoulder blades, her spine, her legs. The stars above her were cruelly beautiful, scattered across the black velvet sky like a thousand eyes. They were watching her. She felt exposed. It was as if George had not only taken her clothes, but also her dignity—and she had allowed him to do it. Worse still, she had wanted it to happen.

She couldn't cover herself, even if her hands hadn't been tied. The blanket she had left behind in the tent no longer seemed to belong to her. Nothing belonged to her. Not her breath, not her trembling body, not the feverish heat that still simmered between her legs. Not even her thoughts.

She thought about the task he had set her. What punishment did she deserve? Her thoughts revolved around this one question. A liturgy of penance.

Carol had no answer. Not yet. She didn't even know what she wasn't willing to do. And that frightened her more than anything else.

Unwanted images and ideas popped into her mind. His figure in the darkness. The leash. Her own footsteps in the wet grass. The tickling of the air on her breasts, the shameful excitement at the thought of someone unzipping a zipper—a flashlight, a surprised gasp, a whisper: Is that Carol? Is she naked? Wake up, look! Father George is leading her on a leash.

She shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut. It hadn't happened. But it could have. And the possibility still hung in the air like cold smoke.

A gust of wind rustled the trees. The forest whispered. The lake behind the camp made a hollow gurgling sound as the water lapped against the shore.

She thought of Lucia. Bringer of light. Hope. Was there still hope for her?

She wondered what George felt when he instructed her in this penance. Did he enjoy it, or did he hate himself for it? Had he perhaps returned to the tent to fall to his knees unobserved and beg for redemption? Or was he lying awake, his eyes open in the darkness, thinking of ways to break her even further?

And what if he never came back? What if he left her here? Naked, bound, helpless. Until morning, when the young men and women woke up and gathered around the campfire to eat breakfast together?

But what if he came back, freed her, and took her to her tent before anyone noticed anything? What if she got dressed and got up with the others? What if that was all there was and the rest of her life went on unchanged—only with the memory of this one night buried deep inside her, burning silently like embers?

A twig snapped.

She froze.

The unmistakable sound of footsteps on pine needles and pebbles.

Someone was coming. Closer.

Her heart almost stopped. Then it beat wildly.

She wanted to turn her head to see who it was. She opened her mouth to call out... But what if it was George? He had never allowed her to move. He had not given her permission to break the silence.

“Lucia?”

The name was on the tip of her tongue, but she did not say it. She closed her mouth before a single syllable had left it.

The footsteps came closer, slow, deliberate, purposeful. Not shuffling like a camper sleepily sneaking to the edge of the forest to take a leak.

Someone who had a reason to come here.

Her nerves were stretched to breaking point. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.

And then...

The footsteps stopped. The figure had stopped. Somewhere outside her field of vision.

The night held its breath. The stars above her offered no comfort.

Only silence.

And darkness.