Chapter 5
The heavy oak door of the sacristy slammed shut behind Leo with a hollow thud, plunging him into the cool, musty darkness of the vestry. Dust motes danced in the thin beams of light filtering through the high, barred windows. His breath came in ragged, hyperventilating gasps, his chest aching from the exertion and the overwhelming fear. Outside the heavy timber door, he could hear the muffled sound of a physical struggle—the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor, a sharp cry of pain, and Arthur’s harsh, furious voice shouting orders.
Leo’s small hands shook as he fumbled with the heavy brass latch of the outer door leading to the rectory garden. It was stuck, rusted shut from years of disuse, but with a frantic twist of his whole body, the mechanism finally gave way with a loud groan. He tumbled out into the overgrown courtyard, the damp autumn air hitting his tear-stained face like a dash of ice water. The overgrown boxwood hedges formed a tangled maze of deep green shadows, offering immediate concealment from anyone looking out from the main chapel windows.
Crouching low, Leo darted beneath the low-hanging branches of an ancient weeping willow tree, the peeling bark rough against his suit jacket. Through the leaded glass windows of the church, he could see blurred shapes moving violently. He knew he couldn't run out to the main road—it was a long, open stretch of gravel driveway where Arthur’s idling black sedan was parked, completely exposed. He needed a vehicle, a phone, or a way to reach the neighboring farm half a mile down the valley.
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A sharp crunch of gravel behind him made his blood run cold. Leo froze, holding his breath as footsteps approached the edge of the rectory garden. It wasn't Arthur; the heavy, dragging footsteps sounded different, more deliberate. A tall figure stepped around the corner of the stone buttress, wearing a dark trench coat. It was Thomas, the estate groundskeeper, holding a heavy pruning shears in his gloved hand. Thomas’s face was expressionless, his eyes scanning the overgrown garden with the practiced ease of someone who knew every hiding spot on the property.
"I know you're out here, boy," Thomas called out, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "You can't run from the property. The gates are locked, and Arthur’s got the keys. Come out now, and nobody gets hurt any further." Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He pressed his back tighter against the rough stone wall of the vestry, his hand brushing against a loose piece of slate on the ground. He gripped the stone, knowing that remaining hidden was his only chance to keep his mother alive.
