CHAPTER TWO.

I coughed violently, the short bursts of breath pushing away the dead matter in front of my face. My throat hurt immensly especially during the dry coughing and heaving.

He'd released my neck, got up off me, and walk away just before everything went completely dark. But he'd been late enough to have done some serious damage to my trachea, it hurt worse than the kick. This time my hands were clutched around my throat as I faced the dirt flailing in pain, my body hunched into a fetal position.

"God dammit! Fuck!" I heard him yell.

I faintly saw him kick one of the front tyres to the old green land rover in frustration several times.

The day felt hotter and it felt even hotter under my black habit, probably the world's most absorbant color. I could still see the sun high up in the corner of my eye as I lay there desperate.

I heard him open his car door and almost immediately slam it close before he came back next to me. He had sent enough shockwaves through my body thanks to the previous blunt force traumas to keep me in the moment, all the numbing toxins were out enough for me to fight back whatever he had in store for me next.

He grabbed on to my wrists forcefully, trying to yank them away from my neck and disturbing the neat little ball I had curved myself into, before I started throwing my weight around fighting off his grip. I rolled around in the dirt far enough to throw kicks at him.

I had almost won the struggle, before he dug his knee into my still sour side and made me surrender to his will instantly. The pain flared up again, reminding my pain receptors of what was. He did it so simply and calmly like all my strength and efforts were a joke.

He held both my wrist in one hand and fasted a zip tie around them before he took his knee off me.

"Why the hell are you doing this!!" I shouted at his face while he was still close enough, hopeful it will trigger him somehow, and it did, but not in the way I was expecting.

He grabbed my hair inside along with my veil and bonnet, and pulled on it while getting back up to his feet, I shrieked raising my tied hands up and grabbing his strong forearm yanking on my hair. I scampered onto my feet following his hand, not like he was giving me much choice, it felt like he was ready to rip the hair off my scalp if I didn't.

He kept pulling hard, leading me towards the car my feet barely keeping up before he harshly let go, thrusting me clumsily forward, clanking my head against the side of the car. The metal thunked as the rest of my body came crashing down next to the rear wheel.

I found myself sitted, my hands between my knees, my back leaning against the metal door staring at his face again. My side hurt, my throat hurt, and now my scalp was on fire. So much pain and discomfort yet I had no idea why.

He took out his gun again and pointed it at my face again, he had his cold stiffen  look back in his eyes.

What is it with guns, immediately he pointed it at me again, I felt every muscle within me cringe, all the hair across my body erect and my jaws were sealed shut as I stared at him. I wanted to close my eyes so bad but then daddy's words;

'you panic you fail, you panic you die' kept haunting my brain.

I dared defy my instinct to close my eyes and brace myself for the impending doom, which never came. Because he waited, and kept waiting, until the gun trembled in his hands and the murderous expression crumbled away from his face.

"Ach!" He screamed frustrated, averting his eyes from me before he put the gun back in it's holster.

Did he expect me to tell him it was okay to kill me or something. One minute he looked so sure about killing me, strangling me, pointing his gun at me, the the next he looked so conflicted.

Another one of nun Veronica's sayings applied to the situation. 'The thing...the thing_ the thing she said about people battling their own demons. Ah shoot! I had it at the tip of my tongue a second ago.'

I knew he couldn't kill me yet, he was fighting something, but he looked like he really wanted to, I had to know why. The problem was even though he couldn't kill me yet, he could hurt me, really bad and it scared me alot. But my old man's voice in my head, you panic you die_ Jesus!

"Is this some kind of amateur killer on first attempt type situation...or?" damn my southern accent, it always showed when I spoke slow enough.

I could feel my inner self burying her head in the sand. But worrying about trivial things like my accent kept me from worrying about the bigger issue which would make me panic.

He looked at me, his expression turning putrid Before he stepped closer again.

'ah fuck, here we go again. Thanks a lot big mouth.' I jerked into a much upright position sitting looking at him, bracing myself, trying to anticipate what he might attack next on my body.

But he didn't advance any more closer than the step.

"No. I just have a problem killing nuns." there wasn't an ounce of remorse when he said this and the balmy way he said it, made him believable.

"Then, don't." My rebuttal was shaky understanding I was still on high waters.

"I have to_" He broke his speech grunting while sitting on the dirt next to me in front of the tyre taking out his gun again.

"Your father just died and someone in your family wants you dead so bad, that they'd hire me."

He conked on my head with the deadly metal. The rounded edge that repeatedly bounced on the corner between my forehead and left temple was surprisingly heavy, and it bothered my nerves.

In that moment, his face almost looked pitiful towards me. Unlike me there was no accent in his voice so telling where he came from, from his speech was a dead end.

And what the hell did he mean by my father just died_

"The fuck are you talking about! My father died three years ago. I don't have family, he was an orphan, and my mom fled before I knew her, so I'm an orphan now too!"

I couldn't believe that I just cursed out loud, I spent the past six years of my life learning how to sieve my words before I let them out. Now somehow the curse word I'd used to dispense out of my mouth without batting an eye, felt wrong escaping my lips.

But it was understandable. I was scared and confused about what this killer had just said, God would understand, He'd forgive me for it.

I went and recaped my entire life for a trace of connection to what he could have been talking about, but there was nothing. We Lovelys, were  poor famers, so what would anyone kill me for and my father died years back, why now? It had just been me and my dad my whole life no one else.

And what the hell did he mean they wanted someone dead so bad they'd send him. That had to be bad, right...

"Are you sure you're a nun," He asked, facing the barrel to my temple, he flicked his thumb removing the safety.

The weapon was pressed against my head, it was so close by, that I heard the click. I closed my eyes in anticipation this time, clasping my Jaws together tightly and breathing softly through my nose, like breathing normally would have made him pull the trigger sooner or something.

"because nuns aren't supposed to lie." He moved his face further away from me.

You panic you fail, you panic you die. My heart was just not receiving this message. It picked up speed, sending my blood faster through my body.

"I'm not lying! I swear my dad died a while back, I don't have any family! Please! We were farmers my whole life till I join the convent_ please!" I felt my self loose my words in the harsh wave of fear that took my body hostage. 

I don't know how but I could feel his finger pulling back the trigger. I wasn't in control, I was panicking and I was failing, I was giving him too much detail, only liars give too much detail.

"I know who you are. You're Adrian Givens. Your father was Adam Givens, and you have three siblings." He pushed the gun harder against the side of my head tilting my neck sideways.

"I am Anett! I was Beatrice Lovely! and my father was George Lovely! and I don't have siblings! You have to believe me!" My voice broke shaking as I recited those words loudly.

I knew I was shouting, there was no way my words were coming out as calm as his were but the bullet felt like it was coming any second and it would get me off guard, midsentence. My eyes were pressed shut tight, so was my mouth and my breathing was getting dangerously shallow.

"You're lying!" He pressed, pushing the gun further still, he had to have been higher up to get that much reach advantage, probably on one knee.

"I'm not! I swear! Please!" Christ, the swearing! Even I was starting to doubt if I were ever in a Covent.

Yes he'd already atempted killing me and failed a couple of times before, but in my defense, this guy had a screw loose or something. In the moments when he'd try to murder me he really went for it, everything in his body went dark, it was like looking at Darth Vader, you know he'll kill you.

But then something changed, like an invisible pony sprinkled rainbows around him and the darkness would promptly vanish and what was left was just a terrified man holding a gun. It would tremble in his hand like it was his first time holding it.

As if on que, I, felt the gun tremor on the skin by my temple this time, before the safety clicked back on.

I hesitantly opened my eyes before I straightened myself, still leaning on the car door. He was back to his composed self sitting next to me.

"I know you're Adrian," He turned his head and look at me, I could see him from my periphery but I refused to look at him. He was so close, I'd be staring directly into his eyes.

"you disappeared from your family your second year of college." His voice was low and familiar, like we were old friends sitting down next to a car in the middle of a forest catching up on the good old days.

"No. I'm not_"

"I already told you I know who you are, " He interrupted. "a pretty decent chunk of the world knows who you are. You come from a very famous, very powerful family, how long did you really think you could hide out in that convent."

I turned my head and finally stared into his eyes, his now perfectly sane, big compassionate clear, with no brown or redness, or eyebags underneath eyes. Mine were saggy from the tears welling up. Tears of fear, and confusion, and frustration and something else that I didn't want him to notice.

"I am NOT Adrian Givens!" My nose stung as I forced back the tears, I searched for the light in his face and I begged it_ I begged him with my eyes to believe the words coming out of my mouth.

"I am Nun Anett of Our Lady of Angels monastery. My earthly father died from pneumonia while I was a novice, serving other people BUT him_" The tears fell, cold thanks to the breeze, it felt itchy against my cheek. I had this tangy taste in my mouth that made my saliva heavy and sour.

"before that, I was Beatrice Lovely, just a simple farmer_" I stopped in that moment. It finally hit me. Everything inside my mouth was sticky. I felt trapped in the moment. My survival depended on this lunatic.

"It doesn't matter to you, if I am, does it..." He still remained quiet looking at me, he somehow managed to remain perfectly still, in the moment, he looked like the world's greatest listener.

"you're still going to kill me either way, aren't you?"

Nothing. No reaction, no flicker in his eyes, no twitch in posture. Just cold stone glaring and distant consideration to the words coming from my mouth. And after what looked like very long consideration. He said,

"No." and got up from the ground, not bothering about wiping the dirt stuck to the bottom side of his pants.

He just stood up straight, towering over me like he probably enjoyed doing by now and briefly broke eye contact before went right back at it, his gun still in his grip.

'No' What the hell did that mean, he wasn't going to kill me? or 'No' it did matter who I was?

"You're going to let me go?" I asked in the moment feeling incredibly naive, but some part of me held out hope. I still wanted to believe that there was some humanity left in this murderous psycho.

"No." He repeated, before he kept silent again.

I had to get away from him. If I was going to die, I had to at least try and get away. Die trying, rather than sitted, hands tied, begging for mercy. I had cried enough, which was something my father taught me never to do.

He didn't know how to raise daughters so he raised me like his father raised him. I never spent time with my mother, it was always him.

He gave me the crying doesn't solve problems lesson when I was twelve.

He was high on pride after shooting down a stag from two hundred yards away during our too frequent hunting trips and we were in a hurry to get back home.

Since before we left home that day, there had been promise and signs of a nasty storm hitting.

He always made me bleed out and disembowel the game before he dragged it by the antlers onto the back of the double cabin. I always hated the bloody trail he left behind, It felt like we were wasting nature.

He would never drive during the hunting trips. He taught me how to drive the minute I was tall enough to reach the pedals. He said, 'why would I bother driving, if you are here. What is your purpose?' I guess he should have driven that day.

I wasn't fast enough to outrace the storm and soon, even with the windscreen wippers on full blast, I wasn't able to see well enough. I missed a turn, and the consequence for that, was a slip on an overgrown tree root and we took a nasty tumble down a tiny hill.

I dislocated an elbow and an ankle, also fractured a knee and a few cuts and bruises from the shrapnels but the pain and shock wasn't enough to turn my lights out and neither did it for my father who had torn both his shoulders.

The car stopped tumbling while we were suspended upside down on a gravel road. My seat belt held my weight, but for my father, the tumble had crushed the car enough to get one of his foot stuck underneath the dashboard.

This is where his lesson came in. I was about to start crying in the middle of very heavy rain where no one would have heard me.

Instead, he reprimanded me and threatened that he would have broken my good arm if he could move his. Instead of crying, I had to find a way to help us, since I was the only one of us who could make it out of the ruins.

'you panic you fail, you panic you die.'