Nothing Sacred. Tara Quinn Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ buried against his shoulder, the sounds she made were unintelligible. He had no idea if she was trying to speak or protesting painful movement.

      “It’s okay, honey,” he said softly, shutting the door behind him as he guided her gently to a chair in the kitchen. “I’ll call your mother.”

      “No.” She refused to sit down, buried her face more completely in the crook of his elbow. Her next words were mumbled.

      “What?” he asked, holding her by the arms as he freed her face enough to look at her. “I didn’t get that.”

      “The light’s too bright,” she said, and started to sob. “Please,” she hiccupped. “No light. And no calls.”

      “I need the light, Ellen. I need to get a look at you. And call for help.”

      “No!” she shrieked. “No calls. No one…” She started to cry again. “No one but you.”

      Her insistence struck fear in the heart he’d silenced, filling his mind with dreadful suspicion.

      “You need to see a doctor, honey! We need to know how badly injured you are.”

      “No! I’m fine.”

      “No, you’re not.” But he had a horrible feeling the calls could wait, that Ellen’s most serious injuries weren’t physical. Authority came through out of necessity. “You need to tell me what happened, Ellen. Now.”

      A fresh spate of sobs erupted, and she clutched the sleeve of his shirt with her fingers.

      “Tell me, honey,” he said, growing more and more certain that he wasn’t ready to hear what he suspected she would—eventually—tell him.

      An agonizing couple of minutes passed while she cried, then took a deep breath, only to choke on another outburst of agony.

      “You have to tell me what happened, Ellen.” David forced as much calm into the words as his thick throat allowed. “You need help.”

      “I—” She broke off, tightening her grip on his shirt as she lifted her head enough to look up at him. “Only…you.” She stumbled over the words. “Only you.”

      Because he knew he had no choice, David nodded. “I’m the only one here.”

      He pushed her gently into the chair he’d pulled out for her, then sat in the adjoining chair and clasped her hands.

      She hadn’t said a word, but David knew. And felt the acid burning of vomit rising to his throat.

      Help me. The plea was a demand, issued as urgently as he’d ever spoken to whatever higher power was guiding his life.

      I’m here.

      Okay, then. He took a deep breath.

      “Ellen?”

      “I ran out of gas.”

      He probably shouldn’t be holding her hands, shouldn’t touch her at all.

      She needs you. Listen.

      He did. To his heart. He released one of her hands and smoothed the hair back from Ellen’s swollen cheeks, brushed it off a forehead grimy with sweat and God knew what else.

      He was going to see someone in hell for this.

      Later.

      “He…he…” She began to shake. Violently.

      David couldn’t remember ever being more scared. And only once before in his life had he felt this sick.

      Steady.

      Yeah. Yeah. Steady. He knew what life was about. All of it. The happiness. And the suffering, too.

      “Someone hurt you when you ran out of gas?” he asked, compelled to get this over with. To get to the healing part.

      “I hitchhiked,” she said through chattering teeth.

      “And someone picked you up.”

      When she nodded, David’s heart sank.

      “It was a man,” he said.

      With a second, jerky nod, she confirmed his worst fears. But he continued, anyway, getting her to tell him where the man had taken her.

      “He told me if I didn’t take my clothes off, he’d rip them.” She was shivering, huddled in her chair, but speaking clearly now, as though she was somehow detached from it all. “And when I didn’t, he started to—so I…” She faltered and started to cry again, more softly.

      “So you did.”

      “Yes.” The whisper was barely audible. And tore through David with such ferocity he didn’t know how he stayed seated.

      I’m the wrong man for this one, he thought grimly.

      Steady.

      You be steady! The angry words were spoken only in his mind.

      I am. Always.

      Anguish ripped through him. Hers. His. Too much anguish.

      Shut up!

      “He…touched…me….”

      No. I can’t stand this. Don’t go! he implored the voice.

      I’m always here.

      Ellen described the humiliation and horror of having a strange man touch her in places he should never have seen. Of having her body violated in ways that were unfathomable to her.

      But if he’d only touched her? With his hands, as she was describing? Hadn’t…raped her?

      “And then he made me watch him take off his clothes….”

      She closed her eyes and David’s throat shut off all air. He desperately wanted to find someone else to help this poor child who was beyond anything he could do for her.

      “He…raped me, Pastor Marks.” She cried aloud what his heart already knew—already felt. “He just kept doing it to me over and over…”

      He could feel her agony. Her debasement. He also knew—in the midst of his almost uncontainable rage, unbearable anguish—that she needed him.

      Because the biggest part of her suffering was yet to come. And David sensed that these next few days and weeks would determine her ability to recover, to live a normal life or ever love again. He knew far more than anyone realized he did.

      This is why I’m here. He understood that now.

      He just wasn’t sure he was ready for the journey ahead. Or the possible consequences.

      He knew only that his fate had been determined that long-ago day when he’d asked for this spiritual path and promised to do all СКАЧАТЬ