Sacred Trust

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Marti, still bound, was able to roll herself onto her side. From that position she used the fingers of one hand to write in the dirt. She prayed the darkness would cover the word, that it wouldn’t be seen until the police arrived.

She prayed for other things, too. For the souls of her dead mother and father, for her own soul, for that of her friends. She prayed for the child she had given up so many years before. And when her killer dragged her to the makeshift cross and lashed her to it with rags so tight they cut into her skin, when it dawned on her what he planned to do, she even found it in the long-lost depths of her soul to pray for the person who was doing this hideous deed.

.....

I throw my pillow at him. “You men! You love the idea of women being together, don’t you?”

I have meant only to tease him. But a shadow falls over his face, and I remember too late that I’ve hit a sore spot.

.....