The Merciless II Read Online Free PDF Page B

if I should feel guilty or relieved. It feels wrong to laugh now that she’s gone—but also good. Like taking a drink of water after a long, punishing run.
    Sister Lauren slows the minivan to a crawl and turns onto a wide, tree-lined road. A black iron sign arches above us. It reads: ST. MARY’S PREP .
    â€œHome sweet home,” Sister Lauren says. My heart climbs into my throat. We crawl forward, and I scoot to the edge of my seat. Red brick and stained glass peek through the moss-covered trees. I spot circular windows that look like eyes, and tall stone pillars. An elaborate iron gate circles the school grounds.
    To keep us from getting out . I bite my lip, pushing that thought out of my head. If Dr. Keller were here, he’d say I was letting paranoia control me, and he’d make me do my breathing exercises. But I don’t want to seem like a freak in front of Sister Lauren, so I just stare straight ahead, studying my new home.
    St. Mary’s Preparatory Institute is three stories high, and shaped like a giant U. The bricks are discolored from years of exposure to the sun and wind, and a white cross peers down from the school’s highest tower. Fear prickles along my spine as we drive beneath the dark shadow it casts over the road.
    â€œIt’s . . . old,” I say. A statue of the Virgin Mary stands in the courtyard between the school’s two wings. Mary bows her head, her arms open and welcoming. Rust stains the white stone of her dress. It looks like blood winding down her legs and pooling at her feet.
    â€œI know it’s a bit spooky,” Sister Lauren says, “but you’ll get used to it. That’s our chapel over there.” She points to a small, whitewashed building to the left of the main school. “It’s the only one on campus, which means the boys use it, too. But you go to Mass at different times, so you won’t see them.”
    I nod. Ivy snakes over the chapel’s white walls and stained glass, practically obscuring the colorful images of Jesus and the saints. A window on the highest floor isboarded up. It’s like the building has turned wild. Like the woods are trying to reclaim it.
    Sister Lauren pulls the minivan to a stop next to the tall iron fence surrounding the school. A priest in black robes waits at the front entrance. He climbs down the steps, his hem trailing in the dirt behind him. Metal clinks against metal as he unlocks the padlock and drags the gates open.
    â€œListen, Father Marcus can be . . . intense,” Sister Lauren says. The quality of her voice has changed. She sounds younger, less sure of herself.
    â€œIntense how?” I ask. Sister Lauren flashes a stiff smile.
    â€œYou’ll see.”
    We drive through the gates and park the van near the steps. As I get out of the car, I study Father Marcus’s deeply lined face and hooded eyes. He doesn’t look mean, exactly. But he’s not someone I’d want to cross.
    â€œThank you for your trouble, Sister.” Father Marcus’s voice is strong and deep, made for leading prayers and reciting announcements at the front of a packed auditorium. Wispy, dandelion puffs of hair form a halo around his bald head. “If you’ll take the van back to the garage, I can handle Miss Flores from here.”
    â€œBut the bags—”
    Father Marcus raises a hand, cutting Sister Laurenoff. His eyes fall on me. The effect is similar to being hit with a spotlight. I feel exposed. Naked. I glance at my shoes, my cheeks growing hot.
    â€œMiss Flores looks perfectly able-bodied. I’m certain she can manage them. You’ll meet us at the entrance to the girls’ dormitories so you can show Sofia to her room.”
    â€œOf course,” Sister Lauren says. She climbs into the van while I wrestle my bags out of the back. The grounds are strangely silent. I can’t even hear the distant drone of insects that I’ve grown