Horror Fan Fiction ❯ Anette: Testimony of Lives ❯ Curiosity has Killed the Cat ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Act Two: Curiousity Has Killed the Cat.
In Which I explain to you Petros

Only one year into living in the stone building and I had been nicknamed Cain, Adam's unruly murderous child. 'Raising Cain' was the expression they used whenever they had to pluck another child from me after a fight. After one particularly brutal battle, Seginus was removed from my person, big brown eyes blazing with pure hatred for me.
"Don't you ever say that again about my mother!" He howled from the arms of Sister Marilyn, whom struggled to bring Seginus to order in her arms. I blinked my empty, half-lidded blue eyes at him.
"Why lie? Does not the Fathers and Sisters themselves say not to lie? Is it not a commandment?" I pressed. "Why should I care about your dead mother when I have not ever met her?"
Seginus' face burned red with fury as he let out a roar and lurched forward in Marilyn's arms. He cursed in a dozen different languages at me.
"Don't curse me. I no more care for your mother than you care for mine." I answered. He stilled, his face purple. I went to open my mouth and inform him that I felt the same about our fathers when a hand clamped down over my mouth and I was picked up by Sister Clarence. She spun around on one heel of her shoes and flicked my ear painfully.
"My my you have a mouth on you!" She huffed, her terrible breath fluttering over my nose. I resisted the urge to wrinkle up my nose. "To the Father with you little one, confessional is long overdue!"
After I took a deep breath and simply allowed her to carry me to the main church hall where the confessionals were on the right of the massive marble pillars. She put me on my feet, rather roughly, and pointed an unyeilding finger at one of the dimly lit confessionals.
"Now you go in there and confess your sin to Father Petros!"
I had opened my mouth to protest such a pointless act, and defend the protestant faith I'd been born and raised with, but her finger raised against my protest, and I was shooed into the large wooden box. She closed the door behind me, and all went dark. I felt around the box until my hands came upon a velvet cushion. I removed the black dress shoes my guardians had provided for me upon entering and sat on the cushion, feet tucked into one another in a criss cross pattern. Leaning heavily on my elbows I grumbled out the usual confessional.
"Forgive me Father for I have sinned and let my mouth run away with me."
Of course at the time I hadn't quite understood fully the term sardonic, and that I was using this particularly sour tone with the Father sitting on the other side of the confessional. But that was most certainly not the time I learned its meaning, for the Father sitting on the other side of the double screened panel let loose a fit of chuckles. I tilted my head as I peeked at the screen door with pure curiousity as the father spoke.
"A mouth indeed, I haven't heard such an insincere confession since Sister Hope came in confessing anger."
My mouth worked in protest. I recognized the name, for the nun had only brought upon herself the loud screech of protest when she went to remove the clothes my mother had packed in trunk. She had claimed they were earthly possesions and that I didn't need them anymore. My little fist saw otherwise. My snarky mouth got the best of me.
"The Sister isn't to covet, according to the Bible, Father." I bit back. That produced an even louder laugh from the Father.
"What is your name, child?" He asked, a smile in his voice. I eyed the screen suspiciously. Now I seldom recognized a 'life-changer' at that age, and hadn't known that Father Petros was going to be just that during the years I was growing up in the orphanage. But as a six year old going on seven, I did recognize something big, out of my control, and grasped at it with hazy eyes.
"Annette."
"And how old are you Annette?"
I paused.
"Ten."
That caused the father to laugh again. Irritation was beginning to sift through my curiousity, but I was still unsated and wanted to know more.
"You shall add to your confession lying. Come now, Annette, tell the truth." He coaxed gently.
"Oh very well. Six." I huffed. There was silence in the confessional.
"Six?" he questioned, a ringing of disbelief in his tone.
"Six." I confirmed, irritation growing to outright annoyance. There was another rather awkward silence between me an the screen, and for a moment I was tempted to knock to see if the Father was still there.
"Sister Clarence?" He called.
"Yes, Father?" She answered obediently.
"Please bring Annette to the study later this evening. I would enjoy her company." The Father suddenly said.
Both myself and Sister Clarence were at a loss. I was still pondering the old man's word when I was walked back to my room and told to change into my Sunday best after dinner. Curiousity and excitement butterflied through my tummy as I sat during our nightly meal and waited for my portion, the scent of cooking chicken confirming Nana's home-made chicken broth with hand made noodles. Sister Clarence put my bowl before me before deftly setting her own on the table beside my own. The butterflies in my tummy went on hold as I clasped my hands together and pretended to pray for the evening meal before sneaking a glance at the Sister that had set herself beside me. I then closed my eyes and offered a request of assistance before saying a pronounced amen! and grabbing up my spoon to dip it in the luxurious, thick bowl of soup.
Sister Clarance sat still for a long moment offering her own prayers and consolations as I spooned soup into my mouth, watching her curiously. When she opened her eyes I quickly put mine back onto my bowl of soup and waited for her to take up her spoon.
"May ask why you want to sit with me tonight, Sister Clarance?" I questioned before slowly slipping on the heavenly salty brew. She looked startled but eyed me warily anyways.
"I suppose because I will be taking you directly to .. Father Pedros, after supper." She answered. Her pause held me infernal curiousity, so I felt inlcined to inquire.
"Why did you pause?"
Sister Clarance blinked her large brown eyes once before they went half-lidded with a finely arched eyebrow.
"Aren't you a curious little thing." She gave a huffing laugh that sounded insincere. "I suppose I'm not the only celebate woman tense in Father Petros presence."
While this little statement was only a candle in dark mansion on the Father I was about to meet, it certainly was light in a dark place. I continued to sip on the soup, occasionally glancing up to see Sister Clarance clench her hands nervously on occasion. I tried not to take too much pleasure in her apparent discomfort. But I almost began squirming when the unusually heavy sound of boots began clomping down towards ourselves. And as her eyes widened with surprise, then shifted to the side uncomfortably, I only assumed it must have been the very man I was going to see that evening. If it weren't for my delight with the wonderfully colourful Sister Clarance, I might have dropped my spoon to turn around and see just what the mystery priest looked like. However my amusement led me to snickering in my soup."Good evening, little Annette."
The oddest thing happened just then in my small body: My muscles tensed terribly tight, my hand tightened on my spoon and I almost dropped the napkin in my lap. It was then I turned my head towards the smooth, sweet voice that had said my name in a most familiar, and terrifying manner. Before I could raise my hand to brush the dark tangled stray hairs out of my eyes, a gentle hand was on my cheek thumbing away the dark mussed hair and before me was a sight to behold.
The priest Sister Clarance identified as Father Petros was beautiful. Not handsome, for handsome is far too modest a word. Petros had his long black hair tied behind him, and despite his best efforts to keep it from spilling over his shoulders, a few loose strands wove merrily along is carefully angled face. His brows were perched in a freindly grin, and his mouth curved in the gentlest of smiles. Petros' eyes were closed with child-like glee, hiding his bright blue eyes from my probing gaze.
"Are you ready to come to the study with me?" He asked, opening his eyes.
"So soon?" I asked, staring.
"I wished to save Sister Clarance the trip.." He answered politely, returning my gaze with just as much intesity. My small face was bunched with confusion and focus as I watched his eyes flicker for a moment from blue to silver. Blinking, I stared once again to see the action repeated for a long moment before nodding in agreement.
"Yes Father."
He closed his eyes and nodded.
"Very well then, come on now! Lets go before the evening loses its young charm!" He said, snatching up my hand.
It hurt like the hells themselves had descended on me. Whatever, however, whenever he had touched me, sent a hot flash of memories through my small brain.

Warm breath panting along her neck, and the uttering of her name...
"Little Annette..."

I yanked my body upwards with a loud shriek as I came back to myself. A rosy blush was on my cheeks as I looked around myself, trying to discern what had just happened. The room had dimmed considerably, as I noticed the enormous bookshelves surrounding me. My back had been placed on on a slowly breathing chest, covered lightly with the outer jacket of a priest's robe. I looked up to see Father Petros had fallen asleep in the chair amidst the library's enormous shelves. We were seated in the middle of what looked to be a small mid-room study, where a desk was sitting behind us as a lamp burned brightly on it, the front desk with another Sister quietly taking in another book from the library's vast collection. I sneaked a peek at the sleeping man seated in the chair and couldn't help but study him very carefully.
Something was not right about this. This man was vaguely familiar to me, in a very intimate way. What had happened when he had touched me was not a coincidence, but a reminder that at one time he was very much in love with an Annette. Sitting back in his lap, avoiding too many motions that might have woken him, I folded my small six-year-old arms across my chest and pondered what had happened.
Perhaps God was blessing me by allowing visions of my future? I licked my lips in an oddly hungry way that didn't really seem holy to me at the prospect. Nonsense. By that time Father Petros would have been a raisin. It simply couldn't be a vision of the past, for I was far too young to be engaging in the business that Mother and Father had so often engaged in when I was pretending to be asleep in the depth of the night. The woman in my vision was far too... different. Bringing one finger to my mouth, I began sucking and biting it's nail, worrying it until I split the end off and began on another nail.
A deep rumble of laughter from the chest behind me sounded as I worked on my third finger, starting me from my deep thinking."What?" I snarked at the waking priest. Father Petros put one finger between my mouth and my finger, prying the appendage away.
"You always used to do that when you were frustrated, little Annette." He murmured. I blinked once. Then twice in confusion. Then thrice when it sunk in: Little Annette?!

"Little Annette.." He moaned, thumbs tracing the delicate curves of her hips as he urged her forward.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around my middle as he almost squealed and cuddled me as one would a teddy bear.
"You are far too adorable as a child, Annette! Simply Angelic!" He teased. The familiarity with which he was dealing with me was frightening. I quickly pushed away from the priest, trying to still the wild beating of an awakened heart.
"I don't understand! What are you talking about?" I questioned, unbidden tears welling up in my eyes. I had no idea who Father Petros was. And no matter how hard I had tried to call up the memories that had so quickly come to me with one touch, I could not summarize anything but what had been shown for that brief moment. Petros' eyes met mine in an almost stunned look.
"A-Annette..? You don't remember me?" He asked, completely astounded. His blue eyes were shifting again to silver, wavering back and forth like a flame. A shudder went down my spine, and I knew I was staring at something dangerous, monstrous. As quickly as I'd frozen in fear was as quick as my fleeing into the library. I ran blindly into the stack of books, terrified of the memories the man's face offered me.

He caught her by the hips, swinging her around and gathering her up in his arms before taking a deep breath of the natural scent burried behind a head of dark coloured hair.

I followed suit with a small yelp of my own as I tripped and stumbled over a book that had been left in the middle of the row before bolting to the left. I ran as far as my feet would carry me and then went straight again, the encounter rolling through my head like an undesired film.

Unbidden memories rushed back, warm bodies and pleasant company.

I had bitten my lip while worrying it as I knelt down into an abandoned bookcase to hide from the Father. I wanted to weep bitterly at these awful memories pulsing through my mind, and tried to stop them before it went too far. But my psyche was having none of it, forcing my small self to watch what I had done... In a former life, not too long ago from this one.

He unhooked her legs from the wicker chair, carrying her to the bed, falling asleep to the deep pattern of her breathing.

Unsure of how it had started, I'd begun to sob uncontrollably into my hands. What had I done? What was this terrible sin I had committed? Why did my six-year-old body suffer the same after-afects, and why had I even thought of such a deed with Father Petros in the first place? I was aching with regret and shame, for I knew that I had committted a sin with an even larger sin. And how my self, my body knew such things, was far beyond my knowledge. The simplicity of child-like understanding had vanished in those long moments and my soul's anguish in losing such purity weighed me down like a ton of bricks.
It was along time before I remembered out to breathe again, heaving in my small crevice. Fingers brushed over my knee where I curled up tight and reached for me. Frightened I kicked at the intruder, weary that it could be Father Petros. And when the grasping hands did indeed prove to be the Father, I struggled violently.
"What have you done to me?!" I cried out. "No!" and "Leave me!"
A rather sharp sting blazed across me face as I felt the Father's hand slap my cheek. It silenced me immeadiately from my psychotic screaming, drawing my attention to his worried, but firm silver eyes. The blue had bled out, the colour of grey liquid mercury replacing the unfathomable depths.
"Enough Annette." He said quietly. "I'm not sure what went wrong, but you will have to be re-taught. Fear nothing of the past, for you are in the present and I have no intention of harming you."
My tiny body shook with fear, but I nodded in slight understanding. This is where I comment on my five-year-old intellect again. I never neccessarily understood what I had gotten myself into when I first spoke with Petros, nor what I'd agreed to when I nodded my head that second time; but allow me to inform you that both times had led to a diasastrous and damnable life. I had yet to find out just what my true purpose and exhistence meant. Father Petros balanced me in his arms as he had dried my tears away and began to rock me to sleep, humming a deep familiar tune that resembled something out of a music box.
"My little Annette. Rest easy... We'll take this one toddler step at a time." he teased as my eyes drifted closed. I yawned wide, before finally going completely limp in the Father's arms.
"I don't trust you, Petros." I murmured in the black velvet of his preistly garments. I felt him stiffen slightly, but he remained silent as we made our way to the front of the library again.
"I see. We'll just have to change that now won't we?" He commented off-handedly, the sound of clinking metal tickled my ears.