Bound by Faith

Prologue

The summer heat clung to the little white house like a second skin—thick, smothering, inescapable. Outside, the sun baked the footpaths and warped the air into shimmering waves. Many locals of the Australian city joked about "being able to fry an egg on the road". But inside this small two-bedroom unit, the air was sharp. Frozen. Silent. Not the peaceful kind of silence.

The kind that falls after something breaks.

Something—or someone.

Rachel Walker, just a young frail fifteen-year-old girl, sat stiffly in the corner of the bedroom, on the stained and fraying mustard-coloured mattress in the corner of her room, arms locked tight around her little brother as she rocked him back and forth, humming a lullaby as quietly as she could. Micah, a tiny, underfed six-year-old trembled against her, his damp face buried in the crook of her neck, his fingers fisted into her shirt and hair like he was holding on for dear life. Her own arms were shaking, but she held him tighter anyway. Somebody needed to keep him safe.

"Shh...I've got you," she whispered, though her voice came out raw, almost hoarse from the silent sobs she refused to let out. "You're okay. I've got you."

But she didn't feel okay. Her heart pounded so loud it seemed to echo through the house. She stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the large wooden table where their door should have been—if it had not been ripped off its hinges last week during one of their father's drunken explosions. For now, the table acted as a barricade—a barricade their mother positioned before their father broke down the front door. Rachel stared down the hallway to the kitchen—where the shouting had started a few hours ago. Where it hadn't stopped. Their father's voice still roared from beyond the walls, drunk and high off narcotics, bellowing out a cruel storm of cursing and accusations. Plates had been shattered, chairs were thrown all over the place, fresh holes in the walls.

Rachel and Micah were boarded up in their room, hoping it would end. That time would go by faster, but that was the thing—time was strange when you were afraid. It felt like the chaos around you would never end, as if every second was eternity. The two children listened as their mother's screams filled the house, ordering their father to leave and never come back for what felt like the hundredth time tonight, her voice was high as a banshee and just as terrifying. She used whatever she could to keep her ex-husband away from her children, bearing the brunt of his attacks.

Gladly, she did it.

As long as it meant she wouldn't have to see her children with any more black eyes or bruised bodies. As long as it meant protecting her children from his cruel words and harsh forms of disciple. She would do anything she had to do. Rachel's stomach twisted into a knot, she could hear the hits landing and the cries of her mother.

Micah sniffled his nose, trying to wipe his tears with his tiny fists. "Is Mummy going to be okay—"

"Don't worry, of course she will," Rachel cut in too fast, ber voice cracking like chipped glass, and she winced at her own harshness. She swallowed hard and tried again. "Don't panic, okay, little bear?"

From the kitchen came a sound the children had heard all too many times. The gurgles from their mother's throat, the sound of a struggle and the loud curses from their father. And then after a few moments, a new sound rang throughout the unit—

BANG!

It was sharp. A loud crack—like a firework going off too close. Rachel's body jerked so violently her crooked teeth clacked together, her heart slamming into her ribs like a prisoner banging against their cell. Micah screamed, the sound high pitched and shrill. He threw his malnourished arms around her neck, and Rachel could feel his little body trembling against hers, every muscle locked in terror.

That didn't sound like a plate.

Not this time.

Not like anything they'd heard in this house before.

Then came the second one.

BANG!

Louder.

Deeper.

It echoed through the tiny unit like thunder in a coffin. The sound tore through the walls and through Rachel—ripping the breath from her lungs, freezing her in place. These weren't the sounds of a drunk man throwing things or punching walls.

They were sharp.

Clean.

Final.

A metallic taste coated Rachel's tongue as she fought back bile. Her frail body trembled, but she held onto Micah like he was the only thing keeping her anchored to the Earth, the only thing keeping her sane. And now, there was...nothing.

Just silence.

Thick.

Crushing.

Terrifying silence.

Rachel couldn't move. Her breaths coming in ragged and fast. Her mind screamed go, go, run, but her legs wouldn't listen. Nothing listened. How could when she feared what would happen if they did move.

Micah looked up at her, blue eyes wide and wild. "What was that?"

"I don't know."

But she did. She didn't want to know, but some part of her already did. She had heard the noises before on her uncle's farm when they practised shooting glass bottles lined up in a row. She knew that sounds when her father would take her hunting no matter how many times she begged not to go. She had to move. Now. She couldn't let Micah see the kitchen. She couldn't let him see what remained of their mother. She slowly pulled herself to her feet, legs like jelly, and pulled Micah up by his hand, picking his little body up and carrying him on her back, hiding his face in her hair.

"Come on," she whispered, forcing calm into her voice. "We're going to the neighbors'. Just like last time."

He hesitated, arms tight around her neck. "But Dad-"

"I said we're going!" Her voice was sharp, urgent. She didn't mean to sound angry, but fear can do that to people. She slowly opened the window. It squeaked on its hinges, alerting the danger to their location. Moonlight poured into the darkness like a floodlight, blinding, almost too bright. Behind them, through the kitchen wall, a muffled voice roared again—something unintelligible, broken by rage and liquor. It was enough to get her moving.

She held Micah tighter and kicked the fly screen off the window, climbing up as quickly as she could and jumping onto the dirt on the other side.

"RACHEL! MICAH!"

Rachel ran. She ran as fast as she could, sprinting along the footpath, ignoring the prickles that stabbed her bare feet. Rachel made it down the across the street to the only woman she knew would help them. Banging on Mrs. Lee's front door, constantly looking behind her in fear she was being followed. A light inside turned on, and within seconds elderly Mrs. Lee was answering the door, dressed in her nightgown and slippers. One look at the children and she ushered them inside.

That was the day everything changed for the children. The day red-and-blue lights came wailing down the street, tires screaming against pavement and stopping outside their house. The day their father was dragged out in handcuffs as the entire neighbourhood watched, and their mother was wheeled out in a bag. The day two broken, barefoot children climbed into the back of a white and blue car with government plates and didn't look back.