Sanctuary

23

She felt strange wearing the nun’s habit again but there was no better disguise. She had come to the most vital part of the list.

The crux, as it were.

The child.

It was laughable how easy it was to snatch him.

She had gone to the house and there, playing in the garden, was the little boy. She could see a woman inside, chatting on the phone. She’d taken the little boy by the hand. Even at that young age, he knew nuns were to be trusted.

She had a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, the large one, which she’d laced with the contents of her sleeping pills. By the time she got him back to her refuge, he was already falling asleep.

She wrapped him in a blanket and laid him on the marble floor, a heater beside him. She didn’t want him to catch cold.

Least not before she cut his throat.