The men hesitated—four against one frail girl seemed absurd. But as Isabella thrashed, her strength becoming almost supernatural, they realized they had no choice. Two men forced her to the bed while another plunged the syringe into her arm.
"LET ME GO! AVA NEEDS ME!" she screamed, her eyes blazing with desperation.
The sedative worked quickly. Isabella's thrashing slowed, her cries fading into weak murmurs before her eyelids fluttered shut again. The room finally fell silent, the four strong men breathing heavily after struggling to restrain her. Uncle Sam remained standing, his hand still trembling from the sight he had just witnessed.
He looked down at his niece, her body frail on the bed, yet a strange strength had surged through her moments ago—a strength that didn't come from madness but from desperation.
"Father Sam," one of the men muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, "she is… unnatural. Did you see how she fought? She must be under something dark."
Sam didn't answer immediately. He turned away, pacing near the window, his eyes troubled. Unnatural? Or simply… human?
He thought back to Adrian's words before bringing Isabella here: "Fix her. Break that spirit before it destroys this family."
At the time, Sam had accepted it without question—Adrian was his older brother, head of the family, a man whose authority had rarely been challenged. But now… after seeing Isabella's tears, hearing her scream another girl's name with such raw fear, something didn't sit right.
Uncle Sam pressed his palm against the cold glass of the window, watching the moonlight spill over the Catholic school's old courtyard. He whispered a prayer under his breath, though even his faith felt shaky.
"Possessed… or simply in love?" he murmured. The words shocked even him. He had been trained all his life to believe certain things were sin, corruption, deviation. But the way Isabella cried for Ava was not the cry of a demon. It was the cry of someone whose heart was breaking.
He turned back to the men. "Leave us," he said quietly.
They exchanged uncertain glances. "But, Father Sam—"
"I said leave us," Sam's voice sharpened, carrying a weight that brooked no defiance.
The men obeyed reluctantly, filing out of the room and shutting the heavy wooden door behind them.
Alone now, Sam sat by Isabella's bed. He studied her face—so much like her mother's when she was young. Her lips trembled even in sleep, as though she were still whispering Ava's name.
Sam leaned back, his chest tightening. Could Adrian be wrong? Could it be that his niece wasn't possessed, wasn't sick, but simply… different?
He closed his eyes and thought of his brother's fury, the way Adrian had described her rebellion, her refusal to be "normal." Not once had he said the word Sam was now beginning to suspect, lesbian. That thought came not from Adrian's lips but from the sight before him.
Uncle Sam shivered. He had once believed Adrian's conviction came from strength. Now it seemed more like fear, fear of losing control, fear of what people would say, fear of anything that didn't fit the picture-perfect family name.
Sam whispered another prayer, but this time it wasn't for guidance, it was for Isabella.
And for the first time, doubt gnawed at his loyalty to Adrian.
FLASHBACK – UNCLE SAM's YOUTH
The classroom was buzzing with the usual chaos of teenagers—pens tapping, paper balls flying, whispers traveling across wooden desks. Sam sat at his corner, neat and quiet, the kind of boy teachers rarely noticed because he gave them no trouble. He always watched him—David Mensah, the class prefect.
David wasn't like the others. Confidence. Brilliant. Tall, with eyes that carried an authority Sam both feared and admired. Sam never understood why his gaze lingered too long on David, why his chest warmed whenever David smiled. He told himself it was admiration, nothing more. Anything else was sinful.
That day, the bell had just rung for break. Sam was bent over his exercise book when a shadow fell across his desk.
"Sam," David's voice was low, steady.
Sam looked up quickly. "Yes, prefect?"
David chuckled. "Why do you always call me that? Just David."
Sam's fingers tightened around his pen. No one ever talked to him like that. "Sorry… David."
David leaned closer, his tone dropping into something softer. "I like you."
The words hit Sam like lightning. His ears burned, his throat tightened. "You… what?"
"I like you," David repeated, slower this time, as though daring him to deny what he had heard. "Not just as a classmate. More."
Sam's heartbeat thundered in his chest. This was wrong. Everything his parents taught him screamed in his head. Yet… as David's hand brushed against his on the desk, all those teachings crumbled.
"David…" Sam whispered, terrified yet trembling with want.
David tilted his head, eyes shining with certainty. "Let me show you."
And before Sam could protest, David leaned in, his lips brushing Sam's—gentle, fleeting, a kiss so quick and yet so searing it left Sam dizzy.
It was his first kiss. His first taste of something forbidden yet beautiful. For that one moment, there was no sin, no fear—only the truth of what his heart wanted.
THE VISIT
Weeks later, David showed up at Sam's home on a Saturday afternoon. Sam's parents were in the living room entertaining visitors, so they snuck upstairs to Sam's room.
"Your house is huge," David teased, dropping onto the bed.
"Stop talking so loud," Sam hissed, shutting the door quickly.
David grinned, unbothered. "Relax. They won't hear us."
Sam sat beside him, nerves sparking like live wires. "You shouldn't be here."
"And yet you wanted me here," David countered, leaning close. "Admit it."
Sam's voice broke. "David…"
"Shhh." David's hand cupped his cheek, and once again, lips found lips. Longer this time. Warmer. Desperate.
Sam melted into it, all fear drowned in the sweetness of being wanted. He thought the world had finally opened up for him—until the door burst open.
"Samuel!"
His mother's voice cracked like a whip. Behind her stood his father, eyes wide with rage.
Sam and David froze, lips still touching when reality ripped them apart.
"What ..what are you doing?" his father roared.
Sam stumbled back, face burning, heart shattering. "I—I…"
David tried to speak, but Sam's father pointed at him like he was filth. "Get out of this house!"
David's eyes locked on Sam one last time, pleading, broken, before he ran past his parents and disappeared down the hall.
Sam reached out, tears welling. "Papa, I—"
His father struck him hard across the face. "Shut up! You shame this family."
His mother's eyes were wet, but her words were cold. "You will pray. You will be cleansed."
That was the end of David. The last time Sam ever saw him.
THE AFTERMATH
Days later, Sam was shipped off to his uncle's Catholic school, far from everything he knew. He was barely given a choice.
They told him it was to "fix" him, but Sam knew better. He carried the ghost of David's kiss with him into the seminary, where rules and prayers suffocated everything else.
And when his uncle, the priest, died years later, Sam took his place. Not because he believed God had called him—but because love had abandoned him.
To him, becoming a priest was not holiness. It was surrender. If he could not have David, if his heart's one chance at love was gone, then better to bury it beneath the cloth.
Better to never love again.