Page 40 of Wreck and Ruin
Because I have begged death to take me, but it has not come.
I have begged God to help me, but He has not listened.
I don’t think He ever did.
I fear that Ezekiel might have been right about that, which is what hurts the most. Knowing that in death, the sure thing I spent my whole life believing in, I may never find peace.
A creaking sound fills the air as the wooden door on the opposite side of the room opens, closing a few beats later with a loud slam.
I don’t dare look to see who it is.
Footsteps float around me, though I keep my eyes closed. If I open them, they’ll see my tears, and I refuse to give them what they want.
The smell of frankincense and candle wax burns my nostrils, but it’s the blood, so much blood, that makes me feel sick. Breathy murmurs and chants bounce off the walls, and my tired heartbeat picks up.
My body is weak.
My head feels like it’s floating, and my hands and feet burn from the nails that Father Grimsby hammered into my flesh. My bones scream with each accidental flex as the thick, rusted nails stretch and pull at them.
I shouldn’t have tried to fight them off me.
If I had kept still, maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much.
“O Precious Lord, accept the blood of the chosen, whose soul stains this earth, her lifeless womb rendering us all in great despair. We lay this offering across your sacred earth as the Lamb was slain once before. In the name of the Holy Father, we pray for your forgiveness for our failures and beg you to wash us clean of our sins with your blood.”
Promises impersonating prayers are chanted in unison as the bodies swarm closer to where I lie. I don’t know how many people there are, but I know that it’s more than I’ve ever seen in one room before.
Don’t look.
If I open my eyes, they won’t be a figment of my imagination, and I desperately want them to be. I refuse to see their faces gawking at my body because if they’re anything like Father, they’ll be salivating over me like I am their next meal.
Given the nature of their prayer, I might be.
I’ve always known that deep down, Father wasn’t a good man, but whatever spell he had me under for all those years has broken, and thanks to Ezekiel, I am seeing things a lot clearer now.
I owe everything to him.
He encouraged me to open my mind to new possibilities, and in doing so, I learned that this was all just a game to Father. And I repaid Ezekiel by keeping him chained up in that cave, abandoning him when he needed me the most, leaving him defenseless against Ursa.
I hope that one day, he can forgive me for leaving. I was afraid that they would hurt him if I didn’t go willingly. I hope he gets away like he planned to and finds the happiness he deserves.
I hope he takes my spiders.
Silent tears slide down my cheeks, forming wet pools in my ears at the thought of never seeing them again.
Ezekiel.
My spiders.
I inwardly curse my body for reacting to these feelings because these people, whoever they are, do not deserve to know that part of me.
My pain is not theirs to revel in.
Don’t open your eyes, Airlie. Keep them closed.
You will be okay.
It will be okay.
