66. Sixty Three
Sixty Three
Eden
The first attempt of apprehending me results in a bloody mess, every orifice on the man’s skull exploding into a river of blood. He falls limp soon after, an awkward heap on the ground. It only takes a hiss through my teeth.
Pandemonium ensues. There’s a flurry of voices, some speaking to me, demanding that I surrender. Others, yelling at one another, panicked requests of what to do, where Curran is, if they should shoot while their weapons point in my direction.
The bald man takes matters into his own hands. Raising his gun, I zero in on the twitch of his finger over the trigger. Eyes narrowing, he aims at my forehead.
A hum sounds in the back of my throat, and though he’s across the room, his expression morphs into one of fear. And then, wrist bending back so far it threatens to break, the gun goes off in a blast of sound, taking the center of his face with it.
Screams come from all angles, bouncing off walls and resulting in a warp of sound. There’s a pressure to my chest, to my mind, and I loosen the reins on that thread of power. Like a hell hound, teeth gnashing and begging for blood, I release the energy in a guttural howl.
The stained glass shatters, glittering down in a rainbow of color, and then disappearing altogether as each light extinguishes.
The symphony of scrambling dwindles, hurried feet and panicked shouts growing more quiet with each body that slinks to the floor.
Shoulders bang into mine, yet I remain still as stone.
As Death escapes me, it burns like vitriol through my veins. Sorrow is an acid, and as I funnel it back into those that instilled so much of it, remorse spares me.
The Balance lives in the nest of my ribcage, and after twenty three years, it spreads its wings and takes flight.
Silence falls, bodies still. My jaw relaxes into a closed mouth.
A flutter, a brush of a wing, resides in the back of my mind. Not a voice, not a thought, just a sense. I know where to go, and I follow it.
Magnetized, I march back to the corridor. Even in the dark, I step over each corpse, my toes squelching in bloodshed. All is quiet, but I know better than to assume I’m alone.
I don’t know my destination until I reach it. Mid-step, I freeze, head angling to the right. There’s a wooden door with a crucifix nailed to the center of it. My lip quirks as I approach it. I knock three times.
Rushed murmurings, bordering on sobs, are muffled.
Coward.
The doorknob is stiff when I try it, locked firmly in place. With a tsk, I cock my head. Click. Folding my hands together in front of me, the door swings open.
The old man begs on his knees, hands raised to a picture of his God. Prayers slip through trembling lips, halting when he meets my gaze. The vein in his neck throbs, and his weathered stare hardens.
“Demon,” he hisses, pushing to his feet.
A large window sits to the right of him, the force of the storm rattling the glass.
Electricity lights up the sky, casting our shadows across the wall.
The shine of steel in his fist has me glancing down to his handgun.
A rosary is interlaced with his fingers, a bizarre juxtaposition.
I raise my eyes back to his. He points the barrel to my chest.
“Your father should have ended you the moment you were born.” His teeth bare with disgust. “But he was a coward, even in death. And now it is up to me to banish you back to Hell.”
Cocking my head to the side, my hair hangs, dripping onto the pristine wooden floors. His eyes flicker nervously, watching the droplets fall, before narrowing to take aim once more.
When I speak, my voice is my own, but not. It is soft, melodic, otherworldly.
“No,” I murmur, taking a step towards him. The muscle in his arm jumps, like he might pull the trigger, but he can’t. The appendage is utterly useless, frozen. “It is I who banishes you, Reverend.”
Blinding white envelops the room just as the storm bursts through the glass.
The shards miss me, an invisible barrier sparing me from the wind’s rage.
The old man isn’t as lucky. With the crack of thunder, his body is swept up and thrown into the far wall.
The crunching of bone trumps the volume of the storm. My lip curls in disgust.
Above his lifeless form, the Brothers of Divinity emblem is shaped in wrought iron, hanging from a nail. It sways, falls, busts in two.
A heavy exhale rushes from my lungs, and my shoulders fall forward, all of the energy exiting me as quickly as it came. It leaves behind a burning ember. The pain remains, deep in my bones, and I’m certain it will always live there.
The torrent of rain lifts into a mist, coating the room in its moisture. The wind, too, softens into a docile breeze.
Glass crunches beneath my every step as I leave behind the nightmare, my movements stilted and slow. Mind utterly quiet, I allow my limbs to carry me where they will.
All is quiet, all is wrong.
You know the end.
It isn’t until I hear my name that I realize I’ve made it to the fields.
“Eden!?”
Peering over my shoulder, his brother rushes towards me. The last of my fight gives out. My knees buckle, but he’s already enveloping me. He supports my weight, and I let out a gut wrenching sob.
It doesn’t feel like before.