Chapter 35
Grace
The priest stands in the middle of the room by the crucifix.
His arms are out, raised above the gathering, an aura of greater than thou permeating even through his mask.
I feel my body tremble with suppressed rage and the simple instinct of survival as he speaks about the beauty that will come from our spilled blood.
My mouth fills with the taste of copper as I bite, trying to hold onto my tongue and not make my situation worse.
It is taking everything in me not to stand up and scream at everyone in the room for blindly following this mock disciple.
How can they sit in silence when the blatant disregard for humanity is evident right before their eyes?
I glance behind me to see that Jocelyn has passed out on the table. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her sobs nonexistent now. No one has spared her even a glance since the priest walked away. Horrific.
I stare back up at the priest and notice floating black paint. I look around to see if anyone notices, but everyone is still locked in their bizarre trance, staring at him as he delivers his sermon before the ritual. The paint trails down by the priest’s feet and moves in a circular motion.
“Milly?” I whisper softly and don’t feel her touch in response. I hold my breath hoping he won’t see her, but a tiny smirk crosses my mouth, knowing that she’s there by his feet, drawing the pentagram needed for the ritual… right under his stupid fucking nose.
Professor Blackthorne is to his left, holding the Bible with his jaw clenched tightly. His body is so full of tension that I would think he was a statue if it weren’t for the occasional movement of his chest rising and falling.
“Bones,” Priest Brown addresses him, and he turns his head slowly to the side, listening. “The sacrificial items, if you please.”
Professor Blackthorne nods and turns his back to the congregation and to the priest as he walks toward the crucifix.
He bends over, picking up a small basket of items, and as he moves to return, he adjusts the mirror in line with the priest. He returns to the front, handing him the basket before clasping his hands at his waist and staring back into the crowd, avoiding eye contact with me.
The cool touch reappears on my back, and I settle into the sensation.
Milly rubs a smooth circle before I notice the shoulder of my gown being lifted up with a droplet of black paint approaching me.
The black paint draws a long line with two little lines out of the top, appearing to be a symbol of sorts on my skin.
The black paint drips lightly as she drops the sleeve of my white gown.
“A protection rune,” she whispers into the air for just my ears. I shiver at the tingle of her voice and snap my eyes forward as two men approach me.
They go to unlatch my wrists when they notice that they are already unclasped.
Here we go. I lift my foot and kick one in the groin as he bends over.
I shove my body upwards and lift my arm, swinging it with my fist closed at the other man as he catches it in his hand.
I grunt, trying to pull it away when he swings me around, pinning my arm behind my back.
My eyes flare as I look around, panic starting to swarm my mind, filling my vision with a blur of fear. I start thrashing in his hold, kicking, swinging my free arm, when he pulls my arm tighter behind my back, causing me to gasp and cry out.
I see Milly start to appear when I shout, “NO!” and she vanishes quickly. I feel her cool touch on my cheek, and I close my eyes, attempting to lean into it. “Trust me,” I whisper.
My arm gets pulled tighter, and I whimper as the man asks, “Who are you speaking to?” I hold my tongue, refusing to allude to Milly’s presence, and he pulls so hard I worry my shoulder will dislocate.
“N-no one!” I whimper in pain. The man tightens his grip as I let out a soft sob of pain. He pushes me forward toward Priest Brown as I dig my heels in, fighting against the direction.
I glance around frantically, looking for a solution—any solution.
I lock eyes with Professor Blackthorne, and his jaw is clenched.
I can almost hear his teeth grind under the mask.
A tear falls from my eyes as I watch him stand there.
His fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles are bone white. I find myself smiling sadly at him.
I mouth silently, “It’s okay.” I might have failed, but Professor Blackthorne would need to continue protecting the community from true evil. I can’t expose who he is, or every sacrifice that comes after me would be left hopeless.
The professor steps forward out of his position when I shake my head at him subtly, his feet stopping immediately in his tracks.
I swallow and look away, trying not to feel the emotion building between us, wondering if Milly is losing her mind as well.
I know he’d help me if he could. I hold my sad smile at the thought when I get tossed at the feet of Priest Brown.
I shake off the pain in my arm as the blood rushes down it, creating an intense pins-and-needles feeling. I hold it against my chest, rubbing it to life, as I glance up at his menacing demeanor.
I shift on the steps and inhale a deep breath, staring at the raised platform where the priest is standing. I glare up at him, knowing without a doubt that behind the mask there is a menacing smile—one of pure heinous intent.
I spit on his shoes and let out a laugh as tears pour from my eyes. “Fuck you,” I say with the most hate I can muster when he bends over and swings his arm, suddenly being stopped by Professor Blackthorne.
“There are people watching, sir,” he says just loud enough for us to hear.
Priest Brown stands up straight and lifts the hand that was about to hit me with a small wave in apology to the congregation.
There’s a soft shuffling noise amongst the pews, and I turn my head over my shoulder.
The congregation visibly shifts in discomfort.
Now they give a shit? They care when they see a grown man about to hit a woman?
Now they care when they see a man using his power to abuse a woman fighting for her life, her right to live?
Shocker. But a ritual in blatant murder, no one bats an eye?
No, no one cares until it happens to them.
If everyone stays silent, they’re just as guilty as the man standing in front of me.
Silence is violence.
If one person stood up and told him to stop, how many more people would open their eyes to what is blatantly wrong?
I let the tears fall as I stare at each and every masked individual with all the rage I can show burning in my eyes.
They’re just sitting there, letting the discomfort brew in their blood when they know they are complacent in this… evil.
How many years have they witnessed innocent lives being lost?
It has never mattered as long as it wasn’t their blood being spilled.
They weren’t a part of the minority, the difference of the community—the choice of free will in life becoming one that isn’t tolerated because the man standing in front of me said so.
God purposely states that free will is given for a reason—to have the choice.
This dictatorship that society has accepted as the words of the Bible is atrocious.
How far gone has everyone become that they take a mortal’s word for what is right?
The congregation starts to hum a low note as they light white candles with matches.
The smell of sulfur thickens the air as small trails of smoke spread throughout the room.
Each member holds the candle in front of them, with their heads straight forward, facing past me at the priest, waiting for his next command. Fucking pussies.
Two members of the clergy take their positions and stand behind me, waiting for me to spring away as Professor Blackthorne helps Priest Brown prep the altar to the side of the Priest’s pulpit. I shift, and they move closer behind me on the bottom step.
Priest Brown nods at Professor Blackthorne and walks back to me slowly. He whispers as he bends over me, “Will you be making a scene or surrendering yourself peacefully to the embrace of God?”
I burst into laughter at his words and the fucked up mentality that he has.
He lifts his arm up again and swings on my face with an open palm.
My head flings to the side as I fall onto the steps and gasp at the force of the hit.
I lift my hand slowly to my lip, feeling a split with a drop of blood. I glare at him.
I hear a throat clear, and he straightens and turns back to Professor Blackthorne. I glance over at the crowd and see some people looking at one another, but no one stands up or speaks. My heart races at the realization that no one is here to save me. No one will stand up.
I swallow and give a last-ditch effort. “Dad?” I call out. I look amongst the people, and only one moves. One subtly shifts, and I go to step toward him, but am immediately pushed down.
“Dad!” I shout as my vision becomes blocked by my tears.
Nothing, no more movement. Just a stillness and their head looking directly at the altar, not down at me.
Grief shatters like glass throughout my body as I hold in the sob that is so desperately slamming against my chest to be let loose, but I won’t waste my energy on this.
In the end, no matter what, he’ll lose me.
Professor Blackthorne places the black, lit candles on the ground in the shape of the pentagram. “Why the color change? We specifically use white candles, Bones. You are aware of this. I understand that this is your first ritual, but surely you—”
“Yes, sir,” he interrupts. “But let these black candles eradicate fully and submerge the sin into the darkest parts of hell. A banishment for a blatant transgression.”