No answer.
More silence.
The close sound of shuffling footsteps has me dropping the broom and bolting through the kitchen door, darting for the knife stashed in my locker. My hands shake as I try to spin the dial to input the combination.
I mess up twice before I finally manage to undo the lock. I open the door only an inch before I’m slammed from behind. My head knocks against the metal, and a hand grasps my hair at the root, holding me in place.
The size and sheer strength of the person lead me to believe my attacker is a man. His chest pushes against my back as he breathes.
The voice is distorted and mechanical, as if the person is using a voice scrambler. “You must be cleansed.”
My breathing turns shallow as my knees go weak. The ringing in my ears overwhelms my senses. Memories run through my mind, and a whimper falls from my mouth.
Regular purity exams.
My feet in stirrups.
The cold metal of tools.
No. Please, no. Not again. I can’t go back. I won’t survive. He won’t let me.
The metallic rasp of the voice brings me out of my frozen state. “I will purge the stains from your soul so you may stand spotless in the eyes of God.”
Tightening my fists, I widen my stance. “Like hell you will.”
I throw my head back, and my attempt to smash his face misses. His grip on my hair loosens, and he steps back. I drop my weight, throwing the man off balance, and wrap my hands around his wrist. With a secure hold, I spin to face him and jam my elbow into his forearm.
He grunts, and I pull him toward me as I intentionally fall to the ground. He finally lets go of my hair as he collides with the set of lockers.
I don’t wait around for him to regain control of his faculties and scramble away on my hands and knees. Stumbling to my feet, I sprint for the back door, but when I push on the bar, it only opens an inch. There’s a clink of metal as I try repeatedly to shove the door open.
“You cannot outrun the judgment Heaven sent me to deliver.”
Flipping around, I place my back against the door and find the attacker walking straight for me.
A white hockey mask covers his face, and the hood of his jacket is flipped up over his head, shielding his identity. He stands tall, wearing all black, and gloves on his hands.
I have nowhere to hide, so I do the only thing I can think of that will help me escape. My hand swipes down the wall next to me, turning off the lights.
His footsteps rush toward me as the room goes pitch black, and I slide to the side. A bang from the man slamming into the door booms next to me.
Praying I don’t run into anything, I sprint forward in the direction of the front of the café.
“You cannot escape Heaven’s wrath!”
A stream of light illuminates the kitchen as I reach the door, shoving it open. I don’t glance back and push myself to the front.
The attacker rams into my back, tackling me to the floor. I land flat on my stomach behind the counter, blocking our scuffle from the view of the windows. My cheek bounces on the tile, making my head spin.
Reaching my hands back, I claw and scratch at anything I touch. His face is covered, but his hair is fair game. I yank and pull at every strand, causing him to curse in frustration. When I wrench a chunk of hair from his scalp, he shouts in pain, and I throw my elbows back. The man falls to the side, clutching his head.
Fumbling to my feet, I rush for the doors, but I can’t open them either. I locked the entrance when I began my closing routine, and I don’t have the keys with me.
Desperate for an escape, an idea comes to me that feels like my only viable option.
My fingers wrap around the back of the closest chair, easily lifting it into the air, and I swing it at the glass windows.
The first hit does nothing and bounces back. The second hit forms a crack. The third brings the entire window crashing down.
