I frown as I notice that Aaron and Elias have left his side, each of them walking slowly around the room, sadistically enjoying the ongoing torture. Elias even takes a picture of me, smirkingcruelly. But Gabriel is still hugging the Bible, and that’s the most important thing. I wonder if I’ll live long enough to see him suffer.
In spite of the emotional release it brings me, I can’t help but cringe as Garrido lifts his foot, preparing to bring it down hard on my face. But before he can, there’s a loud detonation, and the force of it propels me backward. I crash against the back wall of the room, and the last thought that flits through my mind, before I mercifully lose consciousness, is:Fuck. I hope I didn’t charge it too much.
4
Seraphina
Earlier.
“Absolutely filthy,” mutters Noel, staring down at me.
“Thanks.”
Disregarding my own exhaustion, I sit up, taking stock of my surroundings. I’m on a forest floor, and I can feel the cold night air cling to my naked body, crusting over my wounds and the vomit that it will take a very long shower to wash from my body.
“What do you want from me?” I question. “Did you free me because you’d found a more creative way to kill me?”
There’s something about spending the past five hours or so in a hole in the ground that has made me curiously uninhibited. I don’t even care about the fact that I’m naked, or that I’m probably about to face a different kind of death. The truth is, nothing short of seeing Damien again could make me care.
Noel’s mouth twists in slight amusement, but a moment later, his thoughts are once more guarded behind a thick, neutral mask. He roughly clasps a hand around my upper shoulder and lifts me to my feet.
At once, the whole world seems to tilt dangerously and the wind is knocked out of my lungs. I stumble, nearly falling, but he keeps a firm grasp on me.
“Let’s go,” he grunts, and soon I’m tottering beside him in the thick underbrush. I don’t know how long I stumble through the forest, barely able to stay upright, but by the time we’ve reacheda path, my feet are bleeding. I notice it, see the bloody stains they leave on the dirt path, but I can’t actually make myself feel anything.
At last, the path branches out onto a bigger road, and we stop in front of a car half-hidden in a tangle of weeds.
“Climb in,” he orders, opening the passenger door and pushing me inside.
I lean back against the leather seat as he rolls down the windows, and I nearly smile again when I realize he’s actually gagging at the stench that must emanate from my very pores.
“Should’ve thought of that before sticking me in there to begin with,” I comment drily, but by now he seems to have grown used to my new bravado, and he ignores me.
His eyes are fixed on the dark road in front of him. As he drives, I allow myself to sink numbly into the comfort of my seat, and my eyes flutter shut.
The next thing I’m aware of is the car grinding to a halt in front of a small tarmac. Before me stretches an airplane, painted white, its underbelly crusted over with mud.
I’ve never been on an airplane before, never even seen one up close like this, and I freeze for a moment, taking it in. Am I really going to fly in this? Just a little while ago, I was trapped in the ground, and now I’m about to soar in the sky.
I was convinced nothing could faze me, but I feel a slight thrill as he pushes me up the steps and into the main cabin.
It’s entirely done in white, with thick tufted seats and in the back, the door is cracked open to reveal a large bed. The whole thing feels practically angelic. But when the main doors shut, I grow a little queasy as I suddenly feel trapped again.
Only this time, it’s not in a coffin in the ground, but in a coffin in the sky.
I turn to look at him as he enters the cabin after me.
“So, Gabriel’s fine with me sullying his white plane?” I ask,eyeing the pristine interior then my own filthy body.
He nudges me toward a small wooden door, touching me gingerly, as if I deeply repulse him. “Shower,” he says curtly. Then he adds, “Gabriel doesn’t know.”
He slams the door shut behind me before I can ask what he means. I look around, surprised to find a full Italian shower in the small airplane. I rush toward it and turn on the golden knobs, though I wonder if some sort of killing gas will emanate from the shower head rather than water.
I don’t trust him at all, so I’m mildly surprised to find that it really is water, deliciously hot. I tilt my head back, drinking it in greedily, and the faintness that’s been pushing down on me since I was freed from my grave fully evaporates. I slide down on the floor and close my eyes, letting the hot water scald my body, my aching muscles finally relaxing.
A shower never felt so good.
I’m startled fully awake after a while by loud knocking at the door. Clearly, I need to cut this shower short. I quickly take some soap and lather my entire body then rinse it off. I shut off the water and step out of the shower, searching around the small room for a towel. Finding it, I quickly dry off, then put on the clothes that have been laid out for me. Underwear, long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. I breathe in relief at finding myself so covered. At least, if they still intend on killing me, they’re not planning to rape me first. Not that they tried that before. It seems to be a Lazarus thing, and I let myself feel relief at his death, even though I assume I was taken to avenge it.
