How did he even know about Mildred and me? How does he even know who she is? We just hooked up, and she’s a ghost. I cannot be the stereotype of falling in love with her so quickly after a quick fingering.But it wasn’t just that. It’s more.
“No,” I whisper to myself, ignoring the feelings that threaten to consume me. It’s not like I can allow myself to have hopes of being with her. Right? I flush at the thought of how he might have heard my moans prior to our escape. What if he encountered Milly as she went back to the veil? I halt my steps—is he even alive? Was he an apparition himself?
I pinch my pointer finger and thumb across the bridgeof my nose, feeling frustrated and confused about what is even real anymore. Maybe I am dead, and this is damnation. I can’t help but smile to myself. Perhaps it could be Heaven, to be graced by the presence of Milly… hertouch. I won’t have that much longer with her if I don’t make it these coming weeks.
I could do what Bones instructed. I could run away from this place and never look back. But all I can think about is the countless innocent lives that Priest Warren will take for the sake of his twisted sense of holiness.
Is my father secretly one of the members meeting in that basement? Is he wishing for my death in spite of my mother's radical love for me before her own demise? I’d like to think he wasn’t, but who really knows anymore. My heart twists at the thought, and I quickly release it. I cannot allow myself to consider such heartbreak. I have to stay here. I have to do something so no one else is forced to suffer as Milly does. No one should be slaughtered because of their preferences, especially for something as beautiful as love.
Do all the people who were sacrificed still haunt this campus? If so, why is Milly the only one I’ve seen? Or are the countless faces I pass every day apparitions as well? When did Priest Warren’s twisted family start this so-called religious awakening, and how is no one else seeing it? It has only taken me a few days to uncover a whole multitude of wicked truths. Is everyone else blinded by faith? Has their loyalty to the priest gone so far as to numb them to human suffering?
The questions spiral through my mind with no answers in sight. My temples begin to throb at the weight of it all. I press my fingers to my forehead to dull the ache that’s pulsing behind my eyes. I need Milly to open up to me about the history of this campus. If Milly wouldn’t, maybe Bones would. I grimace at the thought of him. He might have the answers, but prying them from his boney maw would be no easy task.
I see the campus come into view, and I instantly exhale a slightbreath of relief. Tomorrow is a new day, and I only have a short amount of time to put an end to this sickness. Priest Warren is the one contaminating the community. He believes that I’m the plague? I’ll show him how deadly I can be. I’ll pollute the community, alright, but with the truth.
Chapter 13
Mildred
September 13th
Icry into the nothingness, a hollow wail as I witness Grace move through her hours, unaware of my gaze. I can sense her searching for me, the silent pull across the veil.
“I am with you, Shadow,” I whisper hopelessly.
Frustration burns within me, dropping tears across my cheeks as I glide alongside her living presence. A true shadow at her side.
Never have I before worn myself so thin, nor have I had the opportunity to surrender so fully to it. I reach out to tame her bangs, but my fingers pass through.
“Dagnabbit,” I groan helplessly in my incorporeal state.
I long to make contact once more, to feel the warmth of her skin upon my fingertips. I ache to hold her close between my arms, to shield her away from the watchful eyes of the threats that roam these campus grounds.
“Grant me time, Shadow,” I plea into emptiness.
Chapter 14
Grace
September 13th
Ihaven’t seen Milly since last night. An intuitive pull tells me that if she were able to come to me, she would have by now. I can’t help but pick at my fingers with worry, though. Is this why she wanted to put distance between us? Because of her inability to hold that form? Or was she worried about endangering me? She has to realize that my mere existence here is a threat to the priest. If being near her puts me in danger, it would be worth it.
The professor walks into the classroom, and I snap out of my thoughts, pulling out my notebook and pen. I wiggle it in between my fingers as Professor Blackthorne situates himself for the lecture.
He’s one of the teachers I have multiple courses with, and this one is Rhetoric and Argument, which is by far my least favorite course. A class dedicated to defending, or arguing against, other beliefs istrulymy worst nightmare. I tend to have a push-and-shove personality, but here? I’m finding that’s not going to fly.
Unfortunately, Creative Writing was filled to the brim. I had no other choice but to select a composition course for my core requirement, and this was the only class with an opening.Shocker.I would have preferred to write non-fiction stories of my childhood or perhaps a theatrical course writing musicals, but nope. I have to sit through a course where I have to craft appeals and inevitably debate, or in my terms, argue.
Professor Blackthorne starts off the class by talking about the homework we submitted in the online portal.
I lean back in my chair and watch him start to pace in front of hisdesk. If I had a single bone in my body that appreciated the male form, I would think he would fit the mold of attractive.
He is incredibly tall, easily reaching 6’3”. Dark eyes and slightly dark bags rest below them, showing days of stress or lack of sleep. His hair is black as night with some grey strands peaking along his sideburns. Long curls swirl around his eyebrows and the sides of his sideburns. His five o’clock shadow peeks through on his face. He keeps shifting glasses from the bridge of his nose to the top of his head, then hangs them from his shirt while he talks animatedly.
He talks with his hands the most, rolling up the sleeves of his button-up to allow more freedom halfway through the lecture. Veins bulge slightly as he moves around, elaborating on the importance of ethos, pathos, and logos.
Professor Blackthorne begins a PowerPoint presentation. I glance down at my paper and ready myself to take notes when a pen floats toward my paper. I lift my gaze and glance around the room, wondering if anyone else is noticinga floating fucking pen. The pen presses gently to my paper and begins to scribble words.
