Thoughts of my demise curdle into waves of nausea that flow through me in flashes of warmth. What if they burn me on a cross? What if they stab me through the heart like Milly? Will they skin me alive? What do demon worshippers even do to their sacrifices? Do they change depending on the sin? I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that being on the receiving end is not where I want to be.
I was foolish for trying to find Milly in the chapel.Idiot.I should’ve gone to Professor Blackthorne’s room first, but then I might have gotten him in trouble if I had been caught there. God forbid they saw him helping me, then he could’ve been in the position I’m in, too. Regardless, I shouldn’t have changed the plan on them. I told Milly not to, outof selfishness, and here I am selfishly in this position becauseIchanged the plans.Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I stare into the nothing, my eyes glazing over as I disassociate to the thought of Milly’s smile, her melodic laugh?—
“Thank you for your help.” I startle as I hear a familiar voice, but cannot place it without my eyes. I squeeze them shut as I try to listen closer.
“Everything for the ceremony is almost complete, but Priest Brown requests that we set up this symbol to stand on. Can you grab more candles by the door? Yes, those ones.”
I squeeze the armrests of the chair, realizing it’s Professor Blackthorne. Oh, he’s going to belivid.
“Perfect, yes, those black ones will do this evening. Scatter them throughout—” He startles and clears his throat. “Who is that one?”
I swallow, knowing he must have just seen me. “Is that Jocelyn?”
The other voice answers shyly, “Well, uhm, no. Jocelyn is in the other room. She’s still recovering from her prior cleansing.”
The room fills with a silent tension as I lift my head and turn it in the direction of the voices. I can’t see him, but I canfeelhis glare through the bag still covering my head.
“That’s Grace Gates.”
I hear a sudden shuffle of fabric and limbs moving, smacks, and then a choking noise.
I bite my lip, wondering if anyone was still in the room as the gurgling sound of choking ceases. Suddenly, loud footsteps approach me. Oh, he’spissed.
The bag is untied and then ripped off my head. I blink as I adjust to the lighting of the room.
Professor Blackthorne comes into my view with his bone mask. “Hey, bud,” I say, smiling. He doesn’t change his expression; his white eyes, shrouded by dark brows, create a scowl. His jaw is clenched, and a vein throbs a deep red along the side of his head. I swear I could seesteam blowing out of the sides of his ears. He’s wearing a long black cape with a large golden crucifix hanging around his neck, fitting the perfect stereotype of cult regalia.
I roll my eyes. “They couldn’t have come up with another uniform with more creativity? They just went all in with the creepy cape? How boring.” I laugh, starting to lose my sanity. “This is the most demon-worshipper garb I have ever?—”
“Grace,” he growls, and I immediately shut my mouth. “Now is not the time for jokes.”
I chew on my bottom lip and look around, realizing I am indeed in the confessional room. There’s a man with a reflective mask over his face, slumped in the corner of the room. His chest is rising and falling slowly. Professor Blackthorne didn’t kill him, at least. Whoever he is, I can only hope his life doesn’t cause us more problems than his death might.
I look back at my professor and stare at his white eyes with a soft, yet guilty smile. “I didn’t know I’d get caught.”
It’s almost like I threw a match into gasoline as the rage he feels shatters the tension. His eyes flare at my words, and he turns around with his hands running through his hair, pulling on the strands as he locks the door to the confessional.
“Jesus Christ, Grace. How do you think I’ll be able to get you out of this one?” He pulls at the bindings and starts looking around for the key. “You were told to stay put!”
My joking smile immediately drops, and the urge to laugh my way out of this vanishes at his panic. “I don’t know. I just—I just wanted to get back to Milly. I couldn’t see past the thought of never seeing her again. I fucked up.” My voice drops toward the end of the sentence as the urge to shrink into myself becomes overwhelming.
“We both wanted you safe!” His voice shakes with emotion as he tosses his hands in the air. “I have watched countless students lose their lives because of this fucked up priest. You don’t think that your deathwouldn’t destroy me like the others? Wouldn’t destroy Milly? We want youalive,Grace.
You deserve to live a full and happy life, howeveryouwant. Each and every student before you deserved that just as much as you. We were almost able to save you! God gives you free will for a reason; you have the right to love how you want. You shouldn’t need to hide in these shadows. But right now? The one time we needed you to remain hidden, you stepped right into the light?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes as he tries to compose himself.
I watch him take slow breaths through his nose for a few moments before looking back at me. “Does Milly know?” he asks as he returns to looking for the key.
I shake my head, at a loss for words, knowing that anything I say won’t make up for the massive mistake I have made. I know that they wanted to keep me safe, but what about them? Do they think that I wouldn’t have worried about both of them the entire time? My life isn’t above theirs, but I didn’t mean to make everything worse.
He looks over his shoulder at my silence, waiting for my response. I clear my throat of emotion, “Oh, uhm, no. She doesn’t know. I never made it to her. I got caught entering the back of the chapel. I walked right into Priest Brown.”
My voice trembles slightly at the thought of Milly. She would be so worried if she knew that I was trapped where I was a few days ago. “Wh-where is Milly?”
He finds the key by the window ledge and walks over to me, pointedly ignoring my question. He unclasps the metal latch on my wounded wrist first. When the metal clicks apart, I hiss at the freedom and bring my hand up to my face, observing the wound on the side of my thumb. Blood drips from the cut, and I gently wipe it along my white dress, realizing the laceration is only surface-level and not dangerously deep.
I glance at what I’m wearing and blink in confusion at the change.How long have I been unconscious?The gown is a smooth cotton, whiteas milk, with the occasional shimmer from the thread on the edges. I shift uncomfortably.
