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My hearing dulls and though I’m aware of the anger ripe within my father’s words, it sounds like he’s speaking into a funnel. He continues to talk, but I go in and out of being able to focus. My head is pounding and my mouth feels so fucking dry.

“… don’t worry, he’ll be here in a minute and walk you through what needs to be done. I never wanted it this way, but you need to understand that I have an image to protect.”

The last word hangs on my conscience.

He said his image.

What the actual fuck?

Not his son or his family. His fuckingimage.

My father places his hand on my chest, and it aches upon contact. It feels so fucking sore. Emotion grips him for a moment as he sniffles. “I can’t believe she did this to you. She won’t get away with this. I’ll see to it.”

I mull internally over what he’s saying. Araceli would never… I don’t think.

He’s lying.

Just like she said he would.

“I’ll see you, son,” he whispers before leaving the room. The hinges squeal, and a soft murmur is exchanged, but the door never closes. Footsteps filter through the room. These are slow and not as urgent as the ones from the nurses and security guards from before.

A warm hand grips my arm, squeezing it.

“Your father sent me here to…” the man pauses, “take care of things.”

My eyes fight my need to sleep, peering down instead at my chest. Bandages cover my skin. Blood seeping from most of them.

Fuck. My dad really wasn’t lying.

I blink for a second and see Araceli, bloody and smiling at me with a knife in her hand. “Fatum enim eligimus brother, you understand,” she says, repeating the chant from the haunt. I blink once more, but the memory fades. Reality hits me all over again that I’m here in the hospital. All because I didn’t listen to my instincts. All because I let her tempt me.

The man clears his throat. “Quite the mess you and her made.” He stares at my bandages. “You’re lucky. Those wounds will heal, but it’s this one.” He stops to point at his chest. “Those inner wounds that will take some time. If you need someone to talk to about what happened, so you can better understand, don’t hesitate to reach out.” The man drops a card on the small table to my side.

I nod. Not taking any of this to heart. I’m too tired. My eyes close. Falling asleep with the taste of Araceli’s essence on my lips.

I hear the man’s footsteps move to the door, but he stops dramatically and my lids jolt open.

“I wouldn’t wait too long. That invitation is good for a limited time. If I don’t hear from you, I will upgrade it to a request.”

A final message breaks through my dwindling conscience as sleep begins to consume me.

“You can’t expect to attend Heathen’s Cross unscathed. No one leaves as they came in. You either become a member or you become a sacrifice. Take care, Mr. Rainey. We’ll be in touch.”

What the fuck did she do to me?

Eleven

“Good evening and Happy Halloween Eve…”

The radio announcer doesn’t finish their sentence before I’m transported elsewhere. No longer in the driver’s seat, but back to the last time I felt something. Back to when I wasn’t sitting in a car but laying in a hospital bed in a hideous hospital gown. When I woke up with a tube in my throat and my step sister straddling me, sinking that black hole of a cunt down on my cock.

Tomorrow will be the thirteen-year anniversary of my corruption, and oh, what an interesting thirteen years it has been. So much has changed. For one, I’m no longer bound to the cross I used to wear around my neck. Something my father detests, but he got over it, he had no choice. With Araceli conveniently out of the picture, it left me to contend with Dad. First, with his anger for what her, and I did that night at Heathen’s Cross, and then with his illness to take care. He learned real quick that if he didn’t come to accept the man I’ve become, he’d be completely alone with no one to take care of him.

Slipknot’sBone Churchinfects the air leaking through the speakers, and the carnivalesque intro only adds to the fury of twisted thoughts I have swirling in my head. The lyrics drive a sledgehammer to my heart.

“… And my heart is a memory of the pain. I don't need a miracle. Prayers will not save me again.”

Ain’t that the fucking truth. Prayers. Time. Nothing will save me or her ever again. Not after the oath we began years ago that she still hasn’t fulfilled.