Page 56 of Borrowed

Maybe they did.

But then we heard it.

Voices.

Not in the wall.

Outside.

And they were calling our name.

The silence was thick, like incense, clinging to the lungs.The only sound was the drip of blood hitting marble.

A metronome for madness.

I stared at her body.

Still.

Slack.

I bent over the altar in the same pose she made me kneel in when I was small, obedient, and hollow.

Not anymore.

I reached for the cross again, hand trembling but not from guilt.

From adrenaline.

From release.

My fingers were too slippery.

Toby’s voice snapped through me like a whip.“Run.”

I froze.

“Now, Tabby.”

His tone had teeth.

I didn’t hesitate.I stepped over her blood.The warmth clung to my soles.The altar behind me blurred.The air smelled like copper and my childhood.

“Faster,” he hissed.

My feet hit the aisle hard.The church stretched around me.

Vast.

Empty.

Forgotten.

Stained glass watched me with judgmental saints, their eyes locked in eternal disappointment.

Toby laughed.

“They always look down.Never do a damn thing to stop it.”