Page 102

ONE HUNDRED TWO

AMETHYST

My breath hitches, and my skin breaks out in a chill. Why does Reverend Tom speak like we’re in a death match?

“What are you talking about?” I ask and back toward the door.

As he turns toward the nearest camera, I whirl around and pull down its handle.

“It’s locked,” he says and switches on the first camera. “You didn’t think I’d let you dismiss me so easily? It feels like I’ve known you for years. Now, it’s your turn to reciprocate.”

This man must be having a psychotic break… Or he’s friends with Jake. Either way, it’s time to leave. I glance from left to right, taking in my surroundings. The room is twice the size of my little studio at home, but with windows also painted green. This must be where he films his Christian podcast.

He walks to the next camera, and I reach for the knife I left in my pocket. My mind spins. I can’t make sense of what’s happening, but I position my body in a defensive stance, ready for what the hell comes next.

“Let me out,” I say through clenched teeth, trying to take control of my mounting panic.

Ignoring me, Reverend Tom strolls to the next camera and turns it on. “How do you want to play this? ”

“Play what?” I rasp. Blood roars through my ears, muffling his footsteps as he activates the fourth camera. “What the hell is going on?”

He spins around, his eyes shining. “Alright then. I’ll go first,” he says, sounding like he’s acting a part. “Welcome to the confessional, my child. Tell me your sins and I will absolve you with blood.”

I back into the wall, my eyes widening as he unzips his fly and pulls out his erect penis.

My heart pounds against my ribs in a panicked drum beat. The time for questions ended when I stepped into a room and let the door swing shut. The answer is obvious. Reverend Tom is connected to X-Cite Media and wants to record a snuff movie with me as its victim.

I scramble for something to say to buy time and figure out a way to escape, but all I can think of is Xero. He warned me not to associate with the priest. Was that because they were in competition?

My gaze darts around the green walls, searching for inspiration. Reverend Tom reaches for his crucifix and draws out a blade, making my mind sharpen.

Raising both palms, I shake my head. “Green room backgrounds won’t cut it. The studio wants original content, not plagiarized backdrops.”

His face falls. “St. Anne’s interior is too recognizable. I can’t use it, even for an audition.”

My breath catches, but I keep my features even to conceal my surprise. Betrayal rises to the surface like bile, but I force down the bitterness and focus on my survival. If I can get him to open the door, then maybe I can leave the rectory without shedding any of my blood.

“Do you have a prayer room or a library?” I ask.

His eyes flicker. “How about a reading room?”

“That would be perfect,” I rasp through the fear lodged in my throat. “Let’s go.”

He gives me a sheepish smile. “Will you help me carry the cameras?”

And turn my back on a psychopath with an erection? I force a smile and flick my head toward the furthest corner. “Sure. You fetch those two over there. I’ll get these two.”

He stands three feet away, scrutinizing my features for a heartbeat too long. I breathe hard, trying to stop my insides from squirming. Fighting Reverend Tom isn’t the same as sparring with Jynxson and Xero. I felt safe to make the first move with them because I thought they cared enough to keep me alive.

I need this perverted priest to turn his back so I can plunge a knife into his spine.

“Alright,” he says, his voice breathy. “I’ll get the cameras.”

He rushes forward and backhands me across the face, filling my vision with an explosion of stars. I stagger backward, tasting blood.

My shoulder hits the wall, but before I can recover, he wraps his fingers around my neck and lifts me off my feet.

“Don’t play coy with me, Dolly,” he says with a manic grin.

I reach out my left hand to claw at his eyes, but he grabs my wrist and slams me against the wall.

He leans close, his fingers tightening around my throat. “What’s your next move? I’ve committed all of yours to memory.”

A strange calm washes over my senses, and I stare into his gray eyes. This part-time psycho thinks he has me cornered, but I already practiced this move with a real monster.

We’re standing too close for me to gather enough momentum to kick him in the groin, and in a few seconds, I’ll run out of air. Head-butting him might buy me a moment before he strikes back with renewed fury, so I need to make the next attack count.

But I have one chance to make him drop his guard, and now isn’t the right moment.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” I say through clenched teeth.

He leans forward, his mouth parting. I hold my breath, my heart thrashing in my ribs like a caged beast.

His tongue flicks out and leaves a trail of warm saliva on my cheek. Revulsion wriggles through my gut, making me want to gag. With my free hand, I bring up the knife and drive it into his face.

Screaming, he jerks backward, his grip loosening around my wrist and neck, but not before I’ve drawn a deep cut across his eye.

I drop to the floor, gasping for air and blinking the spots out of my vision.

He cups the side of his face and stumbles backward with blood seeping between his fingers. “You bitch!”

“Let me out or I won’t miss the next eye.”

Still clutching his gushing wound, he races toward his fallen dagger. I run to the nearest corner, grab the tripod, and swing it like a golf club.

The heavy camera attached to it catches him on the side of his face, knocking him off balance. I swing it backward and slam it into his injured eye, sending him stumbling to his knees.

“What the fuck are you doing to my equipment?” he roars.

My instincts scream at me to run, but I can’t turn my back on a man bent on making me his victim. I swing the tripod once more, hitting his temple.

“Stop! You’re ruining my shot.”

Keeping close to the wall, I rush toward the next camera. Reverend Tom staggers to his feet, but I’m faster. Fueled by adrenaline, I snatch up the tripod and crash the second camera into the back of his head over and over until he falls forward on the floor.

“Tom?” I croak.

When he doesn’t move, I creep forward, my pulse pounding hard enough to burst a vessel. He’s probably pretending so he can lure me close for a surprise attack, just as I did earlier when I got him to lick my face.

I crouch beside his outstretched hand and stab my dagger into his palm. When he doesn’t flinch, I roll him onto his side and rifle through his pockets, finding a bunch of keys.

Not wanting to waste a single moment, I scramble to my feet, clutching the keys, and rush to the exit, praying that one of them will be my salvation.

My mind goes on autopilot as I unlock the door and sprint out of the black-and-white-tiled hallway into the courtyard. Up ahead, beyond the graveyard, the mausoleums and the trees surrounding the cemetery, black smoke billows toward the sky .

Xero.

Any certainty that I’ve ended that monster is shaken by his larger-than-life, larger-than-death image in my mind, filling me with renewed terror.

My fingers find a car key and I jog to the black sedan parked around the back of the rectory. I throw open the driver’s side door, slide into the seat, and pull out.

Gravel crunches beneath the wheels as I drive through the courtyard, passing St. Anne’s Church, and exiting through its iron gates. Relief washes through my veins like freshly sanctified holy water.

I’m free.

Driving to the highway, I take the route toward Alderney Hill, hoping to put enough distance between me and the horrors of the morning. Wind rushes through the gap in the window, carrying with it the scent of burning lies.

No matter how far I go, each time I glance in the rearview mirror, I see smoke billowing on the horizon, which is impossible. Killing Xero must have brought back my hallucinations. But I’d rather be delusional than defiled.

Or dead.

When the car takes me to the foot of Alderney Hill, the usual smell of juniper trees is gone, replaced by the overwhelming stench of smoke. It’s my brain’s way of reminding me that I set up a man to burn.

I park between the trees and complete the rest of my journey on foot. By now, the sun dips toward the horizon, casting long shadows that stretch across the ground like wraiths. Ignoring the ominous sight, I continue toward Mom’s house.

A turquoise Aston Martin sits in the driveway, making my heart skip a beat.

She’s back.

I can finally get some answers before she dies.

Trudging forward through the trees surrounding the house, I creep toward the back door. It’s unlocked, with footprints leading across the mud room into the kitchen. I walk around them to the counter and extract a knife from the block.

As I round the island, my foot catches on something solid. I stumble forward, reaching out to steady myself, but my shoes skid on something slippery.

What the hell was that?

My gaze drops to the floor. It’s blood.

I turn around, but all I see is a leg. Whoever it belongs to is concealed by the rest of the island.

My heart pounds as I creep forward, my throat spasming. What the hell could have happened here?

Inching closer, I follow the leg, finding Mom lying on the floor. Blood trickles from a neck wound and pools around her lifeless body.

It takes a moment of blinking to process what I’m seeing. This isn’t a hallucination. Did I do this? I shake off that thought. It couldn’t have been me. I only just got the knife. The amount of blood on the floor is too much to be fresh.

“Mom?”

Her eyes are open, and she stares sightlessly at the beamed ceiling. Who did this? Xero? Delta? Uncle Clive?

I drop to my knees beside her, my knife slipping to the floor.

“Mom?” I repeat, my trembling fingers reaching for her face.

A sob catches in my throat, and I pull back my hand.

How could she be dead? I thought she was working with Xero. Or at least married to his dad. Hadn’t she aligned herself with someone powerful enough to protect her from being hunted ?

Movement from the hallway kicks me back to alertness. I grab the knife, scramble to my feet, and move toward the mudroom door.

My back collides with a larger body. I whirl around to face Uncle Clive. His eyes are bloodshot, his face deathly pale.

I skitter away, my stomach lurching as I realize I’ve dropped the knife. Has he come to finish what he started?

Uncle Clive stumbles forward, clutching a wound in his gut. Blood seeps through his fingers, staining his white shirt and cummerbund.

He’s covered in sweat, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he struggles to stay upright. Through clenched teeth, he grinds out, “Get out of here, before she?—”

A gunshot rings through the air, and a bullet lodges in his chest.

I turn, locking gazes with a pair of green eyes identical to mine. Nausea clogs my throat, and I back toward the door.

It’s her. The monster in the mirror, only the left side of her hair is blonde, while mine is still darkened with the wax.

Chills run down my spine, and my palms break out in a cold sweat. I thought she was a figment of my imagination. What the hell is she doing outside the confines of my mind?

Her smile widens, and those hateful green eyes gleam with malice. I’m frozen in place, still puzzling out how the hell a creature like this can exist.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she says before raising her gun.

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