Page 55 of Hell Breaks Loose

And somehow, I know that she will. That she will take care of me as only she can. Because hers is the voice that puts the others to rest. Like smooth honey, a balm on my wounds.

Even as the worms wriggle their way into my pores at the sound of that voice, like fire and ice, vying for sensory dominance.

It’s too easy to let it soothe. To let her lead me to the car.

“What is your name, child?”

I am not a child, but I want to be hers.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re just like a traveler in the old stories, in the Good Book. Like an angel sent to test my mercy and keep me on the straight and narrow.”

I nod, unsure of what she means, but so grateful for her kindness. For her voice, telling me what I need to do, what I need to hear. When she passes me a bottle of liquid, I do not hesitate, gulping down the cool, refreshing drink.

And like her voice, it calms my raging spirit.

Satiating my thirst. Quelling my hunger. Silencing the moaning voices, the gnashing teeth that still assail me from the shadows.

“Then we will call you Angel.” The woman reaches over, cupping my face, pinning me with a look that makes me want to cry. That makes me want to scream.

“Angel?” I ask, my lip quivering.

“Yes,” she murmurs, cranking the old car into gear and heading off down the darkening mountain road. “My avenging angel of death.”

“Do I know you, Miss?” I slur, unsure of the last comment, if I heard it at all.

“No, I don’t think we have ever met, not really.” She smiles at this like it’s some private jest.

“What do I call you, then?”

“You may call me Matron. If you’d like.”

And I find that I do like it very much. That it meets some deep, primal hurt in my soul. So I relax, for the first time in days. I can’t help myself.

The drive lulls me into a doze when I realize we’ve stopped.

I also realize that I am having trouble moving. Lethargy drags at my limbs, my eyelids.

“Matron… what’s going on?’

“Nothing, dearest. We just had to stop for a break. So I can give you your medicine.”

Before I can react, or look, I feel the sting of the needle at my neck.

Followed by red-hot, searing, heavenly fire in my veins.

“He’s damaged beyond repair,” a deep, arrogant voice croons.

“He’s perfect.” A softer, lilting giggle.

“Yes, he is. And he is ours.”

10

HELLENA

Spiral, dip, leap, twirl.

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