Page 118 of Doesn't Count

The springs squeal beneath me as I shift my weight. I’m tempted to call out, to scream for some attention, but I’m too afraid of what that attention will bring. Instead, I shut my eyes for just a moment longer, thinking back to the last thing I remember.

Sam.

Arguing.

Slamming my front door.

Cold.

Honking.

A stranger tapping my shoulder.

Turning, never seeing a face.

A bag over my head; I can’t breathe.

Arms hooking beneath mine.

Hands gripping my ankles.

Fighting, fighting, fighting.

A pinch in my arm, fire in my veins.

Then... nothing.

The sound of the door slamming open startles me half to death. A ginormous man barrels through, nearly knocking it off its hinges. I scream, but quickly swallow it as the giant stalks towards me, the smell wafting off of him offending my nostrils.

With fingers the size of sausages, he unlocks the cuff attached to the bed frame and secures it around my other wrist in front of me before forcing me to my feet.

“Where am I? Where are you taking me?” I can’t help the questions as they sputter out in anxious pleas.

“Don’t you worry about any of that.” The man smirks, yanking me by the arm.

I stumble, but his grip is so tight that he drags me across the floor. I finally catch up, my feet finding the ground beneath me enough to keep up the pace.

He shoves me through a narrow hallway with more rooms before we trample out into a large common area. I take in every detail;

the upside-down crosses that hang on the walls.

The faded black books, worn with age, inscribed in gold letters that are peeling so badly you can hardly catch the titles.

The air that reeks of malice and foreboding doom.

Even the people that watch me as I’m pushed towards a fate they know all too much about.

They look so normal; clad in conservative clothing that one might not associate with a devil worshipping cult. Pretty, the men too. They wear their skin like costumes, pretending that they aren’t demons in disguise. It doesn’t fool me though, the white dresses like mine and the pale button ups, their blankfaces and concerned gazes. All a show because if this is the same cult that stole a piece of Oliver’s soul, then they have every idea about what goes on here.

I catch sight of a woman in the kitchen as we pass by, our eyes locking for only a second, but in that second, I feel like she shares a secret with me. Of all the people we’ve passed by so far, she’s the only one whose shadow isn’t darker than the devil they worship. Maybe it’s just misplaced hope in a stranger with a baby in her belly, praying that when she sees the horror that goes on here it makes her think of her own children. I know that’s a stretch, but it’s enough to spark a fire inside my wilted heart.

The night greets me with a frigid gust of wind as I stumble out the front door of the building. It never occurred to me that it could be the end of the day because the concept of time has been robbed from me. The winter air bites at my bare flesh, leaving sharp goosebumps in its wake, the white dress doing absolutely nothing to protect me from the harsh elements.

“Where are we going?” I can’t help myself as the question flees from my lips a second time.

The man flattens his palm across the top of my head, tilting my face to his.

“You’ll see.”

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