Page 2 of Trick or Treat: The Rebirth
The flickering flames cast dancing shadows upon the walls, illuminating the intricate carvings that tell tales of sanctity now draped in darkness. My shrine, once a sacred space for prayer and hopes, now serves as a twisted reflection of my obsessive love—a celebration of all that they were and all that we could never be. It fills my heart with a blend of dread and elation, each breath whispering promises of eternal connection.
I shiver, the cold air biting against my wet skin, but an intensity warms me from within. I can feel them. The sparkle in the air holds their essence, lingering around me like an intoxicating perfume. My heartbeat echoes in my chest as I kneel before the altar, my hands trembling with purpose. Each skull is a reminder of what I’ve endured, and—more importantly—a reminder of the power I now possess. It doesn’t matter that the world might deem me fucking insane; I’ve come to terms with my sanity—or insanity—and my heart welcomes this dark, wicked path.
With reverence, I trace my fingertips over the polished surface of each skull. Saint, with his reckless charm; Riley, his dark intellect; Nixon, possessing an indomitable spirit; and Blade, the heart—my heart. Each holds a fragment of my past, of both the horror and the thrill they brought me. They didn’t just take; they taught me how to survive the unthinkable, to transform loss into empowerment. I can feel their presence rising, intertwined with the thickening air around me, urging me forward.
“Finally together,” I murmur, pushing up from my knees to face the empty chapel, the altar looming like a throne of chaos. Outside, the wind howls, a fierce companion in my moment of exhilaration. I may be alone, but they are with me in spirit—my guardians, my lovers, my tormentors.
I stash the grimy bag that once held their remains behind a loose stone in the wall, a secret keepsake of my journey. What’s done cannot be undone, and I wouldn’t—couldn’t—change a thing. Each twisted moment led me here, to this sanctuary dripping in shadows and laced with remnants of laughter and pain, and I can’t help but smile.
The church feels alive under my touch, and every cobweb I brush against becomes a spell, an enchantment that binds the past with the present. My black painted nails scrape against the hallowed wood as I rise, a new adrenaline coursing through me. I can’t just wait for death to claim me in this temporary existence. It’s too… passive, too resigned. I can create my own resurrection—as long as I keep the courage alive within.
“Tonight,” I proclaim, my voice resonating off the walls, the sound mingling with the low whisper of the storm outside, “we will hunt. Tonight, we dance together in the darkness.”
I reach under the old floorboards where I stashed shit I lifted—weapons and remnants of their lives, gathered during my time with them.
Bones and flesh may weaken with time, but memories? Those will light the fucking fires of this darkened church.
Grinning at the skulls, I take out my phone with enthusiasm, feeling like I'm riding a super high. I scroll through my recent calls, walking toward the bathroom, candles flickering down the dark hall. I know that once I make this call everything will change again as I know it, and I don't know if it's something I'll ever come back from. But I don't know if I even want to come back from it.
Sighing, I collapsed on my bed, sprawled out on my black fuzzy blanket, tapped on the name, and put the phone to my ear, my eyes glued to the mirrored ceiling, watching my reflection carefully. Noticing how black my hair looks under the soft lightsin the church, wet with soaked red strands. My eyes are wide and wild, darkened circles around them putting them on display.
The phone rings, but it picks up on the third one.
"Hey, Doc." His deep voice gives me the chills, even over the phone.
"Hey, Hunter," I reply with a nervous rasp, but still calm as can be inside and out. "Want to come pick me up."
My heart thunders, the nerves inside of me are teasing me. I've been putting off this phone call since Hunter is still a patient even though he's out of prison living in a halfway house not too far from the church. He doesn't know it yet but he's about to be in for the ride of his life, and there's no chance in fucking hell he's getting off.
"I'll be right there. Don't fucking move, Doc," he demands, and I can feel myself getting hot and wet quickly.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." I glide my tongue across my teeth and hang up the phone.
Part one of the plan is done, so it's on to part two next.
Part two begins with anticipation coiling like a spring under my skin, and the shadows around me pulse with the energy of possibility. In the low light of the church, I prepare myself with meticulous grace, as if readying a canvas before the first stroke of paint. Distant thunder rumbles outside, echoing my mounting heartbeat.
Since my hair is already wet I add some mousse to it, keeping my long, bouncy curls locked in place. Touching up my make -up, I flick the mascara brush under my long lashes and swipe a few lines of liner on my upper lid. The final touch is my lipstick, and I glide a stick of deep red across them, the dark color making my eyes pop, tying everything together.
I rummage through the hidden spots I have around my room, gathering random things I might need. Bloodied memories of the guys blend with the specifics of my newfoundreality, transforming the mundane into the extraordinary. Every moment feels charged; the atmosphere thickens with expectation.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel announces Hunter’s arrival, my pulse quickening at the thought of what’s to come. Glancing in the mirror, I check my reflection: shadows accentuate my features, creating a portrait of broken beauty tinged with madness. I curl my lips into a wicked smile, relishing the clarity that washes over me—tonight, everything will align.
With a soft creak of the front door, Hunter steps inside, the storm behind him momentarily illuminating his silhouette. The candles cast flickering lights and dark shadows over his sharp, stubbled jaw and long, wild blonde hair, creating an almost mythical aura around him.
“What have you been up to, Doc?” he asks as he steps towards me, his voice low and teasing, black boots scraping against the dusty hardwood floor.
“Just making some renovations,” I reply, stepping closer, reveling in the connection that sparks between us. I can feel the spirits fluttering, intertwined with the air as Hunter evaluates the sanctuary I’ve created for myself, where no one knows where I'm at unless I want them to know.
“This place… it’s dark,” he observes, brows furrowing slightly, but there’s an excitement in his crystal blue eyes that betrays his facade of indifference. "Dark but fucking sexy like you."
“Dark is comforting,” I say, letting the words slip out as a matter-of-fact assertion. “Light isn’t what we need tonight, Hunter. Nothing good ever happens in the light.”
I step aside to reveal the altar, adorned with the remnants of my past, inviting him into my world that he knows very little about. He glances at the skulls, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.
“You really went all out, huh? Decorating with bones isn’t exactly conventional, Doc.” His voice comes out in a drawl, ‘Doc’ coming off his tongue slowly and tempting.
“Sometimes, unconventional is liberating,” I reply. “Besides, they wanted to be with me. They’re my family now.”
