Page 87 of Corpse Roads

I can’t run.

I can’t hide.

I’m alive… and they’re not. My life isn’t free. It doesn’t belong to me anymore. The stolen futures of eighteen women live within me.

Someone grabs my shoulders and shakes so hard, my teeth snap together. It doesn’t break the sarcophagus trapping me in my head. I’m being chased, the thud of dead feet hunting me down.

“No!” I shout, thrusting a fist outward.

It connects with something hard, eliciting a grunt. I can’t see anything but blood. Everywhere. Coating everything. Dripping. Pooling. Congealing. It covers every inch of me.

“Harlow!”

The voice is warped and garbled. Pastor Michaels screamed my name at me when I made him mad, throwing it like a dagger to illicit my obedience. Hearing it now makes me sick.

All I can think about is hurting. Inflicting the pain that’s scarred my skin. Peeling off the hands gripping my shoulders, I shove my captor backwards, throwing another punch.

We crash into each other, both grappling for control. I don’t stop. Not yet. My cowardice caused those girls to die alone. I can’t be weak anymore; they won’t let me forget.

“Harlow, stop! I won’t fucking fight you!”

The cast encasing my arm cracks against the tiled floor as we both fall. Pain batters into me, over and over, but it isn’t enough. I can still see them—their eyes wide, mouths parted, blood pouring out.

Lifting my head, I slam it back down onto the tiled floor. Excruciating pain explodes through my skull, over and over, my surroundings beginning to fuzz at the edges.

“Stop it!”

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

“I’m sorry,” the person weighing me down growls. “You have to stop.”

A pair of hands wrap around my throat in a vice-like grip. I’m being strangled by a viper, the oxygen sucked from my lungs.

“Stop… fighting!”

My nails scratch at his tightening hands, desperate for a sliver of air. But it’s working. The harder my lungs battle for control, the faster my body is turning limp. I’m losing energy, fast.

Blood is slick against my fingertips as I scratch and battle, frantically attempting to escape. Just as my vision is threatening to darken into unconsciousness, blissful agony wracks over me.

His hands are gone.

My throat seizes and expands, dragging in the sweet nectar of air. I cough and splutter, clutching my throbbing neck. A crushing weight is still pinning me to the floor.

Emerald eyes the colour of fresh moss peer down at me. His terror is palpable, hanging in the air with such potency, I can taste it on my lips. Reality is a razor-sharp wire around my throat.

“Oh fuck, Harlow,” Leighton keens, his gaze frantic. “Are you okay? I didn’t know what else to do!”

I can’t muster a single word. The adrenaline has rushed out of me in a powerful surge, leaving nothing but emptiness. All I can feel is his weight and the crushing beat of his heart against mine, demanding forgiveness.

“I had to stop you from hurting yourself.” His hands hover over me, unsure where to begin. “Please… say something. Shit!”

My mouth hangs open, silent.

“Fucking hell. Please don’t hate me for doing this.”

---