“Stand,” one of them demands.
Complying, she stands and steps out of the tub, dripping a pool of now warm water on the cold floor. She raises her hands and tilts her head forward, allowing one of the women to place the elegant red gown through her arms and over her long silky black hair. The dress flows like a river as it drapes every curve on her body. Rochelle is now clean and dressed, awaiting the next stage of her sacrifice.
The old women walk her down the dark hall of the church’s catacomb, leading to a large open room with strange demonic statues lined against the walls. In the room only lit by candles, several doorways that seem to lead into a black abyss give the feeling of being trapped rather than being open and filled with exits. Rochelle, clearly shaken by these figures, tries to stop but is forced forward by one of the women. She is directed to a small bench in the back of the room as one of the women appears from the dark, holding a podium that she places in front of Rochelle. Another woman then brings an old book, which she slams onto the podium, startling Rochelle and drawing a gasp from her slightly chapped lips. The old woman opens the book to a bookmarked page and places her fingers on the first line.
“Read this,” she spews.
Rochelle looks down at the passage. She shakenly starts to read the unknown language.
“Lan... Lancelet... Laosainte so eh bkiils sysbkill minonite kills…”
As she reads, the old ladies’ eyes roll in the back of their heads, and they start to shake and chant.
Rochelle begins reading faster and faster, her heart pounding with every syllable. “Asrsk blopmllck mock tallearson maviviv ashioitess plyinetteies woaven.”
As she continues to read, her voice begins to change to a more masculine one.
“bloam jusiinkin ABLCKI WISLETLL MAKILIL BARASTIC MARISTIC MARISTIC MARISTIC BARASTIC BARASTIC MARISTIC MARISTIC!”
She can’t stop herself, faster, faster, faster. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. Who’s reading the verses? Faster, faster, FASTER!
Finally, she raises her head as she finishes the last verse.
A shadowy figure starts to rise from the floor. Even though it was in the shape of a man, this was clearly not one. It grows slowly threefold and hovers just below the ceiling. The room goes quiet as the shadow floats slowly towards Rochelle. Suddenly, with a swift movement, the shadow impels Rochelle causing her body to jerk violently upwards before falling back to the ground. The candles blow out, and the room goes black.
Rochelle awakens to the sight of horrible brown teeth belonging to a group of old, now giddy, ladies.
“You did it my dear,” one of them says with a disgusting grin.
“I did?” she whispers to herself.
“What’s wrong?” the old lady questions.
Rochelle looks at her. “So now that he’s inside me, what happens?”
The old woman's grin grows ten times as big. “On the day of the coming, you and he will become one.”
Rochelle thinks out loud, “He’s inside me. This is it.”
The old lady looks confused. “That is what?”
Suddenly, Rochelle throws one hell of a punch, landing it square on the old lady’s face causing her to fall backward unconscious. The remaining old ladies rush her. She throws one of them into the other and dashes down the hall going for the small room from where she originated. Frantically looking around the room, she spots her purse and rushes to retrieve it. She digs around until she finds an ID reading “Adonis Sterling” with a picture of a nerdy-looking hipster. She grasps it tightly and runs out of the room. The old ladies who are now back to their feet, grab at her but are no match for the much younger and stronger woman. She escapes up the stairs, through the church sanctuary, and out the door. The ladies halt the chase and start to laugh.
One of the women rubs the back of her neck, trying to soothe the pain of the fall, “Don’t worry. She won’t get far. He knows where she is.”
As the storm grows ever closer, a terrified Rochelle runs down the empty street, the sound of her bare feet striking the payment echoes in the distance. She continually looks back. Her heart races as she holds the ID close to her chest. The blood-red gown swishes in the whipping wind as it sparkles in the reflection on store windows. Directly in front of her, just a few more yards, she can see her goal.
The large logo that filled the city with a light blue hue could not be missed. “Quest Inc.” was a spectacle of a building and stood out on purpose.
Rochelle breathes heavily as she plants her hands on the glass front doors. She presses numbers on a keypad until the green light illuminates and then pulls the door open. She immediately runs to an iPad sitting at the front desk, where she quickly types, making sure to look back as much as possible.
A shadow swooshes past the front door. Rochelle looks towards a sound only to realize there’s nothing there. She finishes with the iPad, and she runs for the elevator, where she franticly presses the “up” button. Her fear grows every second it takes the elevator to arrive.
Floor 13…12…10…
She looks back as she presses the button gain and again.
Floor 4…3…2…
Finally, the doors slide open, she rushes in, swipes the I.D, and presses “18”. As the
