“Now. We have to do itnow,”Reverend Clark says.
“Is it taking control? Is it coming out?” Cameron asks, his voice strained as he stares down at me.
“Yes. Demons typically hide until night, but it feels my presence. It knows what I’m about to do.”
“Please,” I beg. “Please don’t hurt me.”
It’s going to kill you. Escape. Ask those who love you; get free, sweet child.
“Daddy,” I cry, turning my gaze to my father. “Don’t let him hurt me.”
I’ll plead and scream and sob as much as needed for this tostop. I’ve never been so afraid, so angry, in my entire life.
Father’s face falls, and his mouth opens and closes on repeat, unable to speak.
“Behold the Cross of our Lord,” Reverend Clark begins, extending the cross to me.
And I can feel it—physically. My skin grows hotter, my mind more desperate.
I have to leave! I have to run!
“Atty,” I plead, looking at my brother as I cry. “Please. Stop him! He’s going to kill me!”
“Reverend Clark,” Atlas calls, his voice trembling.
The priest pays him no mind. “You who have crawled from the depths of hell, today I face you with the judgment you deserve. Today, you will face the glory of God.”
“Atlas!” I screech.
Julian spins, taking him from my view, and something ugly and vicious rears its head deep in my chest.
“Pathetic pig,” I shout, tearing at my restraints. “He is not yours! Just die! Die!”
“Shh,” Julian is cooing, petting Atlas’s soft hair as he pretends I don’t fucking exist.
“May God arise, and may his enemies be scattered, and may those who hate him flee from before his face!” the reverend shouts, extending the Bible to me as well.
I know that verse; it’s Psalm 68—not unknown to me. But now, the words feel like a vicious curse. A searing pain.
The agony in my skull heightens, my skin blistering from the inside out. My bones ache, my blood boils, and as I pull at the cuffs, bucking against the chains, I scream.
I scream so loudly that everyone but Reverend Clark covers their ears.
“He’s in pain!” Cameron shouts, rushing toward the bed.
“No!” Julian yells, grabbing him around the waist to stop him.
And I see red. I see so much red that I can barely see anything else.
“Handsoff,”I screech, my voice distorted slightly on the words. The bedframe shakes, my teeth shattering.
Julian swallows roughly, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes.
“What’s happening to him?!” Mother cries, and as I look at my hands, I see my fingertips changing color, with extending nails so sharp I’m scared I’ll cut myself.
“Stop,” I growl, tears prickling my eyes once more. “It hurts.Stop.”
“St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil...” Reverend Clark quotes.
