the frigid temperatures in here, I don’t know. Each shudder sends pain through my hands like they’re being stabbed with shards of jagged glass.
I turn my head to the right and whimper, the images I thought were from a nightmare are very much real. The room I’m being held in looks like some kind of church that time forgot. A place where the congregation came to pray and got struck down by a vengeful god, if the decomposing bodies in the front pews are anything to go by.
The smell alone is horrific enough to have me gagging and throwing up what little is in my stomach. With no way for me to move, the vomit runs out of my mouth, down the side of my face, and into my tangled hair, further adding to my humiliation.
Pins and needles begin to spread over my arms, while oddly, a numbness has taken over the tips of my fingers, likely due to lack of blood flow. My head moves a little more freely now, allowing me to lift it a touch to look down my body. I wiggle my bare feet before my eyes catch on the red staining the center of the dress I’m wearing.
Oh god. I remember. The tattoo, the knife. Garrett. I look around sharply, staring into the room shrouded with shadows, trying to find him. But I’m alone.
Just me and a bunch of corpses.
I swallow down the impending hysteria and scan the rest of the room. All the windows are boarded up and the only door I can see is the main one at the end of the aisle, through the pews.
Through the rows of bodies.
Meaning, if I can free myself, I’ll have to crawl through them. I suck in a deep breath through my mouth and blow it out, trying to keep the stench of death from making me throw up again, but deep breathing is impossible with my body shaking so much.
Turning my head as far as I can, I try to get a look at what kind of restraints I’m working with, but I can’t figure it out. My vision is still a little blurry, but it looks like my hand is just resting on the floor. I try to lift it again, but white-hot pain rushes through me. I turn my head to look at the other side and it’s the same. My wrists are free from bindings but I’m still somehow tethered to the floor.
I don’t understand. Did he use some kind of industrial glue? What the fuck?
I give up struggling when the pain is so intense I end up puking again and the black haziness threatens to pull me under once more. I can’t afford to pass out right now. I stare at my feet, ignoring everything else in the room while I try to get my escalating panic under control.
My eyes lift, bringing them to the wall directly in front of me and the huge wooden cross that stretches from the floor to the ceiling. I stare at the figure of Jesus as his head hangs low, and pray for him to help me. For him to send someone to find me. I take in his dirty gown twisted around his body, and his arms stretched out wide, a nail embedded deep in each hand—
I whip my head around to look out at the pews of people before focusing on my hands as my brain slots the puzzle pieces together, revealing the most heinous of images.
He’s nailed my hands to the floor in a modern-day crucifixion.
I don’t think of the consequences or that I’ll likely draw attention to myself. I don’t think at all. I just scream, long and loud, until my voice gives out and all I can do is whimper.
That’s when the door opens, bringing with it part two of my nightmare. The large wooden door swings wide, but no additional light seeps in. Is it nighttime? How long have I been missing?
“Reign, I see you are awake. Welcome to your rebirth,” Garrett says jovially with his arms spread wide
“Where the hell am I?” I croak, each word feeling like a razor blade inside my throat.
“Ah, this is All Saints Chapel. I used to come here every day as a child until my father died and my mother lost her way.” His voice drifts off as he looks to the front pew.
“Not that it mattered in the end. She came home eventually,” he says softly, looking at the corpse wearing