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Bri reached forward, hands trembling and picked up something. Her body blocked it, keeping me from getting a view of whatever it was. When she raised it to her eyes, it looked like a small square or rectangle. In the flickering shadows, I couldn’t make out exactly what it was.
"Oh holy fuck," Bri whispered, her whole body begging to shake. "I can’t." She stared down at whatever she was holding.
She screamed and dropped what she held as a hard and painful shock burst through her. The item fell and tumbled toward me. Curiosity overriding any sense of self preservation I had. I leaned forward, straining my eyes against the darkness. It was a small square, slightly curled and puffed. I’d seen this before, in bags in gas stations. A pork rind? As though beckoning me, desperate for me to know the truth, I leaned even closer. There was something dark on it, a blob of an outline. When it became clear, it was like the oxygen had been ripped out of my body. I recognized it. A symbol. A skull with a penis protruding from its mouth. A tattoo, warped and twisted from being fried, but easily recognizable. Especially since I’d seen it dozens of times. Lain on my back as a child, I’d stared at it while the man it belonged to raped me. It sat a few inches below Branson’s collar bone. This was Branson’s skin. Sweet fucking Christ, it was human skin.
"If you disobey again, you will die," the hooded figure said, his voice stern and cold.
Bri stood, sobbing now, and took another piece of skin and slipped it into her mouth. I could hear it crunch and crackle as she chewed. She gagged once, but kept her mouth closed as she finished chewing and swallowing.
"This is the flesh of the enemy, torn for you. Eat it and be my vengeance."
Bri coughed and swallowed then reached for one of the small cups. She peered into it and her face immediately twisted in confusion and revulsion. "Eww, fuck."
"This is the seed of the Lord, drink and be my fist."
Bri’s jaw dropped open as she gagged again, this time more violently, a string of saliva dripping from her mouth as she did.
A blade appeared in the hooded man’s hand, pulled from some dark recess of the folds of his robes. "Do it. Now."
The threat of death overrode whatever disgust she may have harbored. She put the cup to her lips and tilted her head back fast, like taking a shot. She dropped the cup, metallic pings echoed across the room as it bounced across the floor, coming to rest beneath a pew. Bri slapped a hand to her mouth and dry heaved and gagged even more, clutching her mouth to keep herself from vomiting.
"Be seated," The hooded man said, hiding the knife once again. "The rest of you shall take communion together." He handed us the tray to be passed down the row.
I took a human rind and a small cup and looked at them both with varying degrees of disgust. Inside the cup there was no wine or even blood. It was a thick white substance that I immediately recognized for what it was, and Bri’s violently ill reaction made more sense. Semen. Dear Christ, this really was hell.
The only way to get through this was to do it fast. Get it done, and over. Like ripping a bandaid off. Before I could talk myself out of it, I raised the cup to my lips and turned it back. Before it even touched my lips, my gorge rose, threatening to spew vomit across the room. My skin crawled at the thought of it. The liquid slid across my tongue cold and viscous like snot. The bitter, salty, alkaline taste of it made me gag like Bri had. I tried not to think of where it had come from. Was this Sam’s cum? If so, then this act was too close to sex for my liking. I swallowed fast, clamping my tongue to the roof for my mouth to rub away the flavor and try to keep from vomiting.
The others were reacting similarly. Even Drake, as stoic as he usually was in tough situations, looked green and ready to puke when he’d finished with his cup. The taste was still lingering in my mouth, thick and sticky. I shoved the human crackling in and chewed before I could think about what it was. Though tougher than a pork rind, it still crunched. I’ll be damned if it didn’t taste good, especially after what I’d ingested a few seconds ago. I finished chewing and glared at the shadowed and hidden face of the wannabe priest. All I could hope for was that the hate that radiated from my eyes somehow penetrated him. Without any words, I tried to tell him what screamed in my mind, Fuck you, you sick fuck.
Chapter 16
DAHLIA
Once we’d all taken the blasphemous communion, the robed man bowed his head. "Blessed are the punishers."
In one fluid motion, he turned and departed through a door at the back, vanishing into the shadows. All he left behind was the fluid, watery sound of his flowing robes. As soon as he was gone, Elise rushed to the end of the pew, bent over and vomited. I didn’t want that shit in my stomach either, but I sure as hell didn’t want to taste it a second time.
"We need to go after him," I said, standing and taking a couple exploratory steps toward the back door.
Before I’d gone more than three steps, a painful and debilitating shock surged through my wristband, almost sending me to my knees and stealing my breath. I bent over, resting my hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath once the pain was over.
"Well that plan is out," Bri said.
Elise spat on the wooden floor and wiped at her mouth. "You guys realize we’re dead no matter what, right? You saw outside. He’s already dug our graves and put our death dates on it."
"We don’t know that he’s going to kill us today," I said. "He may only be trying to scare us into submission."
"Why would he kill us today?" Bri asked with a confused frown.
I blinked at her, unsure what she meant. I pointed to the front door. "The graves have that date on them. It has to be today. At least, um, I assumed it was."
Bri looked around at us all like we were idiots. "Unlike you all, I guess I was able to keep track of the days. That isn’t today’s date. I’m not a hundred percent sure, but it’s probably a couple days away. Not today, though. I’ve been keeping track since I got here, by making little notches on the back side of my nightstand. Hidden where douchebag couldn’t see. I’d always wait until the lights went out to be sure."
"Great," Payton said. "So he isn’t killing us today. It’ll be a different day instead. How wonderful."
Our watches jolted us again and commanded us to return to the mansion. A ripple of relief surged through me. At least we weren’t going to get our brains blown out and tossed in those graves immediately. As we walked back, I tried to figure out what the hell this whole fake ceremony was about. The idea that Sam was really in some kind of satanic pain worshiping cult was a little outrageous. Though I couldn’t rule anything out, this reeked of a show rather than a true ritual. Even the sermon continued on cloaked in metaphors, but had to basically be about us. The parables and stories always circled back so he could chastise our attempt to escape. It was his way of exerting his power over us.
Was the guy in the robe Sam? Was there really even a ‘Sam’ to begin with? What if it was a half dozen psychos all pretending to be the one guy? I’d killed one person, but there could be more. That thought alone made my blood run cold every time it crossed my mind. The idea that multiple people were walking the halls of the mansion while we slept. God only knew what they did while we were knocked out by the gas.
