Portland, OR

Jan. 22nd, 2019

“Mom?” the young girl called, her voice shaky as she huddled upon the bed, her wrists still firmly shackled in the silver cuffs. At least they didn’t burn any longer, but the skin was raw and bleeding in some spots. It wasn’t as worrisome however as the two dead priests that were currently inhabiting her parents’ room, one of them nearly broken in half and the other with a huge, bloody crack in the back of his skull where something very heavy seemed to have split his head open like a melon.

“Mom?” she called, huddling up on the bed as she pulled her knees up, circling them with her arms. The door leading out to the main hallway slammed open suddenly and there was her mother, stopping first on the threshold as she looked at her daughter in a stricken, horrified manner that had Amaya crying all over again as she felt instant relief, holding out her arms as her mother came rushing towards her. She didn’t heed the warnings of the priest that had come in behind her, though only a moment later she did pay attention to the portly individual as he exclaimed over the bodies of his fallen companions, weeping openly as he knelt down beside the priest whose skull had been cracked open.

“Father Benning,” he moaned, “Oh Father…”

Amaya didn’t fight as her mother drew her close, attempting to hide her view from the body. It worked save for one small gap between the woman’s arm and her body, a gap that the priest noticed as he looked over, perhaps thinking to check on both mother and daughter. For just a brief second he saw the girl’s eye, the one he could see, flash an alarming shade of red.

Say nothing.

The priest gulped and then shook himself as though from a stupor, rising slowly to his feet as he walked over to the other priest.

And inside, deep where no one could see, Amaya smiled.

(to be continued)

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