“Whatever I want you to be, you are,” he whispered. “If I want you steaming like a dripping virgin on prom night, then your flesh will obey. The Behemoth taught me this. I can make you do anything I want.”
“No, Rick. You can make my body want you, but I never will,” Angela turned away.
He suddenly withdrew from her.
“What if I don’t want you hot? What if I want you to burn?”
Rick grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled it hard. Angela yelled and beat at his chest. The strands wrapped between his fingers started to fry, as if twisted around a curling iron. The offending odor of burnt hair filled the space, with smoke seeping from his fist.
To restrain her, he took hold of one of her wrists. Instantly, her skin blistered at his touch.
“Do you understand?” he bellowed furiously. “The physical is nothing. You are nothing. I could sink my palm into your stomach like clay, if I so chose. I could snatch out your beating heart and shatter it between my hands like glass.”
Angela reached out with her one free arm and grabbed hold of a piece of fiery coal. Despite its smoldering heat, she formed a tight grip all around it. Then, while Rick gloated above his helpless prey, she ground the searing wood deep into his cheek until finally, he released her.
Both of them sprang to their feet. Angela picked up the wood stand and held it like a bat, ready to knock something out of the park. Rick on the other hand appeared weaponless, but Angela knew not to trust that.
“You took away its congregation, do you think it will let you live?” Rick smirked at her.
“Do you think it can stop me?” she spat back.
“The Behemoth could snuff you out in...”
“Then why doesn’t it?” she interrupted. “I’m right here! Why doesn’t your god come on over and stomp me dead?”
She was not afraid to die. Without Alex, there was no point in reaching dawn, so what was left to be afraid of? Her despair was her liberator. It took away the beast’s power, and freed her of the fear that had ensnared the church, and kept her captive in Rick’s embrace. All she had left was her hate, and all she could do was let it burn.
The fire had been gaining momentum and overflowed into the mess hall. Neither Angela, nor Rick seemed to pay much attention to the flame’s expanding feast, even as the room lit up.
“It’s scared, you know. Your god is afraid of fire, just like an animal. Like a dog, or a rat. It’s no god, Rick, and you’re no fucking prophet.”
“Careful Angela. You could suffer worse things than dying.”
“I’m not afraid. Not anymore. Not ever again.” Her hands tightened around the wooden mace.
“Not since Alex,” Rick teased.
“Don’t you say his name, you son of a bitch!”
“Alex, my little trooper.”
“He isn’t yours. You gave him away, to that thing. So don’t you dare talk about him.”
“Or, what will you do? Please, I implore, let me hear the threat. It’ll be cute.”
“I’ll find some way to hurt you.”
“Like you did the congregation?”
“Worse.”
Rick released a jackal’s laugh that bruised Angela’s conviction. Even if hurting him did prove impossible, Angela would try to her last breath.
“And what of the hurt you’ve already caused? The entire congregation lies in ashes because of you. You are more a monster than I am; at least I offered to spare them.”
“At an impossible price.”
“Still, you gave them no choice at all. For no reason, they’re all dead now.”
“They killed my son!”
“Who said Alex was dead?”
“What?” Angela froze on the spot, unable to move, unable to do anything but try to process what Rick had just said.
“He’s alive, Angela.”
Her eyes locked onto Rick’s face to measure the truth of his words, and oh, such words they were.
“He’s alive?” she repeated. The grip around her club, which at one time seemed strong enough to crack the wood, had begun to loosen.
“He’s with the Behemoth, but he’s alive.” Rick peered into the stormy depths of the inferno before he mused, “You punished them for a crime they didn’t commit. Now, tell me, how does that make your vengeance taste?”
It was not a matter of trusting what Rick had said; it was matter of wishing it to be true.
Suddenly, Angela didn’t feel like a crusader; she felt like a murderer. Suddenly, she was the destroyer of lives, yet her own life had been returned to her. Suddenly, she had thoughts of tomorrow, beyond the rage of the fire. Suddenly, she had her son again, and was a mother once more. She was no longer fearless. In fact, she was terrified. Angela knew what losing Alex was like, and now that he was back, she feared his loss that much more.
While Angela was stunned, Rick had reached into his pocket and retrieved his straight razor. He unfolded it slowly before her, like the excruciating reveal of an engagement ring.
Angela sized up the blade.
“Take me to him,” she managed to demand, despite the fresh threat of Rick’s knife.
“No,” he said dismissively, taking a step toward her.
“Take me to him.” Angela stood her ground and, once again, lifted the wood pole as menacingly as possible.
Despite her false swings, Rick continued to creep forward, with his piercing eyes jabbing into her.
“No, you won’t be seeing him again. I won’t take you to him. I’m going to split you open, empty you out, and cook you over the burning coals of the church. Maybe I’ll make Alex watch, if he still has his eyes.”
Before Rick could lunge, the generator in the basement choked out an awful death moan, and the power failed.
As soon as the lights went out, Angela darted into the shadows, out of reach of the fire’s glow.
Rick swung the razor frantically, in the hopes it might catch her. His ferocity could be heard in the hum of the blade as it cut through the air.
Angela silently slid herself across the floor, spreading her weight evenly to avoid any creaks from the wood. In the dark, she relied on her hands to search out a place to hide. Though one of her palms was still raw from the chunk of coal, she managed to feel her way into a spot behind a flimsy stack of old chairs.
There she was concealed by shadows, but as the fire blazed on, she worried how long she could stay hidden before the glow reached her.
Adding to the race of her heart, Rick joined her in the darkness, brandishing his blade, which, even in such pitch black, seemed to find fire trembling in its reflection.
He moved methodically about the room and was light on his feet. If Angela didn’t keep him in her sights every second, she might lose him and she didn’t want to be bumping around blind in the dark with Rick and his razor.
“You just sit tight, little lamb,” he taunted. “Sit tight for the slaughter.” He flung a table across the room. Once it smashed against the floor, it, too, was quickly consumed by the encroaching flames.
Angela shifted herself closer to the stage, which seemed her best hope if she wanted to stay hidden. She focused on thinning her breath for fear her heaving might give her away.
While Rick ripped through the other side of the room, Angela slid across the floor. Her knee nudged one of the chairs stacked in front of her. A ripple coursed through the pile and the second chair from the top shifted out of place.
Across the room, Rick suddenly stopped.
Angela peered through the stack into the depths of the mess hall. Rick was gone, yet, she could feel him everywhere, in front of her, behind her, right beside her. The dark held him and seemed to come alive.
His voice slithered from out the shadows and asked, “What are you thinking about right now as you wait? Are you thinking about poor Alex? You think maybe, just maybe you can still save him. And maybe you could, if you only knew where he was. But, dear Angela, you can’t let yourself become distracted, or you’ll end up
making mistakes. And you’ll spoil the hunt.”
Angela ignored the dark and continued crawling toward the stage. Her hands reached into the space in front of her, each time hoping they would meet the wood boards, and nothing more.
She felt a familiar cool breeze tickle the back of her ankle. The tickle grew. Then, a sharp metal edge pressed against the skin of her heel.
Upon recognizing the razor’s sadistic stroke, Angela immediately started kicking. Her foot came into contact with someone. In her panic, she shoved the stack of chairs on top of her assailant and ran.
Her knees hit against the elevated floor of the stage first, but adrenaline didn’t allow for the bruising to slow her down. She hurled herself into the folds of the curtain, and then turned to meet Rick as he approached.
A loud cracking sound, like the growl of a thunderhead, pulled Angela away from the chase. Something in the mess hall had given way and the fire, as if awakening for the first time, rapidly grew to a blustering intensity. In an instant, streaming flickers of orange light cut down the darkness. The powerful glow spanned the entire stage curtain like an army of spotlights.
Angela stood in front of the glowing sheet with an honest, but ill-timed appreciation for its menacing majesty. She guessed that half the church must have been burning to cause such brilliance.
Its beauty didn’t last long, however. Shadows were quick to creep back into view. Rick’s silhouette emerged into the light. Angela snapped out of her admiration. He was only a few feet away from the front curtain. The ripples in the fabric morphed his hands, giving them a slithering quality as he reached toward the stage.
Angela raced to the small window hidden on the back wall. She wasted no time trying to unlatch it, and instead smashed it open with a thick ceramic baby from the pile of props.
She glanced through the window into the night’s expanse, which had benefited from a sprinkle of moonlight. It was laughably serene. No sign of the Behemoth, just as she had predicted. She then lifted her body up, and started squeezing through, legs first.
Angela was halfway out the window before she noticed Rick’s shadow had disappeared from the curtain. If he wanted to gut her so badly, where did he go? What called him away when he was so close?
Without the answers, she pushed herself the rest of the way through.
CHAPTER 46
Angela’s feet were welcomed by soft grass. It was the first time in the past two days she had not been standing on something flat and solid. She found it delightful.
Her first instinct was to start sprinting in a straight line, not only to get away from the church, but also to celebrate the fact that she could. The endless open space, free of walls, doors, and people, was an inspiring change of scenery.
A few crumbs of loose dirt sprinkled onto the top of her head. So insignificant was the dusting, that if she hadn’t been in such a heightened state of awareness, she never would have noticed. But, as the situation would have it, she looked up to see what had shaken loose, and almost immediately regretted it.
Perched like a spider against the brick wall was Rick. He had been silently crawling down the side of the building just above her. The red pupils of his eyes had been stoked to such intensity that they produced their own luminance, competing with the moon that hung against the brick behind him.
Before she had time to run, Rick took hold of her by the hair and dragged her up the wall at a tremendous speed. Angela was certain the force would scalp her, so she kicked and pounded against the brick. The rough stone tore through her clothes, leaving scrapes down her legs and back. If she was curious what burning alive might have felt like, these fresh wounds gave a decent estimation.
Rick tossed her like a rag doll onto the roof where she landed hard against disintegrating shingles.
Her head throbbed and her body stung, yet what was most distressing were her lungs that refused to fill. Angela grabbed her throat to encourage the air. Strangely, it worked.
The heat ate away at the roof and made it impossible to stay in one spot for more than a few seconds.
Angela struggled to her feet, but as soon as her weight became concentrated, the shingles gave way. Her right foot sank into the oven below. Instantly, her limb felt like a dinner roast. She quickly pulled it out, ripping off more of the roof as she did. The hole she created became a makeshift chimney and a funnel of smoke spiraled up from the opening.
She looked around. The roof was collapsing in patches. It was like she was stuck on a fragile island, slowly being cracked apart by streams of lava – a children’s game turned horribly real.
Adding to the good news, Rick gracefully emerged from the side of the church to join her. Although he weighed considerably more than she, the roof had no trouble supporting him.
In a bizarre juxtaposition, he now appeared rather gentlemanly to her. With his grin complimented by the warm glow of the fire below them, the scene could almost be mistaken for romantic.
Angela tried to back away, but every move she made brought more holes and more heat.
“Careful, watch your step,” Rick said, almost genuinely. He didn’t approach; there was no need to. He knew she was trapped.
“Rick,” pleaded Angela. “If there is any part of you still in there, please, if not for me, then for our son. Don’t do this.”
Rick responded with a gaze of reticence. Angela was not sure how to take it.
In one smooth motion, he stripped off his robe, retrieving the straight razor from it before tossing it over the edge. A mixture of fire and moonlight unabashedly detailed his impressive nakedness.
He presented it for her to explore every inch, like some sadistic fashion show.
“The Behemoth transformed me. Each cut is born of my own progression toward grace, and was documented on my body by its magnificent teeth. We are intimately connected, the Behemoth and I. More connected than I have been with any other living thing.” He began fondly outlining his scars using the blade of the razor, enjoying the memory of every excruciating cut. Then, he continued. “It taught me how to fully exist for the first time. Not only that, but how to master existence. That gift showed the most profound love. Can you even understand that, Angela?”
“Is that what you wanted, Rick? You wanted love?”
“This has never been about what I want. That’s far too small. It’s not even about you and me, or our son. Forget Alex, he is nothing compared to the will of the beast.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“You just don’t understand. I tried to show you, reveal all your trivial obsessions, but you refused to see; adamant in your ignorance. You were given the chance to join us. You failed. Now, you die.”
“You’re wrong, Rick. Whatever amazing thing you think it taught you about life, or how to exist, or whatever the fuck... You’re wrong. Your god is just as petty as anything else, which makes you just another asshole. A womanizer. And a shitty father.” Angela felt particularly secure in her judgments.
“Well, in that case, as my dad would often say, ‘The bitch and the brat never meant much to me.’”
With that, Rick stalked toward her. His militant stride carried no hesitation. He didn’t even shy away from the terror in her eyes. Quite the contrary, he basked in it.
Angela watched his determination course through the pulsing muscles of his legs. It was like every part of him, down to his toenails, was elated by the promise of her death. His body wanted to experience her blood all over; it was itching for it. On some primordial level, she experienced this sweeping threat, and knew his desires.
She had but two equally unattractive options: to try to outrun him across the sizzling roof, or stand still and hope he would be quick about it. If not for Alex, Angela might have chosen the latter.
Running on the roof was more like trudging through molasses as the melting shingles swallowed each step she took. It was obvious she could not muster the kind of pace needed to escape Rick, especially since he remained inexplicably supported by the sa
me charred boards that so quickly caved under her. It was then she noticed there was about a two-inch space between the soles of his feet and the roof.
Rick’s hungry blade was only a few feet away from tasting deeply of her flesh. Angela needed a new plan fast, but she was trapped in the middle of a burning wasteland suspended two stories in the air. Her options were not just limited, they were nonexistent.
By the time her mind grappled with her precariousness, Rick had already caught up with her.
With one foot stuck between two stubborn shingles, Angela lost her balance and collapsed in front of him. She tried to dig her foot free, but the roof refused to let her go.
Rick loomed above his trapped prey, savouring the sounds of her struggles. He lifted the razor to admire its sleekness. To his delight, the lengths of skin it had already cut had not dulled it. Not one bit.
Angela’s decision to either fight or succumb had been stolen from her. She really had no choice. It seemed that life had made escape impossible, almost as if someone had carefully designed each element to ensnare her. When she was still just a kid, she had followed her heart and it led her right into Rick’s arms. From there, everything spiraled downwards. Even being a loving mother to Alex, which was, seemingly, the most innocent of her endeavours, had led to the mass murder of an entire church. Tragedy seemed so unavoidable. Angela started to believe she deserved whatever butchery Rick had planned. The war had been lost and she awaited her end.
Rick placed the knife against the side of her temple. She felt the blade shiver. Rick was excited.
Then, in a split second, Angela reconsidered. The notion that her life had been designed required for there to be a designer. And who might fill those shoes? Was it the abusive washed-up jock that stood before her, or perhaps the cowardly giant stumbling about the field? Even better, maybe it was the celestial Father from on high who professed love but looked upon the suffering of His children with indifference. None of them were worthy of the title. The only author up for the job was herself, and she didn’t care much for downer endings. She was not going to be bled out atop this collapsing church, just as Alex was not going to be food for the beast.
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