“The one with the gun. Yes.”
“I wonder what you will be like…”
“What?”
“After we drain all the blood from your body.”
“Dead. I’d be dead.”
He sniggered and ran his hand through his scruffy facial hair. “You’re charming.”
“Get up against the door and turn around.”
Bruce’s face collapsed. Any resemblance of the human condition was now gone. He jolted at her with the knife cocked back. She pulled the trigger. He fell to the floor. Keeled over against the wall, he put a hand to his bloody chest.
Erin tried to exhale but it was more like short vibrations of her vocal cords. The shimmer of keys caught her eyes. She reached around his belly and snagged them without touching any of the blood. She stepped over his body and out the door. Standing in front of the other captive room, she slid the key in the lock and it turned. Yes, yes. Thank you, God. She pulled out the chains from the steel handle and swung open the door. Trevor looked awful, but he was alive. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Chapter Twenty-seven - Erin
He hugged her tightly and she hugged him back, despite everything. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“Come on.”
Trevor followed Erin underground to the wine room. It had been boarded up, the wood thick and unbreakable. They were trapped with only one direction to go. Bruce’s cabin. The yacht would be their escape, if they were able to find the keys, or perhaps attempt to hot-wire it. She assumed such a task would be beyond Trevor’s skill set, but one step at time was the best approach moving forward.
She led Trevor by the hand back to the green door until she felt him pull back. He had stopped. “You know now that I didn’t kill Skye. And I did not sleep with her. Never even a chance in hell. There’s no magical spell on me. You see that, right?”
His tone was final and somber. It was the truth. Erin nodded subtly, not wanting to waste time with words that would still taste bitter. “We have to go through the cabin. It’s the only way out. No matter what happens to me, just get to the boat.” His eyes lifted at the implication. “If we can’t find the boat keys… Find a screwdriver, something that might give you a chance to turn it over.”
He grabbed hold of her hand. “I should be saying the same to you. So how about we just both get the fuck out of here, okay? Leave no man behind. What’s that from?”
She stepped into her captivity room to find Bruce still there in a pool of blood. She stepped around his body to pick up the gun. She handed Trevor the knife, and the corner of his mouth tightened. “What? You’re stronger in close. You know, hand-to-hand combat. Knife won’t do me any good. Plus, I saw your shooting,” she said.
“Fair enough.”
“Okay.”
He tried to take the lead, moving past her, but she stopped him. “I’ve got the gun. Unless you plan on throwing that knife?” He stepped aside.
She crawled up slowly, gun in her right hand, her left pressing against the uneven concrete step. She could feel pebbles molded in with the cement. It was cool and bumpy. As her hand reached up to the knob on the green door, the image of her bloodied hands rolled right before her eyes like a projection screen.
She shook the image loose and twisted the knob slowly, waited, then charged through.
Erin staggered to the side. She backed up to the kitchen, next to Bruce’s beloved espresso machine.
Stefan sat comfortably in Bruce’s recliner, sipping from an apple juice box. He remained seated, seemingly enjoying her reaction. He was dead. She had witnessed it. “You’re…” she stammered.
“And yet here I am.” He turned his attention to Trevor. “You look funny, cousin. Something is off with you.” He wagged his finger emphatically.
Erin was stirring, holding onto the counter for balance.
“Don’t get up!” shouted Trevor. “Stay where you are and start talking.”
“As you wish… Well, needless to say, you’ve all been part of something very special. A tradition actually. One that takes place only once a generation, this being my first, obviously. You’ve all been chosen based on what they like to call your unrighteous sins. A little too biblical and dramatic for my taste. I’d prefer utter fucking selfishness, stemming from greed, or what they would call gluttony. Moreover, they’ve never been able to find that soul that could be purified by their hands. They’ve yet to find a single soul they even desired to save… But then you came along, Erin. You in all your shameful glory… I still think it’s because you have that girl-next-door quality, but who am I to argue the merits of age-old spirits.”
He waited for Erin to reply, but her brain wasn’t computing.
Stefan proceeded in a less relaxed position, leaning forward in his chair, feet tucked in. “You’ve been chosen. You’re special. I honestly did see it from the very beginning. Can he say the same?” He gestured at Trevor.
Trevor snapped. “You don’t know a thing about us. You’re just a spoiled little rat turned cult. I don’t give a shit about all this garbage. I know what you are. You think you intimidate me? You think you scare me? You are an ant at my feet, and I’ve been gracious enough to not step on you. So fuck you and your hocus-pocus. You can’t have her. She’s going home and I’m burying you with the rest of them.”
Stefan smiled, then bowed his head and closed his eyes. He lifted his head back up, cheeks flushed, his smile bridged on the left as he shook his head. “I can respect that. But you’re a realist, Trevor. Which normally would suggest your prior comment to be true, but you know neither of you are going anywhere. That is the real truth that you know in your heart. Soon you will be sand and bone like the rest. We all die anyway. Consider us a cleanup crew.”
“I saw what you wanted me to see, you manipulative piece of shit.”
Stefan ignored him. “Erin, you can be with me. I think you’d learn to love me. I get better with time, or so I’ve been told.”
“Don’t listen to him,” said Trevor.
“He’s upset,” said Stefan. “Erin, I think you’re amazing.”
Trevor extended a hand to Erin. “Just hand me the gun.” She stepped toward Stefan and the cabin shook. Trevor’s mouth jutted open and he fell to the ground. Shot in the back between the shoulder blades. Her scream was nothing but a pathetic croak. Bruce’s came booming up the steps and over top of Trevor, who was trying to say something. After a panicked breath, his head smacked into the floor.
“I killed you,” Erin muttered.
Stefan rose to his feet to join Bruce. They blocked Trevor’s body, and she tried to look around them. “Get away from him!” she cried. “Get away from him!”
“It’s time for the ceremony now. We must go.”
“No! Stay back! Get away from me!”
“You should shoot me,” Bruce said. “Come on, shoot me again. I think it’d be good for you. Shoot me. Once more for the crowd! Come on, Erin! A little more gusto this time!”
Her gun was shaking violently, feeling heavy in her hand.
“Human instinct. Hesitation. How can you expect to survive? Shoot me.” She couldn’t. “Shoot me!”
She pulled the trigger, then turned to Stefan and squeezed once more. He had a smile on his face before he was hit. Both crumpled to the ground, the cabin now filled with bodies.
Erin gulped for air. Trevor was gone. She shook and cried, her lips inches away from his. The cabin was silent, and then they rose. Stefan, then Bruce.
Stefan was over the moon with excitement. “That was brilliant, Erin! Are you having fun? Because I’m having fun. I can’t believe you pulled the trigger on me. You are outside your mind right now, and I love it.”
“What…”