Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Abaddon’s pallor became a deep flush, as if on some other plane of existence, the wine had spilled on him in a giant fountain. “I’m not scared. It just surprised me!” he claimed but wouldn’t get off the chair.
Gabriel stared at him, bursting out with laughter. “Big bad archangel is afraid of a rat? Come down if you’re not.” But he didn’t waste time and put away the wine because he could see they wouldn’t be getting anywhere until the creature responsible for Abaddon’s terror was gone.
“I can see my surroundings better from here,” Abaddon complained but stepped off the armchair despite his body language screaming in discomfort. How had he survived a week in this place without ever encountering a rat? Or had he made the sacrifice of dealing with them for Gabriel’s sake? That would have been sweet, but Gabriel was happy to for once be the hero, not the damsel in distress.
Unafraid of mice, bats, or spiders, he grabbed a shoe box from one of the cupboards. He spilled its contents: papers and old photos, onto the bedding.
“I’ll use this to trap it,” he said and took the knife Abaddon must have cut the apple with to make holes in the cardboard.
“It’s a rat! It’ll chew its way right out and have a grudge,” Abaddon grumbled, but Gabriel could hear him behind him as he neared the cupboard.
Gabriel shook his head. “Hmm… Do you want to kill it?”
“No, I don’t want to kill it!” it came out as such a screech, Gabriel looked back at Abaddon’s reddened face.
“Okay, okay, calm down. We won’t,” Gabriel said and pulled on the heavy piece of furniture, intent on chasing the rat out of its hiding spot.
“Hey, you don’t need to do that,” Abaddon said, but the cupboard budged, revealing symbols scratched on the wall.
The rodent darted from under the cupboard, using their moment of confusion, but Gabriel didn’t care to chase it when he heard it padding its little feet farther and farther away in the massive attic. He turned his attention back to the wall where several animals were listed next to numbers.
Dog, 11.
Cat, 7.
Rat, 15.
Mouse, 21.
Bird, 6.
Butterfly, 5.
Frog, 3.
“That’s… weird,” Gabriel said, not knowing what to think, but Abaddon shoved the dresser back in place, no longer remembering how spooked he’d been at the sight of the poor rat, which likely had been even more afraid of him.
“Must be very old.”
“It did seem so… What could it be about though?” Gabriel frowned, turning away. He sat on the bedding to get the papers and photos back into the box.
“No idea. It’s an old house,” Abaddon said and stepped out of his shoes before picking up the wine bottle and venturing to one of the many cupboards to rummage through drawers.
Gabriel stalled with one of the photos in hand when he spotted a younger Father John, smiling back at him from an image in which he had his arm swung over Mrs. Benson’s shoulders.
“Ugh… Makes me sick to see these. Look, those are old photos from the orphanage. They’re all smiling like they’re not crazy psycho murderers.” Gabriel scowled, looking through the photos to find a whole pile of them, including images of young children. Nothing incriminating, but pictures of six kids were dated twenty years back and marked with initials at the back. He could only deduce that these poor souls were no longer alive, victims of the first cycle in the fucked-up ritual.
“Best to leave them for God to judge. Don’t torture yourself,” Abaddon said, startling Gabriel with a loud pop when the cork left the neck of the bottle.
Gabriel scowled, but as he uncovered the next picture, his eyes settled on a small boy sitting in a massive wooden chair next to Mrs. Benson. His face had been scratched out so aggressively the paper was translucent.
A cold rock settled in his stomach, and he shuddered when something moved in the corner of his eye but it was only Abaddon’s hand offering him a glass of red.
He took the drink absentmindedly, but spotted a few more photos where a child had his face either scratched out or rubbed out with a black marker. Something dark coiled in his stomach.
“Do you think this could have been Harry? Scratched out because he didn’t serve their purpo—?” Gabriel didn’t finish the question, because his mouth dried at the sight of six children, him included, with Father John standing behind them as if he wasn’t about to be their executioner.
Gabriel had to take a large swig of the drink to ease his parched tongue. Sweet. But a bit sour. Strange.
And Harry was right there, his face smiling and not hidden in any way. Abaddon hummed as he settled beside him with a glass of his own. The bedding pulled from under Gabriel’s bottom when the other man shifted closer, but while his warmth provided comfort, the pictures held him at gunpoint.