Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
But reminding me that I’m not really human…
“What are you saying?” I ask, dreading his answer.
Father Dominic lets out a long sigh. “Are you that stupid? Have I not made it clear? You’re an evil abomination. A blight on this earth. You’re just as bad as the vampires, if not worse. You’re not human, Chloe. You have no hope at salvation. You have always been damned. Killing yourself will not change that, but it might save the lives of the righteous that do have a chance at paradise.”
“That… that’s just your opinion,” I stammer.
It can’t be true. If it is, then why has the Order protected me until now?
Why did they lie to me all this time?
Why did they give me hope?
Father Dominic laughs. “I assure you, it’s not. I’ve consulted with the Knights, and after reviewing all the facts, we’ve decided that your life no longer helps us achieve our goals.”
The Knights… the second highest authority in the Order. One step below the Lord Commander.
My first reaction is to accuse Father Dominic of lying.
But why would he lie?
“Goals? You used me to achieve goals? That’s all I’m worth…” I mumble in shock.
Is this really happening? Or am I trapped in a bad dream?
“Yes,” Father Dominic says, sounding impatient. “We used you to achieve our goals, Chloe, and you should be proud that you’ve helped us, that you’ve done a little good, but your usefulness has come to an end.”
Nodding to myself, I try to wrap my mind around that. Try to wrap my mind around my entire life being a lie.
“And you want me to kill myself?” I ask, still numb and unable to feel the awfulness of the words.
“Yes,” Father Dominic hisses at me. “Kill yourself before that vampire gets his hands on you. Kill yourself now for the good of the world.”
Sucking in a trembling breath, I hold it in my lungs then let it out. “And if I don’t?”
“If you don’t…” Father Dominic repeats like he didn’t expect that question.
“Yes, if I don’t,” I snap impatiently at him, throwing his own nastiness right back.
Father Dominic snarls, “If you don’t kill yourself, Chloe, you’ll become an enemy of the Order. We’ll hunt you, like the vampires, to the ends of the earth.”
At a loss for words, I find myself saying, “Okay, that’s good to know.”
Then I press the big red button to disconnect.
Father McCall is dead.
The Order wants me to die.
There’s no hope… there’s never been any hope of saving my eternal soul.
Any one of those things alone is capable of breaking me.
But combined?
I’m utterly destroyed.
Staring at my wall in a daze, my emotions shift rapidly.
First, there’s denial.
I tell myself what I heard, what Father Dominic said, isn’t real.
But it is real…
Deep down inside, I’ve always known what he finally spoke out loud.
I’ve always known that Heaven was never truly within my reach. But I thought, dammit, I thought it would be because of my own failure and weakness.
Not because I never had a chance in the first place.
What was the point? What was the point of living the way I’ve been living? Is this even living? Trapped inside four walls five days a week. Never being able to go out on my own, to explore.
To meet people and converse.
To be.
They locked me in a cage and convinced me it was for my own good.
And I believed them.
Fool that I am, I believed them!
Anger swells inside me and I grip my phone so hard I almost break it. Tossing it away in disgust, I start to slowly spin in a circle, my eyes sweeping around me.
At my small, neat little cage.
With a cry, I lash out and knock everything that’s on top of my nightstand to the floor.
But it’s not enough. Not enough to satisfy the rage burning inside me.
Grabbing the nightstand itself, I lift it up and toss it at the opposite wall.
Then I move onto my dresser. Sweeping everything on top of it to the ground.
Next come the drawers. Ripping them out, I toss them at the wall, enjoying the way they crack and break apart. The clothes spilling out like guts.
Just like me—everything I pick up, everything I throw, cracks and breaks apart.
Eventually, I make it to the altar. My little altar dedicated to Saint Benedict that I’ve prayed at three times a day, every day for years.
So many years…
Gone. They’re all gone.
All wasted.
And for what?
Misery.
Pure fucking misery.
Picking up the cross, I grip it. Letting it cut into my hand.
But the pain is too little.
With a scream, I throw it away. Not even watching where it goes.
Then I rip off the altar cloth and shred it with my hands. Shred it to pieces.
To match my heart.
Dropping the last scrap of cloth, I grab the altar by the leg and fling it away from me.
Then I fall to my knees.