November 1899

November 1899

White light. A scream. Soft beneath frozen feet. Blue eyes twitched open. Roaming the room. Who was that? Dark eyes in a sombre face. Yank. No purchase. Arms bound then. No scratching those eyes. Damn.

“She’s awake.”

Back arching, no way to be free. A scream turned into a laugh. Dry raw throat. Another figure. All dressed in black this one. Firm posture. Kill, kill, kill. Wood flashed before eyes. Fear. Anything but that. Another scream. The priest leaned in. Spit in his face. Laughter, manic laughter. Chanting, endless chanting. Brilliant singing. White light burning flesh. The cross before her, always the cross. Always.

There was a snap. Her arm broke loose and she clawed her hand at father Brannan. His reflexes saved him. Before she could move again, her arm was seized by Alistair, who she clawed and hissed at like an angry cat. Slowly, her arm was secured once again. The chanting did not stop the entire time. The father’s mouth vouched for her good nature, her will to do the Lord’s work and how she did not deserve the fate that awaited her. 

Then he changed his tune and the exorcism began properly. Pain had her back arch up and this time, the scream she let out was all her. Thousands of tiny needles pricked her body, it was as though her head was being forced into three different directions at the same time. Water lashed her face, burning, as father Brannan continued to do the work he had been asked to complete.

The stench of piss filled the air, the strain on her body reaching a crescendo. Every muscle in her body tensed as she jerked against the chains holding her down. The cry she released this time was like nothing she had ever heard before, a deep, guttural sound borne of frustration and grief at a purpose not completed. She relaxed, eyes shut, breath even.

When her eyes opened again, she was herself once more. The first thing she was aware of, was the injuries on the face of the man she had come to love. There was a new fear in his eyes that she had hoped to never see. Something cracked then and she screwed her eyes shut, letting the wet tears flow from beneath the lashes. That was something she had hoped to never see from him, everyone else perhaps but not him. Father Brannan bade her a farewell then, though she barely noticed him leaving.

A glass of water was forced into her hands and she took a sip. Speaking was out of the question, her throat and voice were ruined from the effects of the spirit’s use. Her other hand and feet were unbound and she sighed, sitting up. She was tired, tired to the bone but there was no way she was going to sleep in a wet bed smelling as she did. Slowly, unaided, she got to her feet and placed the glass to the side; she needed a bath and some time to think about what she was going to do next, surely it was time for a change.