them on the table. She’d clean them up tomorrow, when things looked better. When her body didn’t ache for the one thing it couldn’t have.
* * * *
A ripple of lightning shattered the darkness as Fallon woke to the sound of music vibrating the table beside her. She reached for the phone, jumping as a loud crack of thunder erupted overhead. “Hello?”
She cringed at the broken rasp of her voice, so thick with sleep she barely recognised it as her own. She heard a man curse quietly on the other end, his voice mixing in with the play of thunder. “Is anyone there?”
“Aren’t you supposed to answer, 9-1-1?”
Fallon nearly dropped the phone. It was him. The same tone, the same dark menace in his voice. He was calling her again, and that could only mean one thing. “Is there an emergency?” Oh God, her voice was so meek and timid she nearly cried. He’d gotten to her, and he hadn’t even told her anything, yet.
He chuckled. It sounded evil, but…familiar. “I wouldn’t call it an emergency… Angel . I’ve taken care of that, myself.”
Bile rose in her throat and she had to force it back down. He’d recognised her voice, and she wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “What did you take care of?”
“I think you already know that, Angel. We talked about that last time. You do remember, don’t you?”
“You think you’re saving them,” she whispered.
“I know I’m saving them!” he roared. “What’s the matter, Angel? Don’t you believe me?”
“Yes, yes, of course I believe you. You’re The Priest , after all, right?”
His voice soothed and sighed into the phone. “So you do understand,” he replied. “I’m only doing what’s best for them, before they hurt others with their virtue. They do that, you know. Use their pretty little bodies to get men to believe in them…to trust them. But it’s all an act. In the end, they show their true nature and good men suffer for it.” He paused, another sigh trembling across the line. “It’s the only way.”
“But…” Fallon shrieked as another clap of thunder shook the house, rattling her mug on the table. She tensed, nearly dropping the phone before catching it in mid-air.
“What’s the matter, Angel? Afraid of the thunder?” Fallon shook her head, unable to form any words. “It’s okay. It’ll all be over soon. Send the police to the abandoned church on Mission Street. I don’t know the address, but I’m sure they will. And this time, Angel, get it right. I don’t like waiting to see my work on the news.”
Fallon listened to the phone disconnect, the dull whine barely registering. She could feel the vision coming. Feel her body drifting, the room washing into another, brightly lit by candles. This church was darker than the other, with debris scattered around the small space. Pews were turned on their side and most of the stained glass windows were broken. She turned around, taking everything in—the door hanging off its hinges, the tilted cross standing beside a faded picture of Mary. The altar was off to her left, kept dry by the last bit of ceiling still holding together. It was raised several feet off the floor, and all she could see were the limbs of the dead woman hanging still in the heavy air. Blood dripped down from her fingers and toes, making small rivers across the floor.
She walked towards the body, whether by choice or intervention, she didn’t know. But each step brought her closer to the girl…to death. She stopped at the bottom step, her face level with the alter. The same markings adorned the woman’s body, another cross carved above her left breast. Fallon reached towards the woman’s face when the door opened behind her. She spun around, daring the bastard to look at her, to see her. But he was turned away, his hand supporting the door from falling to the ground. He turned his head slightly to the side, as if sensing her presence, and then left,
Fallon cursed and rushed the door,
* * * *
A ripple of lightning shattered the darkness as Fallon woke to the sound of music vibrating the table beside her. She reached for the phone, jumping as a loud crack of thunder erupted overhead. “Hello?”
She cringed at the broken rasp of her voice, so thick with sleep she barely recognised it as her own. She heard a man curse quietly on the other end, his voice mixing in with the play of thunder. “Is anyone there?”
“Aren’t you supposed to answer, 9-1-1?”
Fallon nearly dropped the phone. It was him. The same tone, the same dark menace in his voice. He was calling her again, and that could only mean one thing. “Is there an emergency?” Oh God, her voice was so meek and timid she nearly cried. He’d gotten to her, and he hadn’t even told her anything, yet.
He chuckled. It sounded evil, but…familiar. “I wouldn’t call it an emergency… Angel . I’ve taken care of that, myself.”
Bile rose in her throat and she had to force it back down. He’d recognised her voice, and she wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “What did you take care of?”
“I think you already know that, Angel. We talked about that last time. You do remember, don’t you?”
“You think you’re saving them,” she whispered.
“I know I’m saving them!” he roared. “What’s the matter, Angel? Don’t you believe me?”
“Yes, yes, of course I believe you. You’re The Priest , after all, right?”
His voice soothed and sighed into the phone. “So you do understand,” he replied. “I’m only doing what’s best for them, before they hurt others with their virtue. They do that, you know. Use their pretty little bodies to get men to believe in them…to trust them. But it’s all an act. In the end, they show their true nature and good men suffer for it.” He paused, another sigh trembling across the line. “It’s the only way.”
“But…” Fallon shrieked as another clap of thunder shook the house, rattling her mug on the table. She tensed, nearly dropping the phone before catching it in mid-air.
“What’s the matter, Angel? Afraid of the thunder?” Fallon shook her head, unable to form any words. “It’s okay. It’ll all be over soon. Send the police to the abandoned church on Mission Street. I don’t know the address, but I’m sure they will. And this time, Angel, get it right. I don’t like waiting to see my work on the news.”
Fallon listened to the phone disconnect, the dull whine barely registering. She could feel the vision coming. Feel her body drifting, the room washing into another, brightly lit by candles. This church was darker than the other, with debris scattered around the small space. Pews were turned on their side and most of the stained glass windows were broken. She turned around, taking everything in—the door hanging off its hinges, the tilted cross standing beside a faded picture of Mary. The altar was off to her left, kept dry by the last bit of ceiling still holding together. It was raised several feet off the floor, and all she could see were the limbs of the dead woman hanging still in the heavy air. Blood dripped down from her fingers and toes, making small rivers across the floor.
She walked towards the body, whether by choice or intervention, she didn’t know. But each step brought her closer to the girl…to death. She stopped at the bottom step, her face level with the alter. The same markings adorned the woman’s body, another cross carved above her left breast. Fallon reached towards the woman’s face when the door opened behind her. She spun around, daring the bastard to look at her, to see her. But he was turned away, his hand supporting the door from falling to the ground. He turned his head slightly to the side, as if sensing her presence, and then left,
Fallon cursed and rushed the door,
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