5. Rain

The man standing at the front of the room, who welcomed me home, knows my fucking name. He stands taller than the rest, wearing the same white mask as everyone else. Others stand before him, there aren’t a lot of them, maybe twenty or so. But it makes the small space feel full. His black cloak also has gold trim decorating it. On the breast there is a design that I can’t quite make out from where I am standing. My fingers rake through my disheveled and long black hair, which is in desperate need of a brush.

Where the fuck am I?

Along with the torches lining the area, white candles decorate the perimeter of the area. The wax is melting onto the dirt floor. I swallow, opening my mouth to speak, to demand some sort of answer but no words escape me. I am completely frozen.

“Ah, my child. No need to say anything at all. You are here to observe this evening. We have a special night planned for our followers, for you,” The deep, captivatingly calm voice explains.

The man who escorted me here grabs my arm, his grip is tight as he begins leading me towards the front. I try to pull away, but he grips me harder. “Don’t bother fighting. It is of no use.”

The same loud voice speaks to me again. I nod my head once, in defeat. He isn’t wrong.

As we approach, the followers begin stepping aside to clear a path. My eyes examine each one, all in the same robes and masks. The man standing at the front seems to be special, only his robe has the gold trim and emblem. There is a row of men whose backs continue to face me, they do not move like the others did. My handler and I stop, finally building up the courage, I go to speak but he stops me.

He nods his head to the people in the front, and they all move to the side. My heart drops into my stomach when my eyes land on who is lying there, and my knees shake as my lip trembles. My handler lets go of me as I fall to the ground.

All color has to have left my body as shock sets in.

Covering my mouth, I shake my head in absolute disbelief, “No. No, this can’t be.”

“Oh, but it is.” His voice echoes, it sounds further away than it did just moments ago. My eyes are focused on the sight before me, everything has disappeared around me as my body still trembles. Tears race down my cheeks, and suddenly I feel so cold that my teeth chatter.

“Rain, look at me.” His authoritative tone causes my head to look up at him. His head slants as he looks at me. Why does he know my name?

The emblem is clear now, on his robe. The outline of bat wings is etched into it. Each peak of the wing has a line running down to the bottom. The way it is done makes it appear as though they are flying out of the fabric.

I recognize that symbol.

“Society dictates, no harm to women and children. Save them first. Protect them. But why? We do not see gender. We see good and evil. Our God shows them to us, and we honor his request. We do not follow societys norms. Tonight is a very special night, my sweet Rain. You have come home to me, to us. We must celebrate your arrival, your future.” He interrupts my thoughts. Speaking as he steps down from where he is standing. He is now on even ground with me and the others. Gravel crunches beneath his shoes with each step towards the long, dark wood table before us. Reaching out, his finger brushes against it as he passes, then reaches me.

“Don’t be scared. She was shown to us before your birthday. It’s okay.” He reassures me while standing over me.

“You are fucking vile. Get away from me!” I screech back. I am sobbing, and inconsolable. Nothing about this is okay. He is delusional. He is a fucking monster.

My nostrils flare in rage as my lungs scream into the room. No one reacts, no one except for the man standing in front of me taunting me and laughing at me.

Then, I feel him. In my body, bones and soul, his energy. He is here. My eyes frantically look around, but nothing.

“My boy. Wake up the evil that lingers in our presence. I can smell her rot from here. It is eating her from the inside. All is too late, she cannot be saved.” He declares.

Loud slaps can be heard echoing in the room. At one point I think her skin must have cracked open from the sounds of the hand smacking her, over and over again.

Catching me off guard, my handler grabs me by the crook of my arm, thrusting me off the dirty ground and onto my feet. His hand tightly wraps around me, squeezing until it hurts. But I don’t wince, refusing to show him I am in pain.

My brain is racing with only one thing: I need to get to her. I need to save my mom.

Mustering up all the strength I can, I shout, “My mom is not an evil person.”

The man in front of me, the leader of this fucked-up place steps aside. My mom, who is naked, is being held down by four people. Her cheek facing me is bright red.

“Let her go!” I cry.

Another stands at her head, his arms are crossed over his chest. I assume he is the one who was possibly slapping her. He is the only one not wearing a mask, but instead his face is painted similar to a skull.

My mom’s face turns towards me as she mouths, ‘I love you, my girl’. A single tear rolls down her face. My chest heaves, still uncontrollable sobbing, and wishing I would just wake up. This is all a dream, please wake the fuck up. I will do anything for this to all be a dream.

My silent pleas are interrupted, “Do it my boy, show us how you earned your wings.” The man instructs.

As I look at the man again who is standing at her head, I feel him. Why isn’t he stopping this or helping me? He has to be feeling this too. Where is he?

His eyes pierce into mine, they almost seem familiar. He doesn’t take them off me as he uncrosses his arms.

A silver blade is revealed in his hand. Without taking his eyes off of me, he lifts his arm over my mother, directly above her throat. My breathing stops, and my eyes widen as I start to understand what is coming next. Shaking my head, faint ‘no’s’ sneak out between my lips.

Everything seems like it is moving in slow motion now. His hand moves down, plunging the sharp tip into the thin skin on her neck. He doesn’t stop there; while his eyes remain on me, his tattoo-covered hand grips the handle harder, twisting it ninety degrees.

My mom coughs at the movement, and blood begins pouring out of her mouth. She tries to get out of the strong hold, her arms and legs fidget but they do not budge. With each cough, more blood gushes from her.

Turning her head to face me, her eyes are hooded as tears of blood fall down her cheek. Then, the crimson red begins to drip out of her nose.

“Mommy…” I don’t know if I said this out loud or just in my head. I feel like I am no longer in my own body as I watch this.

The man holding the blade never lets go of it.

Looking up at him, I mouth to him please, trying to plead with him to help her. His eyes remain on me, and his body doesn’t move.

Fucking bastard.

He is completely unaffected by the horrific scene he has caused.

Defeat starts to settle in as I watch her die. No one is going to help her.

The only parent I have ever had, the one person who truly loves me, is leaving me too soon.

“Mommy, no, please don’t go. Please stay with me. Mommy.”

Her head gets heavy as it falls against the table. Looking into my eyes, she blinks at me once more before life fades from them. She is gone.

“I fucking hate you. You bastard, I hate you.” I manage to get out between sobs.

My anger is directed at all of them. They all just watched and held her down, fucking cowards. They did it because their fucking leader told them to. He is the most disgusting of them all.

“Rain, what horrible things to say about your father, don’t you think?” The deep voice is more casual now. It catches me by surprise.

Then I absorbed what he just said.

My father?

“My mother would never have gotten with anyone as fucked up and evil as you. You are not my father. I don’t have a father!”

I scream with every ounce of air in my lungs into the room, it’s high-pitched and full of pain.

My mother was just murdered, right in front of my eyes, and this piece of shit is alleging to be my father now, the leader of The Chapel.

“No need to say anything more. Let us finish the ceremony, and you can go back to your cell.” He commands. He’s upset that I am not welcoming him with open arms.

I am defeated. Alone. Heartbroken.

I just want to wake up. This can’t be real.

Sobbing, my body goes limp in my handlers’ hold. My head falls forward, and I am dazed, no longer able to focus or process what is happening.

The handler lets go of me, and my body falls hard to the ground. I’m sure it hurts, but I can’t feel anything.

Unable to focus, I am caught by surprise when warm liquid touches my skin; still just in my thin sleep shorts and tee.

My vision gets distorted as they begin to pour it over my head, coating me as it runs down my forehead, over my eyes and onto my lips. It drips to the ground in front of me. Opening my mouth slightly, I lick my lips. The taste of copper invades my tastebuds. The metallic smell creeps up my nose.

Another bucket gets thrown over me, coating the rest of my body.

It’s blood.

Dark red, warm blood. At first, I think it’s from an animal. I’ve heard of this, dousing people in pig or cow blood. But it’s too warm, and too fresh. They would have had to have just slaughtered it.

Then a wave of realization washes over me.

This is my moms blood.

These monsters are draining her blood and coating me with it.

Sick sadistic bastards.

My father’s voice commands the room once more, “With her blood, my daughter, my heir is reborn!”

I fucking hate him. I want to scream but can’t.

The tiny drops that were once on the ground have turned into a large, crimson puddle surrounding me. I still don’t move. Instead, I just stay here taking it. I need this to be over. If I fight, they’ll take satisfaction in making me endure this longer.

Fingers begin touching my bare legs, arms and face. Blood drips off my lashes as I try to look around. I am completely surrounded by black cloaks now. My body is numb. My brain is protecting me now. I don’t feel her anymore; despite being covered in her, my mom’s presence was something extraordinary and now it is gone.

Faintly I begin hearing chants, none of this seems real. “Principessa Oscura, Principessa Oscura, Principessa Oscura…”

I’m not sure what it means. But I still feel his presence. Where is he? Why isn’t he helping me?

“Take her back to her cell.” His deep, commanding voice interrupts my thoughts.

Next thing I know, my body is being dragged, and my heels are leaving a trail of blood behind me in the dirt.

“This bitch is slippery.” One complains. It takes two of them this time, each holding one of my arms.

It doesn’t take long for them to throw me back into my prison cell. The clicking of the lock shakes me out of the space I was in.

Looking down at my body, I see the familiar bat wings and an upside-down cross decorating my shirt. It was traced through the blood on my clothing.

Anything else that was traced on my skin has since been covered again. It’s so thick and is starting to feel heavier on me as it drips off me. My hands reach up to my hair, it’s soaked as well. I grip it in my hands and begin wringing out my disheveled ponytail.

My lip quivers and my chest heaves. I’m going to be sick.

They painted me with my mother’s blood and left it on me to dry. The reminder is forever embedded in and on me.

I just want it off. Washing it off will help erase the memory of this horror. Using my short fingernails, I begin scraping my skin. Anything to get her blood off me. As it builds up with each drag, I wipe the excess off on the rocky walls surrounding me. I do this several times, but as it gets thinner, it begins to dry on my skin making it harder to remove. I desperately want to remove my blood-soaked, branded clothing, but I refuse to allow these fuckers to see me in my most vulnerable state, naked and imprisoned by them.

Curling into myself, my stomach turns as I move my body against the cool rock wall. Leaning on it, I let out one last scream of frustration. I scream until all the air is out of my lungs and my throat tingles.

Trying to keep it in doesn’t work. Vomit follows, and I get sick next to where I am sitting, nothing more than bile comes out, as I haven’t had anything to eat or drink in who knows how long.

Once it’s all out, I let the tears dry on my skin. No use wiping them off.

My body continues to shake, it’s exhausted, so I bury my face in my knees.

Closing my eyes, a vivid image flashes before me.

My father is the devil.