Page 21 of The Fallen

The little lamb better hope these bars can hold me in. If not, she will be my sacrifice, my unholy rite.

Chapter Fourteen

Sister Emily Agnes

Iwas wrong. I was wrong about everything. At first, I felt like everyone was blowing Game Night vastly out of proportion, but the later it gets, the less I’m inclined to think so. The other Sisters gather for prayers in the chapel, their plaintive voices crying out in the confining room.

Though I long to join in, I have no idea what to even say or to pray. They saw the aftermath. They dealt with the fear. There is nothing in my brain to compare any of this to, no memory I can cling to or draw from.

In the convent, I was safe. We all were. No one dared bother us. And why would they? Here, in Sector Five, it seems as if God Himself turned His back on His people. That is, if the Sisters are to be believed.

Up until now, I showed no fear. The only emotion clawing at my insides was a deep longing unlike any I’ve felt before. Could it be that Father Draven’s absolution has tainted me somehow? Brought my inner demons to the surface?

I’d like to think it’s not possible, but it’s certainly not out of the realm. Nothing is. Every day spent in this order, I feel as if I learn something new. And not all of them are lessons I enjoy learning.

As I kneel here, fingers clasped and head hung low, I pick up on their fear. I draw it in as if it’s my own. There’s a frenetic energy that pulses through, like a heartbeat, thrumming through us until we are one.

Shadows skitter along the walls, cast about by the candles lit for intercession. They’re like demons scurrying about, threatening to consume me. Is it because of my weakness? My unholy desires? Am I the one who will endanger everyone just by living?

The bells ring out, making me nearly jump out of my skin. Next to me, the other Sisters jolt as well then go back to their praying.

One.

Everyone freezes and looks at each other, their eyes wide like lost sheep.

Two.

My heart climbs into my throat as the quiet hysteria flows over me, consuming me until I find it hard to breathe.

Three.

I look to Mother Superior, taking my cue from her, but she looks just as uneasy as the rest of us.

Four.

What will happen to Father Draven? Will he really turn into a beast like they’re making the other Alphas seem? I can’t believe it. I refuse.

Five.

It’s as if the entire abbey holds its breath, waiting for the next chime.

Six.

Closing my eyes, I let it out in a whoosh, forcing my body to stop shaking. One hour left until hell visits Sector Five. Will we be safe? Will we be prepared?

As the last chime dwindles down, Mother Superior rises and motions for us to stand. Without saying a word, she directs some of the others with her fingers. They instantly move into action.

From the back of the chapel, they pull out solid wood panels. It’s as if they’ve run drills and practiced this. It takes no time at all to place them over every point of entry.

The moment they lay flat upon the doors, metal spikes shoot out and embed themselves around the perimeter, keeping it firm against it.

“Now then, Sisters,” she murmurs. “The abbey will weather this storm as it did last year. Only now, we are far more prepared. No one will come in, and no one will go out. Until this night is over, this place is an impenetrable fortress. All we can do now is trust that God will carry us through. We will eat our dinner in silence and prayer, then retire to our rooms for the duration of the evening.”

For a moment, she pauses as she looks us over, her gaze suddenly very old and sad. “You will hear many atrocities tonight. It is the nature of where we are located. Do not leave your rooms. No matter what you hear. No matter how close the sounds may seem, do not leave your rooms. You will be safe in them. Any moment you feel fear, simply turn back to scripture. They will direct you.”

One by one, we file after each other and slip into the communal dining room. Unbidden, I look over at the head of the table where Mother Superior sits and awaits her food. At the opposite end, Father Draven’s seat remains empty.

Though I don’t wish to break the silence, I am concerned for the Father Confessor. He was not at Mass this morning nor breakfast. Other than that brief, erotically charged moment in the hallway, he’s been absent. I raise my hand and wait to be called upon, not wishing to anger the woman.

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