Page 151 of His Hell Girl

From the beginning I've been able to note the change in the atmosphere around him whenever his moods oscillate, and thetension had become increasingly unbearable as I'd watch him clench and unclench his fists when he thought I was distracted.

In his own way, he doesn't want to bring it up to me in fear that it might trigger a memory, and so I know he's holding back a lot. But after we're done with Mother Superior, I aim to have a conversation with him.

Stopping in front of the church, I take a deep breath, ready to face all my past demons. Nodding to Vlad, I push open the door.

He's behind me, and I feel the way his eyes are studying every inch of our surroundings, so I know thatnothingcan harm me. Having him by my side truly makes me feel invincible, and so I give him one last smile before I school my features.

The reckoning has arrived.

As we walk down the aisle, I see the huddled form of Mother Superior. She's on her knees, her head bent low in front of the altar, a long rosary hanging from her hands. Her head whips back the moment she hears the noise behind her, her eyes having a hard time to discern who it is that's disturbing her private time.

"Don't you know it's curfew time?' she asks, her voice grating on my nerves as I suddenly remember every insult and every mockery uttered by thatveryvoice.

I don't answer, stepping further into the church.

My own knight in shining armor is trailing behind, blending in the shadows as he just watches, letting me do what Ineedto do. And his unconditional trust is the only thing that makes me capable to follow through.

The only light inside the church is coming from the altar, where a dozen candles are lit in a small circle, the flicker of light confined to a small area.

And so it's not until I'm mere steps away from her that Mother Superior realizes who I am, her eyes widening, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"Assisi," she sputters, flustered. "What… what are you doing here?"

"Mother Superior," I say somberly, and a wicked thought to play with her crosses my mind, "I've come to give you your dues," I continue, very slowly putting one foot in front of the other.

"How come you're here? You can't be here?" She gets to her feet, looking at me with confusion.

"Isn't that where we all go where we are aimless? To the place we know best? Home?" The word home burns on my lips, and knowing this had been indeed my home for so long does little to quench the need for destruction brewing inside of me.

"What… I don't know what you're talking about," she immediately counters, although I note a slight twitch in her eye as she looks around for any exit.

"Did you know what they did to me?" I ask, fighting back a smile as she narrows her eyes at me. In spite of her perceived bravado, I can see the slight trembling of her hands, the beads of the rosary moving in a back and forth motion and clinking against each other.

"How they took from my body until there was nothing left? Andyouallowed it," I intone, putting all the strength in my voice and enjoying the way the sound echoes in the church. I lift my finger up and point at her, and finally I receive the reaction I've been waiting on from her.

Her features blank, her mask dropping as she realizes what I mean.

"What…" she whispers, slowly backing away from me. "You're not real." She shakes her head.

Well, well, but I think my ghostly talk seems to be working. And so I push, wanting to see the fear etched on her face.

"It's your fault," I say as I take one more step toward her.

She keeps on shaking her head, closing her eyes and doing the sign of the cross over her body, her lips muttering a quiet prayer.

"Are you scared now? Scared to face your sins?"

My tone is consistent throughout, and I make a conscious effort to not give myself away by bursting out in a scream, demanding to know exactly what she did to me.

And it seems to work as she continues to back away until she trips on the small steps of the altar, falling down on her ass.

Her eyes are wildly looking around for an exit, her hand thrusting that rosary into my face as if it might protect her from me.

Dropping on one knee in front of her, I snatch it out of her hands, flinging it to the ground.

"You," she spews, her brows tightening together, her hand reaching out to touch my arm, "you're not dead," she continues, her voice accusatory.

And therein lies the issue. Why would she think I'm dead if she's not knee deep into this whole thing?

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