Page 49 of Judas

Uncle Lucien. That’s what the letter was signed as; said he had someone intercept the letters my mom had written me for the better part of my life—she did want me. Maybe she thinks I don’t want anything to do with her? She spent so much time trying to find me and reach out to me and I never responded. Perhaps she hurts just as much as I do, all because of someone else's stupid games.

The thought sours my chaotic smile, feeling it fade just as quickly as it appeared. Of course I want—wait, do I? I mean,I know that I don’t-not want a relationship with her, but what if she’s just like my adopted parents? What if she sees me differently and puts me through the same situations I’ve already been experiencing? No, wait, yes, no. She wouldn’t do that to me—she would have aborted me if she didn’t want me. Sometimes I feel like that would have been the better option. Now that I am tucked away in the bowels of a Canadian forest with a psychopath, I’m almost certain dying early is destined to happen for me.

Stop doing this to yourself.

“You shut the hell up.”

Your feelings don't matter right now. Survival does.

“Don’t you think I know that? Why else would I be looking around this dark ass bathroom? Hoping I’d find a tub full of blood to wallow around in?”

Easy, child.

“Oh, don’t you ‘easy’ me.”

“Who in the world are you arguing with?”

His voice echoes around me and I whirl around. Coming face to face with who I have denounced as Samael, and with a clear mind—for now—I instantly begin to take everything in.

He’s tall, like over six feet, probably closer to six-four. Thin, like he hasn’t eaten a full meal in months. Dark hair strewn all over the place, with chunks of it having fallen over his forehead and into his eyes. He’s rough-looking, to say the least. In clothes much more appropriate for Canadian weather than mine are, but still no real jacket in sight.

Barely able to make them out, I see tattoos peppering up and down both arms, then notice they are also creeping up his neck. Too shadowy in here to make out an eye color but scraping my memory, I know they’re grey. Not the pretty kind either, the ones you get lost in because they are like beacons. No, the ones that look like slate, no shine or luster to them, just flat color and dull.

“No one,” I blurt out, feet stepping back until my naked heels meet the tub I was just giving Liz grief over. Recognizing my abductor, I refuse to look back and see what may be behind me. The hunt for a weapon is put on pause as I deal with him. Needing to remain alert and not let him out of my sight if I want to stay alive. He’s already made it pretty clear that he will hurt me—if the lacerations and bruises on my face say anything about it.

“You’re a terrible liar, Sadie. Good girls don’t lie,” he retorts, then blinds me when he lifts a flashlight and flicks it on. A bright beam hits me so hard in the face I can feel pain shoot through my retinas.

“Goddamnit! Did you have to do that?!”

“Do not take the Lord's name in vain. That was your one chance.”

“Jesu—“ I start but he shifts and stands taller. “Sorry,” I murmur instead.

Neither one of us moves then, my skin crawling as he stares at me with the light blazing across my chilled body. My fingers and toes aren’t bothering me that much anymore; too cold to feel them, I guess. I just hate the way these clothes scrape like sandpaper, and his gaze seems as if it’s going through me. Time begins to drag before he scoffs and speaks again.

“Most people would be asking questions right now. Why me, what do you want, who are you? But not you. You were in here arguing with yourself, now you stand there without an ounce of curiosity?”

“Taking it this is your favorite pastime? Abducting little girls, beating them into your trunk, then dragging them across the country?” I snap back. He doesn’t fucking know me, he has no clue what I’m going to ask, then to insinuate my differences? Fuck off.

“Hardly, sweet girl. Children are usually off limits. I also don’t play with my food this long. If I didn’t have plans for you, you would have died at the bottom of that embankment you so elegantly tumbled down in Michigan.”

“Lucky me.”

“Indeed. Now, I found some food. Get out here and put something in your belly before I shove it down your throat. The growling is annoying.”

“And the arguing isn’t?”

“Not at all, I know a crazy bitch when I see one. You get that from your mother.”

“And just who in the fuck are you then? Mr. I-Assault-Children.”

“Uncle Lucien, of course.”

At that, the weirdo walks away, taking the light with him and my eyes are plunged right back into darkness. There’s no damn way, he’s… he’s the one that sent the letter talking about family and my mom? With a sudden burst, I race after him. Bare feet pad quickly across the floor as I dart out of the bathroom, but he’s not in the bedroom I woke up in. Instead, there’s a door open on the far end and I head for it.

It doesn’t take me long to find my way around the cabin. Down the hall, at the very end, it opens up into the living room and kitchen space where we came in. There are a few more lights shining here and there, candles flickering since night is falling, but it’s the accumulation in the kitchen that draws me. Anger sitting at the tip of my tongue, waiting to unleash words upon this… this… kidnapper!

“You sent the letter.” The words tumble out of my mouth when I round the end of a very large island. On the top of it lies a spread of old canned food that is likely well past the best by date.

---