Page 103 of Whispers of Helena
“She’s gone,” I force out, my voice barely audible.
Marcel steps in behind Eli, his expression darkening. “What are you talking about?”
I swallow hard. “She took their lives, their souls left. And then…she was just…gone.”
Silence hangs between us.
Eli steps toward me, sorrow written across his face, but I shrink away.
“Is Kiran up?” I ask instead, my voice rough.
Marcel shakes his head. “Not yet.”
I nod, turning away before they can say anything else. “Eli, finish up for me here.”
Without waiting for a response, I push past them, heading for the house. My legs feel leaden, each step heavier than the last.
Inside, the house is still; wrapped in the quiet of early morning. I move up the stairs, peeling off my clothes and changing into my pajamas like muscle memory. But there is no comfort in routine. No solace in familiar motions.
I step into Kiran’s room. He lies curled in bed, his small chest rising and falling with each steady breath, his dark hair a tousled mess. The sight of him makes my throat tighten.
I pull back the blanket and slip in beside him, wrapping my arms around his small frame, holding him against me.
I’ve been here before.
It’s like reliving a nightmare.
I bury my face in his hair, breathing him in. He stirs but doesn’t wake, his presence anchoring me in a world that suddenly feels unbearably empty.
I cling to my son.
Because once again, he’s all I have left of her.
Failure
Helena
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
1 John 1:9
I wake in a cell.The mattress beneath me is softer than I expected, the fabric of my gown crisp and white. A stark contrast to the heavy exhaustion pressing down on me. My eyes strain against the light surrounding me, too bright, too pure.
The spirits had spoken of these rooms. A place for those teetering on the edge, where souls in danger of being cast into purgatory were kept.
I scan the space.
I’m alone.
A heavy fist pounds against the door, the sound reverberating through the silence.
“Caroline Hayes.”
My throat is dry. “Yes?”
The door swings open, revealing two guards clad in goldenarmor, their presence both intimidating and otherworldly. One steps forward.
“Your presence has been requested.”
