Page 46 of Ruptured
A splash disintegrated the image before the nude body dropped from the ceiling and broke the water. The body flipped, revealing a gray and lifeless Rebel.
Rule screamed again. “Rebel!Sister!”
She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.
“Reb!” Rule sobbed. “I love you! Reb! I need you. I need Mom. Help me!”
An overhead light flipped on, momentarily blinding him. Tears, snot, and spittle wet his face.
“Mom?” he asked, his shoulders shaking with the force of his tears.
A cool cloth brushed over his overheated forehead. “Not your mother. Only me.”
Rule blinked, disoriented. His vision was clearing, but the light still hurt his eyes. “F-Father Wilkins?”
“One and the same,” the priest said, wiping his cheeks.
“Where’s Mom? Please, I want my mom.”
“She will come. Soon, but not yet.”
“MOM!” he screamed. “HELP ME!”
Father Wilkins grasped one of Rule’s hands and squeezed gently. “It’s okay, Rule.” His voice sounded thick and wet. “We’re getting you help, son.”
“Where’s my mom? I want my mom. I want my mom. I want my mom,” he chanted, the only words in his head.
She’s dead.
“No! She can’t be dead.”
Father Wilkins released his hand. “She isn’t dead, Rule. Neither Rebel nor your mother.”
Footsteps invaded the silence and terror seized him. He shrieked, thrashed, and bucked, afraid the voices were embodied to take him away.
“It’s me, Rule. Harley’s mom. Your Aunt Bailey.” She laid a comforting hand on him, the scent of vanilla soothing him. “It’s me, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay,” she crooned.
“I’m not, Aunt Bailey!”
Horrific laughter echoed in his head, and he screamed again. “Help me!”
“Give me a minute,” Aunt Bailey said, and her footsteps rushed away.
A sob reached him. “We…I failed you, Rule,” Father Wilkins said tearfully. “I failed your grandfather.”
Rule didn’t understand. He couldn’t remember his grandfather or the words to form the proper question.
Aunt Bailey’s footsteps resounded again accompanied by another pair.
“Oh, baby.”
Sweat popped off Rule’s clammy skin. He thought he recognized the voice because he’d heard it constantly over the last…however long Mom and Dad left him.
Her soft voice came again. “Look what you’ve done to yourself.” It was definitely Aunt Zoann, and she sounded on the verge of tears too.
Rule didn’t understand why.
“I left him long enough to find clothes for him,” Father Wilkins explained in a choked voice. “When I returned, he’d scratched himself to bits and tore out chunks of hair.”
