Goats from Lambs

Chapter 5

Christina had been the seventh victim of a child-molesting murderer that Rashida had caught, years ago. When the arrest had been made, Rashida was put in charge of the search of the suspect's home.

Hours later, after finding nothing, the rest of the squad packed up and made their exit, but there was something that kept Rashida there; something about one of the walls in the living room. One swift kick to the rotted drywall and Rashida found herself standing over Christina's decomposing remains.

Based on the glazed fogginess of Christina's eyes, and the withered state of her body, it was safe to assume that she had died at least a month prior. As for whether she had been put in the wall pre or post-mortem was anybody's guess. The mere thought of that made Rashida ball up and cry while cradling Christina's remains until a young Officer who had forgotten something, came back and found her.

The next day when Rashida delivered the news to Christina's parents, they plainly admitted that they didn't even notice she was gone before slamming the door in Rashida's face and presumably going back to their meth-filled schedules.

As Rashida stood there tearing up at the memory she looked around the lakebed. She soon realized that each rock was the face of a victim that she hadn't been able to save. Each of them laid buried beneath her, condemned to this scorched landscape having had their eyes removed.

As more ashes caught the breeze and danced upwards into the air, Christina's head suddenly turned, staring directly at Rashida from her voided eye sockets, as she asked, "Why did you let this happen?"

Soon after, the rest of the heads followed suit, all turning towards Rashida with eyeless gazes, all asking, "Why did you let this happen?"

Again and again, they dead repeated their inquiries, growing in both volume and frequency, until they were a deafening chorus, ringing out over the landscape. Rashida tried to respond to them, only to find that she had no voice. Unable to communicate, unable to bear the horrific sounds of their screams, Rashida turned her back to them, to see a single figure in the distance, under the light of the blood-red sun.

A man dressed in white armor, sitting atop of a white steed.

The White Rider sat proudly on the horizon, staring at Rashida silently, holding as still as a statue. Though both distance and his helmet hid the rider's face, Rashida could feel his gaze upon her as though he were standing a foot away.

Rashida tried to call out to the rider, but still had no voice. Even as she frantically waved her hands, the White Rider just sat there, stiff and unresponsive. Rashida then attempted to run towards him, but no matter how hard she tried to get to the White Rider, no matter how big the stride she seemed to take, she merely remained in the same position.

As Rashida finally gave up on her efforts, the White Rider turned his steed away from her and began trotting off into the distance, as the ground began to violently shake.

Slowly, more and more faces were revealed beneath her, screaming for explanations that would never come. Rashida did her best to remain balanced upon the uneven ground, desperately trying to avoid stepping on the faces of the dead, but the shaking of the ground grew so violent, she had no other choice but to give in, falling onto all fours to meet a familiar gaze staring back at her.

Rashida silently pleaded for it not to be true, but as she swept away the ashes upon the face beneath her, her dread was confirmed. Her younger brother Jacob was staring back up at her with the same eyeless gaze that she had seen on the other faces.

Rashida tried to look away, but quickly realized she couldn't move her body.

Suddenly, Jacob's hands emerged from the scorched soil and grabbed her by the throat with immense strength as he screamed at her, "LOOK AT ME!!! LOOK WHAT YOU DID, YOU BITCH!!!!"

Rashida tried to scream but still no voice came out. She tried to get up, but now found her wrists and ankles in the tight grip of more hands that were emerging from the scorched soil.

Soon, hundreds of arms were pulling her downwards, into the depths of the charred earth. The more Rashida fought against the eyeless souls, the harder and further they pulled her down.

As Rashida was buried up to her neck, she could smell the stench of sulfur emanating from deep below the charred dirt. She could feel the radiating heat growing with each inch she was pulled down.

Just as she struggled to take her last breath, the ashes began to fall in and around her eyes, and her mouth, causing her to begin choking as she surrendered to the insurmountable force.

As the red light of the sun faded, Rashida found herself completely buried in the burnt soil, choking on it as it infiltrated every orifice. Her head began to pound, as her headache crossed the line of consciousness to now haunt her in her dreams with its pain.

Choking for air, feeling as though her head was about to explode, Rashida suddenly froze when she heard something she had never heard in these dreams before.

Some kind of ungodly, deafening scream came from beneath her, and with that cry, came the heat of endless fire, spreading upwards to scorch the soil once more.

* * *

Rashida awoke on her couch with a start. The glass of cold vodka was still mostly full, minus a few drops that had spilled over the back of her hand as she flinched back into consciousness. Turning her attention to the clock in the kitchen, she came to realize that a mere five minutes had passed.

Frustrated, and feeling her head pounding once more, Rashida downed what was left in her glass and poured herself an even more generous serving than before.

Angrily, Rashida leaned back into the couch again, turning up the volume on the TV to begrudgingly listen to some Southern California douchebag complain about how "Debbie's so effing cray."

As Rashida rolled her eyes and took another mouthful of vodka, she leaned back into the couch, waiting for sleep to return and inevitably torture her again.