"John, are you okay?" Mark asked after a deafening silence.
John looked at his friend, nodding. He reached up to feel his face, feeling the small dents in his skin where Amy's nails dug into his flesh, small specks of blood trickling down. The other two men appeared to grimace at the injuries.
"We better get outta here an' get that treated." Seán said, "Tonight's been a lil much."
"Couldn't agree more." Mark said with a nod.
John also nodded. He attempted to stand, but found his legs weak, leaving him almost falling on his face. The two men walked over to him, Mark helping him stand and allowing him to lean against the him. Seán picked up their flashlights and led the way back to the second floor, then the first floor.
Upon making it to the first floor, Seán stopped at the last step. Mark, confused, called to him.
"What's up?" He asked.
John looked up, then looked at where the Irishman was pointing. By the front door was a shotgun, wood worn and metal rusting. Seán finished his descent, the other two men following. He walked over to the shotgun, turning off his flashlight and stuffing it into his pocket and picking up the weapon. He checked the chamber where the bullets were held, finding only one shell. As his friends approached him, he turned, lowering the barrel of the weapon to point at the ground.
"It's a shotgun with one shell." He said.
"Just one?" Mark asked.
"Yes, that's what I jus' said." Seán said, deadpanned, "How the hell did this get here? Wasn't here when we walked inside."
John looked at the shotgun, an urge tugging at his body. He needed to do something, he could feel it. Like God commanded it.
It was telling him to KILL HER.
The priest stopped leaning against Mark. The two men looked at him, confused. After he could stand steady on his legs, he looked at Seán.
"Give me the gun." He said, trying to keep the urgency from his voice.
The Irishman's brows furrowed, suspicious. "Why?" He asked.
He was already growing impatient. If he was going to do this, he had to do it before Amy was gone. She could run away at any moment. He didn't give an immediate answer, racking his brain for a lie or an excuse. None came to him. He was always a terrible liar, anyways.
"I need to finish what I started." He stated.
"Isn't what you started the...?" Mark started, but trailed off.
His eyes were wide with realization. Seán looked at his black-haired friend, confused, then at the priest. He kept the shotgun close to his chest, grip tight on the weapon.
"I dunno what that means, but judging by the look Mark's givin' ya, I'm not lettin' you have it." He said sternly.
"Seán, just give it to me." John snapped, "I don't want to use force, but I will if I have to."
Seán gave a short laugh. "Two of us here ain't gonna let you have this. There's no way you--"
He was cut off as John threw his crucifix at the Irishman's face. He yelled in pain, grip loosening on the shotgun. John rushed forward and grabbed the gun, kneeing Seán in the gut when he didn't immediately let go. When the shotgun was in his hands, he pointed the barrel at Mark and Seán. They both froze, eyes wide as they looked at the priest. John knew that he must look like a madman -- holding his friends at gunpoint, simply because they wouldn't give him the shotgun. His angry expression softened to regret, his breathing labored and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Forgive me, God. Please, forgive me...
YOU WILL BE FORGIVEN ONCE THE GIRL IS DEAD.
"I... I'm sorry." He mumbled, backpedaling to the door, "I need to do this."
Then, he whipped around, and ran out of the Martin house. Seán and Mark were still for a moment, but the black-haired man was quick to follow where John went, shouting his name. Seán followed him, knowing his friend would need the backup.
While the two chased John, the priest ran through the forest, almost blindly. He couldn't wipe the tears from his face, hands clutching the shotgun as if it were a lifeline. His legs burned, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins made it possible to keep going. He couldn't stop, lest he wanted Mark and Seán to catch him. Lord knows what they'd do to him if he was caught. The thought pushed himself to go faster, feet stamping against unkempt grass.
Finally, he found who he was looking for. Amy laid in a small clearing, motionless, blood splattered against the grass. Her body was cut badly from the glass and bruised from God-knows-what-else. John felt guilt suddenly encompass every fiber of his body, forcing him to stop.
He couldn't just kill her.
She was just a kid.
A CHILD POSSESSED BY THE DEVIL. HER SOUL IS TAINTED AND CANNOT BE SAVED.
John took a deep breath, adjusting his grip on the shotgun, and started his approach. Each step felt as if more weight was being added to his shoulders, but his will forced him forward. When he was an appropriate distance away, he raised the weapon. It took a moment to find the trigger, his hands suddenly clammy and slipping against the shotgun. He knew the weapon was loaded, so all he had to do was aim, and pull the trigger.
As he closed one eye, squinting at the girl with the other, he found himself shaking.
I can't do this.
Ỳ̸̨̛̠̞͚͔͑͒̅̓̈͘͝Ǫ̶̠̑Ü̶̬̱̤̳̻̪͈ ̶̡͖̓͒̓͜M̷̡͖̘̯͙̰̘̮̈́̀͆̽Ű̴̧̡̖̗͉͓̆̄̅́S̵̨̞̻͕̠͉̙͖͚̈́́̕̕͠T̶̝̣̻̭̘̜̜̙̐̓͛̾̊.̵̧̛͚̖͜
He took a deep breath, adjusted his aim, and went to fire.
Suddenly, something grabbed his arm harshly, and jerked him back. His finger slipped off the trigger, and the weapon was flung from his grip. John was thrown to the ground, head harshly hitting the grass and dirt. He groaned, head throbbing in pain, frantically looking around for the shotgun. He heard a voice yelling for him to stop and calm down, hands holding his arms down and a foot crushing his chest. His chest felt constricted, his breathing labored and his mind racing. He didn't know what to do. He failed to save Amy; he failed to put her out of her misery; he failed God. What was there for him to do?
He could only think of one thing to do, forced to the ground and away from the one thing that could provide him with mercy.
He screamed.
His shrill yell into the darkness filled the forest with his pain and failure. His screams snuffed out the yells and pleas for him to calm down and put a stop to his plan of killing the girl. Soon, John stopped, throat raw and chest heaving for breath. Tears streamed down his face, and he didn't care that the two men looming over him saw the whole thing.
Oh, right.
His friends.
Mark had pinned his arms to the ground, head upside-down from John's perspective. He held a look of worry, which confused the priest more than anything. Shouldn't he hate him, for pointing a gun at his chest and then fleeing to kill a child? Meanwhile, Seán still held a foot atop his chest, glaring down at him. Of course he wouldn't be as forgiving. John looked off to the side, seeing the shotgun, abandoned by all three men, taunting the priest with another failure added to the exhaustive laundry list of others. He quickly looked away, hearing Mark speaking to him.
"John, it's okay." He said, voice gentle, "You're safe."
John found his throat uncomfortably dry and sore from screaming, and he could only manage a nod to him. Mark looked up at Seán, who briefly returned the look before moving his foot off John's chest. Mark let go of his friend's arms, allowing him to sit up and slump over his body. He rested a hand on his friend's back, rubbing up-and-down in a comforting motion. John sighed gratefully.
He hoped that Amy would be gone. Maybe she was just a hallucination; just a figment of his imagination. He slowly looked back, almost breaking down again as he saw that she was still there. She was still motionless, still bleeding, still alive. He turned back around and looked at Mark. John couldn't help but feel anger towards him and Seán. Why did they stop him?
Why are they still here, after he pointed a gun at them?
Why?
"Why are you still here?" John asked, voice cracking, "I... I tried to kill someone. I held you at gunpoint. Why did you come after me, and why are you...?" He couldn't manage to finish, a sob choking him of his words.
"John, you're not okay." Mark stated bluntly, "What happened a year ago put you in a bad spot mentally, and I don't think the psyche ward did you any good, either." The man gave a small smile, "Besides, I chose to come out here. I'm not gonna abandon you."
"As much as I found that I don't like you," Seán started, both men looking up at him, "I also come out here on my own accord, so I'm not leavin' you, either."
John gave a small smile. "Thank you." He said.
Seán rolled his eyes, but couldn't hold back a smile. "Yeah, yeah. We should be goin'. We're all tired as fuck."
Mark stood, helping John stand. The priest glanced back at Amy -- she was still laying there, doing nothing. One could assume she was dead. A part of John hoped she was. Mark followed his gaze, then looked back at his friend, frowning and resting a hand on his shoulder.
"It's too late for her." He said.
"I know." John whispered.
Seán picked up the shotgun nearby, then turned back to the other two. The three finally left the area, the Irishman walking at the back of the group as they walked. John had his hands stuffed his his pockets, fishing around for his crucifix to gain some sense of comfort. However, he couldn't find it. He suddenly stopped, looking all around for the holy symbol. The other men stopped as well, watching their friend frantically looking for something.
"John, what is it?" Mark asked.
"My... my crucifix! It's gone!" The priest exclaimed.
"Yeah, 'cause you threw it at me." Seán stated.
"I need to get it back!" John yelled again, "I need--"
Mark stopped him. "No. We're not going back in there. You can always get another one, right?" He said.
You don't understand. That was Father Allred's. I need it back! John thought frantically.
"No, no! I have--" again, the priest was interrupted by Mark, though this time the man was much sterner with his answer.
"No." He growled, "We are going straight to my house, and that's it. We've been out here, following you around and playing along, for long enough. We're leaving, and that's final."
John didn't know what he was expecting. Of course, he was being stern. He just risked his friends' lives for God-knows-how-long in this cursed forest, and even almost got himself killed. One measly crucifix wasn't worth it. He hung his head, unable to fight back or agree, and the group continued back to the car.
When they finally reached it, John pulled out his keys. Mark looked back at him and held out a hand. The priest was confused.
"I know you'll just drive yourself home after going to my house. You're staying with us until I know you can be trusted alone." He explained.
I'm not suicidal. I don't need to be watched over. John wanted to snap back, but bit his tongue and stiffly nodded.
He unwillingly gave his keys to the man, then the group started getting into the car. Just as Mark was about to close the driver side door, the white spider creature leapt out of a tree. It snarled an indecipherable string of words, then ran towards them. All three men gave startled shouts, and Seán raised the shotgun.
"Take this, bitch!" He yelled.
He fired the weapon. The loud BANG of the gun made the other two men cover their ears and Seán to shriek. However, the single shell hit its target dead-on. The creature was hit in its side, screeching in pain.
"NO!" It yelled, "FATHER! AYÚDAME!"
It started crawling into the street, blood gushing out from the bullet hole. Suddenly, a truck came barreling down the road, and the creature couldn't move fast enough. It looked into the headlights of the truck, eyes wide, then...
SPLAT.
The truck didn't stop, going and going until it was gone. All that was left of the creature was its mutilated remains scattered on the road.
The three men were stunned into silence, staring at the creature's corpse. Seán was the first to break out of his trance, quickly getting into the backseat and tossing the gun onto the floor. He shut the door and buckled himself in, while Mark looked back at him.
"Why're you taking that with us?" He asked, voice raised.
"I dunno! So police don't find if and fockin' come after us?" The Irishman yelled back.
"Guys." John said, "Let's just... go home, all right? It's like you said, tonight's been a long one."
Mark nodded. He started up the car quickly, and drove back onto Snake Meadow Hill Road, avoiding the spider creature.
The three were silent throughout the ride. Seán fell asleep, leaning against the cold window, while Mark and John didn't attempt conversation. The priest stared out the window, closing his eyes, reciting a prayer.
I will say of the Lord: He is my refuge and my fortress. My God, in Him I will trust.
I shall not be afraid of the terror in the night, nor the evil that walketh in darkness, because I have made the Lord my refuge.
Because I have set my love upon Him, therefore will He deliver me.
I shall call upon Him, and He will answer me. He will be with me in trouble. He will deliver me and honor me.
John opened his eyes, looking out the window for a moment longer, then looked over at Mark. He was focused on driving them home (his home, not John's home), and he looked out the windshield.
"I... I can't explain what happened at that house." He admitted aloud.
The man next to him glanced over at the priest, then looked back at the road, expression blank.
"Neither can I." He said.
John didn't know what to say. He stared out the passenger side window again, watching trees whizz past.
I can only have faith that I did the right thing. He thought.
His eyes drooped, and, despite his best efforts to stay awake, he fell into a deep slumber.
He deserved it after what happened that night.