Chapter Twenty-Three: Ritual

His gaze felt heavy on her skin. Intrusive, like an unwanted caress.

"What do you mean by 'worship'? " she demanded. The longer she could keep him talking, the better her chances of survival.

The man had been circling her slowly, stepping fastidiously over the stones which she had scattered across the floor.

"You have exquisite bones," he said, without stopping.

She swallowed painfully. Inhaled. Exhaled. Forced herself to remain still, concealing her hand and her paltry weapon in a fold of her skirt.

"Yes," he murmured. "Exquisite." He drew the word out as though he were tasting each syllable. "It's a shame about the rest."

"The rest?"

She looked down at her own body, trying to comprehend the revulsion in his voice, and saw only her own familiar arms, ink-stained, dirt-stained; her dress, rumpled and filthy; her legs, and the rusty smear of blood visible on her thigh.

Oh, she thought blankly. When did that start?

Now that she was thinking about it, she could feel a cramping in her lower abdomen, distinct from the pains of hunger, and she could feel wetness between her legs. It had all blended together, before; what was one more unpleasant sensation among many?

When she looked up again, the man was holding a knife.

"Shall we begin?" he said softly.

"No," she said, and made a break for the stairs, moving as fast as she could push her weakened body. When he lunged after her, she slashed at him with the nail.

"You filthy bitch!" he roared, clamping a hand around her forearm. Blood streamed down one side of his face from a ragged cut. The nail's tip, she noted with grim satisfaction, had become unpleasantly blunt after her hours of excavation.

There was no more time for self-congratulation. Though every atom of her body was focused on getting free, she could feel that her efforts were weak, insufficient. He was twisting her arm, trying to make her drop the nail; and he had a hand clamped over her mouth, preventing her from screaming for help. Despite her struggling he dragged her backwards, deeper into the cellar. Closer to his shrines.

The nail fell from her limp fingers.

She could feel his breath coming in sharp gusts against the side of her head. She was breathing hard, too. Lights sparkled and flashed in front of her vision, and she could hear a dull roaring in her ears.

Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out.

She had nearly summoned up the energy to bite her captor's palm when he suddenly released her.

"You almost made me break your arm," he said angrily.

I slashed him with a rusty nail, and he's worried about my arm?, she thought muzzily. And then came a flash of horrified understanding.

The bones. The meticulous, perfect piles of bones. He wants mine to be perfect, too.

Behind her, the man laughed. "Clever girl," he said. "You just put it all together, didn't you?"

He stepped closer. She could feel the knife hovering just over the fragile skin of her neck.

"What did you do to those girls?" she asked.

"I freed them," he said simply.

The knife pressed harder, a pin-prick of pain in the hollow beneath her jawbone.

"You killed them," she said.

"They were animals," he said dismissively. He trailed the knifepoint down the line of her jugular vein, across her clavicle, in a horrible parody of a lover's touch. "Animals," he said again. "Trapped in the flesh, as you are now. I gave them beauty. I gave them purpose."

"I already have a purpose," she said, wishing her voice were steadier, wishing her hands would not shake. "I have a family, a job, a- "

"Trivial," he said. He pressed down, suddenly, drawing blood. Lifted the blade, paused for an eternal moment, and repeated the action on her other collarbone.

Suddenly her fear melted into fury.

"Don't play with me," she snapped, whirling to face him. "Do it, or go away."

The odd expression on his face surprised her. He was dreamy-eyed, distant, lost in whatever ceremony he had created. He blinked, now, as though jolted out of meditation, and then frowned.

"You need to be quiet," he said. "Don't rush me."

"Oh, my apologies. I'd hate to make this unpleasant for you," she retorted.

He shoved her, hard, sending her sprawling into the dirt below the line of niches.

"I came back too soon," he said, voice shaking with anger. "You fucking bitch. Next time, you'll cooperate."

He stalked toward the stairs. She heard the doors slam, heard the lock click back into place.

She was alone again in the dark.