A/N: It's 4:10 am and I suddenly had muse. As always, reviews are appreciated, and as this is a slight turning point, they would be especially liked.
Chapter Fourteen
The creaking of the ancient metal being shifted from a pose it had likely remained in for years beforehand was nearly deafening to the two women who watched the goings-on apprehensively; the congregation, however, seemed ultimately unfazed by the sounds; perhaps the metal cage had been moved more often than the women had thought. Whatever the intent of this gathering, whatever method of defense they had devised in order to conquer the darkness that encompassed the building, it was presumably a regular occurrence; crimson and scarlet stained the floor in streaks after the grate had completely vanished and the demon nurse had been lugged to a distance of not three feet from the fire pit itself, which had burst into flame the instant the top of the grate had disappeared into the slot and slid beneath the floor.
The sudden flash of light seemed to awaken the creature a second time, and it put up an even greater fight this time; the binds on its legs, being close to the flame, singed away and snapped under the force of both the demon's flailing and the heat of the fire; its legs now free, it made a valiant effort to stand, but crumpled to the ground when Layton cracked it over the head with an iron rod. Cybil stood stock still at that particular moment, her mind dashing back to the point in their previous journey where she had been the victim bearing those very same blows to the head; Rose was frozen in place for another reason altogether. The inherent human likeness it bore disturbed the young mother to the breaking point; she turned her head away from the scene and fiercely refused to look back again, even when the tormented bellowing of a nearly human form being scorched alive reached her ears. One might have predicted she would cover and protect her ears, deflecting the sounds with the backs of her hands, but she did nothing of the sort, and instead simply crouched down on her toes and wrapped her arms around her legs, trying her best to ignore the sounds.
Galia's voice rose above the screams as they died away, and life left the demon; her eyes fell to Cybil's, and then dropped to Rose's figure, still crouched below eye level. The cop watched the woman in the white dress warily, uncertain what to expect from her as far as intention went. The passel of faces regarded their named dignitary with an admiration in their otherwise stale and torpid eyes—or perhaps 'twas a fear withheld there; Cybil couldn't discern what 'twas for sure. Galia's first words had been lost to her in her examination of the gathering's general outward demeanor; now as the woman continued enunciating the meaning behind the actions of Layton—that is, the placing of the nurse near enough to the fire so as to be burned—, the officer's gaze was cast in the direction of the only sound emanating through the gallery.
"A sacrifice has been made," Galia continued, gesturing toward the corpse that lay only partially roasted due to the position in which it lay, one side near enough to the flame to be singed almost in its entirety and virtually disintegrated by the intense temperature, and the other remaining ultimately unscathed; her tone was oddly steady and emotionless, as if she had given the sermon—if it might have been named such—in the past. Quite suddenly Cybil found her eyes having been locked onto like a torpedo to its target; Galia spoke now as if the officer was the only significant other present in the room. "We do not fight the devil within these walls," she said. "We do not tempt the devil within these walls. No. Here, we play the devil; we attempt to deceive the devil and to outdo Him in a game which He has created; we offer a sacrifice whose origins are linked to those of He himself. This sacrifice will remind the devil of just who it is He toys with."
From her place on the ground, Rose made to get to her feet, having heard the words of the woman preacher as they had been administered and fed to the starving people before her. The mother watched as the congregation seemed to swell and empower themselves upon the mere detection of her vocals; it was admirable, amongst other things. Frightening, yes, it was, in a way, but the hope and pride evident on the townsfolk's expressions were enough to prevent the fright which would ordinarily have accompanied such sights. Sensing eyes upon her off-turned form, Rose's eyes met Cybil's, whose face wore a look of concern; whether or not that concern was aimed at Rose herself, or the situation they were in as a whole, was indistinguishable given the circumstances. The cop said nothing, her own violet irises returning to view the white-cloaked figure as it moved forward to place a gentle palm upon the head of a woman in the front row of the group; the woman's eyes rose to look up at Galia with what might have been deemed curiosity; a moment of silence and then the woman preached spoke again.
"Sonya has felt the presence of another entity amongst us," she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously and glancing around. They settled briefly on Rose, and Cybil caught the motion, moving instinctively closer to the woman's side and deliberately making the pistol in her hand visible to the leader-lady. Still, it did not discourage her from stepping down from the slightly elevated platform on which she had stood, and walking through the crowd of her followers whom parted the way for her like Red Sea, to stand before Rose, who stared the taller woman in the eye long and hard and questioning. The silence was so thick it could probably have been seen, had anyone been willing to risk a moment to look elsewhere than the mother to whom Galia stood before. "Ah…this one is only half demon."
The appearance of Rose's face at that moment could likely be attributed to the shock of hearing herself being referred to as a demon—even if she was apparently only half of one; a sudden burst of light flittered through the windows of the library, and cast rust colored shadows upon the mahogany flooring, courtesy of the dirtied curtains; Cybil's eyes snapped in the direction of the window nearest to she and Rose, understanding the meaning of said light; the darkness had passed once again, and the corpse before the hearth turned to ash, rising into the air in great flakes, and dissolved into tiny particles of the dust and soot those in the room had by this time grown far too used to accepting as breathable air. Rose abruptly dropped to the floor again to place her palms against the floor; nothing happened, and she only succeeded in receiving a series of incredibly strange looks from almost everyone in the room, save for Galia and her bodyguards.
Slipping the pistol back into the holster, Cybil stepped over to reach down with her good arm and pull Rose back to her feet; Galia backed away the moment she did so, eyeing the cop carefully, as if she were afraid she might decide to bury a bullet in her skull, and, seeing as it was Cybil, such an event wasn't entirely out of the question. The woman in the white dress allowed a smile to spread across her features, the emotions behind it unclear; she lay a hand on the mother's shoulder, who flinched at the gesture but did not pull away; an instant later and she had spoken in tones which suggested none but Rose were supposed to hear, but alas, Cybil was close enough to eavesdrop.
"Use caution, my friend. Should the devil decide to manifest himself within you…a whole demon you will have become, as was the sacrifice."
This being said and heard in addition, Rose tore herself away from the hand upon her collar as Cybil drew her gun for what by now seemed the thousandth time. She aimed it at Galia, her eyes narrowed and the voice which left her throat cold.
"Threaten her again, and we'll see who gets sacrificed."
The dignitary held her hands in the air and backed off again, at last turning to follow the procession of those who had been present in the gathering as they filed out of the library. Layton and the other miner stared after the mother and the cop before returning to flank their leader. Rose's mind had already left the present situation far behind; her thoughts now consisted only of the syringe and the number on the paper she had come across. The possibilities of her findings' significances were innumerable; whilst her first impressions had been that the number on the paper was a call number for a particular book in the library whence it had been discovered, there didn't appear to be anything more of the text; only the numbers were present. Her sea-eyes blankly scanned the room until they landed upon the stains of blood that trailed across the floor panels like the angry brushstrokes of a disturbed artist. Suspicion came to her at once, and she mumbled slightly louder than she'd anticipated. "…It's an address."
Cybil rounded on her, curiosity and concern peaking in the same moment; she winced as the wound on her shoulder stretched and popped with the movement, sending a stinging sensation through her upper torso. Violet eyes rested on Rose's face, searching unceasingly for context to go with her nearly silent statement. "What?"
Apparently having no idea she'd spoken the words aloud, the young mother looked up at the cop, her eyebrows raised in surprise and her lips parted slightly. The ruffled blonde hair leaked into her eyes, seeming to melt into the dirtied cream color of her skin, and with a single motion she brushed it away, leaving a streak of cleanliness that made Cybil smile faintly in spite of herself. Her hand reached into her pocket to remove the paper from within it; unfolding it, she opened the thin sheet to reveal the numbers, studying them for a longer moment than her eyes preferred; they watered from lack of protection from the lids; she blinked rapidly an instant later, restoring vital moisture, and pivoted on her heel to stride from the building. Cybil followed suit, having to jog a few paces to keep up with the other woman's sweeping strides; she decided not to press the matter as to just where she was being led to—Rose wouldn't answer her anyway, for once she entered the realm of her mind, 'twas no simple task to remove her from it. A part of her was on edge from the indirect threat made by Galia toward Rose; she was wary of encountering the townsfolk whom likely lay beyond the doors through which Rose was now progressing. Once outside however, she was dumbstruck to see that there lay not a soul in their sight; in fact, there were no outward signs of anyone ever having laid foot on the ash-covered streets outside.
"It's an address."
Rose had repeated her earlier declaration on a slightly delayed timescale, and stopped in her place as she did so, turning to survey Cybil, as if she had forgotten something, and then suddenly remembered in the same instant in time. "How's your shoulder?"
"Not as well as I'd like it to be," the cop answered testily, frowning and changing the subject quickly. "Where the Hell is this address you're talking about? We might as well go find it, right?"
The mother's surprise was evident by the expression on her face; clearly she had not expected her friend to react with such obvious hostility to a question behind which had been only the most genuine of intentions, but she more or less brushed it off as a character trait—presumably Cybil Bennett didn't appreciate feeling weak or pitied. The cop too, noticed the almost hurt appearance of her friend, and as Rose's voice broke through the awkward silence, regret etched itself in the lines of her face.
"Yeah."
The mother's footsteps soon pervaded through the foggy atmosphere, echoing off the buildings and ancient, rusted vehicles which still lined the streets after years of abandon; as if on cue, Rose halted and then scurried up to an old pick-up truck, pulling open the passenger side door and climbing partially inside. Cybil's eyes narrowed with a sense of inquisitiveness as she stood guard; upon questioning her, the response received was something along the lines of a clanking sound and a screech, followed by a great blur of outrageously fast movement; Rose's figure scrambled out of the car like a coon caught under a coon-dog's gaze and nearly knocked Cybil full to the ground as she attempted to seize and stop her from injuring any other body parts via the hard concrete sidewalk. The impromptu motion of her arm did not pain her shoulder as much as she'd thought it would, and as she aided a visibly trembling Rose in gathering her feet beneath her, one might even go so far as to describe the pain as almost entirely absent. Almost, but nowhere near completely.
The mother remained in her place for a long moment, somewhat enjoying the comfort offered by the impossibly strong grip Cybil had situated upon the area of her arms just above her elbows, and allowing herself time to regain the oxygen which had been lost to fear. Thoughtlessness ensued, and a moment later Rose had turned and crushed her quivering lips against those of the cop, who in turn proceeded to go into a brief state of paralysis—likely due to shock—and offered a slight return of the gesture, only to wrench herself away an instant past; unintentionally she had shoved Rose with harrowing force backwards and into the side of the car in her hurry to detach herself. The mother's cerulean eyes were wide with derogation and ignominy, humiliation and utter incredulity thrown in with the mix as well, and for an agonizingly long few seconds the two simply stared one another down, each asking the other for an explanation neither of them possessed.
"Rose—What the—You—We can't possibly—"
Cybil's features were hard with confusion and distress, and Rose immediately realized the severity of the act she had just, albeit unthinkingly, committed. Unable to keep her eyes on her friend for any longer, her gaze and her body crumpled to the ground, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight; palms were pressed against her face as hot tears of indescribable emotion followed familiar trails down her face and splashed onto the ground with an almost rhythmic beat; the cop watched with a sense of introspection before overcoming the awkwardness of the past minutes to drop to the balls of her feet and with both hands tilt Rose's face to be level with her own, at last securing the worried thoughts pulsing through both their minds in place by way of a second, more prolonged caress.