Chapter 12

Ocean blue eyes fluttered open slowly as a faint groan escaped her lips, fingers twitching on either side of her, moving briefly along something soft and smooth beneath her. Something warm ran slowly down the side of her face and she stuck her tongue out to catch the thick droplet, alarmed by the salty flavor. Blood. She was flat on her back, something cushioning her from beneath, but what the hell was it? She tried to roll over. Thud! Her shoulder hit something hard and she groaned softly as a hint of pain raced through her clavicle. She attempted to roll to the other side, only to have her other shoulder meet something hard, as well. Eyes now widening, she realized that she couldn't see a thing. Everything around her was pitch black.

It seemed that she was awake now, her breathing growing heavy with alarm as her hands shot upward, hitting something above her with a loud thud. Why was it so dark? She couldn't even see her own hands in front of her own eyes. And that was when it hit her. Satin! There was satin above and below her, covering something hard. Hard like...wood! She drew in a sharp gasp as realization dawned in her eyes, causing her heart to nearly drop down into her feet.

She was inside a casket.

"HELP! CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME!?" She immediately started to scream at the top of her lungs, pounding on the sides of the casket with balled fists. "Is there anybody out there!? Let me out of this thing! Please!"

"We hear you loud and clear." A voice spoke from the outside of the casket, causing Persia to freeze immediately. The voice was rather eerie, low, deep, and husky. Something sinister was hidden under that tone. No, not hidden. It was rather bold, actually. Persia's eyes widened as her head turned left and right, unable to tell which side the voice had come from. "Please, let me out!" She shouted. "Please! I don't want to die here!" The air inside the casket was painfully thin and was, in fact, running quite low for her. She could estimate that she had minutes before she suffocated and died, then the damned thing would've been put to good use. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that she needed to stay calm and think through this situation. Panicking would only make matters worse and she knew it.

"If you want to be released, you'll answer my questions with no problems. No lies, no cover-ups, no beating around the bush. Or else...you will die." The voice spoke again, coldly as if whoever it was out there truly wanted her to die. "If you take too long, the oxygen inside this casket will run out and you'll be stuck in there for a very...very...long time. Do you understand?"

"W-who are you?" Persia asked after swallowing past the dryness in her throat, her voice cracking with fear. "And why am I in this casket?"

"You're here because you've done something that is unforgivable and you deserve nothing but the most brutal punishment I can give. Therefore, who I am...does not matter."

"What?" Persia felt panic rising again, trying her hardest to fight it down despite all she was hearing. "I haven't done anything. I don't even know who you are! I'm just here on vacation. Please, just let me go! I just want to go home!" Tears were beginning to build up in her eyes and she went into another screaming fit, pounding on the lid of the casket as hard as she possibly could, tears pouring down her face uncontrollably. She had minutes to live with the short amount of oxygen in the casket and to make matters worse, there was a dangerous man on the outside waiting to kill her for something she didn't even do. First her parents had been taken from her by evil men, and now her life was turning into a living hell? This was insane! All she wanted was to find her parents' killers. Not this.

A deep sigh came from outside the casket before Persia was startled by really loud banging on the lid. She curled her hands over her face in response, whimpering loudly as the man shouted, "You're not going anywhere until my questions are answered!" And it sounded more like the roar of a dragon. "Do you understand me?"

Persia didn't answer. She didn't want to answer. She wanted to get out of the damned thing and go home.

"I said," The man growled. "Do. You. Understand. Me?"

Something told Persia to answer for her own sake, nodding her head as she whispered, "Yes. Yes, I understand you." She was trembling in fear of her life now, trying her hardest to regain her composure. Calm. She needed to stay calm and listen to the man. Prove to him that she was innocent. She heard footsteps, heavy ones, and then heard a low hum.

"Good." The word was dragged out in a malicious hiss. "You've just used up even more of your oxygen freaking out like that. Don't do it again."

Persia nodded quickly although the man couldn't see her, biting back more whimpers.

"You don't know who I am, but I know full and well who you are. A few days ago, someone close to me was brutally attacked. Gash wounds, bruises, and burns covered his entire body and I found him in one of the rooms of my manor, half-hidden beneath a casket. Much like the one you're in now. His eyes were also gouged from his face and he was practically left for dead. We searched for evidence in the room and found evidence that pointed fingers to one person. You."

Persia swallowed again. "What evidence?" She asked, feeling another lump form in her throat.

"A golden locket with a picture of a little girl and her father on the inside. There was a little message written on the back of the picture. To my precious Persia Winchester..." He paused to allow her reply.

Persia's eyes went wide in horror. "What!? How did you get that!" She raised her voice, her breathing picking up again.

"I told you it was found in the room where my...partner...was attacked and left for dead."

"That's impossible!" She heaved, feeling the blood drain out of her face. "I could never do something like that! I don't even know who you and you partner are! How could you blame me for something like this! And how the hell do you know that I'm Persia Winchester."

The man went silent, tension thickening in the air.

"How the fuck do you know me!"

…...

Taker's acid green eyes were locked onto the casket before him, but he seemed to be looking right through it as if it wasn't there at all. It was actually quite strange how he came to realize who this woman was, all from finding a harmless little locket. He shut his eyes for a moment, pondering, until images began playing back in his mind. Blurry ones. Memories.

It was the little girl in the pretty, blue dress again. The little redheaded boy stood watching her from his playroom on the second level of the funeral home as she skipped rope in the backyard, singing, "How much is that doggy in the window? The one with the waggly tail?" And it annoyed the hell out of him because he hated that God-forsaken song, but he loved to watch her. He loved to see the joy in those sparkling, blue eyes of hers. Why? Because it was something he hardly ever felt. There was no joy in going to school every day just to be picked on by the bigger kids and then have to drag himself to the funeral home to sit in his miserable little corner. He wasn't happy. But the little girl in the blue dress was happy.

"Persia." He heard a man's voice, soon spotting a tall man with a thick mustache and salt-and-pepper hair approach with a smile on his face. "It's time to come home now, sweetheart. Mommy has dinner nice and ready for you at home. Spaghetti. Your favorite."

"But, Daddy," The little girl whined, sad eyes turning up to look at him. "I don't want to go home now. The boy hasn't come out to play with me yet."

"What boy, sweetheart?" The tall man asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"The one that lives in the scary house." It was then that the little girl looked up, straight at the window where the little redheaded boy stood, her eyes looking right through the dusty glass. The boy was rooted in place, caught in the act of staring. But she didn't show anger when she spotted him. No. Instead, she smiled. She actually smiled at him. No one – absolutely no one – smiled at him.

It was...frightening.

She was saddened as her father eventually took her by the hand and led her away. It was then that the setting sun cast a glare upon something shiny hanging from her neck. A pretty, golden Victorian locket.

Taker opened his eyes as the images vanished from his mind, lifting his head with a deep breath. He couldn't tell her...not yet. "The Lord of Darkness knows all, in case you haven't been informed." He responded, returning his gaze to the casket. He knew the woman on the inside was absolutely terrified. Good. She needed to be for the heinous crime she'd committed against the Ministry. The crime she refused to confess. "There is no denying that you are the culprit behind Paul's attack."

"Who?" Her tiny voice whined through the coffin.

"Paul Bearer. The man you attacked. If you simply confess to your sin, I might let you leave. But not with all of your little limbs intact. "

"I don't know a Paul Bearer! I've never heard of that name in my entire life! Well...only at funerals, but it was never spoken as a man's actual name. Please, just let me go! I'm telling you, I'm innocent! I don't deserve any of this!"

"You're lying!" Taker slammed both fists down on the lid of the casket. "A goddamn locket with your name and picture on the inside was found among the wreckage! In three seconds, I'm about to open this thing and make you wish you'd just suffocated!"

"Wait..." Taker paused as he heard her voice soften, followed by a moment of silence. Was she finally confessing?

…...

"Wait..." Persia whispered again, hearing him mention a locket for the second time. Her locket? Her eyes moved side to side along the satin covering beneath the lid of the casket above her, her mind instantly racing with thought.

"I'm sorry, Miss Winchester, but we couldn't find any evidence pointing to your father's murderer."

She lifted her eyes to look at the cop who had spoken to her, red-rimmed from crying so hard. She didn't even respond to him, but got up and left. The other policemen were leaving the house, shaking their heads in disbelief toward what'd happened. They had already collected the body from the bloodbath, intending to take it in for an autopsy. But Persia needed to find something in that bathroom. Something that she once treasured as a child, until she gave it to her father to keep when she left for college.

To her surprise, however, when she pushed open the door of his bedroom and looked on the nightstand where he'd left it and hadn't touched it for years after that, it was gone. The locket was gone. And in its place was yet another symbol drawn in her father's blood. She buckled to the floor, tears pouring from her face like waterfalls as her sobs could be heard from outside the house.

Vengeance...vengeance was the only word that she could hear echoing in her mind. She would have her vengeance.

"No...that can't be possible..." Persia's lips trembled as she began tearing up again, covering her face with her hand while sobs started to shake her.

"Your time is running out, woman." The deep, growl-like voice spoke again. She could tell the man was standing over the casket. It sounded like his head was pretty high above it, too. "You have an estimated two minutes to tell me that either you're the culprit or you know the culprit before you completely run out of oxygen...and your soul drifts straight down to hell."

"Sir, I have to get out of the casket. I know who the attacker is. You just have to let me out of the casket." Persia pleaded in as calm a voice as she could force out.

"What makes you think I'm going to do that just because you asked?" The man sounded irritated.

"Because there is evidence that you missed. Please, just give me a chance to prove that I'm innocent."

There was a pause. "Evidence that I missed? Do enlighten me."

Persia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then began. "Listen to me, and listen closely. There are men here in Texas that are far more evil than anything I could have imagined. First they took my mother, then they took my father. That's him in the locket next to me. It was his gift to me when I was a little girl. These evil men murdered my father and left him lying neck-deep in a bathtub of his own blood. After that, my locket went missing. And I think they're the ones who attacked your...Paul Bearer and used my locket to cover their tracks and point all evidence to me."

The man was still silent, waiting to hear more perhaps.

"When they killed my father, they left a symbol behind. A warning for more havoc to come, maybe. So if you just let me out of the casket, I can probably find one left here, as well."

"Tell me who these men are." The man demanded, his tone sharp.

"They call themselves the Cult of Beleth. If you let me out, I can help you find evidence of their being here."

"Hmm..." The man hummed in thought.

"I promise I won't run or fight. If you let me die in this casket, then you'll never find who really did this."

"Oh, really?" The man's voice lowered. "Didn't you mention something about you being on vacation earlier?"

"Yes...yes, sir, I did."

"Oh? And how recently was your father murdered?"

"Just last week."

"So your father was murdered and drowned in a pool of his own blood by some dangerous cult here in Texas – which, by the way, I have never heard of and I know just about every cult inside and out – and you decided to come on vacation? You certainly do care about your family."

"No. I-" Persia stopped, gathered her thoughts, sighed deeply. "I'm not here on vacation. I lied. I'm sorry. I'm here...because I want to find the cult myself."

"And do what?" She heard the man pacing around the casket now. "I may not know who these...Cult of Beleth bastards are, but I do know that any cult rooted in Texas is the most dangerous and, therefore, will not let a woman like you come sauntering in to take 'em down. You're not superwoman. You'd be wiped out of existence with no form of a trace left for anyone to remember you."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take." Persia lowered her voice, and the pacing stopped.

…...

The Undertaker stopped, his arms hanging by his sides as he stared straight ahead at the other side of the casket where his disciples stood. They had been silent listeners the entire time, anticipating every word and every move that their master had made. Now, they were waiting on him to decide on whether or not he would release his captive or let her suffocate in the casket and die. Those eyes of his were practically unreadable as he sized up all seven of his men, as if wondering what they were thinking. As if he would soon open his mouth and ask for their opinions. And they'd be glad to give it to him. But, he didn't. In fact, his next words were rather unexpected amongst about half of them.

"Get her out the damn thing." He commanded gruffly, turning his back on the casket to allow himself a moment to think about what he was doing. For a moment, he heard nothing from over his massive shoulders. The room had gone completely silent and he could feel the shocked stares upon his back. But he didn't repeat himself. All it took was a slight inquiring tilt of his head and the Ministry was moving to obey his order.

Faarooq and Bradshaw, who had been standing at the front of the group, sent their feet forward at the same time, a loud thump echoing as their heels struck the wooden casket and sent it flying from its perch. A loud shriek came from inside the casket as it flipped over onto its side and hit the hard floor with a startling crash. The lid instantly unbolted and flew open, spitting out a breathless and disoriented Persia Winchester.

Everyone could hear her huffing and puffing for air, realizing that if she'd been left inside the casket a moment longer, she would have taken her very last breath and wouldn't have been able to get it back. The fact that she was actually alive was like a slap in the face as she scrambled about like a lost puppy, her ocean blue eyes darting all around her. The room was fairly dark and beneath her, the floor was cold as ice and hard as stone. She tried to gather where she was, but the brown brick walls and the barred windows sitting high above her and the others was no help. In fact, they scared her even more. It looked like she was in a goddamned dungeon. "W-where-" She tried to speak, but suddenly went into a fit of coughs as the unpleasant stench of burning plastic and formaldehyde assaulted her nostrils, causing her eyes to water a bit.

She at last managed to pull herself to her feet, but hadn't fully regained her bearings. Her heart instantly dropped into her chest when she saw those seven familiar, darkly-dressed men standing on the other side of the flipped casket, eying her dangerously like hungry wolves, not saying a single word. Three of them were grinning at her like little imps, two large men with strange occult-like tattoos drawn across their chests and one smaller man with unruly blonde hair and...fangs?!

Persia sucked in a breath when she saw the blood staining the shorter man's blouse, but before she could let it out in a cry of terror, her back hit something hard and she spun around so violently that she started to fall. She caught a glimpse of something black. Something black and...enormous. Then she noticed that the enormous black mass had arms, shoulders, a lot of wavy black hair and...it was turning toward her. To face her. To look at her! And when she at last saw those acid green eyes, her throat turned into a dry, cracked desert and she began to stumble backwards away from the hulking mass, her hands reaching behind her to grab onto something. Anything that she could use to protect herself against these vicious men surrounding her. Especially the most dangerous entity of them all who was standing directly in front of her, glaring down at her like death itself. "It's you! Oh, God no!" She managed to cry out through aching lungs and a dried throat. "Get back! Stay away from me!"

The Undertaker lunged forward and grabbed her by the arms faster than her eyes could register, pulling her so close to him that she could feel the heat of his body rolling off of him in angry waves. His brows knitted into a vicious frown that sent chills of fear throughout Persia's entire body as she stared up at him with wide terrified eyes. On the inside, she was praying that this was a nightmare, hoping with every fiber of her being that none of this was real. "Let me go! Please, you're hurting me! Please!" She pleaded, shaking her head side to side violently.

Taker growled as chocolate brown hair slapped him across the face several times and gave his captive a violent shake to hopefully shut her up. She screamed louder, angering him even more. "Woman, shut your whinnin' ass up before I stick you back in the casket where you belong! And this time...you won't have two minutes of air! Understand!"

Persia bit her lips hard and shut her eyes as tightly as she could, tiny whimpers still squeaking in her throat. Taker gave her arms a squeeze, causing her to cry out in pain, tears forming in her eyes now. "You're hurting me!" She whined, beginning to tremble in fear.

"I can do a lot more than that." Taker growled between gritted teeth. He dropped one arm to his side (not quite literally because the massiveness of his arm muscle wouldn't allow his arm to touch his side) and used the other to wrap around Persia's neck. She coughed again as he made a quick turn and headed for the door, dragging her along carelessly as she stumbled along to keep up with his long strides. "Shut the fuck up and listen to me, woman." He spoke above her whimpering and whining which was annoying him to no end. "I don't usually do shit like this. Taking my victims and prisoners for their word, but you sounded pretty damned sincere. Probably because you were nearer to death than a ghost, but I know one thing..." He purposely rammed her into the doorpost just to further validate the fact that he wasn't afraid to break every bone in her body without a second thought about it. "Let me find out you're lying...and you'll really, really regret it. I'll twist your skinny little body into a human pretzel and string you up for Hunter and the rest of those weak sumbitches you call your friends to see just how much of a bad son of a bitch I am. Understand? Now," He was storming down the hallway, his Ministry now following quickly behind to see what would happen. "I'm gonna haul your little ass to Paul's room and you're gonna look around and find whatever clue can lead me to believe that you're not responsible for all this. And if you don't find it..." He paused for the agonizing effect, listening as Persia began to whimper and plead for his mercy again. A sideways grin formed on his features, an expression that could only have been made by the Devil himself. His threat didn't even have to be completed for anyone to know what would happen to Persia if Taker believed that she was responsible for Paul's attack. The mere fact that he was the Undertaker, The Lord of Darkness, the Demon of Death Valley, was enough to imply what sick and twisted things he would do to her before finally passing her soul into the underworld to suffer for eternity.

"I swear I did nothing!" She cried out after a brief moment of silence and someone behind her shouted, "Bull shit!"

"Quiet!" Taker shouted over his shoulder as they came out into the foyer and began making their way toward one of the two curved staircases leading to the second floor. "The only one who gets to call bull shit around here is me! And the reality of it is that no one would suspect that this scrawny little bit could do heavy damage to a man like Paul. The man may be a goddamn useless buffoon but I'm sure he could put up a fight against a woman! Even when she's under the influence...Edge." He passed a look toward one of his blonde followers, his eyes narrowing darkly.

Edge looked about as if unable to believe that Taker was actually looking at him, that deadly glare making his face grow paler than it already was. "I say it helped out." He excused himself with a light shrug.

"Perhaps." Taker said as if in agreement. "But what have I told you? One of these days you're going to give someone brain cancer, boy. So cut it out!"

"I won't drug anyone else, Taker. I swear."

When they got up to the second floor, Taker halted rather harshly without warning and the others nearly ran right into the back of him. His lips parted a bit as a frown creased his forehead. Toward the very end of the hallway, he could hear high-pitched wailing sounds and instantly knew that they were coming from Paul's room. His eyes widened slightly and a deep growl rumbled low in his throat before he took off down the hall, his large booted feet stomping loudly across the wooden floor.

"The hell's goin' on, Boss." Bradshaw asked from behind. "Yer actin' all frantic all of a sudden."

Taker didn't respond. He was in front of Paul's door within a moment, thrusting his foot forward to kick it open. The loud bang startled Persia, causing her to shriek with a noticeable jump, followed by the continuation of her whimpering. What she saw in the room frightened her. Rather...who she saw.

A large, rotund man was lying in a plain, queen-sized bed. A black comforter covered him from the waist down so that all Persia could see of him was his torn and bloodied white button-up and within two seconds, she saw that the skin beneath the shirt was just as gashed and bloodied. He was awake despite looking as if he should have been unconscious and he was proving that he was fully awake by convulsing and jerking himself about violently, howling and hollering to the ceiling. There was no telling why, but Persia instantly assumed that it was because of his eyes. They were pouring dried blood all the way down his face to his neck. And that was when she noticed that – dear God – the man didn't have eyes at all.

Mortified beyond belief, she began shaking her head slowly side to side, unable to peel her eyes away from the horrible sight before her as Taker dragged her straight toward the man. Before reaching the bed, he deposited her to the floor like a bag of insignificant trash and immediately went to grab Paul's shoulders. "Paul. Paul! Can you hear me?" He shouted at the man in hopes of calming him, but it didn't seem to work the first time. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, he's awake!"

"He's awake!" Someone repeated from behind as the rest of the Ministry poured into the room.

"Hold him down!" Faarooq shouted authoritatively.

Taker moved back a few steps as the Ministry surrounded Paul and laid their arms upon him, forcing him down onto the mattress. There was no telling what he would have done to himself had they shown up a moment later. "Paul!" Taker spoke again. "Listen to my voice, Paul. No one's here to hurt you." Taker knew that he was probably feeling the painful effects of his attack, both physically and mentally. He couldn't see who was in the room with him, therefore in his mind, there were seven big men pouncing to attack him. "It's me, Paul. It's Taker. Remember this voice?" He hated to see his Conscience in such a panic. It was usually the other way around. Taker would be losing his shit and Paul would be the one trying to calm him and keep him from opening the gates of hell on someone. This felt strange; being the sane one of the two. And it made Taker hurt inside. It made him furiously angry like at any second, he'd start breathing smoke through his nostrils. He watched with a blank expression as Paul continued to jerk and convulse violently beneath the restraining holds of his Ministry. He could tell that they were struggling, someone inhuman strength was powering the violent body beneath them. He would have joined them, but he didn't want to hurt Paul more than what he'd already suffered. "Paul, listen to me! We're here to help! We're not here to hurt you!"

"He's mentally scarred." Mideon stated between clenched teeth. "He's not going to believe you!"

"He's right." Viscera agreed, giving Taker a worried look. "We may need to find a sedative."

"We are NOT sedating him!" Taker roared, but then stopped to think about it. Frustrated, he lifted one hand to his hip and used to other to drag his fingers through his wavy, midnight black hair, a curse leaving his lips in a loud hiss. "God-fucking-damnit!" He shouted above the bed's loud squeaking and Paul's wailing. "You know he keeps all that stuff, Viscera. Go fucking get it!"

Viscera nodded once and left the room to do as he was told. He returned a minute later with a long needle filled with a clear liquid, handing it to the Undertaker. "Grab his head!" He barked and Edge and Gangrel immediately clapped their hands to Paul's forehead and the sides of his face, holding it steady as best they could. Taker maneuvered between Christian and Mideon, who were working together to hold down Paul's right arm and leg, wrestling with the limbs as if they were angry crocodiles or something. He spotted the perfect target on Paul's neck where the jugular sat, invisible beneath the large amount of fat warbling about due to his movements. Raising the needle slightly, he sent it plunging into that spot with a small grunt, emptying the clear liquid into its place. It only took about five seconds for Paul to wind down, his wailing fading to small, choppy humming sounds and his body had begun to grow still. It was until he was completely motionless that everyone moved away from him, slowly and cautiously in case the medicine didn't really work.

"Is he okay?" Edge asked, his breath heaving slightly from the hard work of having to restrain Paul Bearer. That damned rotund demon!

"I guess so." Christian was the one to answer, his eyes slightly wide. "What in the hell was that all about?"

"He's fully realized what's happened to him. His burned and scarred flesh and his missing eyes..." The Undertaker released a deep breath which ended in a faint growl. "We may need to restrain him. With titanium this time. Later on, though. As for right now," He looked sideways toward Persia who was sitting with her knees hugged to her chest against the wall. She looked an absolute mess with her chocolate brown hair flying everywhere, her makeup running with her tears and sweat soaking her skin. Her chest moved up and down in short, ragged breaths and Taker was sure that at any moment, she would start hyperventilating. "Someone has to find something for me." He approached her, tangled his massive hand into her hair and hauled her to her feet.

"Ow, stop it!" She whined in pain, reaching for his hand as if she actually had the strength to fight it. "It hurts!"

"She says it hurts, Master." Mideon hissed, obviously finding some sick pleasure in her choice of words. "Perhaps you should let me take her to my quarters and show her true pain." A low, haunting giggle followed that statement and Persia felt her gut wrench as a result.

"You can do with her anything you want," Taker answered, pulling her to face him and looking down into her wide, terrified eyes as he lifted his chin a bit. "Only if we find out that she's guilty here tonight. Now get busy, woman." He carelessly shoved her forward, commanding the others to step out of the room so she could conduct a proper investigation. His lip twitched as she fell over her own feet and landed directly on Paul, screaming at the top of her lungs in absolute horror when she realized what she had fallen on. She jumped back as hard as she could, nearly bumping into a nearby lamp stand. Taker sighed impatiently, loud enough to let her know that he hadn't left with the others and that he was watching her every move. Closely.

She jumped when she heard the sound, knowing full well that he was there...like that haunting shadow that would watch her sleep at night while alone in her bedroom. The one that frightened her as a child. Especially during stormy nights when she would have to call big brother to sleep with her. Oh, how she wished he were here to get her out of this mess. No. She wanted Hunter to save her. He was much stronger than her brother, but there was no telling where he'd ended up after the merciless beatdown Taker had put him through.

"I don't have all night, woman." Taker stated gruffly, folding his arms across his chest. He leaned back against the wall next to the bedroom door, propping one foot up against it as if to say that he wasn't leaving until the deed was done.

Persia trembled as she looked back at him, her bottom lip quivering just as hard as the rest of her body. Taker simply tilted his head at her, his eyes narrowing as if to say, "Bitch, you'd better get to steppin'...or else." And that was all it took for her to realize just how serious a situation this truly was. Her legs felt weak beneath her and she wanted to curl into a ball and die, even if it meant having this angry hulking mass of a man pounce on her and beat her through the floor for doing so. She swallowed down the lump that'd formed in her throat, telling herself to be strong. All she had to do was find a single clue, that little red symbol. And she would be free.

She would walk away from this unscathed. And she would punish the brutes who murdered her mother and father.