Silent echoes devils due.., p.8
Silent Echoes (Devil’s Duet Book 2), page 8
Despite my physical discomfort—raw and damp feet, aching throat, goosebumps covering my body, and a heart that still races against my ribcage—I can’t deny the urge to flee this place.
If I’m going to tell anybody what I—I think—heard and saw, they’re going to put me into a mental hospital.
The loud crunch of a stick snaps me out of my thoughts, causing me to freeze and turn toward the noise. Squinting in the darkness, I try to detect any movement, only to find nobody.
Gathering my resolve, I inhale deeply, pushing past the discomfort in my nostrils and taking hesitant steps forward.
I need to get out of the woods.
Going back isn’t a wise option. Not after I lived through fucking hell in that maze.
The scent of spruce and decaying leaves blends with the earthy aroma of damp soil, oddly comforting me amidst the grim surroundings. Despite the aura of death, there is a faint sense of peace and tranquility that permeates the darkness, almost as if nature itself holds its breath in reverence.
As moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting eerie shadows that dance with every rustle of snow, I try to push away thoughts of the unsettling energy that lingers in the air. An owl’s hoot startles me, as I snap my head in its direction, noticing its big frame enveloped in the darkness.
“Good for you. You have wings. Can fly away whenever you want,” I state in a hushed voice. “I wish I could fly away, too.”
Nice. Now I am talking with an animal instead of looking for the way out of here.
Suddenly, an arrow narrowly misses me, prompting a swift reaction that leaves me sprawled on the ground, feeling like a rag doll yet somehow managing to evade the attack. Surprised by my own instincts, I realize that I may have underestimated my skills.
In the darkness, the henchman remains unseen, but the sound of his bow being reloaded guides my actions. Seizing the moment, I rise, pivot, and sprint away.
My pace quickens, aware of his presence trailing close behind. Though not within immediate reach, his breath feels hot on my neck, urging me to hasten my escape.
As I continue to flee, a surreal detachment envelops my senses, blurring the line between reality and illusion.
No. Not now. I can’t let myself fly in the clouds when my life hangs by a thread.
Yet, these overwhelming emotions refuse to yield, asserting control over my mind and body. Perhaps it’s a protective mechanism, shielding me from succumbing to panic or worse. The thought of a heart attack looms, but I push it aside, determined to stay grounded and focused on survival.
As my mind races with fear and adrenaline, a small hint of strategy emerges amidst the chaos—I decide to run in zigzags to make it harder for my hunter to aim and shoot me. Another arrow whizzes past, landing near my feet, marking the second unsuccessful attempt for the fucker.
I can’t help but wonder how many arrows he has. But dwelling on this is a luxury I can’t afford, especially as he picks up speed in his pursuit.
Despite missed shots, I can sense his skill, and I find myself grateful that there’s only one of them after me.
These sickos probably have their own fucking schools where they share their wisdom and skills, teaching one another how to hunt down innocent girls, forcing them to go through some idiotic Challenge.
The absurdity of it all strikes me—how someone like me, always trying to blend into the background, could attract the attention of such depraved people.
Absurd. Everything about this is such a fucking absurd.
If I survive this, it would be a great damn story to tell for generations.
As I push deeper into the woods, the familiar scenery of trees, snow, and fog surrounds me. But then, a strange sight catches my eye—a precarious passage made of sticks covered in snow, standing out against the backdrop of the forest. It doesn’t look promising but, I guess, I don’t have that much of a choice.
With no other options in sight, I enter the narrow construction, feeling unease wash over me instantly. The tight space forces me to contort my body, scraping against the sharp ends of sticks that tear my clothing.
Creepy spiders and other bugs crawl over me, their tiny legs sending shivers down my spine. I bite my tongue to distract myself from the sensation, the discomfort almost overwhelming as I struggle to push through.
I fucking hate spiders. And bugs.
The sensation of a thick spider falling onto my lips makes me recoil in horror, but I press on, determined to reach the end. Time seems distorted as I navigate through the cramped space, every minute feeling like an eternity.
Finally, a glimmer of moonlight at the end of the passage signals that my ordeal may soon be over. If I manage to survive until dawn, I will carry with me a sense of pride like never before.
I sprint out of the area like a tightly wound toy, the wind whistling hollowly in my ears as I move at breakneck speed. Suddenly, something knocks me off my feet, sending me crashing into the damp snow mixed with black dirt. As I try to rise, I feel a tight grip wrapping around my legs, cutting off circulation and causing pain.
Before I can fully understand the situation, a set of some sort of black tentacles—slimy and wet—ensnares both of my legs, pulling me back toward the bug-filled construction. Fear grips me as I struggle to realize what the fuck is this.
It’s not a human being.
The forest itself seems to be working against me, trying to deter me from progressing further by attacking me with these…things. With a sense of dread and disbelief, I realize that I may have stumbled into a realm where unseen forces are at play, protecting their domain from someone like me.
Jesus fucking Christ. What have I gotten myself into?
Desperation sets in as I frantically search for something to defend myself with, eventually finding a small stone that I clutch tightly in my hand.
It’s small, but it’s at least something.
I muster all my remaining strength to strike back at the tentacles, sending blow by blow against them, each one fueled by a mix of fear and anger.
The satisfying sound of them recoiling in pain gives me a surge of adrenaline, empowering me to continue my attack despite my exhaustion.
I steel my focus on the thrashing tentacles, hitting them while they slightly ease their grip on my legs, dousing me with a viscous black fluid that stains my skin in a dark hue.
Fucking ew. I don’t even want to know what this is.
A sudden noise alerts me to the henchman’s presence, not giving me a minute to respire as he reloads his bow and takes aim at me.
Instincts kicking in, I concentrate on freeing myself from the tentacles’ grasp. Disgusted but relieved, I seize the opportunity to escape, detangling myself from this shit.
Just when I roll to the side, the hunter lets out an arrow right into the ground near me.
Did we keep score? Because it’s already 3:0, motherfucker.
Through the mask, I hear him emit an annoyed grunt, and oddly enough, it fills me with a sense of pride. As I prepare to flee, I aim and hurl the stone at his head, catching him off guard as it snaps back from the impact.
“Get fucked!”
Swiftly turning on my heels and sprinting away, I push aside the unsettling surroundings that send a bloodcurdling chill down my spine, trying to freeze me in place.
I run.
And run.
And run.
Until a glimmer catches my eye. Warm light filters through the thick canopy of trees, awakening the landscape from its slumber. Instead of the foreboding fog, a gentle mist hangs low, casting an ethereal glow over the snow-covered ground. Shafts of golden sunlight pierce through the branches, causing my eyes, accustomed to darkness, to squint in discomfort.
Here lies a world untouched by human hands, where nature reigns supreme and time stands still. Dozens of silhouettes come into view before me—figures standing near snow-capped mountain peaks. As I draw closer, a wave of cold, hunger, thirst, and exhaustion crashes over me, leaving my once-clear mind in a foggy haze.
“She made it,” an unfamiliar woman’s voice murmurs.
“It isn’t possible,” another woman responds.
My vision blurs as ringing fills my ears, mingling with my racing pulse. A familiar silhouette looms above me, the scent of his expensive cologne making me queasy.
“Welcome to Father’s Den, Chosen One.”
Before darkness claims me and I surrender to much-needed sleep, a realization hits me.
I survived until dawn.
Mom waved a crumpled piece of paper in front of me, asking, “What’s this?”
I reached out and took it, unfolding it to reveal a drawing of me, Mommy, and Daddy at the beach. In school, the teacher had asked us to paint our dreams, and while some kids struggled to decide what to draw, I knew instantly.
My dream was always to meet my dad. I had once dreamt of him coming home, apologizing to Mom, and meeting me. I had never seen him in person or even in photos, so my mind had created an image of him on its own—a man with kind green eyes, round cheeks, a dimple on the left side, delicate lips, and a distinctive short haircut.
I believed that if he returned, he would make Mom a little happier.
“This is a drawing of our family,” I murmured, looking at my already angry mother with wide eyes. It was so easy to upset her, to get her angry at me.
“Did I say I can’t read? What does this mean? You’ve never even seen your dad,” she snapped, her words filling me with sadness and forming a lump in my throat.
As tears threatened to fall, I rubbed my neck in an attempt to push the lump away.
“What’s wrong with you?!” Mother screamed, snatching the paper from my hands and crumpling it before tossing it into the trash.
“I never doubted you’re just like your father. You two are worth each other—the same attitude, the same laziness,” she continued, her words diminishing me further. Her power over me was undeniable—whenever she spoke about me, I felt myself shrinking like a snowman under the spring sun.
She made me take out the garbage, then forced me to watch as scavengers showed up and took the bag to their car. I had to watch as they drove away with my painting, crushed inside.
People don’t become angry and hateful for no reason. There’s always a backstory to such behavior. And I couldn’t help but wonder about my dad and the reasons behind my mother’s anger toward him.
My body and mind feel weightless and disconnected. I struggle to comprehend my surroundings as I sense cold hands touching me. Despite their chill, they offer comfort and support rather than harm.
I had a couple of dreams, and in one of them, a black-haired woman appeared once more, tending to me while someone spoke to her. Though my vision was hazy, her green eyes, mirroring mine, captured my attention for the emotions they conveyed. She enveloped me in an illusionary sense of security and care.
“…may her soul be filled with wisdom and understanding as they navigate this new chapter in her journey with us…”
Echoes of unfamiliar voices resonate in my mind, their words intertwining and reverberating within me. The overpowering scent of perfume and incense triggers a wave of nausea in my throat.
“…may they feel your divine presence guiding her every step of the way…”
They evoke memories of a church choir. I visited church once as a child at my mother’s insistence. I remember how overwhelmed by the crowded and stifling atmosphere, I started to feel sick and threw up right in there. My mother’s demon child didn’t sound so absurd anymore.
“…in your name, we come together in unity to celebrate this occasion…”
Jesus, will they ever shut up? It’s like their memorized mantra is fucking endless, created to only suck the life out of the people.
“…may this Chosen One be blessed with abundance, prosperity, and harmony as she becomes an official member of the Father’s Den.”
As they pour a liquid over my face, I feel the unpleasant dampness spreading. Drops trickle down my forehead, cheeks, and into my eyes, blinding me. Their voices and words become a distant ringing in my ears before darkness overtakes me.
As I open my eyes and find myself cocooned in a soft, fluffy blanket, the silence around me is a welcome contrast to the cacophony of voices from before.
My first thought is Caleb.
He saved me.
The absence of the nauseating chants fills me with a sense of relief, and a flicker of hope ignites within me that he may have put an end to this sick circus.
I hope he made them suffer.
Struggling to orient myself, I attempt to rise from my position, only to be met with a dizzying whirl of colors and blurs. Rubbing my eyes and adjusting my vision, I try to make sense of my surroundings as the door creaks open, signaling someone’s arrival. Despite trying my best, the lasting visual disruptions make it difficult for me to recognize the person.
I want to see Caleb. I crave the sight of his wavy hair, his imposing stature. I want to catch the melody of his deep voice, to feel his embrace envelop me.
Even if it’s just for a second.
However, as the figure draws closer, devoid of Caleb’s essence but exuding a soothing aura of cleanliness and incense, a wave of despair crashes over me. Tears flow freely, their bitter taste a stark reminder of the torment I endured and suppressed for so long. The flood of emotion overwhelms me, unraveling the facade of strength I had maintained. At this moment, I am unable to contain the hopeless feeling that threatens to consume me entirely.
I was strong.
Now, I want to fucking cry.
Adam’s voice breaks through my blur, offering reassurance that nothing sinister was done to me during the Ritual. Despite his attempts at comfort, his touch on my shoulder elicits a visceral reaction of disgust. The mere thought of violation at the hands of those fuckers churns my stomach, prompting a surge of nausea that I struggle to contain.
I hear a rustling sound as he places something on the table beside me, but I can’t bring myself to look. It’s as if I physically can’t. The weight of my distress is too heavy to bear, and my tears continue to flow unabated.
I just want to go home.
“What did you do to me?” I manage to choke out, my voice sounding foreign and hollow to my ears. It feels as though the vitality has been drained from me, leaving behind a mere shell of me.
“Relax,” he responds nonchalantly, his tone unaffected. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
Despite being in a haze for most of the Ritual, I can’t shake the nagging fear that something unspeakable may have been done to me.
I can sense that something within me has changed, but I cling to the hope that it’s not related to…that kind of violation. Surely, I would have felt it between my legs. I cover my mouth with my hand as the urge to vomit rises within me.
When the blurry surroundings gradually come into focus, Adam appears before me, clad in a linen suit with his shirt haphazardly buttoned, his disheveled hair adding to his unkempt appearance. He gives me a bucket, silently offering it to catch the contents of my belly.
My stomach muscles tense and I vomit into the bucket, tears welling up in my eyes, intensifying the overwhelming emotions coursing through me.
“It’s fine,” Adam reassures, his voice a strange mix of comfort and detachment. “They didn’t do anything to your body, Lilith.”
The fucker just read my thoughts. Many girls must have questioned their own bodies after being subjected to such barbaric shit while unconscious.
Dear God. I still can’t wrap my mind around what the fuck is happening here.
“But you didn’t just sing songs around my body, didn’t you?” I manage to ask, wiping my mouth with my sleeve, belatedly noticing the change in attire. It’s the linen white gown which looks very similar to the previous one. “I need to know.”
He lets out a pitiful sigh. “Your leg. They inserted a tracker in your lower limb.”
I disentangle myself from the blanket, positioning myself to inspect both legs closely. Despite my touch, they remain cold and numb. Having endured barefoot in the snow for so long, I doubt the warmth will ever return.
Adam remains silent as I observe my left leg before turning my attention to the right one. Upon twisting it, I notice a mid-sized incision—the wound carefully stitched.
“Don’t try to run away. This device will betray you, and the punishment that will come after this will be worse than everything you’ve already endured.”
What can be worse?
A fresh wave of tears threatens to overwhelm me as I gaze upon my once untouched leg. My skin no longer feels familiar; it appears paler, marred by veins in a ghastly display—obviously a frostbite.
Disgust wells within me. Caleb’s words of my beauty, his efforts, now rendered meaningless.
And now I have a tracking device inside me. Before, I thought I could find a way out of here, but with each passing second, it feels increasingly impossible.
More stupid thoughts cross my mind. What if with every single moment, Caleb loses his hope? After all, he doesn’t even know where to look. Grayson has been undercover for years, and he never suspected anything. I have no doubts that he’s immaculate when it comes to covering up his tracks, leaving no clues behind.
Caleb is smart, but this isn’t about that. It’s about the fact that Moore is more than he positioned himself. He has many people who support him, including Mateo. Even I still have so fucking much to uncover. I am sure I don’t understand even ten percent of this shit.
Breaking the heavy silence, I ask, “What now?”
His response is a nod toward the table beside my bed. “Now you’ll eat and drink. Take some time to rest.”
With caution, I turn my head to see what he pointed at, and a sudden laugh escapes me. “So now you decide to show mercy to me?”
On the table is a bowl of chicken soup, two loaves of bread, and a green tea. It smells pleasant, but I can’t shake the feeling that it is a trap.
“Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t make the rules. I didn’t participate in the Ritual,” Adam replies with bitterness in his voice.
