The Corruption of Carly Michaels (The Rogue Exorcist Book 3) by Rick Wood

Author:Rick Wood [Wood, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blood Splatter Press
Published: 2024-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

Ishut the door. Lock it. Pull the cupboard across the room, dragging it over indents in the floorboards, keeping its wobbly drawers together until it’s blocking the door. I take the chair and shove it against the cupboard at an angle. It may not do much, but each barricade buys me time.

I turn to Olivia, about to explain that I must untie her, about to talk her through what’s happened, to convey the need to rush—then I don’t. Instead, I stand here dismayed, my heart beating a little slower, my head lolling to the side as I try to contain the aching disappointment, the gut-wrenching despair that sinks through my stomach.

She’s gone.

Completely gone.

All that’s left is a creature, writhing on the bedsheets, wriggling with its serpentine twists, opening its legs and displaying its bloody entity, flicking out its devilled tongue with its bumps and spots. Her face has faded from pale to grey, as if her skin is decaying, black bags beneath her eyes, her lips a litany of scabs.

How can she deteriorate so quickly?

This is what I’d expect in a victim long since possessed, at the precipice between Hell’s reality and ours, having endured months of torment in her soul, lacking hygiene as survival becomes the only goal. She looks as if she has endured a demonic invasion for a long time, as if her mind has long since been absent, pushed to the limits of what a possessed human can bear—not like she’s been absent for just an hour, maybe even less.

It’s been creeping up on her, no doubt, but this is not typical of what happens after so little time. Whatever it is that’s claiming her is gaining strength at a rate I am not sure I can keep up with.

“Why… do you stare… do you not like what I’ve done with the place?”

The bindings on its wrists won’t hold it—either it’s yet to learn its power, or it’s mocking me with an imitation of subservience.

“I see you… Eyeing the restraints… Got me all tied up… What will you do next…”

I regret not saying goodbye. Then I hate myself for it. But there must be no goodbye—just a temporary distance until she returns. This is not a voyage into the unknown; it is a voyage to sea, where she’ll be tossed around by a few waves before coming back again.

I’m sure it is.

Isn’t it?

“They’re coming…”

The barricade shakes. Someone tries to open the door. I hear shouts about getting the key. I don’t have long.

I turn back to her. To the door. Back to her.

Back to it.

Back to…

Her clothes hang loosely off her body. Her curves filled those clothes a few hours ago, and now those clothes are baggy, and skin clings to her bone with little of her left. She’s malnutritioned, but she’s only missed breakfast.

And her eyes are red. I’ve never seen a possessed girl’s eyes go red before. Not, at least, until the end.

Keys in the lock. Twisting. Turning. The door unlocks. It won’t open. The cupboard quivers.

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