Tempted by Evil (17 page)

"I do," I replied with tears stinging my eyes. "More than anything."

"Enough to choose evil over good?" she challenged.

As she spoke, words surged in my mind, delivered by the ensemble of individuals that had been speaking enigmatically to me since I left the convent. They continually reminded me of things I wanted to ignore, not allowing me even the tiniest moment of peace to learn about my mother and father. There simply wasn't any more room in my collapsing mind.

I covered both ears with my hands in a futile attempt to block them out as they continued their attack.

“Tell me about them,” I cried, still attempting to block out any shred of noise raging in my mind.

“Choose, Aspen.” Her impatience was visible on her frightening face.

Choices . . .

And then, a single black tendril swirled across my mind. It was followed by a beam of light. I watched helplessly while that light was encircled by the ribbon of ink and choked until the glow vanished completely, snuffed out by the blackness of death. The stamp of evil. Then slowly, words, like water through a broken dam, rushed in. 'Poisoned minds,' 'choose good,' 'deceit will plague her,' 'she shall bring forth damnation,' and a deluge of others pounded my brain until I physically crumbled under the weight of it all.

"I can't handle this!" I shouted suddenly in fear and frustration while I ran both hands through my hair. "Just let me out of here. I don't believe you know anything about me or my parents!"

She stared at me for a long moment, and when she finally spoke, a slow, malevolent grin spread across her face.

"Would you like to know the last words they said before they died?" she asked with false sweetness in her voice. "After all, I was there."

"No," I gasped, shrinking in horror at what I had just heard, though I didn't have time to begin to sort through her revelation.

My attention was drawn immediately to a loud banging on the wooden door. "Reverend Mother! It's Mary Constance." I could barely discern her shouting through the thick, solid wood. "I need to speak with you immediately."

I glanced from the door over to Mother Superior, but her expression was inscrutable.

Contemplating lunging for the door, I yelled, "Constance! I'm in here."

Without a word, Mother Superior removed the ancient-looking key once more from the pocket in her robe and this time unlocked the door. Sister Mary Constance flew inside, summoning with her a cacophony of sound into the once quiet room. The wind from the opening door rustling the papers on Mother Superior's desk, Constance's heavy and labored breathing, and the sound of the nuns chanting the Alleluia liturgy echoing through the hall outside, all served as momentary distractions. Remembering myself, I moved quickly toward Constance, only to have her shove me back into the corner.

"No, Aspen!" she forced out with obvious emotion as I stumbled backward.

I looked up to see Mother Superior standing behind Constance with a knife to her throat.

I stood frozen, completely unable to distinguish reality from the possibility that all of this was just a horrible nightmare. The voices . . . I had been hearing so many voices. Was seeing the impossible only inevitable?

Just as Constance opened her mouth to speak, Mother Superior pulled the sharp, silver blade across her throat. Paralyzed, I watched Constance's body fall to the floor while the last line of the liturgy chorus rang through the convent, the trilling soprano voice of a child above the rest.

And that was the moment I lost my mind.

The sound of thunder rolling across the sky overhead resounded in my ears and the voices in my head assaulted me until I could no longer fight them off. Mother Superior, who appeared unnaturally calm, dragged the sister's body toward the far wall of the room where a secret panel lay open, once hidden by a bookshelf. She began to chant in a language I didn't recognize as she hid the evidence of her crime. I stared into the empty eyes of my dead mentor while my mind raced at a pace I could never catch up to until time itself seemed to stand still.

Suddenly, Mother Superior was motionless before me.

My limbs felt foreign and restless, but the sensation was preferable to the pressure threatening to crush my skull. With Mother Superior frozen, I watched as my body moved toward her of its own accord, as though I were merely a passive observer. Through unfamiliar lenses, I saw time begin to move again as the expression on Mother Superior's face slowly transformed from complete serenity to utter exhilaration.

"Good as your father or evil as your destiny?" She breathed her earlier question while her narrowed pupils glowed with intensity. “The Shadow comes . . .”

Before my tormented mind could process my actions, my hand snatched the knife from her―the one she'd use to cut down my beloved mentor. I raised it high above me and squeezed my eyes shut as I felt my anxious arm move of its own volition repeatedly in response to her question.

When my body finally stopped, I felt the answer dripping down my trembling hand.

Thick, warm blood spilled down my arm and off the tip of the dagger, creating a morbid pool on the floor. While I mindlessly watched each crimson droplet reluctantly fall from the blade that I fisted with an iron grip, the voices, once again, began to assail me. Swallowing hard, I forced my eyes closed and attempted to shake them out of my head. The sound of faint laughter immediately silenced them. I turned my head toward the noise, and my eyes locked with Mother Superior's, rendering me motionless as I watched her lips. They curved slightly at one corner as she started to speak.

"The door to evil has been opened."

With her words, I compelled my eyes to absorb the sight of the bleeding wound sneering at me from her chest as the dagger I clutched in my hand seemed to burn my flesh in mockery. Then I watched the life slowly drain out of her fiery eyes as Mother Superior's body crumpled onto the floor where Sister Mary Constance's had just been. Suddenly unable to breathe, I dropped the knife. It made a clanging noise as it slipped from my shaking hand to the floor to join the nuns in their repose.

I sped to the room that held Constance to be certain she was dead. The sister who had been my mentor and only friend for so long lay motionless. But somehow, I just couldn't comprehend that she was gone.

"No, no, no, no," I breathed out in distress.

My knees gave out, and I fell on top of her body, weeping. All the while words from scripture played over and over in my head: "Wickedness proceedeth from the wicked: but mine hand shall not be upon thee." I did not want to leave her there in the presence of Mother Superior's evil corpse, but I had no choice.

Bending down to her, I closed her eyes and crossed her, offering no prayer for fear it wouldn't be heard. I then grasped the cherished rosary Constance still held in her hand. As images of the chaotic events began to swim inside my head, my body shook violently in protest, and I knew I needed to be out of that room. Unable to say a final goodbye, I stumbled awkwardly out of the secret room, shutting the door behind me, and clumsily spilled out into the hall. I ran through the corridors of the convent―dismissing all rules of order and decorum―away from fear and death. When I reached the outside and felt the rain on my face and the harsh wind whipping through my hair, I knew they were inescapable.

I continued to run as fast as my legs could carry me down the darkened street, my mind still reeling. Thoughts swirled chaotically around in my head, and I couldn’t seem to force myself to focus on one in particular. I could feel everything crumbling around me, but I had no idea how to stop the tide that was destroying my sandcastle.
If only I could think
. Stopping to catch my breath, I bent forward with my hands on my knees and told myself repeatedly to breathe. Everything felt wrong, and I knew nothing was going to be okay. I felt as if I was not in control of my mind or body, and a sense of terror gripped me while feelings and images too terrifying to be real overcame me.

My mental anguish, along with the torrential downpour and gusts of wind, obscured the sound of her approach. When I stood up, I found myself staring down at the little girl in the blue dress from the street only days before. She looked identical to how she had that morning, apart from being soaked by the rain. I felt a chill tickle my spine when her ice blue eyes met mine. As I was shocked into silence, the small girl with the pale blonde curls was the first to speak.

“Do you see?” she asked, cocking her head slightly to one side, her face expressionless, though her cold stare still held.

“See what?” I answered, looking around at the empty street.

“Do you hear?” she inquired in the same way.

“I don’t hear anything but this.” I brushed my wet hair away from my face and gestured around as I listened to the raging storm, trying desperately to drown out the words and thoughts that were consuming me.

“Do you know . . .” she trailed off midsentence, looking around in every direction before facing me again with a smile so wicked that I shuddered. “Evil rejoices as your faith weakens and your mind betrays you, Anathema. The final transgression . . . ,” she began twirling with glee, her expression pure malevolence.

“No!” I shouted at her, rubbing my temples to ease the intense throbbing in my head, “No, you’re wrong . . .”

But she kept spinning around in her balletic circles, which only caused the pain in my skull to increase at an alarming rate.

“Stop it,” I cried out. “Please, just stop.”

Yet she just laughed in mockery and kept right on celebrating my misery. Gripping Constance’s rosary with every ounce of strength I could muster, I attempted to calm myself to no avail. Finally, the haunting laugh of the girl became too much for me to bear and I snapped.

“SILENCE!”

Every ounce of emotion I had went into that one word, and suddenly the world was silent. The small girl stood frozen in time, and the rain even gave a temporary reprieve. For just a moment, relief washed over me.

The moment was short-lived though, as I considered the ramifications of the fortuitous events. Staring at her blonde curls and angelic face suspended in motion as they were, I realized that her words were now truer than ever before. I had done it. I had silenced her. I had stopped the storm. I had paused time. I was the Anathema she spoke of.

Everything changed before my eyes while my entire world shattered.

Have to get it out . . .

All
of it.

Now . . .

He'll find me if I don't.

Evil . . . so evil.

Can't be helped.

Can't be saved.

Pure . . .

Must be pure.

Cleansed.

So much sin . . .

No redemption.

He comes for me . . .

He comes for us all.

To punish humanity's evil . . .

Fire.

Darkness.

Shadow . . .

The Shadow comes.

He brings the end.

I
bring the end . . .

“Aspen?” a soft voice called from somewhere in the room. “Are you all right?”

I stopped writing just long enough to acknowledge his approach.

“Aspen,” he repeated, his voice controlled but shaken. He was proud, that one. He would be punished for his sins. “Aspen, I need you to put down the pen, please . . . hand me your book.”

“Can't. Have to get it out,” I replied, unrelenting in my task.

“What?” he asked, crouching before me, trying to derail my cleansing. “What do you have to get out?”

The evil . . .

“
Aspen . . .” His hand encircled mine, forcing it to cease.

I screamed.

Burning. I was burning. The searing of my flesh―the fire. The pain. Hell's fire had finally come to claim me.

But then it didn't.

I looked into his green eyes as he eased himself closer still, afraid to spook me. He didn't need to. I couldn't have been spooked any further.

“He's coming for me . . .” I don't know why I said it. The words just came out.

“Who?” he asked, tossing my journal aside. “
Who
is coming for you?”

“The Shadow,” I whispered, my eyes jetting around the room as though he was already there.

“Aspen . . . ,” he sighed, stopping himself from saying more. Did he know of whom I spoke?

“You,” I gasped, scurrying away from him backward as fast as my body would allow. “It's
you . . .”

“
I'm trying to help you, Aspen, but you're not making any sense.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” I shouted, pinning my back against the wall. “You'd love for me to trust you. To follow you willingly, but I won't. I won't do it . . . I won't do your bidding. I serve the Lord. I serve God!”

I snatched my rosary off the floor beside me and started reciting Hail Mary over and over again, squeezing my eyes shut―to keep the evil away.

“Look at me,” he commanded.