To Outwit an Angel

3. The Love of Her Life

Loretta's POV:

The ache in my head twisted my brains inside out, then squeezed them into dust.

 I was dead, right? In the ground. Buried six feet under. Rob and his stupid bike. Sharlene and her silly giggles at his antics. And I'd been caught in the crossfire. And killed. Simple.

 Then why were my eyes open? Why did my own warm breath fan my nose, as I exhaled? Some robe-like garment draped my back and sides, ending in ruffled sleeves at my elbows and cinching in my waist. The fabric was smooth, but not too luxurious. Clearly, it was common enough for everyday wear. Would I feel such sensations if I was dead? No. So I must've been alive, but why was it so dark? Where were Sharlene and Rob? What had happened to the biting wind, the pounding rain, and the mud-slicked trail in the woods?

 Most importantly, where was I?

 As the pain in my head eased and I adjusted to my surroundings, light flickered in my peripheral vision.

 I turned around, hoping to locate some help.

 On the floor, only a dim lantern burned a few paces away from me.

 Well, light was better than darkness in this frightening situation. With bated breath, I inched towards the lantern and finally picked it up. Aside from the obviously burning flame, there was more evidence to its recent use. Not a speck of dust coated the glass, and warmth even seeped into my hands when I grabbed it. Clearly, someone had held this lantern only seconds before me.

 But where were they now?

 I raised the lantern to illuminate my environment.

 And I stopped dead, a scream choking in my throat, dissolving into a coughing fit. I dropped the lantern in my fear, and the tiny flame extinguished.

 Bones. Hundreds—no, millions of bones and skulls made up this dark passageway. My next scream finally passed my dry lips and echoed eerily in the cavernous hall.

 As if this event couldn't get worse, a gloved hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my scream.

 I whirled around, aiming to land a kick in a certain sensitive area for my kidnapper. Unfortunately, he proved too strong for me and quickly restrained my arms at my sides, making the balance I needed for a good kick nearly impossible.

 "You know this passage is prohibited!"

 His voice was thunderous, somehow more haunting than my scream.

 "But— But— I..."

 I had no words. Still, I couldn't stand there dumbly and allow myself to be kidnapped.

 "Well, spit it out." The man snarled.

 "Bones. Bones all over."

 My voice was painfully quiet, as I tried to make my body as small as possible. If I was lucky, maybe I wouldn't accidentally touch the grotesquely decorated wall.

 "Yes, there are millions of skeletons in the catacombs overall, and if you had stayed within the routes I distinctly marked out for you—the ones you've been utilizing for years, no less—you wouldn't be traumatized by such frightful bones now."

 He left me speechless, and after many seconds of hearing his voice, it seemed vaguely familiar, yet I could not place my finger on it.

 "What— why—"

 I couldn't phrase my question, especially when I didn't know what I was asking.

 Suddenly, his voice changed from scathing to soothing. A match hitched against something, and he relit my discarded lantern.