I head back to the cafeteria, hoping Chloe's delirium has passed. The chairs that were so nicely placed in a circle have been thrown about, making it look like an intense bar fight went down. Chloe is no where to be seen. I call her name, maybe she's hiding somewhere. No response. I head back to the hallway, continuing to call her name. Still nothing. I feel my heart speed up, worrying the worst. I peek into each room, looking for any sign of life. I start moving quicker, calling louder.
Two floors done and nothing. When I get to the third, the one I saw- thought I saw- George on, I feel an ache in my gut. The hall seems to get longer, I know something bad is coming. I slowly make my way down the hall, pulled towards the third room. Outside the door I can hear someone say "I'm pregnant, Tony." Over and over again. It's faint, but I can hear it. I timidly go into the room. It's as if I'm being pulled and repelled from it at the same exact time.
It's a dark room, except for a cell phone light beaming at the ceiling. I walk over to it, watching the repetitive clip of Tony's face as I hear Chloe tell him the news. He looked so happy, unaware of the untimely end he would soon face. I quickly turn the phone off. I pat the wall, and before I realize why I find the light switch. Force of habit I guess. I flick it on, praying for it to work. It's foolish, the electricity has been turned off for Lord knows how long.
The light flickers on, illuminating a horrifying scene. Chloe's body is hung on the wall, her body displayed like Christ on the cross. Her front is cut open in the same matter someone would while dissecting a frog. Her insides are piled up on the floor, a big red mass. I feel numb, slightly nauseated, but mostly numb.
I notice a small organ on the wall, by her right hand. It's pierced with the metal part of a crucifix, which is what is pinning it to the wall I assume. I walk closer to her body, the only thing in her chest is the cross, it's about the right size to have been from the crucifix. I take a closer look at the organ. It's her uterus, at least that's what it looks like. I've never seen a real one, only illustrations in health text books.
"Oh my God." Harley makes me jump slightly, and I turn to her. Harley wraps her arms around me. I want to cry, but I can't. I slowly walk to the door, my shaky legs managing to hold me. I notice something about two feet into the room from the door. It's a marigold. It all clicks.
"How could you? Why didn't I notice earlier? The marigold. Only you know those are my favourite flowers." I glare at her. She looks petrified, frozen. I walk towards her and size her up. "My sister, killing all my best friends. Why? What would cause you to do this?"
"Quinn, I would never do that to you." She responds.
"Why should I believe you? All you've ever done is lie." I snap at her and walk out the door, heading back to the cafeteria.
"I suppose you're right, I've only ever lied." She follows me, so I begin to walk faster. She grabs my wrist. I twist my arm around to get her to let go. She holds firmly.
"Harley, leave me alone!" I scream at her, my voice getting louder with each word. She lets go and stands still. I continue to walk quickly down the hall. An idea hits me and I duck into one of the rooms. I dig around till I find it, a belt. I continue on my journey to the cafeteria, then into the tunnel. I turn and wrap the belt around the handle of the door and the top wrung of the ladder. I take my time to secure it, making sure it won't budge. I hope that keeps her trapped.
I walk down the tunnel, a place I have begun to think of as a safe zone. I walk leisurely, no one is going to hurt me now. My flashlight bounces of the damp walls, reflecting down the tunnel. I see the ladder in the distance, a pleasant sight.
I climb into the baptismal tub, and then up the stairs. I walk down the aisle, lit by the retreating sun. The door is still locked. No surprise. I press my back against it, breathing deep breaths.
"How am I going to get out of here?" I ask towards the ceiling, maybe God, I'm not sure.
