One More Troubled Soul

Five-Mothers Cast Tears On Both Sides Of The Aisle

Unknown P.O.V.

My hands were sweating profusely as I hurried through the warehouse to the back office. She wasn't going to be happy with the way things turned out. She may even torture me. I shuttered at the thought and tried to wipe some of the moisture onto my skin tight jeans, but they just skidded right off.

All around me, the bangs of hammers meeting wood and metal, the screams of ban saws, deafened me. The gallows were currently occupied by struggling victims, and the sound of the trapdoors falling open created a beat for the instrument destroying girls as they chanted out an unintelligable phrase. Those tied, gagged, and ready for execution huddled in a corner, their eyes wide with fear and exhaustion. I felt my lip curl in disgust at the sight of their pathetic pain.

As I continued to a hallway, the sounds quieted down to a simple drone of buzzing and crashes. My heart stopped when her door came into view, painted over with the blood of all that have perished in her grasp. I could already imagine the liquid fire that will shine in her eyes when she learns about what happened back at the cabin, and I wonder if my blood will decorate that door soon. At the moment, I wanted to send someone else to tell her, maybe one of the new recruits. They're expendable. We can find new people.

I nearly spun back around to the main room of the cluttered warehouse to find a newbie, but my dignity set me back on track. I set my jaw in determination and marched right up to the crimson door. I wasn't going to fear her. She has to learn that things don't always come out as planned.

The handle was cold to the touch, and slippery as my palms broke out into a sweat once again. I pulled the door wide, lowering my eyes in respect to the cult leader.

"Ah, Jade, darling. Come in, come in." She cooed, sending shivers down my spine. That gentle tone won't last long.

Keeping my head down, I stood before the great desk she sat behind, locking my hands behind my back in a military style of rest. "The troops have returned from the cabins." I was relieved to hear my voice come out strong and sure.

She clapped her hands. "Oh, goody goody." She giggled and a pair of black stiletto boots appeared on the paper strewn desk, scattering files carelessly. "The subjects are outside, yes? Dead or alive?"

My chest squeezed and my stomach shrunk. My tounge felt like a cotton ball, and I swallowed hard with a dry throat.

"Well?" Her tone vibrated with impatience.

I swallowed again. "We, ah...we didn't get any of them." The slam of her fist caused me to jump, and if I weren't frozen in place, I would've ran from the room.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T GET ANY OF THEM?" I felt fear crawl inside my stomach, an ice cold touch I couldn't shake off. I cleared my throat and did my best to keep the terror from my voice. "We didn't get any of them." I choked out.

Her hand came in response as she slapped me, and I nearly fell from the force. I blinked a couple times, keeping my eyes glued to the desk, stinging pain along the left of my head. "I GAVE YOU ONE JOB, JADE. ONE FUCKING JOB AND YOU FAILED ME."

She continued to scream, curse me, expecting me to break down like all the others. If it wasn't for the coloured pictures on the desk of the victims who escaped laid out in front of me, mocking me, I would've. But I felt that ice cold fear harden and begin to burn into anger. It was so tempting to reach back across the desk and deliver a smack of my own. My fingers curled into fists as I fought the urge.

She noticed the movement. Her hollers had halted, and I tensed for a coming blow. It's been pounded into our heads that any, any, threat, as subtle as a muttered curse, will not go unpunished. I've seen members of the cult murdered, maimed, hung, even tortured because of a simple gesture.