Witch {Book One} [UNEDITED]

XI: Atticus Proves Himself Useful

There was blood. Lots of blood. It was everywhere. Spilling from the long abandoned washing machines and dryers lining the walls of Common. There were disembodied limbs draped over the machines with mutilated chunks of flesh hanging on to the crushed bones by smashed nerves. I had counted at least four--what was left of  them, at least--right arms. Four people dead. Four people murdered. I was standing in their blood. I bent down and reached into the blood around my ankles. I pulled out a handful of teeth. Bile rose in my throat, burning my esophagus like holy water on a demon or a witch at the stake. It hurt but I forced it back. The bloodied but perfect teeth resting in my palm was what hurt me the most. I turned my hand over, letting the teeth fall to the ground, first splashing in the blood, then clinking against the stained linoleum tiles. They wouldn't be white again. Not with that much blood. I turned, blood swishing around my ankles. Littering the floor where the blood had not yet reached were thousands of lotus flowers. The smell of the flowers, mixed with the heavy metallic stench of stale blood and rotten flesh was enough for me to turn and vomit on the already destroyed linoleum. 

I woke up from my nightmare in the middle of the night with blood dripping  from my nose. My hand flew to my upper lip, already tasting the blood. So much blood . . . I scrambled out of bed and managed to make it to the bathroom just as the thick, warm metallic flavor filling my mouth became overwhelming, causing me to vomit. Once my stomach gave out and there wasn't even bile left for me to force up, I slid to the ground, holding my head in my hands. There was too much blood. Too much death. The lotus flowers . . . there were far too many of those. I reached into the drawer attached to the bathroom counter and pulled out both my lighter and my near-empty pack of cigarettes. I lit one and stuck it between my acid-stained lips. The smell of smoke only made my budding migraine bloom. I quickly snuffed out the cigarette and flushed it, along with my vomit, down the toilet. 

I managed to stand up to face myself in the mirror. Some of my black hair was stuck to my face with sweat while the rest of it was tangled and staticky, flying everywhere. My dark eyes had equally dark circles under them, making my porcelain colored skin look as white as a bleached skeleton. Dried blood formed a trail leading from my nose and along my upper lip, a sheen layer of fresher blood on top of it. Remains of my acidic vomit coated my bottom lip, my chin, and was stuck to my lip piercings. Sweat soaked through my pajama shirt and a bruise was forming along my collarbone. The top of my shirt was shrugged off of both of my shoulders. The symbol for Insomnia was visible. A black lotus dripping blood was inked on my shoulder. Around it were four symbols of various colors: a green Ouroboros, a red Tyr Rune, a blue Spiral, and a white Spider's Web. I hurriedly pulled my shirt up to cover the symbol. 

Adelaide Lee?

An unfamiliar, masculine voice filled the bathroom. Rather, it filled my head.  

"I'm either high, sleeping, or both," I murmured to myself after a moment of complete silence.

You aren't high or sleeping. 

"What the hell?!" I exclaimed when the voice responded to my comment. 

Wait. Let me start over. Hi, Bandit. My name's Gabriel. I'm an archangel upstairs. Wait. No. I'm an ex-archangel. Did some shitty things and now I'm not allowed back. In fact, I'm in fucking Hell right now. And since you're the only one who will listen to me, you're helping me out. 

My face went even paler--if that was possible. I stumbled back, tripping over my feet and falling to the floor. 

Awe, too much? Here, let me help you out. 

An invisible pair of hands grabbed either of my biceps and yanked me to my feet. 

There we go. So. Helping me get out of Hell. You'll need help. And don't go crying to little cult for help. Insomnia, that's what they're called, yes? Whatever. Stupid name for stupid people. Honestly, though, I'm a big fan. Help. That's what we were talking about. There are two guys. Well, one's actually a chick but she's all weird and transgender. So technically a guy. These two guys can help you. 

"I'm already fucking insane . . ." I murmured. "Fine, Gabriel or whatever. I'll help your sorry ass. Just tell me who these guys are." 

Ah, ah, ah. Not there yet, sweetheart. Can't tell your their names. But your new member, Atticus, can. Talk to him. He knows G-my boys. Gotta go, bye. 

In an instant, Gabriel was gone. 

I stood on shaky legs, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I stayed that way for a good ten minutes before building enough strength to leave the bathroom and go to my bedroom where I grabbed my phone. 

Atticus, we need to talk. 

I sent the message and stared at my phone screen for a moment. 

Someone had been added to the list of people in the Honorary Insomnia Group Chat. 

Gabriel. 

What the fuck, Bandit? You sent this at one in the goddamn morning. What is so fucking important that you needed to wake me up at ONE. IN. THE. FUCKING. MORNING?!

I glared at my phone screen once Atticus finally replied. Seven hours later. 

Call me. Now. 

I sent the message and switched over to the Honorary Insomnia Group Chat to read what the others were discussing without me. 

Who the fuck is Gabriel? Jemma said. 

Bandit, who's Gabriel? Sammy said in response. 

You can't just be adding random people to our cult without us. Lucy wrote. 

Seriously! Who the actual fuck is Gabriel?! Jemma asked again. 

There was a message full of static. 

Then, I'm Gabriel. Bandit here let me join. After all, this group conversation is Honorary. 

I closed out of the conversation just in time for Atticus to call. 

"Alright. What the hell is so important, Bandit?" Atticus asked the moment I answered his call. "That you woke me up at one in the frigging morning?!" I could hear the disgust lining his voice like poison. I tried to think of how to phrase what I was going to say. The seconds dragged on like centuries as I chose my words very carefully. After all, how are you supposed to tell someone that you woke up at midnight, violently threw up, then had an ex-archangel tell you--in your mind--that you need to find these two people to free the said angel from Hell?

"Apparently you can help me find two people," I said slowly, almost as if my life were on the line and those eight words were all that mattered in the situation. "There's this person, Gabriel, that told me that you can help me find two people so we can free Gabriel from Hell. I think one of the names starts with a G." I thought back to the conversation I had with Gabriel. He started to say a name, but changed his mind rather quickly. 

"Glitch?" Atticus suggested. I was surprised as to how fast he thought up the name. "I think he means Glitch Thompson and Thomason Riley . . ."

"Holy shit. I think those are the guys. Where can  I find 'em?" I asked, memorizing the two fairly odd names. 

"Uh . . . I think that Glitch works with that Freakshow circus. Fortuna, I think it's called. And Thomason will be wherever Glitch is. And if he ain't, he's probably at some male strip club. The Black Rabbit's a popular one. S'at all?" I could tell that Atticus was bored; even more bored than before. 

The next people I called were Sammy, Lucy, Alice, and Flynn. I asked if they wanted to accompany me to Fortuna and the Black Rabbit. All four said yes.