The Cycle

CHAPTER 17: PRAY

CHAPTER 17

PRAY

There's a loud, thunderous noise coming from outside and I peer out the dark window.

"She's growing more powerful by the hour," Lionel says in a loathing voice. I'm about to ask him what that means when suddenly there's loud crashing sound, shattered glass flying everywhere. A pale, grey arm clings around my neck, cutting me off mid-breath. I try not to scream, saving the little amount of air for my lungs. An awful moaning comes from behind me and I can't stifle the next shriek. My eyesight goes blurry for a few seconds, but I can vaguely see Lionel reaching for something from under his trench coat.

Just when I believe I'm about to pass out, there's an incredibly loud gunshot heard from within the car and the pressure on my neck releases. I unravel the grey arm from around my torso and fling the creature out the window, the body somersaulting in the snow.

"Are you alright?" Lionel asks with deep concern.

I catch my breath and stiffly nod, cupping my hand around my throat.

"What the hell was that thing?" Dylan shouts.

"It's a body that's lost its soul," Lionel answers quietly.

There's a grave silence that follows and the atmosphere is almost somber.

"There it is," I say quietly and point to the lights igniting the church in the darkness. Dylan pulls into the parking lot and he immediately parks the car. I shut the passenger door and fall in step next to Lionel, who is scoping the area out. Dylan holds the door open to the church and I step inside. Surprisingly, it's very bright inside. Most of the overhead lights are turned on and stream heavily out the large windows. The church is empty and it's eerily quiet. I'm so used to the chaotic services of Sunday morning that the utter silence is somehow uncomfortable.

"Where do you need to go to restore your power?" I ask Lionel quietly, but even then it sounds like I'm shouting, my voice echoing off the vast walls and tall ceiling.

"The altar will probably heal me the fastest," he responds.

We amble up the carpeted aisle, passing row after row of empty benches, when we reach the altar where a large mural of the Holy Spirit stares down. It's a depiction of Christ being risen from the dead with a crown of thorns visible on his frayed and tangled hair. I grimace and look away, feeling uneasy, and watch as Lionel climbs the steps of the altar. What he does next is unexpected. He turns around, his back to the mural, and takes a seat at the top of the altar, crossing his legs over one another. He pulls out a small, leather book from inside his coat, turns to a page, and begins silently reading, his lips moving quickly.

Dylan and I exchange similar looks, ones of confusion and disapproval, but we don't say anything.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Elaina," a familiar says from the other end of the church.

I turn around and see Pastor Samuel walking up the aisle.

"Hello, Pastor Samuel," I say shyly.

He walks up to where Dylan and I stand. "I told you to just call me Samuel," he says with a grin and his voice booms off the church walls.