Senseless

August 20, 1882 - Merritt

There was smoke and dust, but no Leviathan. I stood, hunched over, hands on my knees, in the middle of my family's dining room. I was coughing so violently that I could not catch my breath. I would force the soot and grime from my throat only to inhale another mouthful after each episode. I had to get out but I could not even stand. I was paralyzed. 

I looked up at the faint sound of footsteps, expecting to see Leviathan, come to take me from this house; instead, I was met by my own haggard face—or not mine, exactly, just one that resembled my own.

Lora. My sister.

Seeing her, letting my eyes drink in her patchy mane of hair, her blackened and flaking skin, and her wide unseeing eyes, spurred me to action. I scrambled backward, desperate to get as far from the apparition as possible. 

She was missing most of the skin and hair on the left side of her body, that was where she'd fallen and the heat of the floor had burnt her. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, glassy like bloodshot marbles. Her mouth was agape, a silent scream or perhaps a strangled last breath. Her hair, so much like my own, hug like a curtain across her face. Strands of it stuck to the bare, bloody patches of muscle and sinew that lay beneath sagging, blackened skin. Her skin was melted in places, seeming to almost drip from her body. 

Those unseeing eyes were looking at me.

I reached out a hand, as if such a feeble attempt could stop her from approaching. "Please—"

I stumbled and fell backward—

I awoke, abruptly, with a gasp. I drank air in lung fulls, sputtering and seizing as I blinked into the darkness of the attic. My throat was dry like I'd been screaming in my sleep again.

It was a dream—I was only imagining the fire. I'm fine. I'm fine.

My entire body was shaking, lingering feelings and sensations attacking me as I tried to calm myself down. There is no smoke. Lora is dead. You are safe.

I wished desperately that I had not allowed Gabriel to leave me. I needed someone to hold me; I needed to feel present in the real world because everything was slipping from me. I could feel Lora's fingernails scrapping at my arms, a pressure that I knew should be pain. 

No. Not Lora's nails, mine. 

I was scratching my own arms, running my nails down my own arms. 

My eyes watered and I sat up in bed, clutching the quilt to my chest. "Adonai, please take it from me." It was the first time that I'd spoken a prayer aloud in years, most certainly the first time I'd said a prayer aloud since I remembered who I was. It was as if all the pressure in my body released and I was left an empty shell of myself, wanting only to be filled by His presence.

I felt as if I might be sick.

I leaned forward and pressed the balls of my hands against my eyes. There was something very wrong. The feelings from the dream, the panic and the suffocating feeling of thickening air had not disappeared. I forced myself from the bed and walked to the only window in the attic—the building itself was three stories tall and I was in a small loft above the highest level. The window, which was small and circular, looked out over the front steps of the church, where a lone person stood looking up at me. I stepped back from the window; perhaps it was Leviathan or Gabriel. But Leviathan would have alerted me to his visit and Gabriel would have no reason to linger on the steps.

I didn't have the time or the soundness of mind to change clothes so I remained in my nightgown and bare feet. I went to my bag, retrieving the sword. I had meant what I'd said to Leviathan, if this were Lucifer come to harm me then I would fight him. His reign on earth would end here. I took the first set of stairs quickly, all the while drilling myself on what Michael and Gabriel had taught me. It will only take one cut—the sword will do the rest. Stay on your toes; don't let him catch you off guard. If he is close to you, position the sword lower than his ribcage and aim it up, try to get it through his rib cage.