What Crawls Below

4 § Something Wicked

§

For several weeks, Delilah White had been making the hour-long trip to Long Island to get a feel for Second Advent and her possible place in it. During her first venture through the woods in order to reach the compound, she'd clung to Cyrus's hand and cast weary looks back at Bune. The whole way there she talked about her son. At one point in that first hike, Delilah commented, "He was quiet like you, too. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

By her third and fourth trip, Delilah's discussions about her son became less frequent as she settled into the new family Second Advent provided for her. She even called the cabin "quaint" and no longer needed the safety blanket she'd found in Cyrus.

In fact, by that point she'd begun to avoid him like most people tended to do.

It was the day of her initiation as a whole and true member that Cyrus realized he had become a problem.

All of Delilah's prior visits had taken place in the cabin's living room just as the rest of the members' had. They consisted of weekly prayer circles and group discussions about virtually anything under the sun pertaining to faith. Instead of praying to a God that didn't listen, new members were asked to simply direct their thoughts into the universe. Delilah had taken her tasks in stride and now stood in the same field Cyrus had a month before, both contemplating their role in this world.

By now, she had no problem taking an oath to uphold and protect Second Advent's ideals. With all the members forming a ring around her, Delilah stood straight and proud in the middle, as healthy as Cyrus had seen her. She wouldn't meet his eyes though, not anymore. The members on either side of Cyrus gave him a wide berth, not looking at him either.

It was like he didn't exist to them. Or rather, they didn't want him to.

Cyrus bit his tongue and forced himself to pay attention to the proceedings. He'd seen plenty of initiations in the past few years, but never one for someone he'd recruited himself.

Acheron stood before the woman, dressed all in black: the color of death and new beginnings.
"Will you help us purify the world, Delilah?"

"I will."

"Are we ready to accept Delilah as our own?"

"We are," the thirty-some members forming the circle all said in unison.

Acheron struck a match and Delilah's eyes stared at the dancing flame. He let it fall to the small pile of firewood at his feet, which had been drenched in accelerant. A fire burst to life.

"It's time," he prompted emotionlessly.

From across the circle, Cyrus could see the woman swallow hard. After a moment's hesitation, she produced a photograph from her pocket.

Wetting her lips, Delilah said, "Do I really have to do this?"

"In order to fully appreciate our duty we must shed all attachments to our past life. They serve only as distractions in the way of our true purpose."

Nodding slowly, she bit her lip and dropped the photo into the fire.

The memory of Delilah's son curled and blackened at the edges before quickly succumbing to the flame. In seconds, he was ash.

§

After the ceremony, Acheron confronted Cyrus alone.

"There have been complaints."

The image of Delilah and all the others avoiding him came to mind. He didn't bother projecting this to Acheron; it was clear they were already on the same page.