The Lost Ones

Chapter 12

The hallway appeared just as surreal as the furniture in the family room. Kit wasn't sure if he was just dizzy or if the vermilion carpet beneath him was really shifting up and down like a wave. The gold-painted walls were completely bare—no picture frames, not even a single window or door. The gothic corridor seemed to extend for miles, like an endless maze. Kit was sure he had to turn at least ten corners before he finally reached a hallway that didn't look exactly the same as the one before it.

At the end of the last hall was a humongous wall drenched in black paint. In the very center was a tall, narrow door made of wood. Coming from inside the room was Skye's cries.

"Skye! I'm coming!" he shouted. Panting hard from his previous laps, he darted down the hall towards the lonely, wooden door.

As he was running, he saw something swift and black from the corner of his eye. He didn't stop, widening his eyes at the ghastly, shadowy figures with red eyes that multiplied all around him. Are these demons?

All of a sudden, the shadows became distorted and transformed into what made Kit's arteries run cold. Surrounding him were copies of the same person, Skye's kidnapper, his father dressed in black clothing concealing his face with the mask.

Simultaneously, the imitations of Holden removed their cover-ups and blood gushed out of their eyes. Kit started to run faster, but he realized that the creatures weren't heading towards him. Instead, they collided with each other and an explosion of thick, red liquid splattered all over the floors and the walls. Kit swallowed down his own vomit when it drenched the back of his shirt and legs.

Just before he could ram down the door with his shoulder, without warning, he floated right through and stumbled face flat onto the dry carpet of another room.

As he scrambled to his feet, he recognized his surroundings immediately. The weak peppermint air freshener that failed to conceal the moldy odor in the air; the still altars standing at every corner of the room filled with statues of figures from the most and least known biblical stories; the diamond-encrusted crucifixes that hung in the center of all four, soiled walls; the antique Persian Farahan rug with delicate, geometric designs that became a thousand demon faces when the light went off; and finally, the abnormally small, substandard, twin-size bed with more pillows than blankets that would never be able to fit more than one body, sitting opposite of the door between two windows that had been boarded up.

Memories suddenly came spilling in, like a relentless waterfall full of poison. This was the room Kit had occupied for nine years, the room he never wanted but had no choice after his biological father died, after his mom remarried the abusive, former priest and moved into his house, which had previously housed corpses for viewings and funerals.

Kit's eyes filled with dread. I thought I'd never have to see this place again... A few days after Father Roman was arrested, authorities and his therapist had advised his mom to relocate her family to a place that couldn't trigger memories of the abuse.

But he wasn't in his current homely but plain, city apartment bedroom. He was in this bedroom, the place where he learned that the dark wasn't the only thing he should be afraid of, the place where his childhood had been snatched away, the place where a piece of his soul perished each time Father Roman chained him to his bed and whipped him until Kit's mom could finally find an excuse for him to stop.

Never had Kit felt so much desire to disappear from existence. He wanted to get out of the room as fast as he could. But he had to find Skye first, and he was sure her cries of pain were coming from this room.