“I don’t think so.”

Claire sucks in a short gasp and covers her mouth as her eyes pop open, still staring at yours. The Reverend allows himself to flinch, but only enough to allow the smile to flatten across his face.

“I don’t think I can be trusted,” you tip your head toward the wound in your arm. “I mean, just look—”

You hold back the urge to smile as an evil idea suddenly appears in your mind. You begin sliding your left hand across your right forearm, painting your skin with blood. You feel nothing beneath your touch, as you realize that your entire arm has gone almost completely numb. Through the corner of your eye you watch as both Claire and the Revered begin to share a moment of confusion as both of them wrestle over what they should do next.

“I—” You grin and clench your teeth as the tip of your left pointer fingers stop directly on top of the wound. “I really shouldn’t be trusted.”

And then you push. Your finger enters the hole made by the Reverend’s knife and you groan from the bite on an icy cold shiver of fresh pain. You push down deeper and a thick, dark red clot blood begins to sag from the hole on the opposite side of your arm.

“No, what is wrong with you?”

Claire breaks away from her father and lunges to your side. Her hands reach out without any hesitation and pull your arms apart. Your finger pops free from the wound and releases a single spurt of fresh blood along with it.

“No, stop! Don’t do that! Let me help you.”

You continue to grimace with pain as your head leans back and turns to the side. You look up, from behind Claire’s head, and stare straight back at the Reverend. His body is like stone, composed and unmoving, while his eyes burn with rage. There’s nothing the Reverend loathes more than losing control, especially that of Claire’s preserved innocence. You smile as she begins to unfold the same towel she used to clean his face and wrap it around your arm.

“Claire, you stop that bleeding and get yourself out of here.”

The Reverend’s teeth grind together for a moment in order to hold back whatever he wants to say next. Claire stands up and politely nudges for you to follow, the whole time never relieving the pressure she is applying to your wound. Together, she leads you toward the bathroom, passing directly in front of the Reverend.

“Claire Coates! Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.”

He turns on his heel and begins walking toward the door to leave the room.

“We will help this degenerate, yet.”

Continue here.

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