Viscious 2: Cult of Kellan

Voices.

*back to Alina*

The smell of food begins to carry in the air to me, and my stomach gargles loudly. I cringe at the noise and it's blatant betrayal and keep moving. I'm starving. Starving! But it still didn't have to oust me like that. What if somebody could've heard? It did sound like a big beluga whale. The sad berries from earlier putting no dent in my appetite with my constant moving. My knees feel swollen, and my leg is killing me. I'm tired. Mentally, emotionally, physically. My mind and spirit are getting just as much a beating as my body.

The more ground I cover, the more I have to go. I have to do this, I can't stop. If I stop, I die. Then grandma corpse gets no justice, or me. Or Dallas. His father will get away with everything. The goons with the music will get away with everything. Still, moving is easier said than done. Aching body, battered leg, no prosthetic, empty stomach, throbbing head, torn hands. I could go on and on, but the more attention I give to them the worse they hurt. So I keep moving. Slowly, silently, but constantly forward.

"She can't walk, bitch!" I freeze up so quickly that I nearly fall on my face, again. Me?! They are talking about me. The voice is feminine. The party goers are talking about me. My heart slams against my ribs, and I stay planted to the ground as I try to listen.

Another woman shouts at her, but bits of it cut in and out. I want to eavesdrop, but it's too risky to get much closer. I am already close enough to see the driveway as I follow it through the woods, and close enough to hear lyrics and words. Much closer, and I could risk being heard or seen myself. I resume my mission, but I can't stop myself from wanting to know what is going on over there. Then, an idea hits me. Could I drive? I'm not certain if I could press a gas pedal with my injured leg, but I can support myself on it. And I did fight Corey with it. Could I steal a car, if there's a car? No. I've been over this, odds of keys being in the ignition are not in my favor, and I could risk and waste precious time on an idea that could collapse.

"I'm not fighting. This is stupid." A loud, angry female bellows. I pull myself from my eavesdropping and I tell myself, no, I make myself go on.

I instantly freeze in place whenever I begun to hear chanting, thumping and soft wailing. What the fuck going on? It does not concern me. Likely more ignorance and horseplay from the strange people who've gathered. The wailing though. The wailing is muffled and pained, as if someone is trying to hold it together. Silence engulfs everything for several uncomfortable minutes before tell tale sounds of misery flood my ears.

This is suffering. This is pain. This is a woman's torment, and I can determine this by the hysteria and despair in her pleas. Others shout, but my head whirls. Everything goes quiet, and then picks up again. The woman no longer screams, but other voices rise in conflict of each other. Some in defense of the crying woman, others in mockery.

"I lie. We all lie. We are murderers, or will be murderers. Honesty is the torch of the weak minded. When you do as you please, you don't have to be honest." My mouth hangs open. Murderers. They are planning to kill, or have killed. That woman! Is she...is she dead?

Another woman, and man chime up in protest. I listen, with guilt beginning to weigh heavily on me. Had I known she'd was being murdered, could I have stopped it? Would I have risked it? Or would I still be hiding and scuttling the ground like an insect? Could I have even reached her in time or made any difference outside getting us both slaughtered? Arguing for control continues as the man and woman argue over something I can hardly hear over my erratic heart and the mumbles of others.