No Control (Chris Motionless)

Chapter 50 - It Begins

WARNING: Graphic violence, suicide, and cannibalism. 

If any of that bothers you, send me a message and I'll do my best to give you a rundown of the chapter. 

Also, I'm sorry I've been gone for so long, life has been crazy for me (and I'm sure for you too). Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter.  

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The buzz of many excited voices felt more than wrong. These people truly believed that all of this death would bring about something good in the end.

Darien guided me toward the front of the firelit cavern, where Roy stood amongst a group huddled around him. When we were a few feet away, I could see what they were surrounding. The pregnant woman, Catherine, was sitting with her legs spread wide and an apparent twist of pain across her face. A shiver of unease came over me as I thought about what it would be like to give birth to an audience of this size. To her left, a blond man brushed back her sweat-soaked hair from her forehead as he whispered something in her ear.

She gave him a strangled smile before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "It's alright; this is what's best for you and the others. I'll be fine soon."

Then, a hush fell over the room, followed by the ripple effect of every head of the group turning towards a new hooded figure approaching the front. Without seeing his face, I knew it was Chris or at least his body.

"Let's begin this," Roy instructs just loud enough for those nearby to hear.

One of the cultists standing opposite Catherine's husband shifted to reveal a filet knife in his right hand and his face; of course, Backhus was indeed one of them. My eyes darted back to Catherine, seeing the tears freely falling down her cheeks.

Darien's hold on me tightened as he whispered, "Look away."

But I couldn't. Even though I understood what was about to happen, my eyes remained fixed on the other woman, and my breath froze in my chest. The knife appeared dull in the low light, but it became clear that it was quite the opposite as soon as the blade touched her stomach. Her skin parted as if it were paper thin. Bright red trickled down her navel as the mock surgeon rolled up his sleeves and then resumed.

There was no build-up as Backhus dug the knife into her insides. Catherine's screams seemed to rattle and echo off the rock walls as if a hundred more women were wailing with her. Blood pooled onto the rock, and bile rose in my mouth at the sight.

"Amber, just shut your eyes," Darien pleaded as he struggled to keep us both upright, and I fought off another dry heave.

"Can't," I choke out, taking in the sight of blood and tissue being exposed to the open air, feeling as if, in one way or another, this was my doing, and I couldn't turn away from what I'd caused. "I won't."

Then I found myself wondering how I got here to this moment. I pondered where I would be now if I had never agreed to go to the Whipping House those months ago. I had a feeling that I was always bound to end up right here, that there was no escaping. This was inevitable.

With that realization, something else occurred to me, I had nothing left to lose, and therefore I had everything to gain. I knew I couldn't save Catherine, but I could save her son. The ritual would be ruined if I could get us both out of here. Even if I could do nothing else, even if I couldn't save my life or the lives of those I loved, I could at least keep the world we left behind safe. Tears welled and spilled from my eyes as I forced myself to come to terms with what had to be done.

Seeing a series of trays being carried into the room brought my entire being to a halt. It was as if everything became muffled, even Catherine's moans and wails, as I took in what several cult members were handing out. On their trays were rows of plain white paper cups filled with a sickly yellow liquid, and my insides twisted as it swiftly dawned on me what they were meant for. But, then, a vile thought came to me with that understanding: I would have less of them to deal with if they were planning on killing themselves.