Bring The Heat

80. Body and Mind

Heat. Wren recoiled in surprise at the sudden blast of heat on her face, and raised her stinging eyes to see the view before her. A house, swept up in massive flames licking the sky as smoke billowed upwards. Wooden foundations creaked as they collapsed.

A trickle down her chin and neck caught Wren's attention. She smacked her hand to her jaw, and found her scar cut wide open, blood dripping out. As she came to her senses, she realized just how much her body hurt.

A hand grabbed at her wrist.

Wren jolted in shock, and turned to see who it was... nobody. The hand was coming straight from the earth she sat on - until abruptly, it faded into nothingness, like it was never there at all. But she could still feel it's presence...

"YOU! YOU! WHY...YOU! WHY YOU? WHY- WHY YOU? ALWAYS- ALWAYS YOU!"

The disembodied yells suddenly appeared right next to her ear, and weren't even blocked out when she clasped her hand over it. The voice was male, shaky, young - and so, so familiar, in a way that Wren couldn't understand.

But then, Wren felt something on her hand and arm, a presence that seemed to be coming from another level of reality. Pink light erupted from the palm where she felt the pressure, and the world around her changed.

Her vision faded back in - not that she remembered it fading out. She was standing on a small, patchy road in the countryside, surrounded by tall walls of assorted bricks and stones that held fields on either side. The sky was vibrant blue, big puffs of white clouds scattered across it. The midday sun shone through, with light that had almost the exact warmth needed to complement the soft, cool breeze.

Wren could feel that she was taller now, her normal height, and that her face scar had stopped bleeding.

Turning around, she saw a small church. Between her and it was a black gate, paint flaking, with golden tips at the top of the gate bars. They guarded a small, gravel parking area, empty of all but one bicycle leaning on the cobblestone wall.

Wren stepped forward. As the gravel crunched under her feet, she couldn't help but smile - this wasn't her memory, she could tell. But it was a happy one.

One of the large, brown doors was open, and Wren wandered inside. A man in a black robe, with a white square in its collar, approached her as she entered.

"Wonderful to see you, Wren."

He said it with such gentle kindness that his very words felt like home, and Wren found herself believing them wholeheartedly.

"You too, Father McKenzie."

Her words even shocked herself. Wren had never met this man in her life, how did she know his name?

The man lowered his face sorrowfully.

"She's been... waiting. For a while. Not necessarily for you, but... well, you're here now. Let's be thankful for that."

Wren turned to look down to the other end of the church. In this small room, with only 5 rows of pews on either side, someone kneeled right before the altar. As Wren approached, passing under a small, stone arch, she quickly recognized the figure.

It was Robin, hands clasped together, muttering abstract prayer. Her once short, blonde hair now flowed down her back. Big droplets of blood slapped down to the floor, and something small and metal fell too, doused in crimson.

Upon closer inspection, Wren saw that the blood was coming from large cuts on her wrists, right where the scars Robin had showed her were. From them came not just blood, but tiny golden cross jutting from the wounds.