The Devil's Bride (Book 1)

Chapter 28- Devil in Sheep's Clothing

THIRD PERSON

"Sorry for the ambush earlier," her soft voice drifts through the putrid odour of the basement, "but I couldn't let you expose me that easily." Reyna blinks her eyes open, the darkness of the room blinding her from seeing anything. She stares around hoping to find out where she is, but nothing. The darkness crowds around her like she's the only light that's left. Her hands are tied behind her back. The only figure in sight is the other woman, curling a strand of hair around her finger.

Reyna's brain is telling her to speak but her lips aren't moving. She finally mumbles a few words, "Why did you-" before her voice slipped from her grasp, and she coughed. Her throat felt tense. This pitch black room crept closer towards her ever minute, her eyes frozen on seeing in the darkness of the room. She can hardly see anything at all. Darkness. "Where are we?" She adds, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. A light flickers in the corner of the room, and suddenly she can see the killer once more.

The light flickered out for a moment, before flickering back to illuminate the corner of the square room. "We're here," she replies, gesturing with her hands to the open space, "and you're with me." Reyna stares up at her captor, this woman who doesn't seem to care at all. She can't help the feeling that this would be it, she'll be found dead down here- wherever here is- and that would be it. No more Reyna Swindell. The cruel reality that she may never see her family or friends again struck her heart like an arrow to the apple, and it pierced a hole so deep that could never be healed or fixed again. It is right now, in this moment, that she honestly wanted to fix everything with Faith, but they could never happen now. Especially if Reyna did die. The light in the corner illuminated nothing of much importance. Reyna couldn't save herself right now even if she tried. It'd be useless. The damp ceiling above her leaks every few minutes. Or seconds. Or hours. Who knows how long she's truly been in here?

The other woman moves closer towards Reyna, her light heels clicking against the concrete floor. Reyna barely scraped the courage to speak again, "That didn't answer my question," she spits, biting her lip. The other woman pauses in front of her, pouting. It is as if she didn't need to say at anything at all, Reyna just knew what to do from that small pout; she knew to keep her mouth closed. This isn't her fight to win. If her arms weren't tied behind her back she'd cover her mouth right now, but her lips didn't listen. "Don't avoid the question," she adds, and the other woman flinches, gripping tightly with her fists balled up. Reyna could feel the bile reach the tip of her throat.

The killer steps forward, digging her hands into her pocket. A look of terror and dread wipes over Reyna's face as the other woman removes the thin grey knife from the insides of her pocket. "I hate this."

----

She hadn't talked to anyone but her best friend since the incident. To tell anyone about what happened only made her feel sick in the stomach, but now, as she sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the public hall, she is finally ready to tell everyone her story. The story about her escape from the grasp of a serial killer. To think that she was once trapped underground with the potential to die, waiting for the sign of help or the sign of death- whichever came first- brought the similar feeling she felt when she sat tied down in that chair, staring into the eyes of the devil. Or his bride. Whatever she goes by. That same sick stomach feeling is welling up inside as she waits patiently for her time to tell the crowded centre about her fight for freedom. One of the police officers shakes the hand of a tall, lanky teenager who only barely holds back the tears. The teenager, Brady, sits back down as the police officer, Grant, turns towards Jemma as she waits for her turn to speak.

She's in too deep of her own world to notice him gesturing towards her, but without any more delay she steps up to the podium, her hands shaking. The crowd's eyes all turn to her, but she was never afraid of public speaking that much. She swallowed and spoke into the small microphone, "In a turn of events, I was kidnapped by Persephone, as she is known. I thought I'd be found dead down there, but I wasn't. I survived, and we all can too," she sighs, the moments flooding back in, "I know we can find her and arrest her or send her to the chair. We can do this." The crowd applauds loudly, but she knows that this isn't for them to hunt that killer down; this for them to unite.