Putting a cigarette to his lips, he flipped open the lid to his cold, metal lighter before burning the end and taking a long drag.
Smoking always gave him something to do and focus on when his sick, twisted urges came upon him. He only hoped it was going to help him stay away from Chloe as well.
Flipping the lid close, he placed his Zippo back on his desk before looking at the recent picture of her once more.
One single thought entered his mind.
Mine.
Two
If Salvation Is What You Seek, Violence Is Not the Answer
Lucca waited in the tiny, dark room, wondering why his feet brought him here in the first place. The only times he had come here were when he thought about his mother. However, not since his mother had died had he ever sought penance. Penance was for those seeking absolution. He wasn’t that type of man. Lucca only sought retribution.
A swiping noise had him lifting his eyes to the intricate window where hardly any light filtered through. He could see the shadow of the older man on the other side of the wall.
The thought of leaving entered his mind, but instead, words came out like it had been just yesterday since he had last spoken them. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a long time since my last confession.”
As Lucca sat there quietly, unable to find words past that, the figure behind the wall said, “Yes, my son?”
“My mother used to make me come here to confess when I was younger, but when I joined the family, she couldn’t get me here anymore. I still remember the day I joined. She begged and pleaded with me to come here. I told her there was no saving me after what I did.
“She used to joke, saying there was a demon inside of me. That was the day she realized there really was. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes when she saw me for who I really am, when she saw nothing but pure evil.” Lucca paused for a brief moment. “Still, somehow, even up until she was murdered, she believed there was a way to save me, that somehow I could still seek salvation after all I’ve done.”
“Is that what you’re here for now? To find salvation?” The knowing voice filled the space between them.
Gray eyes stared back at him in his mind. “Yes.”
“Then you must repent, my son.”
“I’m not looking for God’s type of salvation.”
The priest went silent for a minute. “Then what kind of salvation are you looking for?”
Now, in his mind, his fingers traced the scar following the path from her eyebrow down to her cheek before travelling down to trace the scar over her pouty lips.
“My salvation comes in a seventeen-year-old girl.”
“The rules, Lucca.”
“You know very well I’m aware we’re not to touch anyone underage.”
“Have you …?” The priest wasn’t able to finish his sentence, afraid of the answer he might hear.
“I am guilty of the worst sins, Father, but I’m not here to repent any sins I’ve committed. I’m here to ask for forgiveness of what I might do.” Will do. It was a question of when, not if.
“You ask for forgiveness for your future but not your past?” Even though there was a wall separating them, the old man’s perplexity was evident through his voice.
“The things I’m going to do to her, for her … I’m afraid will be the worst crimes I’ll ever commit.”
“If salvation is what you seek, violence is not the answer.”
Violence is always the answer.
“Like I said, I’m not looking for God’s type of salvation. My salvation will come as I lay my hands upon her, the very hands that have taken the life from the bodies of those who have touched her.”
Lucca went to leave the room, but the priest’s voice halted him.
“I’ve seen you sitting in my church every once in a while since after your mother’s passing when you think no one is here to see you. God has seen you, too. I think you want forgiveness for all of your sins, my son.”
“Maybe you’re right, Father. Maybe a part of me hoped to find a path to my mother again, but the path I’m on now will only lead me straight to Hell.”
As he walked out of the room, he could hear the helpless prayers of the Father and the beads tightening as he gripped the rosary around his neck.
The prayers weren’t for Lucca, but for the souls the boogieman was about to claim.
Three
The Being Behind the Door
Present Time
The cold metal table underneath her was a stark contrast to her burning face from what seemed like pointless crying.
“Please! Stop!” No amount of kicking and fighting was a match for what felt like millions of hands holding her down.
The laughter from the evil man who held a knife rang through her ears mockingly.
“Stay still, little girl”—he drew the knife closer to her face—“or it’ll just hurt worse.”
Looking at his abnormally large, black eyes, she was sure she was looking into the eyes of the devil.
The silver blade inched closer and closer to her right eye until it was mere centimeters from her pupil.
“Don’t blink.”
A tear welled up in her eye, making it even harder to keep her eye open. Her body began to tremble. She was going to blink.
“Don’t blink, little girl,” he warned her again.
The tear fell, and her eye started to close …
“Chloe!” Amo’s voice boomed.
A flicker of light entered her mind.