of shattered mirror.
“Distraction.”
Chapter
8
Confession
A bitter metallic
taste filled Terry’s mouth. She glanced at the stormy sky overhead.
It had rained all morning. She peered up into the grey gloom
overhead as a thick droplet trickle down the bridge of her nose and
off.
Her brown hair was
plastered to her head and her ears were cold. She felt another bead
of water trickle onto her skin, this time down the back of her
neck.
She twisted as a
cold finger traced her exposed flesh. She knew where it was going
and was not looking forward to it. A few more drops before had
found its way under the armour on her neck, running down flesh and
causing it to itch in a place she could not scratch. But despite
her twisting, it still found its way in.
She suddenly
felt something wake; the ancient part of her mind – her real mind;
the one that occupied her body in her true form. It reached for
her, something large and powerful moving through the dark but she
did not fear it. It brushed against her conscious mind, more
emotion than thought. It was restless, angry, and hungry .
Closing her eyes
for a few moments she pushed it away; the thoughts, the powerful
emotions, the hunger. Once she opened them again she was alone once
more on the cathedral roof, save the rain and the cold.
Terry glanced down
at the twilight cathedral. The grounds surrounding the Italian
architectural masterpiece were almost completely deserted due to
the early hour and the elements.
A pigeon landed
next to where Terry perched. She gave the bird a sidelong glance as
it bobbed its head indifferently to her deadly presence. She
sighed. “Yes Lyle, what a great idea. Of course he’ll show up.” She
mumbled to herself, repeating what her uncle had said a few hours
earlier. But he hadn’t. She felt as gloomy as the weather.
But as if fate had
someone heard her she suddenly spotted who she was looking for. She
squinted at him at first, unsure if it was him or not as he entered
the courtyard from afar; no large than the size of an ant against
the vast grey flagstones of the Cathedral grounds. But as he drew a
little closer, running through the rain, she was certain.
Standing, she
sprinted across the cathedral roof on sure, soundless feet. The
pigeon leapt into the air, vanishing on a few quick flaps of
startled wings. In that time Terry had disappeared.
The young man
entered the confession booth. Taking a seat, he quickly did a cross
sign and then spoke in Italian, his voice desperate, “Sorry father,
it has been a long time since my last confession.”
“It is alright my
son, what do you wish to share today?”
The man drew a
deep breath, to steady his frayed nerves. “It is difficult to
explain father...I have a terrible obsession...an addiction
maybe...to help those who do terrible things...” he shook his head,
“I never take part in such crimes nor have the inclination to do so
but the pay...I have become addicted to money father.”
“Are you telling
me that you are the one who’s been ripping all these holes between
the two worlds?” asked a different voice.
Startled, he tried
to bolt, but he was grabbed by a metal gloved hand that punched
through the wooden partition.
Two priests
walking passed the confession box stopped and glanced as the booth
suddenly rocked. They exchanged a puzzled glance before carrying on
their way without word.
Inside the box,
the man choked, flailing at the furniture around him. His hands
ignited in flame. But he froze when a blade slid half-way out of
Terry’s wrist, the point pressing against the underside of his
throat. “Don’t you dare.” She warned in a low voice.
He let his hands
go out. “What do you want?” he croaked.
“I want to know
why the walls between worlds have been ripped open so often
lately.” She whispered, letting the point of the blade bite into
his skin ever so slightly.
“Okay, okay!” he
begged.
The blade
retracted into Terry’s arm and she carefully let him go,
“Distraction.”
Chapter
8
Confession
A bitter metallic
taste filled Terry’s mouth. She glanced at the stormy sky overhead.
It had rained all morning. She peered up into the grey gloom
overhead as a thick droplet trickle down the bridge of her nose and
off.
Her brown hair was
plastered to her head and her ears were cold. She felt another bead
of water trickle onto her skin, this time down the back of her
neck.
She twisted as a
cold finger traced her exposed flesh. She knew where it was going
and was not looking forward to it. A few more drops before had
found its way under the armour on her neck, running down flesh and
causing it to itch in a place she could not scratch. But despite
her twisting, it still found its way in.
She suddenly
felt something wake; the ancient part of her mind – her real mind;
the one that occupied her body in her true form. It reached for
her, something large and powerful moving through the dark but she
did not fear it. It brushed against her conscious mind, more
emotion than thought. It was restless, angry, and hungry .
Closing her eyes
for a few moments she pushed it away; the thoughts, the powerful
emotions, the hunger. Once she opened them again she was alone once
more on the cathedral roof, save the rain and the cold.
Terry glanced down
at the twilight cathedral. The grounds surrounding the Italian
architectural masterpiece were almost completely deserted due to
the early hour and the elements.
A pigeon landed
next to where Terry perched. She gave the bird a sidelong glance as
it bobbed its head indifferently to her deadly presence. She
sighed. “Yes Lyle, what a great idea. Of course he’ll show up.” She
mumbled to herself, repeating what her uncle had said a few hours
earlier. But he hadn’t. She felt as gloomy as the weather.
But as if fate had
someone heard her she suddenly spotted who she was looking for. She
squinted at him at first, unsure if it was him or not as he entered
the courtyard from afar; no large than the size of an ant against
the vast grey flagstones of the Cathedral grounds. But as he drew a
little closer, running through the rain, she was certain.
Standing, she
sprinted across the cathedral roof on sure, soundless feet. The
pigeon leapt into the air, vanishing on a few quick flaps of
startled wings. In that time Terry had disappeared.
The young man
entered the confession booth. Taking a seat, he quickly did a cross
sign and then spoke in Italian, his voice desperate, “Sorry father,
it has been a long time since my last confession.”
“It is alright my
son, what do you wish to share today?”
The man drew a
deep breath, to steady his frayed nerves. “It is difficult to
explain father...I have a terrible obsession...an addiction
maybe...to help those who do terrible things...” he shook his head,
“I never take part in such crimes nor have the inclination to do so
but the pay...I have become addicted to money father.”
“Are you telling
me that you are the one who’s been ripping all these holes between
the two worlds?” asked a different voice.
Startled, he tried
to bolt, but he was grabbed by a metal gloved hand that punched
through the wooden partition.
Two priests
walking passed the confession box stopped and glanced as the booth
suddenly rocked. They exchanged a puzzled glance before carrying on
their way without word.
Inside the box,
the man choked, flailing at the furniture around him. His hands
ignited in flame. But he froze when a blade slid half-way out of
Terry’s wrist, the point pressing against the underside of his
throat. “Don’t you dare.” She warned in a low voice.
He let his hands
go out. “What do you want?” he croaked.
“I want to know
why the walls between worlds have been ripped open so often
lately.” She whispered, letting the point of the blade bite into
his skin ever so slightly.
“Okay, okay!” he
begged.
The blade
retracted into Terry’s arm and she carefully let him go,
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