The Sacrifice

by Donna Collins

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  An old potato sack lay under the table. Roman shook it, dirt and debris momentarily polluting the air, and threw it around Eliza’s shoulders. “Talk in such a way that could cause me to snap your neck like a twig?” He straddled the chair and stared down at her, his eyes wandering across her body until he finally looked her in the eye. “Let me make this clear. I don’t owe you anything, got it?”

  Fidgety hands drummed impatient fingers against the back of the chair. He removed his cap, swept his hair back from his face, then pulled the hat back on. His eyes looked everywhere but at her. “How well do you know your history?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Religious history. I take it you know something about it, even the basics?”

  “Well, I didn’t leave school with any qualifications on the subject, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “There goes that smart mouth of yours again.”

  Eliza cringed beneath his glare. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “If you mean God and Jesus and all that stuff, then I know a little.”

  “Are you a believer?”

  Eliza shrugged. “I go to church for funerals, weddings, and christenings, so you tell me.”

  Roman grinned. “Do you know the tale of the Crucifixion?”

  “You mean the reason we have chocolate eggs and the Easter Bunny?”

  The grin dropped from his lips. “Don’t push me, Eliza.” Roman tilted his head and although the sensual blue colour remained in his eyes, his face hardened.

  Eliza let out a long sigh, a cover to mask the fear that swirled in the pit of her stomach. “Yes. I know a little about the Crucifixion.”

  Roman stood up and walked to the window. Over his shoulder, Eliza saw the red glow of the sun had reached the front of the cabin. The day looked to be a glorious one.

  “I’m going to tell you a story,” Roman said, keeping his back to her. “And you need to listen, because I am only going to tell it once.”

  Eliza wriggled her wrists. She didn’t care about stories; she cared about getting the hell out of there. The rope rubbed against her already pink skin until it darkened to purple. She pressed her lips together, biting through the pain, telling herself it was nothing compared to the horror this man could and probably would inflict upon her.

  “When the Messiah was nailed to the Cross, his spilt blood did something that nobody realised; it opened the Gateway to Heaven. The apostles took the magnificent ray of light, which shone down through the clouds and descended upon Jesus’ dead body, as nothing but mere sunlight, but one guard recognised it for what it was: the Gateway to Heaven. And he wanted it.

  “However, during the Messiah’s Crucifixion, there were several, shall we say, supernatural events that also occurred. The guards, frightened of the unknown, were ordered to cut down Jesus’ body and destroy the Cross, which they did by dividing it into four pieces and hiding them away so no living being could ever reassemble it. And for centuries its whereabouts remained unknown.” Roman turned from the window. “But secrets always have a way of resurfacing.”

  For a brief moment, sadness and guilt clouded his eyes. “Many have claimed to find pieces of the True Cross. None of them were legit. The first real piece was located in 1389. It took five years of planning to acquire it. A hundred years later, it was stolen and didn’t resurfaced until nearly two hundred and sixty years after that. Other pieces have also been found over the years…and stolen…and re-hidden…and found again…and lost again.”

  “Why are you telling me all this? I’ve nothing to do with this Cross.”

  “Ah, but you do. Davis wants the power that is to be gained from entering Heaven.”

  “And that’s me? You’re crazy.”

  “Am I? Explain the walking dead at the hospital. Explain the lunar eclipse. Explain the severe changes in weather. That shit is only happening here in Cornwall. Here, around you.”

  Eliza didn’t want to think about any of the events. She twisted her hands again, unconcerned whether Roman saw her trying to free herself or not.

  “The dead are rising from their graves, just as the saints rose from theirs during the Crucifixion. Davis has managed to acquire several pieces of the Cross, and as the sections are assembled, more events, such as earthquakes and storms, will mirror those that occurred during the Crucifixion.”

  “Davis is a Cornish butler, for Christ’s sake.”

  “The Messiah’s blood flows through your veins, Eliza.”

  “Oh please, everyone knows Jesus didn’t have kids. Hell, I don’t think he even had sex.”

  “Oh? And how would you know that?”

  “’Cause...I just do. Everyone does. It’s just one of those things that people know.”

  “Your blood is the key Davis needs to open the Gateway. It’s the reason he got you in the first place.”

  Eliza stopped squirming. A mixture of emotions overwhelmed her. She wanted to laugh at Roman’s ludicrous claims. She wanted to cry at the situation she found herself in. She wanted to scream for help and hope a passing hiker heard her. “First of all, I wasn’t ‘got,’ as you put it. I was born to my mother and father. Second of all, Davis is a butler, not a powerful murderer who’s hell bent on getting into Heaven to do… what exactly? And third, why would anyone go through all this aggravation to go somewhere when all they’ve got to do is kill themselves to get there anyway?”

  “Evil doesn’t go to Heaven.”

  “Davis is not evil. He pushed me on my swing when I was a child. He made me jam sandwiches and played hide and seek when my parents weren’t home. For crying out loud, he read to me on stormy nights when I couldn’t sleep.”

  “He was keeping you close. Your parents had a daughter, yes. But it wasn’t you. Davis knew what you were because he knew what your real mother was. He planted you inside this family.”

  Eliza stood. “I’ve heard enough. My parents are mine. I am not adopted, or stolen, or swapped, or whatever the hell it is you’re implying.”

  Roman rolled up his jacket sleeve. An inch-long cross inked the side of his hand. “I was marked with this a long time ago. It’s how Davis found me. It’s through me that he now has several pieces of the Cross.”

  “You’re delusional. So you have a tattoo of a cross on your hand. Big deal. So do thousands of other people. You’re just like one of those idiots who gets their teeth filed and then believes they’re a vampire. You’re nuts.”

  Roman shrugged.

  “And why would you do anything Davis asked, anyway?”

  Roman pushed down his sleeve. “I told you, we’re partners. Have been for decades.”

  “Then why kidnap me if you’re working together?”

  “I told you that, too: Davis is a devious bastard.”

  “And you’re not? If he is such a devious bastard, as you so eloquently put it, why give him the pieces of the Cross in the first place?”

  “I knew the whereabouts of three pieces. The fourth piece – and your identity, of course – was down to Davis.” Roman perched against the windowsill. “Not my finest hour, handing over the pieces, I admit.”

  “Pretty damn stupid if you ask me.”

  Roman took a deep breath and Eliza hoped he wasn’t thinking of shoving the rag back into her mouth.

  “So, what’s in this for you? Entrance to Heaven?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because?”

  Roman stood and turned his gaze back to the window. “To be with my family.”

  Eliza let out an abrupt laugh. “Then just kill yourself and be done with it.”

  Roman turned to face her. Defiance flared in her eyes. “Maybe I should kill that cop boyfriend of yours instead?”

  “That cop is my brother, and he has nothing to do with this.”

  “The cop at your house was your brother?” Roman paused. His stare held hers, and for a momen
t his eyes softened and he seemed relieved.

  “Yeah, and he’s gonna be looking for me.”

  Silence fell upon the cabin. Arguing the toss with Roman was getting her nowhere. The guy had serious mental health problems. Eliza had to get him to trust her, to find his weak spot and totally manipulate the crap out of it. That would be her only chance at getting out of this situation alive, she was sure of it.

  “What is the Shadow?” Eliza said, biding her time while she thought up a solid plan of escape.

  “That’s the end of the Q and A.” Roman reached for the water bottle.

  “Does the Shadow have something to do with the Crucifixion, too?”

  “I still have the rag…”

  “How can you not die?”

  Roman swigged from the bottle. “Last chance…”

  “Why does the Shadow want me dead?”

  Roman spun to face her, the rag clenched between his fingers. “It’s a servant of God.” He glared at her, his chest rising with every rapid breath.

  “So God wants me dead now? That makes even less sense than a butler wanting to sacrifice me.”

  “Heaven cannot afford to let any kind of evil in.”

  “Including you?”

  “Especially me.”

  “And these Shadows can only find me if I bleed?”

  “Blood is a powerful thing.”

  “So, if I die anywhere other than on the Cross, then Davis cannot use my blood to open up Heaven’s Gateway?”

  “You got it.”

  “Why can’t you just kill Davis?”

  “I can’t. I don’t know where the Cross is being constructed.”

  “So?”

  “So, I need the Cross.”

  “Oh, but it’s alright for me to die?”

  “Yes.”

  “But—”

  “That’s enough talking. I’ve told you what’ll happen if Davis gets hold of you. It’s kill or be killed.”

  “Why have I got to kill?”

  “Because if you don’t, he will kill you. You have the power, Eliza. When your blood touches that Cross, the gate to Heaven will open and I’ll be gone. I don’t intend to do Heaven any harm, but Davis? Davis plans to drop one hell of a shit-storm on this earth.” Roman scrunched the rag into a ball. He walked over to Eliza, held her head steady, and pushed the soiled material into her mouth. “Believe me or don’t, I no longer care. My conscience is clear. I’ve given you a heads-up about Davis. Only you will be able to stop him from entering Heaven.”

  Eliza pulled the rag back out but Roman forced it back in, holding his hand across her mouth. “Do you want your hands tied behind your back again?”

  Eliza shook her head.

  He removed his hand. “Are you going to behave?”

  Eliza spat the rag from her mouth and glared at him.

  Roman rubbed his chin, eyeing her for a second, then grabbed the rope from the table. Eliza seized her second chance and bolted for the door, but Roman’s lightning reflexes were quicker, and he easily caught her. Eliza kicked and thrashed against his hold, but her struggle had little effect. Roman was strong. She was weak. Physically, she just couldn’t beat him.

  He carried her past the chair and dumped her in front of the stove where, immediately, she scrambled back onto her knees.

  Roman stopped her. “I tried to be nice, to help you, but you’ve left me no choice.” He grabbed her wrists and threaded one end of the rope between them. Within seconds he had her secured to the stove. He stuffed the rag back into her mouth, and a familiar tingling sensation returned to her fingertips, magnifying and burning its way across her palms and up her arms towards her shoulders. Random images started to flicker inside her head: the damp stone wall opposite, the chipped dinner plate lying in the corner of the room, smashed pieces of ceramic flying in her direction.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and I said you can’t hurt me.”

  Eliza spat out the rag and glanced up towards him, the foul taste of grit stuck to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed to clear her throat. “No, but I can hurt myself.”

  Roman’s grip tightened around the rag until the whites of his knuckles glowed. “What do you m—”

  The ceramic plate lifted from the floor as if on invisible wires. It whacked against the brick wall and smashed into several pieces, the larger of which flew directly towards Eliza. Roman whipped his hand in front of Eliza’s body, showing even more speed than before, and blocked the splintered ceramic from reaching her skin. But he wasn’t ready for the second piece, or the third. A flash of white flicked across the room, nicking Roman’s earlobe, and severing the rope that bound her to the oven. Another piece quickly followed, hurtling through the air and slicing Eliza’s shoulder.

  Roman stared at her, his face a picture of total bewilderment. “Why?”

  “This time when the Shadow comes and you tell me to run, I will.”

  “What makes you think I’ll stay around for the next time?”

  “You said it yourself. I’m no use to you if I’m dead.”

  Roman glanced down at the broken piece of plate embedded in his palm and pulled it free, a spurge of blood oozing out with it. “You’re a stupid girl.” He wiped his hand down his trousers, the denim material quickly blotting red. When he next examined his hand, Eliza saw no trace of it ever having been cut.

  “What in the hell are you?” She felt her own arm, smearing the wet blood around her recently injured skin. She’d never seen anything like this. “It’s impossible for a human to heal that quickly.”

  Nothing made any sense. Shadows, zombies, Roman’s resurrection. She’d almost talked herself into imagining how the last two days had gone down. Heck, maybe, at a push, she could be manipulated into believing Roman’s death hadn’t happened or it had in fact been a trick of the light. And maybe it wasn’t a supernatural Shadow who’d attacked her at the train station or inside her house, but a mugger or intruder. Even at the hospital, she was prepared to accept that it was the hallucinate effect of the drugs given to her that made her see zombies. After all, the dead just did not come back to life, just as Jason Devlin’s head couldn’t have possibly twisted the full one hundred and eighty degrees she’d been convinced she’d seen. Thinking about it, she’d been so drugged, it wouldn’t have surprised her if she’d witnessed Michael Jackson himself moonwalking down the corridor. But, there was no trick of the light in this cabin, no hallucinations from any drugs, no muggers or intruders. She was of a totally sane mind…and yet here she sat, witnessing Roman’s hand heal faster than a person was capable of. “Are you even human?”

  Roman turned from her. He walked to the chair and sat down, burying his head in his hands.

  Eliza got up from the floor. To her surprise, Roman didn’t try to sit her back down. “I have a right to know.”

  Roman remained quiet for several minutes, and Eliza began to doubt whether she really did want to hear an answer. She was a nurse for crying out loud, who enjoyed going to the theatre and eating out. She wasn’t adventurous. She didn’t dice with death by rock climbing or deep-sea diving with sharks. And as for the paranormal? It was laughable – nothing but a collection of myths and ghost stories. “Are you an alien?”

  Roman scoffed, whether in distaste or in humour, Eliza couldn’t tell.

  “Does that mean you are?” She slowly inched back towards the door.

  “Try and run if you want. You won’t get far. You have no shoes on your feet, and you’re miles from the nearest village.”

  “You have a car outside.”

  Roman raised his hand. A ring holding several keys dangled from his index finger.

  Eliza glanced at her bare feet. “So I’ll run. At least I’ll be alive.”

  “You really haven’t thought this through, have you?” Roman stood. “Let’s forget for a moment that I won’t let you leave. Where would you run to? If I’m not mistaken, your father’s in Switzerland right now. O
r maybe you’re thinking the cop could come save you?”

  “Leave my brother out of this.”

  “Or there’s the over-the-hill butler; the very man I said wants you dead?”

  “When the Shadow comes looking for me, it will kill you.”

  “When the Shadow comes looking for you, it will attack you, not me.”

  Eliza hated to admit it, but Roman had a point. Back at her house, the Shadow had attacked her. It only turned on Roman after he intervened and tried to help. “I killed one Shadow. I can kill another.”

  Roman smiled and stepped towards her. He stopped just inches away, took her hands in his, and ran his fingers along the rope that bound her wrists. “And how successful do you think you’ll be while you’re tied up?”

  The tips of his fingers brushed against the back of her hand, his warmth coming off him in waves. Roman’s smile widened. He leaned in closer to her, his aftershave once again surrounding her as it had when he’d carried her from the morgue. Eliza froze, her eyes fixed on his while two thoughts battled in her mind: knee to his groin, or head-butt to his nose? Maybe she could do both.

  Roman’s hands slithered around her waist. The firmness of his chest pressed against hers, the fabric of his shirt still a little damp from the rain. Immediately, Eliza tried to move, but Roman held her tight. His hot breath moistened the inside of her ear, his gravelled tones shivering down her spine like sparks of electricity. “Do I scare you?”

  He did scare her, yes, but that fear seemed to feed a morbid attraction towards him that she’d otherwise been oblivious to. He leaned back so she could see him, the tip of his nose almost touching hers, his eyes so near they were a blur to her without her glasses.

  Was this her chance of escape? Seduction?

  Eliza blinked. Often told her long eyelashes were her best feature, she knew that when she opened her dark-brown eyes, they would reappear with an extra shimmer. She lifted her chin very slightly so he wouldn’t notice, but enough to reveal a little more of her slender neck.

  Roman’s breathing grew heavy, and a look of urgency filled his eyes. His lips parted slightly as though he wanted to tell her something. She felt his hand, at once gentle and yet somehow strong, masculine, cradle one side of her face.