A shadow—a woman’s shadow, much older than the others—slunk along the damp wall. At first Kendra thought it was Mother, but the way the woman moved, staying in the shadows, reminded her of the way the girls had moved in and out of the trees when she had first met Lacy McGuire.
It was one of the girls, that much she knew—but she wasn’t a girl, not anymore.
She was a woman.
“Who are you?” Kendra asked. She moved toward the front of the cage and tried to get a better look. The woman stepped forward, revealing her thin body, while her face remained basked in darkness.
Tell me about her.
Kendra squinted, trying to figure out who this woman was talking about. She didn’t have to think too hard.
Tell me about Christine.
All of a sudden the air was dry—so dry that Kendra found it difficult to swallow.
Christine?
Yeah, Christine. You showed Lacy her father, now show me Christine.
The memories were dark for Kendra, things that she had locked away. Until crawling into Steph Black’s room, she’d thought that they had been locked away forever, in a cell like this, impossible to escape from.
Mater est, matrem omnium.
The woman suddenly stepped forward, her features finally becoming visible in the dim lighting.
It was Charlotte, Kendra knew this instantly. She didn’t have the same high, gaunt cheekbones, the pointed chin, and large ears that Christine had had, but she had the same dark eyes, the intense stare.
She was telling the truth, Kendra thought. The weight of this fact pushed down on her, as if it had altered gravity. Christine had a daughter, and she was here all along.
Kendra expected a response to that in her head, but none came.
For nearly a minute, a weighted silence fell over them. Kendra tried to put together what this all meant, but it was too much for her to fully comprehend.
“You are my sister,” Charlotte finally said.
Kendra narrowed her eyes.
“Why do you guys keep saying that? Is that your approach to getting these girls to stay? Just beat them down, repeat that same shit over and over again until they are driven mad enough to believe it?”
Because it’s true, Kendra.
Kendra grunted in frustration.
You want to know about Christine? Then I’ll show you Christine.
Kendra closed her eyes, and returned to the small closet at the back of the altar, to the place that had so altered her life’s course for the second time.
“The Lord demands that you flee this vessel, demon. Do not fight.”
“Mater est, matrem omnium,” Christine said with a laugh. “Mater est, matrem omnium, Father.”
The young priest moved Christine’s now slack body and laid it across the table that Father Callahan had set up. Kendra recognized it as the one that they put the coffee on after Sunday Mass. Now, however, instead of being covered with the stainless steel decanter, milk, sugar, and Styrofoam cups, it was covered in a red cloth.
And Christine.
The woman didn’t struggle. Instead, she allowed herself to be laid on the table. It was as if she had suddenly lost the ability to control her own muscles.
“The Lord compels you, demon, to release this disciple of God,” Father Callahan whispered. He brought the cross he was holding directly over Christine’s forehead.
A croaking sound exited Christine’s mouth, something of the like Kendra had never heard before. She pushed the door open a smidgen more to get a better look.
Her hands were sweaty, and her heart was racing.
“Get the holy water,” Father Callahan instructed. He indicated a large vat, three, maybe four liters, in a plain plastic vessel in the corner of the room.
“How much?” the younger priest asked.
Christine moaned again, and this time her eyes rolled upward, showing only whites.
“In the name of our Father, I demand you to release this woman from your hold!” he hissed.
Christine’s eyes flipped forward, and they blazed into Father Callahan.
“Father?” she said in a mocking tone. “Father?! Mater est, Horatio. Matrem omnium.”
Father Callahan kept his eyes trained directly on Christine.
“Get the holy water,” he repeated.
The younger priest made his way over to the jug.
“How much?”
The answer was immediate.
“All of it.”
The younger priest could barely lift the entire jug, but he somehow managed to wrangle it over to the table.
“Good,” Father Callahan said. He pulled a purple sash from his pocket and handed it to the younger man. “Now put this on her face.”
Fear and dread simultaneously passed over his features.
“What?”
Father Callahan nodded.
“If you want to save this girl, you will do exactly as I say.”
Nothing happened. Even Christine, who had been wheezing ever since she had entered the room, seemed to become silent.
“Father John?” Callahan asked, finally tearing his eyes away from Christine. “I’ll say it again: if you want to save this girl, you’ll put the cloth on her face.”
Father John reluctantly took the cloth. His face had taken on a shade of gray, Kendra noticed. And like her, his hands appeared to be sweating as well, darkening the purple sash where his fingers touched the fabric.
He moved to the head of the table, his feet appearing to shuffle across the floor. A split second before lowering the fabric onto Christine’s face, he turned.
Kendra’s breath caught in her throat. It was as if the man could see her, that he was looking directly into her eyes, but that was impossible. From his vantage point, he could only see the partially opened door, not what was inside.
The young priest opened his mouth, and said—
—”Anyone want a drink? I’m making tea.”
Kendra’s jaw dropped.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
Father John, Peter McGuire’s priest… he had been there.
“What’s happening?”
Kendra stumbled backward, aware but not caring that Charlotte was staring at her, an expression of pure sadness on her face. Her legs suddenly felt like bricks, and her knees locked up, sending her falling onto her ass.
How can this be?
Her tailbone bounced off the cement ground, sending a spire of pain up her right side all the way to her shoulder.
How?
Because of Mother—because of mater est, matrem omnium.
Kendra swallowed hard.
But—
What happened to her next?
With her hands, Kendra pushed herself away from the cage as Charlotte took a step forward.
Tell me.
The thought was so powerful that Kendra felt the rest of the story conjuring in her mind, and was helpless to prevent it.
…water, pouring over Christine’s covered face… Father Callahan hovering over her, face red, screaming at the demon to release her… sputtering… gagging… shouting ‘Enter me,’ ‘Enter me!’ ‘ENTER ME!’…
The memory faded, but it left Kendra in a state.
She was trembling, her face buried in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Please, I’m so sorry.”
Did she drown?
“No.”
Then what happened?
She died… overdosed.
The silence that ensued went on for so long that Kendra figured that Charlotte must have left again. Eventually, she mustered the courage to pull her head out of her hands and lift her red eyes.
Charlotte was still there, but any sadness that might have been in her face was gone.
“Charlotte? Can you get me out of here?” Kendra was aware that she sounded like a child, like when she used to ask Daddy to lie with her so that the nightmares didn’t come back.
But she didn’t care.
The woman stared, and then her head slowly started to move side to side.
This is where you belong. You are my sister, my family, and if you join us, we will be unstoppable.
Then she took a step backward and vanished into the shadows.