Cyn reached for a paper towel to dry off her hands and saw her fingers were covered in mud. Headlights from an empty car sitting nearby provided illumination, revealing that she wasn’t in the employee bathroom at the diner anymore, she was in the woods.
Her jeans were slimy and wet, and she was sitting next to a half-dug muddy hole. An empty bottle of Jack was at her feet.
Surprisingly, Cyn took everything in with a sense of extreme calm. She must have had another blackout. Since no one else was in the car, she’d obviously stolen it. Then she . . . what? Had some sort of accident?
Getting to her feet, she took a quick walk around the car. There was a small dent in the bumper. Okay. Accident it was. But if it was just an accident, what did she hit? And why was she so dirty?
Then she saw something submerged in the muddy hole. It looked like some sort of stick.
With a sick twisting in her gut, Cyn knew then that she’d hit someone. She’d blacked out again, stolen a car, and hit someone. Then she’d tried to cover it up by digging a hole and burying him.
Dropping to the ground, Cyn crawled on her hands and knees. Paying no attention to the mud that splashed her face, all she could think about was saving him. Saving this man that she’d hit who must have a wife and a family and a pet golden retriever who was patiently waiting by the front door for his master to come home.
“Please be okay. I’ll do anything. Just please . . . be okay.”
The stick was positioned at an odd angle, and as she reached for it some part of her registered that it wasn’t a stick at all. It was covered in fur and had a hoof attached to it. She had to stand in order to gain some leverage to hoist it out of the hole.
The mud made a sucking sound when she pulled, and Cyn grunted, feeling her balance start to shift as the mud gave way and whatever it was in that hole slowly started to move toward her. She pulled as hard as she could and almost lost her grip before falling to her knees.
The mud held on for a second longer, then finally relented, and a dead baby deer slid out of the hole.
It’s not a person! I didn’t hit anyone!
But her joy was short lived. The little deer was so tiny. The poor thing’s leg hung crookedly, obviously this was how she’d dented the bumper. There didn’t seem to be any damage to the rest of its body, though, and a broken leg certainly shouldn’t have been enough to kill it. Punctured lung, maybe? Broken neck?
Then she saw the battered head.
Oh, God. She’d killed it. She was a monster.
Cyn began trembling violently, then leaned over and vomited what small amount of liquid was left in her stomach. She heaved again and again, desperately trying to purge itself. The strength in her arms finally gave out, and she collapsed into the hole.
Covered in wet, slimy mud, Cyn willed herself to give up. To go ahead and die right there. Hopefully she’d freeze to death before she starved, but either way, it was no worse than what she deserved. She’d gone from killing Hunter to killing innocent animals.
But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t envision any bright light to walk into. Or a pit of fire and brimstone, for that matter. Life was refusing to let go, and the only thing she could think of was that she had to get to Father Montgomery.
Maybe he would know what was happening to her.
Cyn rolled over and pulled herself out of the mud inch by painful inch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the baby deer as she got to her feet. “I’m so, so sorry. Forgive me.”
Her sense of direction was skewed, but she started walking anyway. Leaving the car behind. She didn’t know who it belonged to, and she didn’t want to get caught up in another mess. Eventually she recognized the road she was on and made her way to Father Montgomery’s church.
She was filthy when she staggered up to the door of the rectory. Her fingernails ragged and caked with mud. The single act of lifting a shaking hand to ring the bell took all of her remaining strength, and she slid against the door frame, crumpling into a ball.
When he opened the door and glanced down at her in concern, all Cyn could say was, “I killed it. God help me, Father, I killed it. There’s something wrong with me. I think I’m possessed.”