Cocooned in the soft hush of sleep, something strange nips and bursts as Neva shifts against the pillow,
dimly aware of a cold, gooey sensation creeping along her toes.
A moan slips from her as something like fingers clasp her ankles, slithering slowly up her calves, the nauseating stench of rot coiling thick around her.
Hands clamp around her throat. A broken gasp tears from her as a suffocating weight presses down on her chest.
Her fingers claw at her throat, grasping at nothing as the ceiling warps and ripples through her blurred vision. Silver bursts of light flicker, blinding, black spots blooming as her legs kick against the mattress.
Her thoughts dissolve, her lungs burning in a silent scream, then she jerks awake, breathing heavily as her hands fly to her throat, her chest, searching for the burn.
She frowns, glancing at her palms in the dim lantern light, slick and clammy with sweat.
Her son shifts beside her, wrapped in the duvet's warmth, his mouth slightly parted as he breathes softly and steadily.
It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.
She tries to calm her thudding heart,
clinging to the thought that her Father is always here,
that Rhett must be keeping watch with the others just beyond these walls.
Her fingers trace the damp curls clinging to her temple as an overwhelming heat blooms through her pores.
She pushes off the duvet, grounding herself only when her bare feet meet the cold floor.
Her footsteps hushed, she moves toward the window, careful not to disturb the haze of sleep that holds Apphia and her grandson, resting across from her own son.
A cold, frosty breeze brushes her face through the open window, soothing the lingering heat prickling her skin.
She sighs, hands braced against the sill, when a baby's wail cuts through the quiet.
Maybe it's a neighbour's child.
She had seen beautiful brick buildings around the house granted to them by Arzia and her husband,
but now even the moonlight cannot pierce the deepening darkness.
Gratitude swells in her heart. They had seen to it that her companions had warm food and comfortable beds to sleep in.
Another cry weaves through the air, growing louder, unnaturally so.
She listens carefully, straining to find the source, goosebumps rising across her damp skin as certainty grips her.
It isn't... the cries aren't beyond the house, but shrieking from within the walls.
There isn't a baby in this house. Not that she knows of.
"Rhean," she whispers, stepping back.
A chorus of wailing babies floods her ears, her steps quickening as she reaches for her son.
Her heart drops as she lifts the duvet, reaching for her son, but finds nothing.
Her gaze slips to Apphia and her grandson. Their pale, swollen bodies reek of a dizzying sweet-rot stench that churns her stomach.
She staggers back, then rushes for the door, only to find it bolted from the outside.
"Rhett!" she cries, pounding her fist against the wood. "Rhett!"
"Please—please—please…" Her voice breaks as the babies' wails swell,
louder, shriller, terror gnawing beneath her skin like worms.
She crumples to the floor, palms pressed hard against her ears as the cries...
the moans, the laughter,
slam into her head, harder, harder, harder, an excruciating pain blooming behind her eyes.
"Father," she whimpers. "Father, save me..."
But He is silent.
Silent.
Silent.
Silent.
Like that day—
when His voice failed her,
and he forced his way inside,
crawling through her pores,
blackening her soul,
burying her alive in a grave of rot.
"Father…" she breathes, fingers tearing at her hair as agony rips through her,
cries stitching themselves into the ragged fabric of her soul.
But the needle only works its cruelty—
tightening, deepening, hardening,
until cries and grunts and laughter braid together,
a living nest of serpents
coiling and gnawing and bleeding her out.
She looks up as a scream rips through her throat.
Tremors echo inside her as she batters the door, claws her way upright, and tears at the knob until the wood rattles.
The door yields and she stumbles forward, her head swimming, drowning in streaks of crimson and gold that blur,
echoing down the long hallway.
She forces down the hallway, fighting to escape the noise, the eerie strangeness of the place tightening around her.
Bile rises in her throat, the reek of meat, wine, smoke, blood clawing at her senses.
"Neva..." Ishmael catches her as she falls into his arms.
She lifts her eyes to meet his.
Her soul hollows at the nothingness in those echoing depths.
"I want to show you something," he says.
She shoves at him, and for a heartbeat his hold slackens.
Before his hand clamps down on her wrist.
She shakes her head, tears falling down her cheeks, but he surges forward, dragging her along as she twists and wrenches at his grip.
A blood-dark door looms at the corridor's end, carved in labyrinthine patterns of symbols and monstrosities. From within, whispers of snakes and the hissing of men seep out, echoing like muffled nightmares.
She whimpers, twisting weakly as his hold tightens, her back crushed to his chest.
His breath grazes her ear as he says, "You say I'm a liar…"
The door yields without warning, and scarlet and fire burst through fuming white smoke, a rushing tide of stench of meat, wine, and blood clawing into her insides.
"This," he murmurs, brushing his lips to her temple, "is the world.
This is what I wanted to save you from."
The fight drains from her body. Newborn terror floods her eyes as she beholds Satan upon a throne—
human flesh fused with horned beast—
fallen humanity rots around them—
devouring children and infants,
gorging on creation until all that remains is
rot—rot—rot—rot
Beloved
A voice reaches her, distant... yet sound, threading through the fog of numbness—
Come forth, beloved.
But she remains still. Unresponsive.
"Come... to me," he whispers, "only I... can give you peace."
Serpents coil at her feet,
slithering up her legs, hissing tales of sins and warnings and judgments.
An earthquake of every atrocity in the world bleeds through her heart and spirit—
Neva, do not be afraid.
"Lord... Lord..." she breathes, tears tracing down her cheeks.
I will raise you up.
"Father," she cries, and a distant, trembling voice threads through her terror.
This maze of darkness coils to smother her,
violence searing to scorch her,
but within, the Lord's presence is a still
water, serene and steadfast,
streaming light across the ocean in which she struggles and drowns.
The voice calls, distant and unwavering.
Her arms flail, bubbles spiraling past her face as she chokes,
a hand clamped around her ankle, dragging her down into the blur of darkness.
Silence swallows everything.
Her chest convulses,
lungs smouldering,
water consuming, a hand reaches through the dark—and she grasps it—
Clutching at the silver threads of reality, she feels herself being lifted—
Water. Darkness. Serpents slithering at the edges of her vision...
Strong arms enfold her, the familiar scent of cedar and the steady heat of him soaking into her to soothe every raw edge of her fear.
She buries her face in his chest, sobbing, breathing a verse in her heart again and again:
Even though I walk through the valley of darkness I will fear no evil,
for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
"Shh… it's alright." He presses his lips to the crown of her head.
"It's alright, Angel. Breathe…"
She anchors herself to the steady rhythm of his heart, her fists tightening around his shirt as his fingers move gently through her hair.
"You're with me."
His voice vibrates against her as she buries her face deeper into his chest.
He holds her close until her tears slow and her senses sharpen enough to realise that it's real, he's real,
his warmth melting the cold darkness, the loneliness that had consumed her.
"Mama… you're okay," the small voice murmurs.
Through blurry vision, she glimpses their son kneeling amidst the rumpled blanket, worry knitting his brow into a small frown.
She holds out a hand, smiling as he takes it, and gently draws him into her embrace.
She presses kisses all over his soft, warm face, giggles bubbling up from him until she pauses, simply taking him in.
A beautiful boy. The most precious boy.
Half of her, half of her husband, the man who means everything to her and more, a beautiful truth breathed by God, their unconditional love made flesh in their child.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rhett asks,
tucking strands of hair behind her ear.
Neva shakes her head, holding their son closer as he rests against her chest.
She meets her husband's eyes, soft, warm, melting her with a flood of relief so agonizing that her lips tremble as tears burn anew.
He curls his fingers beneath her chin as he kisses her slowly and gently,
a reassurance, a lingering promise that she is loved and protected.
"Where are the others?" she whispers, noticing that Apphia and her grandson's bed is empty and unmade,
birds chirping outside as pale light seeps through the window, heralding dawn.
"They left us for a bit of privacy." A soft smile touches his lips, the last traces of tension easing from his features.
"Did you sleep at all?" she asks, fingertips grazing the rough warmth of his stubble.
A playful glint flickers in his gaze as he settles beside her on the bed, his larger frame easing against hers. "We both know I can't sleep without you in my arms."
She rests her head against his shoulder as his arms enfold both her and their son. A faint smile tugs at her lips, though worry still presses in her chest.
"We have a long day ahead," she murmurs as their son yawns against her chest.
"Don't worry," he says, mischief warming his voice as he grazes a playful nip against her ear. "I've got enough energy to keep you safe... and maybe a little extra."
She lets out a soft chuckle, watching as their son's eyelids grow heavy and close, his warm breath brushing against her skin.
"Was he awake this whole time?" she asks, fingers drifting through his soft dark hair.
"He was worried about you," he replies, booping the child's button nose playfully.
"And the others, too," he adds gently.
"Oh… I suppose I made a bit of a mess in front of our hosts," she murmurs.
"Of course not," he says.
"You can rest now, if you want. There's still time before we have to leave."
Tears slip down her cheeks as something tightens painfully in her chest.
"I miss the twins, Rhett," she whispers. "I miss my babies so much."
He presses a lingering kiss to her hair, his arms tightening around them. "I'll get them back," he says. "Soon. I promise."
She holds fast to that hope, to his promise, and to the steady truth and grace of God.