Phoebe and Bethany lay there, nearly lifeless. Vomit climbs further up my throat, glimpsing the mutilation they've suffered. I have to look away, physically unable to stomach it. Limbs and skin are missing. Pieces of their body have been cut and completely removed. Blood steadily pools beneath them, the puddle growing larger until it begins to seep beneath our feet.
"They're all yours, girls!" the black-haired man announces proudly, heaving from the exertion and excitement. Blood paints their clothing, and while everyone’s eyes are alit with excitement, these two, in particular, look like they’re riding a high. Most likely from torturing two young girls.
Their slacks are still undone, shirts unbuttoned, and hair ruffled. Sweat drips from the tip of the black-haired man’s nose, while the other has pit stains marring his white shirt.
I take in all these details with wide eyes, my brain slow to process what's going on.
Francesca walks in a moment later, staring down at the girls with her lip curled. Then she trains her gaze on us, appearing calm and collected. She's seen so much—done so much. Does nothing faze her anymore?
"Thank you, gentlemen, for bringing them in here," Francesca says kindly.
Gloria breaks first, turning and slapping a hand over her mouth. Tears stream from her eyes as she gags beneath her palm. A fire lights in Francesca's eyes, her head whipping towards the mousy girl.
"Don't you dare vomit on my floor, little girl. I will cut your tongue from your mouth," she hisses, her makeup cracking from the tension in her face.
Gloria nods her head, though her face is green and she's still on the precipice of losing it altogether. All I can do is chant to myself over and over not to puke and completely lose my shit.
Francesca approaches, making sure to keep her precious heels out of the blood. She stares at us with an unreadable expression.
“You will take them outside, and you will put them out of their misery.”
My eyes widen, and Sydney giggles from beside me. It takes effort not to whip my hand out and slap her in the mouth.
“What do you mean?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and I feel instant regret when all eyes turn to me.
“It means,” Francesca snarls through gritted teeth, “that you will end their miserable existence. And then you will dig their graves and hope to God that you aren’t next.”
Chapter 18
The Diamond
My thoughts are running through mud. I’m slow to process her words, even as Rocco and one of his friends break through the crowd of guests and scoop up the girls in their arms, before heading for the door.
My mouth is hanging open, speechless and horrified as I watch the other girls slowly begin to follow after them.
This isn’t real.
This can’t be real.
But when I meet Francesca’s golden-brown eyes, blank and dull, I realize that there’s no escaping this nightmare.
“Go,” she mouths. Blinking, my body follows her command and heads toward the door. But I can’t feel it. It’s an out-of-body experience—I’m only capable of watching myself go through the motions. My feet carry me down the porch steps and to the back of the house where the bonfire still rages, the flames licking the frigid air. Flickers of orange light lash across the night sky, clouds of smoke curling up from the orange glow.
Guests pour out of the house behind me, their excitable chattering rising above the crickets. The air has a pulse to it, thrumming with anticipation and glee, but that’s all wrong.
Two girls are dying tonight, yet all that coats my tongue is the rapture of their glorious deaths.
Phoebe and Bethany are thrown to the ground, their wails heightening from the impact. Tension lines the muscles in my legs, weighing me down and making it nearly impossible to line up with the other three girls in formation.
We stand before them, various emotions clogging the space between us. Resignation and enthusiasm from Jillian and Sydney respectively, but Gloria and I look at each other, absolutely petrified for what’s to come.
Francesca stands on the other side of the bonfire, deep shadows, and bright red accentuating her features. A demon risen from Hell.
“These girls were deemed unworthy in the Culling,” Francesca announces loudly. The men quieten, and I imagine it’s the only time they’ve been inclined to shut up and listen to a woman speak.
“For centuries, we’ve carried on this tradition. In our world, only the strongest can survive. Only those who can endure and persevere no matter what we throw their way. These girls standing before you—they are worthy of you. And they will prove their worth to you by snuffing out those that were not good enough.”