Madison's muffled screams pursued Hope. They seemed to seep through the walls, to vibrate in the floorboards beneath her feet as she entered the living room.
Hope scanned the room frantically, desperate to complete her task and escape this nightmare. Her eyes skipped over familiar objects rendered strange in the dim light—the recliner where Faith did her evening knitting, the coffee table with its stack of religious magazines, the ceramic figurines of angels watching her with blank, judgmental eyes.
Then she spotted it—the Bible resting on the arm of the couch. The black leather cover seemed to absorb what little light there was in the room. Hope grasped it, the weight of it in her hands both reassuring and terrifying. The gilt-edged pages caught the light as another scream pierced the silence, louder than before, sharper with desperation.
Hope froze as Madison's screams for help cut through her indecision like a blade. She couldn't do this. She couldn't be part of whatever ritual Grace had planned. Not because she didn't believe in demons—after tonight, she believed in all kinds of darkness—but because deep down, she knew whatever was happening to Madison wasn't about demons at all.
With newfound resolve, Hope slipped her cell phone from her pocket. Her fingers left sweaty prints on the screen as she dialed 9-1-1. The phone felt hot against her ear, as if even this small act of rebellion might burn her.
"Did you find it?" Faith's voice carried from the hallway, closer than Hope had expected.
The phone slipped from Hope's suddenly numb fingers. It tumbled through the air in what seemed like slow motion, disappearing between the couch cushions with a soft thump. Hope's heart stuttered in her chest—panic, then relief as she realized the call might still go through.
She turned to find Faith standing in the doorway, eyes red-rimmed from crying but somehow more focused than before. Faith crossed the room in three quick strides and took the Bible from Hope's unresisting hands. Her fingers closed around Hope's arm, not violently but with quiet authority.
"This is wrong," Hope said. The words felt inadequate, dust motes in a hurricane.
Madison's screams grew more intense, the sound of someone who had moved beyond fear into something primal, something ancient. Faith's grip tightened on Hope's arm.
"My trust lies in God, and now it's in His hands." Faith's voice was steady, eerily calm. She pulled Hope toward the hallway. As they left the room, Hope cast one last glance over her shoulder.
Between the couch cushions, a faint blue glow pulsed like a heartbeat—the cell phone screen, still active, still connected. Still a lifeline.
”Police Station. Deputy Douglas speaking... Hello?" The voice was tiny, muffled by fabric and distance, but to Hope it sounded like thunder.
Faith didn't seem to hear it, or if she did, she gave no sign as she guided Hope back toward Madison's bedroom and whatever darkness waited there. Hope allowed herself to be led, but she straightened her spine, measuring her breaths. The call had gone through. Now all she had to do was buy time.
Chapter 29