Projectile Invocation

TW: Cults, implied violence, vomit

Everything was ready for the ritual.

Motya, sitting in the front row, began to feel nauseous.

“Tonight,” Father whispered from in front of them, “reach into your own chest. Wrap your fingers around your heart and sense its true desire.”

In protest, Motya’s heart beat faster still. She could almost taste blood in her mouth, stinging her gums and tongue with its flavor.

“Remember, brothers, our desire must be Christ and Christ alone,” Father continued, rising in volume. “We are weak, so weak, and we need his grace to lift us.”

Motya slid her feet underneath the bench and avoided Father’s pointed blue eyes. A hand gently took hers. Without looking, she knew it was Hanna’s.

She looked up at Hanna, who smiled. Her elderly eyes crinkled gently.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Hanna whispered. “I was nervous for my first one, too.”

Motya wished she could just tell Hanna everything. It’d be easy: Hanna was kind and trustworthy. However, she was also the Women’s Leader and worked directly with Father every day. She probably had girls come to her all the time. Motya wanted to ask how often she wrote up reports to Father about what the doubters thought.

Anyways, Motya wouldn’t be here long enough to say much else.

Motya elected not to reply. She just smiled back at Hanna.

“Our dear and gracious lord in heaven,” Father prayed. “Bless us on this day that we might feel you in our presence, and that we might conduct ourselves to your pleasing. Bless us that our ordinance might be performed smoothly. In your holy name, we pray, amen.”

The small mass behind and around Motya murmured their ascent.

Father’s eyes opened and focused on Motya. Her stomach rolled threateningly under her skin.

“Our newest sister, Motya,” Father said. His pronunciation was flawless, but it worked a knot into Motya’s throat. With the silent things he’d done, she could barely stand being named by him. “Might you come up and begin us?”

Motya nodded. She’d had a week’s notice for this, the same time as Hector, but her hands still shook. When she stood, she folded her arms over her chest to hide this from Father. She refused to look at him, but she could still feel his burning gaze, like Sauron’s, resting upon her.

Motya walked up to Father’s podium. He gestured to his side, to a makeshift altar.

The altar was a table with a long white tablecloth over it. When Motya knelt in front, she could see the blood drain underneath and the surrounding tiles stained pink. She folded her arms tightly around her stomach and stared at the tablecloth. She let her eyes flutter closed.

A darker presence sat, like a fog, in the front of the room. She hadn’t sensed it from where she’d sat. It seemed to surround Father. She felt like a dirty hypocrite, surrounded by these devout believers and kneeling by their altar.

“Pray for us, Motya,” Father murmured.

Motya glanced at him.

His hands were clasped, his head was bowed, and his eyes were closed.

She swallowed.

“Our dear lord,” Motya began. She swallowed again, pushing her throat down. “Um—please bless us on this day; bless us to—”

She stopped.

Father opened his eyes and looked down at her.

Motya dug her fingernails into her arms. Her mouth fell open.

She threw up onto the tablecloth.

Her vision went fuzzy. A hand gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. The blurry person forced her to walk. Her legs worked from muscle memory alone, since her brain felt too weak.

“Let’s get you to the bathroom,” Hanna’s voice said, fanning condensation across the inside of her ear.

Motya nodded weakly.

They left the chapel together. Motya let Hanna pull her down a hallway. The light stung her eyes. The acid in her stomach pushed up into the top of her throat. Motya swallowed it down.

“Here we are,” Hanna whispered.

They turned into the church bathroom.

“I think—” Motya mumbled, “I think I’m gonna—”

She ran to a stall, breaking Hanna’s grip, and threw up again into it. The vomit was tinged with an unnatural green, since the poison Motya had taken earlier was coming up. She quickly flushed the toilet before Hanna could see over her shoulder.

Hanna put a hand on her back and gently rubbed, the way a mother might.  

“I’m so sorry,” Motya whispered. Her voice echoed in the toilet’s basin. “How much longer will the new moon last?”

The ritual had to be performed under this phase.

“For another few hours,” Hanna answered. “And don’t be sorry. It’s totally fine.”

“They’ll have to get a new cloth,” Motya swallowed. “And clean the floor.”

“I’m sure Father is calling the janitor right now,” Hanna comforted. “It’ll all be taken care of.” She kept rubbing her back while Motya threw up again.

The church’s regular janitor lived a half hour away. He’d left a few hours early, since Father wanted their ritual to be secret, even from the staff. Motya would’ve told Hector all of this, plus the rest of her plan, if he hadn’t been locked away for the past week.

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Motya managed to choke out. “I think I’m almost done.” Once the poison wore off, she needed Hanna far out of the way.

“You sure, honey?” Hanna asked, leaving her hand on the back of Motya’s neck. Her fingertips were icy; Motya fought a shiver.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Hanna left quietly.

Motya wiped her mouth on a piece of toilet paper once Hanna’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway. She stood, shakily, and left the bathroom. She continued down the hallway, away from the chapel, and opened a closet. She stepped in, trapping herself in darkness. She felt along the wall for a door handle. When her hand brushed its cold metal, she took the key that she’d stolen from Father and unlocked it. She pushed it open quietly.

Behind was a secret room. It was darker than the closet she’d left. She fumbled in her pocket for her lighter. She scraped her thumb over the metal, lighting it.

The flickering fire cast an orange light on a crumpled figure on the floor. Without seeing his face, Motya knew it was Hector.

His ankles and wrists were tied together. He was protectively curled in a ball. He faced away from Motya, so she couldn’t see his face. She kneeled beside him, placing the lighter on the floor, and pulled a pocketknife from the inside of her boot. When she started to cut the cords around his ankles, he started (almost like he was asleep) and craned his neck to look over. He wasn’t gagged but wasn’t saying anything. It struck Motya as odd, but she continued. She cut his ankles apart cleanly. He held his wrists out to her, and she did them as well.

Motya grabbed her lighter and helped him to his feet. From this close, she could see his face better. His round cheeks had worn thin. His eyes were red, wide, and terrified.

“Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?” Motya asked, taking his face between her hands.

Hector nodded.

“What?” Motya asked impatiently when he refused to elaborate.

Hector opened his mouth.

His tongue was gone. A stump sat where it should’ve been attached. It wasn’t fresh, but it definitely wasn’t healed.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Motya whispered. She pulled him into a tight hug.

He started to cry.

“Shh, I’m gonna get you out of here,” Motya whispered urgently. She took his hand and led him out through the closet. She extinguished her lighter when they reached the hallway. He winced at the lights.

They walked quickly through the hallway. They reached a back door (which let out into the forest behind the building) and stopped.

“Go quickly,” Motya told him, holding his shoulders. “Don’t stop until you get out of the city. Here, I’ve got some money for you.” She pulled her wallet out and handed it to him. It had five hundred dollars in it that she’d stolen from the collection office. “Get out of town.”

Hector shook his head. He pointed to her, and then to the door.

“Then they’ll know it was me if I go,” she whispered. His tears were getting to her. She hated that she was getting emotional now, since there wasn’t much time. “I’m going to stay and call the police if they hurt me. I’ve got a contacts list in here; call my mom or my brother to find me. Okay?”

Hector nodded. He hugged her.

“You have to go, please go,” Motya said pushing him off.

He nodded again. He pushed the door open. Once he was out, he looked at her over his shoulder hesitantly.

Motya did nothing.

Hector started to sprint away. He disappeared between the trees.

Motya turned around. She began walking back to the bathroom to throw up again.