“Ad Undas.” Hannah’s voice trembled as she squeezed out one final shot, striking him in the neck. He gasped for air. “Look at me!” she screamed. Her small frame struggled to flip him on his back. “Don’t you dare die,” she continued, forcing his eyes open. “It’s my turn to talk.”

She fumbled for the tattered leather bound book as his large coarse hands gripped her blouse. His body violently convulsed as the house’s foundation trembled. A look, that can only be described as an eye-opening acceptance of one’s fate, crossed his face as he fell back into his near lifeless shell.

“You can’t take me, son of a bitch!” She pulled her shirt open to reveal the freshly drawn tattoos of religious icons that covered her torso. “You can’t run, there isn’t another soul to take for miles.” She flipped through the yellowed pages.

“In nomine Dei…” She began the incantation.

“How?” his destroyed voicebox gurgled.

“It was Father Malone who found me on the street. The Church has been searching for you for centuries.”