She winced and grasped her shredded arm as hot blood soaked into the pale wooden floor. After a couple of movements, Rosaendra managed to slip her backpack off. It fell to the ground, and she dug through it; clutching her arm against her chest. The blood soaked into the leather, and the stink of copper wafted up to her nose.
Shit. Shit.
Her head swooned and her eyes fluttered. How much blood was she losing? Too much. After seconds of digging down to the bottom of her pack, she managed to feel the rounded edges of the plastic box. She pulled it out and opened the latch with her mouth. She held her arm above her head as she dug through its contents. That was something she had learned during her days within the cult.
First, she pulled out a gauze roll, and then a couple of gauze pads. Her arm was in bad shape; really bad. The hooked teeth of the creature’s tentacled mouth had torn through the leather, even, and torn the flesh into ribbons. She unscrewed the cap of the peroxide bottle and dumped it over her arm. It bubbled and burned a little. Nothing like the iodine that her grandparents had used, she told herself as she winced through the pain.
She tore open the gauze packets with her teeth and pressed them against her arm with her chin as she unwound the bandages and wrapped them around her arm as tight as she could, and held them with strips of white surgical tape. She grabbed her bag and raised it to her shoulder. Slinging it through her torn-up arm was a painful process. She winced and breathed sharply as the canvas touched the wound as her arm passed through it.
Once, it was secure she kicked aside the first aid kit. It was a waste of money, for sure, but she didn’t have time to dawdle. Every second she wasted, was a second closer to death. She burst through the nearest door; and the door that the Squidman seemed to be leading her. There was nothing like a shrine within it, however. Just what seemed to be a common room for very small men and very small women.
She exited the room and moved to the room next to it, down the hall away from the staircase. There, in the corner, she saw a small, wooden altar table. There was a deep blue banner over it, with a yellow embroidered sigil of a dagger piercing a skull of some sort. White wax candles lined the shelf, and a golden bowl filled with some sort of foul, red liquid. She pushed everything off the altar, and slid the backpack off her back once again, she dug through it until she found the metallic bottle pressed against the edges of the bag.
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She pulled the banner down and balled it up on top of the shrine, pulled the red cap of the small bottle, and squeezed its contents all over the table; soaking the cloth and the wood until the bottle was empty. After that, she tossed the bottle and fished a lighter out of her pocket.
The small plastic square shook in her hand. It was cold. So cold, and she was ever so tired. Her eyes fought to close, but she fought to keep them open. Sleeping now was death. A few clicks later, and a small flame leaped to life on the metal clasp end. The heated metal burned her finger as she held the flame up to the soaked flag.
It took a few seconds, but the banner caught. Soon the flame found the lighter fluid and cast the room in bright orange as the hot fire began to eat away at the material. It was only a matter of time now before the shrine would be destroyed. She picked her bag up and slid it onto her shoulders and shivered. So cold.
Rosaendra clutched her arm and retreated through the door as the fires consumed the shrine. By the time she had gone up a floor, the mirror had told her that the shrine was destroyed, and she had ten minutes to make it out. She climbed the last flight of stairs and hurried down the hall; swaying with every single step. She pushed through the door and fell through the black.
The cement floor of her apartment walkway slams hard against her shoulder as she slid to a stop. She pushed herself up and looked back. The door vanished, and on the floor in front of her were 4 hundred dollar bills. She picked it up and put it in her pocket before stumbling to her door.
Should she call the ambulance? No. That would draw attention from the Agency. She had to take care of this herself.
“Rosie?”
Rosaendra lifted her eyes from the walkway. Ashley stood there with a small gift bag held in front of her. Rosaendra’s eyes fluttered and she fell forward. Ashley rushed forward to catch her.
“Oh my God, Rosie, what happened? Do you want me to call an ambulance? You’re so cold.”
“No. No ambulance. Just take me inside, please.”
Rosaendra fished around her pocket for her keys before pressing her forehead against Ashley’s shoulder and placing the keys into her hand. Ashley flipped through the keys until she found one that fit. After that, she propped Rosaendra up by placing her non-injured arm over her neck and shoulder. She pushed open the door. As they entered, Rosaendra reached over with her injured arm and gave the 3 a spin.