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((Alice Baker continued from Needles and Pins))

Here she was again. Lovely.

The church's visage had faded from memory quickly in the blur of fear and intent from last time. Alice could tell now that it was truly dilapidated. Worn by weather and growths of reclaiming life, it was eerie in that devoid way, a bastion of faith desecrated by primal forces. In that same way, it was lovely, elegant even despite the lack of care. Very gothic, except greener.

Alice slipped into the front door full of anticipation. She doubted anyone had come here and stayed for long, perhaps just enough time to pray or make some sort of spiritual atonement or something. Kingman was a fairly conservative city, and though her young generation was remarkably liberal, she doubted that religious ties were severed so easily.

Regardless, the point was that the church was supposed to be empty. It was not.

Scout Pfeiffer stood in the chapel, staring upwards. Alice and Scout were hardly close friends. In fact, Alice knew next to nothing about the girl. She had vibrant orange hair and a surly disposition from the look Alice had seen on her face before. But that told her nothing. Also she was smoking, but Alice could hardly blame the other girl.

Still, a small part of her wondered, when did so many of her peers turn to drugs for relief from stress?

The door slammed loudly behind Alice before she could react. She turned to look, then suddenly whipped her head to face Scout, back pressed against the door. She had no idea what the girl was like, if she was armed (was that a handle in her hood?) or what she intended to do. And there was nowhere to run if Scout had a gun.

There was about a 20% chance Alice would die now, by her estimate. Fear reaction startled her, and her eyes widened. She struggled with the door, but trying to keep her eyes on Scout made the task difficult. She made no progress.
V5: Cut Short

V6: Broken Down

V7: Unprepared
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Two Mules for Sister Sara. · Crematorium Chapel