Lost Prophets

She's been ripped away from them. Horribly and brutally murdered, leaving her loved friends baffled and wondering why, and who could do this. Nobody could've imagined something like this happening to her in a million years. Not ever, at all. But yet, here they are...without a body to bury, a soul to repent, and answers to questions.


3. Chapter three

Elliot smoothed out his jacket for probably the thirtieth time, trying to muster everything he knew he had into walking out that door. He would have to face the world eventually, and anyway, the sooner this was over, the better.

He has to find him. He has to get him out there into that unknowing crowd...

But his legs wouldn't move. He was trying to even move his arm. His hand. His fingers. Nothing. Nothing was moving. 'How dare you defy me...'

'Don't deny you loved her.'


'You're denying you loved her. You're pushing aside all your petty emotions for that undeserving lying dog.'

'Fuck off. Blood is nothing like that.'

'Ooh...you are dare me? I am technically in control of you now...I could just-'

"NO!" Elliot jumped to his feet, panting and now able to move his body again, but shocked at what happened, and mortified at what he'd realized: he recognized that voice. He hadn't heard it in a long, long time, but he recognized that voice. He could never forget that voice.

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