#82 – Redemption – Whitney Gibbons


An icy crash of doubts splintered across my mind as I considered the nothingness in front of me.  A looming promise I had to break.  I only had this chance because Michael found me and offered me a chance to save Trevor’s soul, to repent for my mistakes.  But I have just one chance.

My name is Serisa.  But until I could rescue the ones I love, I was only a number on the roll call of Hell.

I felt the heavy grip of the rough harness around my waist as my feet moved against the unforgiving steel beam beneath the molded rubber of my boots.  I remembered to breathe and pulled frosty air into my lungs.  Looking down I saw the scurrying pinpricks of light heralding the presence of Vegas traffic more than twenty stories below me.  I adjusted my mask once more for luck and vaulted out into the void, orbiting back to blast through the window.

In that moment of shattering, I was forever changed.  I had begun my quest and there was no looking back.

Shifting my boots in the broken shards that littered the burgundy carpet, I unclipped the rope and looked around.  A sickly fire crackled in a fireplace, poisoning the room with a glow that cast a chorus of shadows off of the ornate tribal masks adorning the scarlet walls.  The clinging stench of cigarettes and alcohol drifted through the air like a damning mist, triggering memories that made my stomach clench.

How frighteningly appropriate.

I secured my escape line to a mahogany monstrosity of a desk.  There were no shrill protests of alarms, Michael had done his part.  I just needed to do mine.

I strode to a thin floor lamp and moved it aside.  Underneath hid a small gap in the floorboards that might have meant a careless worker, but to me it signaled my only chance for salvation.  I slipped a thin silver key out of my pocket and fingered the delicate scrolling for the last time.  I had carried it for almost three years, never before guessing its significance.  I slipped the head into the crack.  After a quick twisting jerk, I heard the snick of a defeated lock.  The trapdoor opened on noiseless hinges.  I yanked off my glove and my trembling hand descended into the tiny void.  My fingers closed on the small velvet box I knew to be the color of the sea in December.  Who would have thought a human soul, once cheated away, could be so easily contained?  I held my sacred parcel up to the flickering light and pushed open the lid.  An all-too-familiar whisper whipped out, brushing my ear, as Trevor’s soul flew out the broken window to return to its rightful owner.

I clumsily wiped tears with the back of my glove and fumbled the rope back into my harness, I had begun my quest and had to move quickly.  Trevor, the first of seven, was saved and the heavy dread inside me was beginning to dissolve into a new, brighter feeling.  Hope of redemption.

~ Whitney Gibbons, West Jordan, Utah

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