Retired Army Colonel Brenda Hollins Races To Save Her Bruised Daughter From Abuse and Supernatural Captivity, Only To Uncover A $5 Million Blood Covenant That Reverses Everything She Believed
Part 1
The humid Savannah air clung to Colonel Brenda Hollins’s skin, a heavy blanket even at this late hour. The last time she’d felt this kind of desperate urgency, she’d been navigating a dusty, war-torn alley, not the slick, empty streets leading to St. Jude Hospital.
Her vintage Ford Explorer crunched gravel as she pulled into the visitor lot. The hospital sign, a glowing cross against the dark sky, seemed to waver, casting long, unsettling shadows.
Brenda’s phone was still warm in her hand, the memory of Maya’s frantic, weeping voicemail a fresh wound.
“Mama… please… they won’t let me leave…”
The words had been garbled, punctuated by choked sobs and a strange, metallic echo that made Brenda’s seasoned military gut clench. It wasn’t just fear she’d heard; it was something deeper, something primal.
She pushed through the automatic doors. The waiting room was deserted, save for a young orderly slumped in a chair, headphones on. Fluorescent lights hummed, casting a sterile glow that did little to alleviate the pervasive sense of dread.
A faded portrait of a serene Saint Jude watched over the silent space, his plaster eyes offering no comfort.
Brenda marched to the reception desk, her combat boots making soft, rhythmic thuds on the linoleum.
“Brenda Hollins. I’m here for Maya Hollins-Boudreaux.”
The sleepy nurse, a woman with kind eyes and a name tag reading ‘Sharon,’ blinked slowly.
“Colonel Hollins? Yes, she’s in Room 3B. It’s down this hall, second door on your right.”
Sharon’s voice was hushed, almost a whisper, as if the very walls of the hospital were listening.
Brenda nodded, her gaze sweeping the empty corridor. The air seemed thicker here, colder, despite the heat outside. A faint, earthy scent, like damp soil and something else she couldn’t quite place, hung in the air.
She took the hallway, each step deliberate. The silence was punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic beep of a machine somewhere far off.
Then, she started to hear it—a low, almost imperceptible hum, like cicadas under the earth, but deeper, unsettling. It wasn’t a sound she recognized from any of her deployments.
As she neared Room 3B, the hum intensified. It felt like pressure against her eardrums, a whisper in the periphery of her hearing.
She paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. Years of training kicked in. Observe. Assess. Respond.
The door was ajar. A thin sliver of light escaped, flickering with an unnatural rhythm.
Brenda pushed it open slowly.
Maya was there, huddled on the hospital bed, her knees drawn to her chest. Her normally radiant complexion was ashen, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. A thin hospital gown hung loosely on her frame.
Brenda’s gaze dropped.
Strange, geometric patterns were etched into Maya’s skin, stark against her dark complexion. They coiled around her arms, disappeared under the neckline of her gown, and snaked up her neck. Not drawn with a pen, but bruised, almost branded into her flesh. Some were black, others an angry, purplish-red.
They looked ceremonial. Ancient.
And then Brenda saw them.
Dark shadows, far too deep for the dim hospital lighting, writhed in the corners of the room. They weren’t static. They bent and stretched, twisting into impossible shapes, almost alive. One seemed to coalesce near the window, obscuring the moonlight entirely.
It felt like they were watching her.
Brenda’s blood ran cold. This wasn’t just abuse. This was something else entirely.
“Mama!” Maya choked out, her voice raspy, full of terror. She launched herself off the bed, stumbling toward Brenda.
Her eyes darted nervously to the shadows in the room.
“You have to get me out of here! Please, Mama, they’re going to sacrifice me!”
She clung to Brenda, her small body trembling violently. Brenda held her daughter tight, her gaze sweeping from the strange bruises to the shifting, coiling shadows.
“Who, baby? Who’s going to sacrifice you?” Brenda asked, her voice calm despite the rising fear in her chest.
Maya pulled back slightly, her eyes wide.
“His family. The Boudreauxs. They’re not… they’re not normal, Mama. They brought something here.”
A chill snaked up Brenda’s spine. The air in the room grew heavy, thick with an unseen presence.
The shadows seemed to press in closer, undulating like dark smoke.
Suddenly, Maya flinched, pulling away from Brenda, her eyes darting towards the door.
Her expression was no longer just terrified; it was a mask of pure, unadulterated dread.
“They’re here,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Brenda heard it then too.
Footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate, approaching down the silent hallway.
Part 2
The door swung open with a quiet creak. A tall, gaunt man in an expensive linen suit filled the frame, his eyes like polished obsidian. Next to him, a portly man in judicial robes, Magistrate Judge Alistair Pryor, held a thick legal document.
“Colonel Hollins,” the first man said, his voice a low, chilling purr. “I am Gideon Crossland. And I’ve come for what’s ours.”
His gaze flickered to Maya, then back to me, an unsettling smirk on his lips.
“You will surrender Maya immediately,” Gideon continued, “or face federal obstruction charges. My agreement with the Boudreaux family is ironclad. And believe me, the supernatural consequences of interfering are far worse.”
Magistrate Pryor took a step forward, holding out the warrant.
“It’s a lawful order, Colonel. Stand aside.”
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