Entombed In Sin (Graveyard Games Duet #2)

18. Sagan

18

SAGAN

I haven’t gone to a funeral in… Well, ever.

My mother’s body was taken away by the police, and Thatcher and I dipped out of town before we found out what happened to it. For a while, I was sure they’d turned her to ash and then tossed her in the trash. Though now I’m not so sure. There’s about a dozen boxes of unclaimed ashes in the storage room of Bright Starr. Apparently, that’s what funeral homes do—they keep strangers because ‘what if’ someone remembers to finally come, and pick up the deceased?

“Do you think we’ll be smited on the way in?” I ask as we climb out of Knox's sedan and head for the doors of the small church.

The white building has a single steeple. I wonder what will happen to the cross up at the very top when we walk through the large, arched wooden doors. Will a thunderbolt hit it? Will it go up in a spontaneous blaze? I hope both things happen simultaneously. It would make for a good laugh.

Thatcher nudges my side and shoots me a glare. I roll my eyes. We’re the last ones to enter. No one’s going to hear me bitch about this stupid place. He yanks open the door and we step inside. I shoot a mocking glance up to the ceiling. Guess the big guy doesn’t give a fuck who walks through His doors. Or maybe He’s going to strike us when we walk out of here and He thinks our guard is down.

As we move further into the church, the stifling heat and the smell of moth balls and floral perfume nearly overwhelms me. I hate people. I hate crowds, and I really fucking hate churches.

“We won’t be here long,” Thatcher mutters to me as follow the throng of people into the nave.

There’s a loud hum of conversation as people wait for the service to begin. The few people that notice our arrival shoot us friendly, sad smiles. Thatcher does his best to return them. I, on the other hand, find it annoying to receive these awkward, flat, tight-lipped smiles that Midwesterners seem to give out for no fucking reason. Thatcher is polite enough to nod and even greet a few people who come up to thank us, Bright Starr, for taking such good care of Trevor’s ashes and providing the pastor with a beautiful urn. I stand there, hating every second of this.

Music starts to play, indicating that it’s time to begin. Thatcher and I linger in the back until every church pew is filled and only a few spots in the last row are left. We slip into our seats, and I take a deep breath, gathering up my infinite patience and forcing myself to endure my first church sermon.

At least this one is about death, which is right up my alley.

Pastor Michaels strolls up to the podium at the front of the room. Behind him, sitting on a pedestal, is the blue and white urn he picked out for his son. My throat constricts. My pet had to shove the ashes of that fucker into that thing. I should’ve done it for her, if only so she didn’t have to deal with Trevor anymore. A picture of the kid we killed is blown up and set on a tripod situated beside the urn. Trevor smiles at the congregation.

“Thank you all for coming,” Pastor Michaels starts, his voice carrying around the small church. His voice carries all the way to the back, where we sit, with ease. Great, I guess tuning him out is going to be harder than expected.

As he talks about the wonderful life his son lived, the members of the congregation speak under their breath around us.

“He had so much potential.”

“—heard Beatrix was trying to seduce him, and when that didn’t work, she went to the police and screamed rape. Some women are just so pathetic.”

“She’s so desperate. Did Trixie really think Trevor could be coaxed into marrying her that way?”

“You think she filed that report to entrap him?”

“Why else?”

“Sounds like Trix picked up her whore ways from her mother.”

“—wonder where Beatrix is? She’s probably too ashamed to show her face, that’s why she’s not here.”

“No doubt Beatrix is working on sinking her claws into Patrick’s boys now. I heard the deed to the house and the funeral home was transferred over officially to the two boys. Courtney at the courthouse told me as much. Beatrix doesn’t belong there anymore, and she knows it.”

“Shush! They’re sitting close by; you don’t want them to overhear you.”

“Why not? Someone should warn them. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

For an hour Thatcher and I are forced to sit there, listening to the filth being spewed by the people around us. I’m not sure what’s more infuriating. Listening to the town of Chasm talk shit about my pet, or the fact that Pastor Michaels keeps looking for signs of her as he continues his sermon about life and how fragile it is.

I watch as his eyes slide over us, then toward the back doors as if he expects her to burst into the church at any moment. My teeth grind together. The fact that he would even think she’d show her face here only pisses me off further.

By the time the service is over, my patience has withered away. As everyone stands and heads for the front to pay their respects, I move toward the door. Thatcher can linger behind, showing face for Bright Starr. If I stay, I’ll kill someone.

“Move faster,” Thatcher grumbles, surprising me as he makes his way toward the exit with me.

Outside, the fresh air helps clear my head of the wrath crawling beneath my skin. Not completely, but enough so I don’t feel like tearing this town apart. We’re nearly to our car when we’re called to halt.

“Mr. Hunts!” a voice calls from behind us.

My muscles bunch as rage pours from my heart. As I turn around, my brother clasps me on the shoulder. To anyone around us, it looks like a friendly gesture. In reality, he’s holding me back as we turn around to face the pastor.

He hurries over to us, ignoring the people watching him scurry after us. I can see the bewildered looks being traded as they spill out after him. They linger behind when they realize he’s not running out of the service, just coming to talk to us.

“Thatcher, Sagan.” He greets us wrongly as he looks between the two of us. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course,” Thatcher says smoothly, as if he isn’t just as pissed off as me. “From what I’ve heard, Bright Starr Funeral Home has a strong connection with your church. It was only right of us to share this moment with you.”

“It’s appreciated greatly,” he replies. “Is Beatrix alright? I know she wouldn’t miss the funeral if she could help it. I know how fond she was of Trevor, and she knows how much I would’ve appreciated her presence.”

As a violent storm of hatred for the lying, pathetic husk of a man explodes in my chest, my brother nods once.

“Beatrix is fine,” he says. “Actually, she’s more than fine now, since she no longer has to worry about your son taking advantage of her.”

It brings me a little pleasure to watch Pastor Michael’s body grow stiff and his face pale. His brows pinch together with concern before he starts to shake his head.

“Look, I don’t know what Beatrix told you but?—”

“There’s no need to explain,” Thatcher cuts off calmly with a cool smile. “In fact, we would rather you not waste your breath. Just know that Beatrix is fine and will continue to be under our care. We won’t let anyone hurt her again.”

Together, the two of us close the small distance that separates us from the pastor. He cowers back, turning sheet white as he looks between us.

“Beatrix is like a daughter to me,” Pastor Michaels objects. “But Trevor was my actual son. I had to protect him. Charges like that on his record would’ve ruined his reputation. It was just a misunderstanding between two kids—I couldn’t let that hurt his future.”

“Your lies ring awfully hollow, Pastor Michaels,” I reply as my muscles coil. I could snap this man’s neck right here and now. “Like a daughter? Don’t make me laugh.”

He blinks at me rapidly, stupidly . “What are you talking about? Beatrix really is like family to me!”

“Is she?” I ask coldly. “Then why did you stand up there and regale the congregation with stories about your son—reminding them of how wonderful he was? You really laid it on thick too. I don’t think there’s anyone in that church that believes Beatrix’s story now—even though her version is the truth. If you wanted to ostracize your so-called ‘family’, even more so than she is, you did it. Trust me, I know because I could hear everyone’s opinion about our stepsister loud and clear while they whispered around us.”

Pastor Michaels’s head whips back and forth. His brows pinch together with concern, and his throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Hurting Beatrix was never my intention, ever . I preach love and acceptance at my church, and I try to live by example.”

Only when it suits you , I want to point out. My teeth are about to break as I grind them together. Before I speak again, Thatcher takes the lead.

“And yet, you might as well have dubbed her a liar in front of a town full of people that have made her a pariah,” Thatcher says through his teeth while he gives him a predatory grin. “While you and the other people of Chasm may not appreciate Beatrix Starr, make no mistake, Pastor Michaels, we will go to great lengths to show our stepsister that there are people who actually care about her and will do anything to make sure she feels safe.”

The crowd lingering on the steps of the church is growing restless. A few women have broken free and are moving toward us, concern etched in their features.

Thatcher sucks in a deep breath and rolls his shoulders before he continues, “Given the connection between your church and Bright Starr, we’ll continue to do business with you, but you will only speak to me or Sagan moving forward.”

“But—”

“This is not up for debate,” Thatcher cuts off darkly, losing his smile completely. “You’ll never speak to her again.”

Pastor Michael glances between us, looking far more crestfallen than he should for someone who’s willing to throw another person under the bus to cover up his son’s crimes.

“She’s… she’s hurt, isn’t she? By me…” Pastor Michaels looks between the two of us. He runs a hand over his face as if to wipe away any shame he might be feeling. “That’s why she didn’t come.”

“Why would we allow her to endure this when she’s already gone through enough?” I ask him, my voice dropping an octave. Fighting back the urge to kill him is a testament to my self-control. He deserves to drop dead.

With a heavy sigh, the pastor nods. “I guess… I guess I can see how this might be misconstrued. Tell Beatrix I’m sorry. I understand your terms, and I’ll respect the boundaries.”

“Good,” I snarl.

With that, I leave Thatcher and head for the car. Just as I get there, my brother joins me.

“When we get back to Bright Starr, I’m going to wring her fucking neck,” Thatcher snarls as he rounds the back of the car. “She knew exactly what we were going to walk into and still didn’t say a word to us. Did she really think she could keep this to herself? That we wouldn’t find out?”

That’s exactly what my pet thought, I’m sure of it. Knowing Beatrix, any difficulty in her life, she’d want to try to shoulder it on her own. Given that’s how she’s had to handle things in the past, I’m sure she thought she could get away with it this time. As I climb into the driver’s seat, my teeth clench together so tightly I’m certain I’m about to break a few of them. This is not how we do things between us. No one suffers, at least not alone.

I can’t wait to teach this lesson to my pet.

And to hear her screams.