Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Goldie
“Get away from me!”
I can barely choke out the words with my throat constricted.
My feet scramble along the ground. This man, the Prophet, was waiting for me in the woods.
He knew where I was. He must have followed me all the way here.
But why?
And why did he wait until this moment to jump me?
“Shut up,” he barks.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I said shut up, witch!”
He drags me for what seems like a mile, vaguely downhill, through the trees and undergrowth. I can hear the creek. If I can get free of him, I can orient myself. Of course, he knows better than to stick to the main trail. After all, the cops are on the mountain.
I struggle and claw at his arm. I try to kick. I resist all I can, but it’s no use. I don’t have much upper body strength, and my pack is not giving me the best center of gravity. I’m top-heavy and unwieldy.
Finally, we stop by the creek. “I gotta take a piss.”
I’m sure he does. I know all about his bladder issues. The old man can’t last an hour without hitting the head.
“Don’t get any ideas about running off. I’ve got these woods booby-trapped.”
“I’ll bet you do. Coward.”
“You watch your damn mouth,” he spits out before disappearing behind a boulder.
I smile to myself. No, I have no intention of running away.
In fact, I’m glad he jumped me.
And I’m glad there’s no one else around.
Because I’m going to fucking shoot him in the balls. And then, I’m gonna kill him.
I extract the gun from my pack. It’s aimed straight at the Prophet when he reappears from the little boy’s room.
“Did you take me here to kill me too? Is this where you killed Louisa’s dad?”
He wasn’t just Elder Trace. Not just some guy. My friend’s dad. Like him or disrespect him for abandoning his family, he didn’t deserve to die face down, alone, in the creek.
The old man raises his hands in the air in surrender. “I had to do something. Trace was trying to undermine me at every turn. He was going to go to the authorities.”
He what?
The old man ticks off a list of crimes. “Accusing me of welfare fraud. Child endangerment. Coercion. False imprisonment. Do you know what happens when the government sticks its nose in the business of religious institutions?”
Confused, I say, “What are you talking about? Trace disappeared last year. He abandoned his family.”
The sickening grin communicates that there’s so much more I don’t know. “We did make it look like abandonment, didn’t we? Poor little Louisa. She doesn’t even know yet. And by this time tomorrow, she’ll think her best friend shot her father to death.”
I seem to separate from my body when it happens. I take aim. My finger squeezes the trigger. I feel as if I’m not really here but watching myself do these things.
The bullet seems to soar in slow motion.
It hits him in the chest, just below his left shoulder.
The Prophet drops to the ground, face down in the muddy creek.
And just like that, I’m back in my body.
I fucking shot a man.
I scream, but no sound comes out. My hands shake. My throat burns.
The Prophet lies there, his breathing labored. Blood begins to pool in the mud from under his torso.
I did that.
A twig snaps. Leaves crunch under running footsteps. Shouts of “Over here!” echo over the hills.
My life as I know it is over when I hear, “Police! Put your hands up!”
I drop the gun and fall to my knees.