Chapter 15
Noah
She's fucking glorious.
I've sat back most of the night, watching her and letting her do her thing.
She's called the shots, and I've acted on them when she's needed to.
I've been her silent supporter, and in the spaces between kills, when it's just us and it seems like she's bled a little bit of the evil from this world we're leaving behind, I worship her.
We were told in life not to take idols and to worship no one other than the Lord.
She is my God, though.
I've decided as much today, and I don't care what that means for our afterlife.
Her body was always a temple to me, even when I tried to hold true on my faith.
It was a temple, so we couldn't violate it by tainting it with sex before marriage.
But we could do other things, experience pleasure all the same.
I learned her body and how to work it, the right touch, the perfect amount of pressure, the spots that made her toes curl.
I learned how to trace her with my tongue and send her over the edge of madness, holding her there on a pedestal I refused to let her fall from until she begged me for release.
Just because we kept our virginity intact doesn't mean we didn't do other things. Things that I've missed. Things that we've spent the day doing.
Her spirit, raw and vulnerable without the shell of her body, is softer, more easily manipulated. The slightest touch of our bodies brings pleasure that was too good for this earth, and when I'm inside of her, we become one unit, tethered, twined, anchored.
Our souls won't be separated, even when we part to deal with unpleasantries such as this.
Father Ryan sits inside the confessional booth across from his son. He can't see through the grate there, but I can. And the sight has me dancing on a razor's edge, full of anticipation for what's to come.
"Forgive me, father..." Nick begins, his voice low and wavering with the resolution Nikki's forcing on him.
The pastor glances down at his phone, which is shoved low enough that the light can't be seen from Nick's side. It doesn't illuminate his face, doesn't let him see anything beyond the booth he's in, scrolling through his phone like he's sitting on the toilet after morning coffee.
He must notice, however, that the person on the other side has stopped speaking, because he clears his throat.
"It's been... this is my first confession."
Father Ryan clearly isn't paying attention. Nick doesn't sound like himself, whispering in shame, his voice shaking with the desperation of his situation. But still, you'd think a father would recognize his son's own voice.
I guess the porn on his phone is more important.
He's got the volume off, so when he clicks on a video and a busty woman appears on the screen, it's silent. He makes the tiniest sound of contempt, scrolling away before landing on another video... one with a woman with a far more petite frame.
I shouldn't be surprised; we all know he favors young ones.
"I've sinned a lot." Nick says, glancing down at the blade Nikki has pressed against his throat. "And I've killed."
That, at last, gets his father’s attention. "That's a serious confession, son."
I suppress a chuckle at the fact that his father is speaking to his literal son, and he hasn't yet put the dots together. He will soon, though.
"The first was a friend. He knew things that I didn't want to get out, so I..." His voice breaks on a whimper, and Nikki smooths his hair back in a mockery of soothing, encouraging him to keep going. "I shot him."
The moral debate plays across Father Ryan's face as he considers how to handle this. "And he died?"
"Yes."
It's a watered-down version of what happened the day I died, if ever I've heard one.
Nick did a good job of scrubbing the evidence that he was there at all that night.
He accessed the security cameras and deleted the footage that showed us walking into the church together.
He made sure not to touch the gun with his hands, to avoid fingerprints, using the flannel sleeve of his shirt to force it between my teeth as Brant and Cole held me down.
"I can't let this all get out..." He said, his voice resolute as he shook his head. "I told you to keep your mouth shut, but you didn't listen. Now, I'm going to shut you up for good."
In that moment, with my heart beating out of my chest, adrenaline dumping in my bloodstream, all I could think about was her. Nikki. How vulnerable she would be without me. How nobody would stand between Nick getting to her, to silence her too. Not that she ever planned to speak out.
When I found the videotapes in the church cellar, I thought they were innocent. Nick and Nikki, the outside of the tape had said. I thought it was going to be a cute montage of their childhood, growing up together. I thought I could use it to make a video of them at my wedding to her.
I wasn't prepared for the horror I found... my girlfriend and my friend, at a much younger age, doing things that children don't naturally do on their own. And from somewhere off camera, coaching them on where to put their hands or mouths, was Nick's father.
I only watched thirty seconds of it, just long enough for the shock to disseminate so that I could move again to turn it off. It was thirty seconds too much, and it ruined me. It was disgusting, and awful. I threw up, I cried, I prayed.
And through it all, I had to look at my girlfriend and question why she never told me, why she still went to church every Sunday, how she was still comfortable in that man's house, how she wasn't angry, why she wasn't worried about her mom hanging out with him so much, how she didn't suspect that her abuser was the man who got her mom pregnant.
The moral implications of knowing what I knew and doing nothing about it were stifling, but I didn't want to go to the police before warning Nikki, and I didn't want to talk to Nikki without first seeing what Nick's thoughts were on all of it.
I knew by the thirty seconds of hell I'd witnessed, that he had been just as much the victim.
I didn't expect him to side with his father. In fact, he played it so cool that I fell for the act. I believed him when he said that we were going to meet Nikki here that night and tell her the truth she must have suppressed.
Instead of Nikki being here, we pulled in and came across Brant and Cole. His backup.
He didn't intend to kill me; I don't think it was premeditated. But just like with Nikki, he did it anyway.
Father Ryan is silent for a moment as he tries to decide how to handle this. "The Lord is our refuge and strength. He forgives us of all our—"
"There's more." Nick says, voice wavering on a sob as Nikki whispers something into his ear.
"I raped a girl... more than one."
"That—"
"I'm not done. The first time was when I was fifteen, but I molested them before that. My dad made me—"
Pastor Ryan freezes, his eyes narrowing as realization slams into him. "Nick? What the fuck are you—"
"He made me touch my friend so that he could record it. It only stopped because my mom died, and she quit coming to my house so often..."
"That's enough!" Father snaps, rapping against the divide in the confessional. "Stop lying, right this instant!"
"She forgot, but I didn't. And I missed her, so when I had the chance, I raped her. I watched my friends put drugs in her eggnog and when she couldn't fight me, I stripped her clothes off right over there, by the altar..." Nick's voice fractures again as he sobs.
"Don't forget you made me come first." Nikki says, speaking loudly now... loud enough for Father to hear. His eyes widen in horror as realization settles around him. "Because you're such a nice guy, right?"
Father Ryan stands to exit the confessional, no doubt ready to go around and rip his son out of the booth to beat some sense into him, to get him to shut up. I move into his path.
In the dimly lit space, he strains to see me. It takes a moment for the shadows to rearrange and grant him access, and another before recognition settles in.
"You!" He gasps. "You're... dead?"
"I am." I assure him. "I have been, for a year now. It's been a long, hard wait for her, but I would have waited a thousand years more. Your son fucked that up, though, because he inherited all of your fucked up proclivities. And now we're all here together. Father, son, and the holy ghosts."
"Boo." Nikki chuckles, using the same scare tactic she used on Cole.
Father shakes his head, trying to move past me to the confessional door again.
Instead, I get my hands on his arms and drive him backwards, shoving him back into the seat.
His cell phone falls from his hand, flashing the girl in a schoolgirl’s skirt, topless, before I stomp on his phone, crushing it beneath my boot.
Crunching glass quickly precedes the screen going black, but I kick it out of reach just in case. "You're not done here."
"Nick!" Father Ryan yells, anger biting through his careful facade of patience and kindness. "Call the damn police. Get these sinners out of our church!"
I chuckle at his lack of comprehension.
"I can't." Nick says. "I'm stuck."
I eye the lattice partition separating them from us, deciding it's time to come face-to-face. The point of the knife makes a jarring sound when I drive it into the thin metal grate, digging the point between two of the holes and ripping.
The force splits the grate, exposing a jagged hole between the two sides, and revealing Nick, where he sits with Nikki draped across his lap, arms around his neck.
I'd be jealous if I saw them like this at a party; they look so close, like this is so natural for them.
At one time, it would have been. But the knife in Nikki's right hand, pressed neatly against Nick's throat, betrays that image.
"Nick!" Father Ryan gasps, trying to move toward his son, as if he can do anything, much less get through the divide. I push him back down easily.