Chapter Thirty-One #3
“I know,” I say. My voice is just a whisper. I try to keep my eyes open. “I know…”
“I watched him drive away and I thought I could salvage something good from all of this evil. I could take the church toward the light. Toward real faith. Toward something … something good. But then you came and … I never wanted to lie. Never. But that’s all I’ve done since you got here. Lie and lie and lie and I hate it!”
“Will…” I say, gasping. “Please. I need a hospital. Please…”
“No,” he says. “No, when you called, I realized that God had put an opportunity in front of me. You would come here—to this place of worship—and God would judge you.”
“Gavin…” I say. “Outside. In the cruiser. Please, just let him take me…”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Will says. “I put sleeping pills in his food. No, we will sit here in this church and see what happens. Only God can pass final judgement. If you die, then I’ll know you were found wicked and wanting and God saw fit to snuff out your flame.
I will tell one more lie and then I will rebuild this church into what it always should’ve been.
Godly. And … and good. But if you live, I will turn myself in and… ”
I feel my eyes close as Will’s words drain away.
I realize my arm is no longer burning. Instead, it’s gone completely numb.
When I open my eyes again, there’s a huge hand—gold and silver—hovering over Will’s head. The hand moves and words slip from the first finger like spider silk. They shimmer, lustrous, like a mirage.
You have been judged.
The scent of sulfur fills my nose.
“Drop it,” another voice says.
I blink. The world is off-kilter, everything on its edge. I realize I’ve slumped to the side.
The hand is gone. Instead, Gavin is standing in the double doors, behind Will. He’s holding a shotgun, aiming it at Will.
“Will Carpenter,” Gavin says. His voice is kind but firm. “Drop it. Please.”
Will turns, whirling around in surprise. I take as big a breath as I can manage and dive forward, scrambling for my gun. The fingers of my left hand wrap around the grip and I start to pull it toward me when—
BLAM!
I look up in time to see Gavin fall, dropping backward onto the concrete porch with a thud. Blood blooms from his chest, mixes with the rain. The shotgun clatters away, out of sight. My vision is blurred and I can barely lift my hand. The double action on the trigger feels impossibly heavy.
Will turns back to me, the Glock smoking in his hand. He looks at it, seemingly surprised.
I squeeze the trigger, as hard as I can.
BANG! BANG!
The gun kicks. The shot goes wild.
Will’s mouth opens in surprise.
BANG! BANG!
I try to aim, try to hold steady. But the world spins sideways. A carnival ride.
BANG! Click. Click.
He runs, away from the church, away from me.
My gun is empty, I realize. One bullet went into the floorboards to scare the snake.
Four had gone wild. And one—one lucky shot—had hit Will.
A spotty trail of blood leads out of the church and over the porch where Gavin lies gasping for air, a stream of blood flowing out from the right side of his chest.
“Gavin,” I breathe, forcing my body forward, crawling toward him. An eternity later, I slump down beside him.
“Miss Gore—” he gasps. “Miss Gore, I fell asleep. I’m sorry I…”
“It’s okay,” I say. I put my left hand to the wound.
The rain pours from the purple sky, blows in sideways, and soaks us both. Blood runs down the steps, away from us, into the ground.
“I tried—” Gavin says, weakly.
Frantic, I pat my pockets for something, anything, to help stanch the bleeding. And, in my jacket pocket, I find the rolled-up, unused maxi pad I’d borrowed from Scarlett a few days before. I pull it out, unroll it, and press it into Gavin’s chest, hold it as tight as I can.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’ll be okay.”
His phone lies on the concrete beside him. He must have pulled it out after he’d fallen. I pick it up. It’s locked. I try to hold it up to his face. I have to call 911. I have to get help.
But my hands are so tired. The phone is so heavy.
A curtain of red swings in front of my vision.
Suddenly, the phone isn’t in my hand anymore. It’s gone.
My breath goes thin. My heartbeat slows.
I can’t keep my eyes open. I drift forward and, next thing I know, I feel the warmth of Gavin’s body beneath me.
“Annie-Girl…” I hear. A voice from the darkness.
I open my eyes, look up, and there’s Ezra King.
No, not Ezra.
My father. He reaches for me, his arms warm and strong.
He scoops me up—like he used to do when I was small, when he would scoop me up from where I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Like he used to carry me to bed. I used to pretend to be asleep even if I wasn’t, just so I could be carried.
“Annie,” he whispers. “What have you done?”
No, not my father.
Chief Dishman.
I open my eyes and see his face above mine.
“No,” I say, trying to push away from him. “No, you … you killed him and you … you … lied to me…”
“What’s done is done,” Dishman says, looking straight ahead. “Now I just have to see it through.”
And then the world goes black.