39 Then
Then
I never intended to be a murderer.
I often wonder if people are born that way—with the capacity for great evil.
It’s that age-old question about nature versus nurture.
The one no one seems able to decisively answer.
Maybe it’s desperation that drives us to do such terrible things.
Maybe it’s hopelessness. Combine either of those emotions with all-encompassing, stomach-churning fury, and a person becomes capable of much more than they might once have thought.
Sundbourg’s temples all have doors that can be barred from the outside. Sundbourg’s temples are all paneled floor to ceiling in lacquered wood. Everyone knows this.
What they may not know, however, is that the fumes of that particular lacquer aren’t only flammable, but explosive. Nonetheless, candles are often lit during worship, as artificial light is believed to interfere with prayers. A foolish practice, to say the least.
I hadn’t realized my plan would work so well. It was rudimentary at best. An insane decision concocted in a moment of frenzy, borne of a desire to make everyone in that forsaken place suffer.
Not the children though. I’m not a complete monster. Their absence was another indication of what was coming: They weren’t allowed to be present when death descended on the Apostles’ temple.
It wasn’t only because of what I’d already been through—no. It was because I knew how this was going to end. I’d seen the Vicar sacrifice more than one child to the Savior. I just hadn’t known when it would happen.
The Savior is good. The Savior is merciful. He blessed us with life, and so life we offer Him in return.
Earlier, after my fight with Ilse, my mother had returned with tears in her eyes. That alone had told me what I needed to know.
I dropped the matches on my way out of the temple, Vicar Johannes’s prayers still echoing in my ears.
I left a trail of them, each one a vibrant, violent orange against the dark.
It helped that a bucket of lacquer was still being stored in one of the utility closets.
After all, where else were the Apostles to have put their supplies?
We were in the middle of nowhere. Things came into the forest. They did not go back out again.
I upended the entire bucket onto the floor in the main entryway, choking on the fumes. Then I dropped the final match a short distance away.
Ilse would have had time. She had time, and she’d promised. Surely she would keep her word, on this night that was intended to be my last.
She would hate me for it, of course. Enough that she would undoubtedly never speak to me again.
But at least I would be alive, and we would be free.
When you’re surrounded by dozens of people prepared to stand by as you die a painful death—dozens of people prepared to celebrate your suffering—how could you not wish suffering on them in return?
After all, the Savior’s most famous act was one of revenge.
I had waited at the edge of the clearing. My own heartbeat was deafening, my stomach sick. Fear turned to numbness. Hope hardened into apathy. The temple went up in flames as I watched. Still Ilse did not appear.
I waited and waited. I was wearing only a thin dress, and despite the heat of the fire, the night was frigid.
I remember the screams of those who burned.
I remember thinking that I should have been cold.