Page 59 of Their Will be Done

“Making the call,” I say, ignoring Cass’s bored voice behind me.

I time his answer with my feet landing on the floor. “Gabriel! F-Father. Please, hurry!”

“Zachary? What’s—?”

Cass starts making gagging noises. I whirl around, waving at him to stop.

“It’s Santos!” I yell. “He said he’s going to, to—shit, father, he says he’s going to kill himself!”

Cass starts choking again. This time, he mimics sucking a giant dick to accompany the suggestive gagging sounds.

I wave him away and hurry out the door before Gabriel can overhear.

“Did he tell you where he was?”

“English. Sharon’s class. Uh, room 2C.”

“Are you nearby?” Gabriel’s voice rises several octaves. I hear a door slam and his voice grows choppy, as if he’s started running. “Can you see him?”

“No! I’m in the garage. I just got his text. Father, I’m not going to make it!” I tamper down a near-hysterical urge to start laughing. I’ve never pulled a prank before, but I understand why kids do it. The adrenaline rush is insane. My heart’s hammering so hard it feels like it’s denting my ribs.

“Call Brother Timothy! Tell him what’s happened. I’m on my way.” I hear his feet hitting the ground, and it feels like he’s stomping over my chest.

I end the call with a trembling thumb.

It’s now or never, Trinity.

Now or never.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Trinity

Iwatch open-mouthed as Gabriel disappears around the corner. I called out to him a few times, but I might as well have been mute.

Eight o’clock.

15 minutes.

Good luck.

Shit. What the hell just happened? I could barely make out anything from just hearing Gabriel’s side of the call. But I know it was Zachary who phoned. The thought makes my hair stand on end.

There’s no time for this shit. Start looking, Trinity.

I hurriedly close the door and race back into Gabriel’s apartment. I don’t bother with the kitchen or study area. If this laptop is filled with as much incriminating evidence as the Brotherhood says it is, he’d hide it somewhere a quick search wouldn’t locate.

Damn it.

I throw open his closet and flick through his clothes. I search the bottom by his shoes and then I move onto his shelves. The scent of his fabric softener fills my nose as I worm my fingers all the way behind his sweaters.

Nothing.

I climb up on the shelves and burrow my arms between his luggage bags. I gag at the stink of mothballs coming off of them.

Nothing.

The clock back in the living area seems to have doubled in size. All I hear is that watch hand clanging through each second like a death knell.

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