Page 114 of Deliver us from Evil

The impostor.

He’s standing in front of me, legs hip-distance apart. Casual, but ready.

For what? Does he expect me to be overcome by some feat of superhuman strength, shred these ropes, and make a go at him? I don’t believe in miracles.

I thought I didn’t believe in God either, but on some level I must have faith. Because I know the Devil’s standing in front of me, and if there’s a Devil, there must be a God.

“Trinity, child…” The impostor crouches in front of me. “There will only be more pain if you insist on being uncooperative. Do you understand?”

“They’re just a bunch of boys,” I tell him.

“What were you doing with them?”

“What does it matter?” I yell.

I glare up at him, but the second our eyes meet, I drop my head.

I’m not brave enough to stare Satan right in the eyes. Especially when those eyes belong to the man I thought of as my father for close to two decades.

The impostor sighs as he stands. He turns to Hoody, and they walk to the study door. Even though their voices are low, I can hear what they’re saying.

“You got their plates?” Keith asks.

“Zachary Price. Dana Point, California.”

My heart starts pounding.

Shit.

I guess it doesn’t matter what I say, the impostor knows they’re not just some random guys.

“Find them. Kill them.” Keith looks at me over his shoulder. I wasn’t expecting a look of fatherly adoration or anything—he’s never looked at me like that.

My entire life, I don’t think I ever did anything that made him proud, or gave him a reason to smile. I just always thought that was the kind of man he was—severe, chaste, Old Testament.

But now it’s all starting to click into place.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love me.

He didn’t have to, because I wasn’t his. But I’m sure even the parents of adopted kids feel more for their children than he ever did—ever could have—for me.

Because there’s not a trace of emotion in his voice when he says, “Kill her too.”

And then he turns and leaves, not even bothering to look back.

My mouth falls open. The woman who brought me here comes in front of me and holds out her gun. But it doesn’t have the same menacing effect as before.

Keith Malone just shredded my life to pieces.

And now I’m going to die.

Finally, the fear comes back. It shoots through me like needles of cold steel. My stomach twists, and I start dry swallowing like there’s something stuck in my throat.

This can’t be happening.

This can’t fucking be happening.

I struggle, but the ropes are tight. I scream, but that just makes the woman frown.

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