Page 114 of Turn That River Red

“There you are, you ugly motherfucker,” he murmurs.

I don’t see anything but the land. But then there’s a flicker of movement up ahead, like a bird taking off. Except it’s not a bird.

It’s Reverend Gunner.

He’s threading through the brush, trying to stay low. Trying to stay hidden, I think, but he’s not doing a very good job, if even I can see him.

“Do you want to watch?” Ambrose doesn’t take his eyes off Gunner, but I know he’s talking to me.

I suck in my breath, my heart hammering. My lips want to say no, but that’s just muscle memory. The truth is?—

I do want to watch.

I want to know my nightmare is over.

“Yes.” I exhale it out, like a sigh.

When Ambrose glances back at me, he’s smiling a little. “Stay close.”

Then he glides forward, lazy and unhurried, swinging the ax back and forth so the blade catches in the sunlight. I scurry up so I’m walking beside him, opposite the ax, and I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself. The dogs swarm around our feet, and they’re breathing heavily like they’re excited.

“He sees us,” Ambrose breathes.

I don’t know how he knows, but a split second later, there’s a sudden explosion of rustling shrubbery, and then a splash.

“Fuck,” Ambrose spits. “Come on, darling. We’re going swimming.”

He jogs toward the river, clutching the ax up to his chest. Something like panic seizes at me—panic that Reverend Gunner is going to get away, swept up on the current of the Concho. Although I had told Ambrose that I wanted to see, to know Reverend Gunner is gone for good, I hadn’t realized just howmuchI did until this moment, when there’s the threat of him escaping.

We skitter to the edge of the bank, the river glittering in the sun. Gunner splashes around—not trying to swim downstream, I realize, but trying to make it to the other side.

Ambrose chuckles softly.

Then he leaps.

I cry out—the river isn’t deep enough for diving. But Ambrose doesn’t move like a human, and he lands with a small, elegant splash on his feet. The dogs wait on the bank.

Gunner screams, his voice carrying on the wind. Then he stumbles sideways and splashes into the water, limbs flailing

I slide down the bank, stepping out onto the smooth flat stones to watch. Max and Roxi both follow me, sticking close.

Gunner shoots up, sputtering water, and sees me—for the first time, I think.

“Mercy!” he screams. “Help me! For the love of God!”

I don’t say anything, just stand on the stones with the river splashing around my ankles, my hand and face sticky with Pastor Sullivan’s blood, the wind blowing loose strands of hair into my eyes.

“Mercy!” Reverend Gunner wails, trying to splash toward me, his arms outreached. But Ambrose grabs the scruff of his shirt and drags him under the water. Reverend Gunner kicks up a froth as Ambrose pulls him toward me, yanking his head up only when they’re a foot away from where I stand on the bank with the dogs.

“You know why I’m doing this?” Ambrose asks, curling his arm around Reverend Gunner’s throat to pin him in place. He wails, water streaming over his face. Ambrose jerks his arm and Gunner’s head slams back so he’s looking right at me.

I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life.

“To protect her,” Ambrose says in a dark, thorny voice.

“I t-took her in,” Reverend Gunner stammers. “I g-gave her a h-home. She would have been a wh-whore on the streets?—”

“And what was I in the church?” I shout, so loud I surprise myself.

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