Page 43 of Remorseless Sinner

“Help me!” I shrieked, hearing birds flap away from me in the quiet.

When he still said nothing, I clenched my fists together.

“I am going to run away then! Since you apparently have no interest in the fact that I’ve been kidnapped!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Grace,” Sheriff said. His voice was low, soothing.

“Whatever,” I seethed, whirling around. “I’m gone.”

“Perhaps your husband can explain better,” Sheriff McGinty said, suddenly darting toward the door and sweating profusely. “He should be back any moment now.”

He was now blocking the door, and suddenly I was so filled with rage at the whole world that I was choking on it—rage at my parents for not giving two pennies about me, rage at the Pastor and everyone at church, rage at William for being such a weenie, rage at the Sheriff, and most of all, rage at Saul for somehow, always getting his way.

I grabbed at the gun in the Sheriff’s belt, not knowing what I wanted except having a hazy idea that maybe I’dforcehim to take me somewhere in his police car.

He went down to grab my wrist.

“Grace!” Be reasonable!”

Furious, I bit him on the arm, wrestling the gun from his grip, and the Sheriff fell back.

Now that I had it in my hands I didn’t know what to do. I felt fury surging through my veins, fury at everything that had happened to me. But I didn’t know the first thing about guns.

“Now take me away from here!” I demanded, pointing the gun at him.

“Grace, I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands out placatingly. “But I cannot do that. It just wouldn’t be safe.”

Now, was I going to shoot him? Of course not. But I did want to scare him.

I turned and aimed the gun at all the commendations on the wall, all those awards the Sheriff had earned for meritorious service and bravery. But he wasn’t brave at all. He was nothing but a low-down chicken.

Holding the gun the way I’d seen it done in old movies, I aimed carefully and pulled the trigger, tensing my body for the loud report.

But nothing happened.

I looked at the gun.

What the devil? Was I doing it wrong?

I tried it again. Still nothing.

“Put the gun down,” Sheriff McGinty pleaded with me.

I picked it up again, twisting it this way and that, and the whole thing fell apart in my hands.

Wait, what thefuck?

“Arrest me,” I said.

Sheriff McGinty looked green in the face.

“Arrest you? Why—no, not necessary. Just be a good girl and go home and wait for your husband.”

“Yes, it is,” I said angrily, “I stole your gun. I just tried to shoot at the wall of the sheriff’s office.”

“It’s fine, Grace,” he said again.

“What are you waiting for?” I cried impatiently, gesturing at him with my wrists. “Arrest me. Put me in jail. At least that way I’ll be safe from my husband.”

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