Page 4 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
He blew into my childhood and cared for me in the group home when no one else did. Even though I was six and he was eleven, we were instant friends. He became my world—my protector. My hero.
Now, decades later, I stare at him from the steps of the abbey. So much has changed between us. I am no longer a frightened little girl but a world-class assassin. He is no longer an unwanted orphan but a gunslinging demon hunter.
He’s so grown up, strong, and... handsome. His hair still sits messily around his ears, but somehow his devil-may-care attitude gives the uneven texture a cool vibe. The gun belt slung low on his hips is missing the pistol holsters, but I recognize the shape. Pride swells in my chest. He’d always dreamed of being an expert marksman; here he is, dream verified. God has miraculously returned him to me... despite my sinning ways.
Then the introductions start. The Rev begins by pointing us out. With each name called out, my traitorous heart leaps a little further into joy. Surely when he hears my name and focuses on my face, he’ll put two and two together and remember me. I might not have the pigtails falling out, but I’m not that different. Surely he’ll run up the steps, tugging me into his arms and—
“And Leila is our weapons expert.”
His eyes skate vacantly over me like I’m a stranger. Like the years we spent together in group homes were made up. Like he’d never played at rescuing me from bad Cowboys or had eaten my burned cookies.
Not him.
Not Zeke.
How could it be? He’s dead. He died in a fire... a fire everyone blamed me for setting. A fire he courageously ran into, hoping to rescue the stupid stuffed toy I should have been too old to care about, except it was the only thing my birth parents gave me before leaving me on the doorstep of a church as a baby.
So it can’t be him. This man just looks like him. He has the same crooked smile, hazel eyes, and look on his face as he rubs the back of his neck. But it’s not him.
My stomach drops. I blink rapidly, hating how my eyes are burning. It’s so stupid of me to think he would be alive.
The Monsignor’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Zeke is our gunman, yes?”
Itishim. So why...? I glance down at my body—at the curves, at my hips, and the swell of my breasts in the tight black workout attire. I hadn’t even had my first period when he died... left... whatever this is. He either doesn’t recognize me or doesn’t care. Maybe he never cared. I mean, why would he pretend to be dead? Why would he make it look like it was my fault?
Zeke and I had once sat on the group home couch, watching a movie on the tiny television in the darkness. I was maybe thirteen by then. Or twelve. Something close. He was ready to age out of the system. We knew our tiny family was about to be disrupted, so we decided to do a movie marathon of all the old movies we first watched together. The first movie I had ever wanted to watch was Dracula... which was a mistake because of my overactive imagination. For years after I’d watched it, I had nightmares and an obsession with all things vampire. Zeke had steered me toward his favorite Westerns.
But this one night, at a scary part of the movie, I crawled toward Zeke and cowered in his arms. For a moment, he hugged me close, as he always did. But then, suddenly, he shoved me off and told me not to be stupid. It was so abrupt and gruff that I watched the rest of the movie with tears stinging my eyes. After that night, he wasn’t quite the same with me.
Maybe he’d truly had enough of me. Maybe his death was faked because he knew I would have followed him anywhere.
Unable to stop the fury and indignation bubbling in my blood, I can’t focus. Can’t breathe. Can’t see beyond the red veil of rejection burning before me. And when the Rev dismisses us, I walk inside and don’t look back.
Four
Zeke - A Week Ago
Wesley is back from the UK and has the healing staff. Or rather, Thea has it. I stare at the message on my phone again, hardly believing it.
Hey mate, we got it. Thea says it will work more than once. It healed me from a mortal wound. See you soon.
I give my reflection a last look in my small bedroom mirror behind the closed door. I’m shocked to see the whites of my eyes are yellow. My energy is waning. Up until now, I still had the strength to work out a little. But this morning, I struggled to eat. This disease is eating me from the inside.
I shouldn’t care. I should be happy to die, but something keeps pulling me back. Shoving my hand deep into my pocket, I pull out the charred remains of the red bracelet I’d given Lei Ling all those years ago. The red string symbolizes fate. Some cultures believe there is an invisible red thread that joins two souls together no matter where they are. The evil eye bead is still bright, despite the charcoal residue. I have no idea if it actually worked to ward off the evil spirits Lei Ling feared, but it helped her sleep at night... until it didn’t.
I’d only been gone from the group home for a few months, but the pull to return to Lei Ling had been strong. I’d barely begun to scratch the surface of demonology. There was so much to learn, so much bullshit to wade through. And gathering contacts in the city’s underworld was proving harder than expected. I hated being away from her, but I needed guns, ammunition, and supplies, yet I had little to no money. I couldn’t go back with empty hands.
I always kept one eye on Lei Ling. Always checked in. But this one time, I was late. I lost track of which home she’d been shipped off to, and then when I found it, the news report came in.
ORPHAN GIRL DIES IN HOUSE FIRE
I dropped everything and returned to her. I was so fast that the charred remnants of the house fire still smoldered when I arrived... and half buried under rubble was a bright-red string with a white bead barely hanging onto the thread—the evil eye. My wildcat... dead. I should have been there. I should never have left.
My fist swallows the red thread and clenches. I give myself a hard look in the jaundiced eyes and say, “She’s in a better place. And you’ll never get there. All you can do is keep hunting the evil things that made your life miserable.”
I don’t know why I keep thinking about Lei Ling here, in this abbey filled with Sinners and whores. It’s probably because one of them has a name so close to hers... but apart from them both being Asian, there are no other similarities. From the moment I saw Leila on the abbey steps, I knew she was a different person. She was the furthest thing from innocent. My lip curls in disgust. These women are nasty and dangerous. Don’t get me wrong, they’re fucking sexy as all hell. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’d probably bang them all. It’s just sex. Empty, soulless sex. Why not do it with someone who feels the same way?
I shove the bracelet into my pocket and storm out of the tiny room, then crash headlong into my neighbor—Leila. Her perfume zings into my abused lungs, and I wheeze as we become a tangle of limbs and confusion.
