Page 82 of Panic-Button
That was a new fucked up feeling. Half of my existence was empty. I didn’t know what guilt or regret felt like and couldn’t even explain it to someone. I didn’t feel bad about anything—including the shit I’d done to her. Yet I wanted—no needed—to be around her.
Gotta say I didn’t see that one coming. Never thought I’d be that guy. Then again, I never thought I was the type to take a contract out. When the time came to have an heir, I figured I’d take some bitch, knock her up, and bury her in the garden after the baby was born. Then Marnie Dupire came along.
The look on her old man’s face when he walked into the church that night was fucking priceless…
Basic,was all I could think as my eyes swung from a simple wooden desk to the fake tree in the corner. Given the Pastor’s ability to suck money from his flock, I expected more. Maybe a nice leather chair or paintings on the wall. A wrangled child’s fingerpainting would be an upgrade to that peeling wallpaper. But I imagine that would dip into his ‘hobby’ fund.
Did his wife know about his extracurricular activities? He didn’t have any pictures of her. There were pictures of Trina everywhere, but not a single one of his wife. Interesting. Maybe he had a hard time looking at her. Guilt was a bitch, or so I’d been told.
I strolled over to the desk and picked up the wooden frame beside a large black bible. The little girl smiling back at me wasn’t anything like the teenager I’d been stalking. There was a sparkle in her eyes that wasn’t there anymore.
My sweet Marnie. She looked so happy here.
“Who hurt you, Little Bird?” I whispered while swiping my thumb over her smile.
Someone took something from her. I knew what that looked like. Ava used to smile like this too. Marnie wasn’t as broken as my sister, but she was definitely cracked. And not because of her father. His ‘special treatment’ seemed to be reserved for her sister. Or at least it had better be.
My ears twitched at the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall.
Right on time. Jacques Dupire was a creature of habit. Mondays were for errands. Tuesdays were yard work. On Wednesdays, he planned his next sermon and, at midnight, came here for a meeting. But his meeting tonight wouldn’t be coming.
Sitting down on the edge of the good Pastor’s desk, I crossed my ankles and waited.
“The door was unlocked, Gina. How many times do I–”
The words stopped the second the door swung open.
Jacques’s mouth hung open as his face screwed up in confusion.
“Gina’s not here,” I said while sliding the picture out of the frame.
Jacques didn’t seem phased by my presence. He took a second to dart his eyes around the room—probably looking for his ‘meeting’—before taking a step forward.
“Why are you here? And where is Gina?”
“She’s in my trunk.” I took one last look at my Bird’s happy face, then tucked the picture in my jacket pocket. “But don’t worry, I made sure she prayed before I cut her throat.”
“That’s mine,” he growled, without so much as flinching at my confession.
Not surprising, I suppose. My closet was full of skeletons, but the good Pastor’s would make Ryker Hudson jealous.
Sighing, I rolled my eyes up to his. “You’re awfully demanding.”
“This is my church, son.” He marched forward and held out his hand. “I’ll take my picture back.”
“It’s not yours.” Marnie was mine. “And neither is this church. The town owns this building, and I own the town, so I guess it’s my church.”
While I appreciated the irony of that statement, Jacques did not.
He let out a huff and crossed his arms. “This is a holy place, and I won’t have you defiling it.”
“Is that what you tell your daughter when you bring her here?”
For the first time, I saw concern in his expression. “What did Trina do?”
“I don’t give a fuck what Trina does or what you do with her.”
That got him. His throat bobbed as his eyes widened. “I don’t have much money.”
