Page 121 of Horror and Chill
There’s a pause, then, “How could I? How did you get the pastor’s phone?”
“I’m at the church with him,” I say, letting my voice wobble like I’m some scared little girl. “I came home, Mark. I need to be cleansed, and Pastor Williams thought you would help.” The words feel like glass in my throat. I hate how easy it is to slip back into that role, like the obedient lamb they always wanted.
“Sure. Of course. Anything for a member of the flock, no matter how far they’ve fallen,” he replies.
“Thank you,” I whisper, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek. “We’ll be in the chapel.”
“I’ll see you in ten minutes,” he says, and then the line goes dead.
For a moment I just sit there, the phone heavy in my hand, bile climbing the back of my throat. Playing small again makes my skin crawl. But I push up from the desk, shove the phone in my pocket, and head back down the hall.
I skip out of the office to find the guys, breath quick from the thrill. “He’s coming,” I tell them, and the plan clicks into place.
We lie in wait until we see his headlights through the window at the front. They press flat against each side of the chapel doors, bodies hidden by shadow, ready to close in. I stand right inside, the bait in plain sight. The doors creak and open.
Lundy steps through, grin wide, like a mad hatter who’s just spotted his prize. “You’re all grown up, Agatha.”
I giggle. “You knew that already, Mark. Williams confessed he’s watched my channel. And so have you. Sometimes even together.”
Color rises in his cheeks. He shifts. “I can’t lie. It’s true. We did.”
“Come, Mark.” I lean closer, voice sweet as sugar. “I can’t wait for you to see our setup. Williams went all out for my return. Ooohhh, I should blindfold you—that would be fun.”
He tilts his head, curious, weighing it, but then he nods. He trusts me. Idiot.
I snatch a tie from the lost and found bin by the coat rack and loop it over his eyes, knotting it firmly at the back of his head. He chuckles under his breath; I’m sure he assumes this is some game.
I lead him by the hand down the aisle. My guys ghost behind us, steps feather-light.
At the front, I tug the tie loose. His eyes blink against the brightness, and then he sees Williams nailed to the cross.
“What the fu?—”
“Ah ah ah, Lundy,” I cut in. “No swearing in the Lord’s house.”
His face drains. “What have you done, Agatha?” He takes one step forward, then freezes. His voice cracks. “Is he?—?”
“Dead?” I smile wider. “Yes.”
He pales, all the blood draining from him. He whirls, trying to bolt for the doors.
But my men are already there. They surge forward, catching him before he makes it two steps. He thrashes when their hands close on him, arms pinwheeling.
Corwin catches him around the chest, squeezing the air out of him in one solid hold. Evander grabs his wrists and twists them behind his back until Lundy yelps, knees buckling. Garron moves in low, sweeping his legs, and the three of them drag him down like it’s nothing.
I stand a few steps away, heart hammering, but my face is calm. Watching it unfold feels like déjà vu, but this time I’m not the one being pinned. This time I’m the one standing.
“Let me go!” Lundy spits, kicking, but Garron drives his knee into his ribs, sharp and mean, and the fight drains out of him quickly.
Corwin growls close to his ear. “You’re not going anywhere, Pastor.”
He writhes, useless, glaring up at me like I might save him.
I tilt my head and smile. “What’s wrong, Mark? I thought you liked my little games.”
His face twists, veins standing out in his neck, but he can’t answer. Corwin yanks a strip of duct tape from the roll and slaps it over his mouth, cutting the noise to muffled grunts.
“Up,” Garron orders. They haul him to his knees, then to his feet, but instead of dragging him down the aisle, Corwin sweeps a hand across the communion table near the steps. Candles, offering plates, and hymnals scatter to the floor with a clatter.
