Page 103 of Horror and Chill
I feel a cold guilt twist in my gut, but I push it down like always. Jay is dead, and I still don’t know how to process that without feeling awful or like crying.
“I still don’t fully understand what’s so special about me,” I breathe. It feels like I’ve asked myself and them this same thing a thousand times.
Corwin makes a sound like a half growl. “We see you. We saw you then, and we see you now. You do not bend. You are bold, kind, and powerful. We crushed on you when we were kids. You weren’t interested then and now we know and understand why.”
Heat pools in my belly.
“How did you know where I would be for that first shoot?” I ask, because I need all the pieces of our story, and it’s keeping my mind off of where I’m at.
“You posted it,” Evander says. “On socials. A picture of you checking out a new film spot, geotagged. You think you’re careful. You’re not. We saw you and waited. You went into the trees, and Jay followed. Only you came out.”
It should be simple. It makes sense. I should feel grateful and safe. Guilt claws at me because my friend is dead and these are the men who did it, and I have folded up the truth like a secret and put it in my pocket.
“Look,” Garron hisses, and his voice pulls me back to the mission.
Michael and Debra come out onto the porch. Michael first, the way men who think themselves powerful move. Debra behind him like a shadow. Her head bowed. They get into the old truck, and never once does her head lift.
I try to imagine living like that, hands folded, knees bent, mouth small. I couldn’t. The idea of servitude knots my stomach. The thought of walking in that routine day after day is more of an ache than I want to admit.
“You don’t have to be like them,” Evander says softly next to me. “We don’t ask you to bend. We want you to rule with us, not bow to us.”
There is a softness in his voice that makes something in my chest unclench. These boys are violent by trade, but they keep moments like that like a secret.
Garron starts the car, and we fall into a shadowed line behind Michael and Debra. The drive takes us to the place that always made my stomach turn and the hair on my arms stand on end. The church sits white and clean as a lie. The parking lot has a few trucks and a mom wrangling kids.
We park a few buildings away. I can feel my whole body tense. “I cannot go in there,” I whisper.
Corwin volunteers. “I will.”
“No,” I hiss, the word small and fierce. “You will kill someone.”
“That’s the point,” he says.
“Not like this,” Evander says. “I do not want senseless noise. I want a reckoning.”
Garron opens his door. “I’ll go,” he says. He stands and walks toward the church.
I let my hands fall into my lap. The car is quiet. Corwin mutters about false prophets as he slides behind the driver’s wheel. Evander watches the doors like they mesmerize him.
When Garron disappears through the church door, I realize the whole world has narrowed down to what we’ll do from here. I do not know if my heart will forgive me for what we plan to do.
43
Garron
The church lookssmall from the outside. A plain white building with a crooked steeple and a hand-painted sign out front that saysChrist Redeemer Community Church. The parking lot is half gravel, half dirt. A line of vehicles sits bumper to bumper. F-150s and rusted station wagons, the kind of vehicles that tell you everything about the men who drive them.
I push through the front door. It sticks before it gives way. The smell hits me first. Bleach. Heavy and sharp and it stings my nose. The inside is too clean. Not the kind of clean you do because you care, but the kind of clean you do to scrub away the filth. The floors shine. The wooden pews are polished to the point they almost glow under the fluorescent lights. Crosses hang on every wall, each one a little bigger than the last, like they’re trying to outdo each other.
A few people stand around chatting. Men in stiff shirts, women in long skirts with their hair done tight. Their voices stay low, polite, like they’re all afraid of saying the wrong thing. I nod at the ones who glance at me. Most don’t nod back.
All I can think is how the fuck did Agatha ever breathe in here. They must have dulled her shine, pressed her into something small, something obedient, something that isn’t her. The woman I know doesn’t whisper. She doesn’t bow her head. She laughs loud and cuts with words sharp enough to bleed. Knowing she was forced into this… it twists something in me. This place is beneath her. Always was. Always will be.
Michael and Debra are a few steps ahead of me. They split at the end of the hall. Debra slips through a narrow door to the left. Michael heads down a flight of stairs. I hesitate, then follow him.
The basement smells worse. Bleach and sweat mixed together. The space looks like a gym and a Bible had a baby. Checkered tile floors cover the space, a few toys are shoved in the corner, and a giant wooden cross is nailed right above a chalkboard that’s been filled with scripture. Folding chairs line the walls.
I don’t make it far before an older man steps in front of me. His hair is gray at the temples, but his eyes are sharp.
