Page 119 of Horror and Chill
It’s a laptop.
“Oh boys,” she sings. “Look what I found when I did a little snooping in Pastor Williams’ office.” Her voice lilts, the kind that means she’s enjoying the moment too much. She turns the screen to face us, taps the pad and the page scrolls, revealing favorites and watch history like a secret diary.
There, in the center of the browser, is a page I know better than any preacher’s hymn. Her profile. Her cam name for the Behind the Lens site.
“Seems like good ole Pastor Williams is User259. I do believe I've even seen you in my comments and live feed."
“You sick bastard,” Corwin spits. “He tried to beat you into being a good little girl with God, and then jerks off to you when no one’s looking.”
I laugh. “Hypocrisy with a rosary.”
“This is golden,” Evander says. “He calls it ‘spiritual guidance’ then slides into her chat to watch her live.” He grinds his teeth. “The whole time he was preaching about sin and obedience, he was tracking our woman’s feed.”
Williams makes a sound behind the tape, urgent and wet. His eyes flick from the screen to Agatha, I’m sure trying to find the words to save him. There aren’t any. There’s just the glow and the photos and the mess he made.
I move, digging in the bag we brought and pulling out a hammer, blunt metal stakes the length of my forearm, and a can of lighter fluid. Evander lays out gloves and a set of heavy zip ties.
“Hold him steady,” I tell Corwin.
I lift the hammer and test the weight. Hitting the stake with a single measured blow, driving it into Williams’ hand and the cross until it sets with a small, angry thud. The sound echoes.
Williams screams, the sound raw and animal and muffled by the tape. It jerks his whole body, making the ropes pull tight. He gags and claws at the air, eyes wild and rolling.
The stake sits there like a punctuation mark.
I don’t wait for him to recover. I step back and wipe my hands on my jeans. Corwin watches Williams through slitted eyes, and I can see the contempt working under his skin.
“You built an army out of boys with shame.” I glare at him. “You feed on the weak, preacher. You train men to make their wives bow and hush their daughters. You taught them how to take a Bible in one hand and a belt in the other.”
Evander’s jaw tightens. “You taught them how to look for a promise where there was abuse and call it salvation. You gave them rules so they could hide their hurt behind scripture.”
For a second, Williams’ eyes almost look pleading, but I ignore it, moving to the other side of the cross and driving a stake through that hand too.
He sobs, and his body shakes as the pain fills every molecule in his pathetic body.
Corwin leans in so close his mouth is a breath from Williams’ ear. “You set boys loose on girls and called it discipline. You told mothers their place was silence and took their children for lectures in the dark. You taught men to think a tightened jaw was obedience, and a bruised child was proof you were right.”
Evander’s voice cuts in then. “And every time some poor thing came to the altar, you smiled like you were the only honest face left. You’re the one who made people afraid to notice the bruises around them.”
I stand in front of him and bend to remove his shoes so I can nail his ankles to the cross. He can mimic the God he madepeople fear. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Agatha come up the two steps to the cross and stand behind me.
In my mind, I expect her to slap him or even yell, but she doesn’t. She puts her hands on her hips and talks in a steady, brave voice. “User259. Watching me when you were telling people to look away. Praying on your knees in the morning, scrolling my feeds at night. Playing shepherd while you fed on your flock. The biggest sinner in your flock is you.”
Williams’ head shakes back and forth.
Evander smiles. “We should leave proof. People will get to choose. Make sure the town knows who led them wrong.”
“Do it,” Agatha says. “Get it all. Pictures, files, names. We’ll drop it on doorsteps throughout the town so no one can cover it up. We make sure those men who follow him have to explain themselves.”
Williams stares, eyes glassy, and for a second there’s something like panic that used to be power in his face. Now, it’s just the look of a man whose power has been taken away.
I draw my hammer back with one hand and hold a stake to his foot and pound it to the cross. It takes a few more hits than his hands did, and yet, by the time I stand up, both feet are nailed to the cross.
Agatha and Corwin head back to his office to gather ledgers, photos, and paper copies of all his victims. Evander moves as he always does when he’s decided something: steady, efficient, no wasted breath. He finds a bottle and the cloths we brought and lifts them like a surgeon prepping.
He pours the liquid onto Williams’ face, and his eyes flutter as he tries to blink it away. The sound he makes is animalistic and desperate. His hands jerk at the stakes, but he holds steady to the cross. The Temple Tincture is seeping into his eyes and irritating his face; we can only hope it’s burning his eyesight away.
A quick Google search told us exactly what it was they poured on our girl. Burdock root, milk thistle fruit, chamomile flowers, ginger root, and cane alcohol.
