Page 114 of Brimstone Hollow

“I don’t know…” he says. “I don’t know what’s right and wrong anymore. I came here that night because I was worried about Brother Ezra and I saw him take money out of the altar. Thousands and thousands of dollars. And I watched as he put the other man’s clothes inside. I… I doubted him then. I remembered what it says in Luke, that even Satan can quote the scripture.”

“I know,” I say. My voice is just a whisper. I try to keep my eyes open. “I know…”

“I watched him drive away and I thought I could salvage something good from all of this evil. I could take the church toward the light. Toward real faith. Toward something… somethinggood. But then you came and… I never wanted to lie. Never. But that’s all I’ve done since you got here. Lie and lie and lie and I hate it!”

“Will…” I say, gasping. “Please. I need a hospital. Please…”

“No,” he says. “No, when you called, I realized that God had put an opportunity in front of me. You would come here—to this place of worship—and God would judge you.”

“Gavin…” I say. “Outside. In the cruiser. Please, just let him take me…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Will says. “I put sleeping pills in his food. No, we will sit here in this church and see what happens. Only God can pass final judgement. If you die, then I’ll know you were found wicked and wanting and God saw fit to snuff out your flame. I will tell one more lie and then I will rebuild this church into what it always should’ve been. Godly. And… and good. But if you live, I will turn myself in and…”

I feel my eyes close as Will’s words drain away.

I realize my arm is no longer burning. Instead, it’s gone completely numb.

When I open my eyes again, there’s a huge hand—gold and silver—hovering over Will’s head. The hand moves and words slip from the first finger like spider silk. They shimmer, lustrous, like a mirage.

You have been judged.

The scent of sulfur fills my nose.

“Drop it,” another voice says.

I blink. The world is off-kilter, everything on its edge. I realize I’ve slumped to the side.

The hand is gone. Instead, Gavin is standing in the double doors, behind Will. He’s holding a shotgun, aiming it at Will.

“Will Carpenter,” Gavin says. His voice is kind but firm. “Drop it. Please.”

Will turns, whirling around in surprise. I take as big a breath as I can manage and dive forward, scrambling for my gun. The fingers of my left hand wrap around the grip and I start to pull it toward me when—

BLAM!

I look up in time to see Gavin fall, dropping backward onto the concrete porch with a thud. Blood blooms from his chest, mixes with the rain. The shotgun clatters away, out of sight. My vision is blurred and I can barely lift my hand. The double action on the trigger feels impossibly heavy.

Will turns back to me, the Glock smoking in his hand. He looks at it, seemingly surprised.

I squeeze the trigger, as hard as I can.

BANG! BANG!

The gun kicks. The shot goes wild.

Will’s mouth opens in surprise.

BANG! BANG!

I try to aim, try to hold steady. But the world spins sideways. A carnival ride.

BANG! Click. Click.

He runs, away from the church, away from me.

My gun is empty, I realize. One bullet went into the floorboards to scare the snake. Four had gone wild. And one—one lucky shot—had hit Will. A spotty trail of blood leads out of the church and over the porch where Gavin lies gasping for air, a stream of blood flowing out from the right side of his chest.

“Gavin,” I breathe, forcing my body forward, crawling toward him. An eternity later, I slump down beside him.