Page 62 of Brimstone Hollow

Thy flowing wounds supply,

Redeeming love has been my theme,

And shall be till I die…

The song comes from all around me. A congregation of voices.

I’m in a big white tent. There are folding chairs out but we’re all standing, all singing.

The scent of perfume, sweat, and summer grass fills my nose.

I feel a hot, horrible hope well up inside my heart. It rushes like a river through my body, dangerous in its beauty.

“Lord Jesus, please won’t you help this child?” a voice says.

And then I’m pushed. There’s nothing I can do. I’m falling backward.

Before I hit the ground, I jolt awake.

I groan, stretch, smack my lips. My mouth tastes terrible. There’s drool on my cheek.

I sit up and swing my feet out of bed and—Kkkksshhhhhhhh.

“Shit,” I breathe.

Two beads of jet stare up at me from a coiled brown-and-black-banded body. A forked tongue flicks at the air.

Kkkkssshhhhhhhh.

My revolver is in my hand, my fingers wrapped tight around the cold metal grip. I cock the hammer back.

CLICK.

The rattle vibrates.

Kkkksshhhhhhhh.

My heart is thumping, my blood screaming in my ears.

And then my phone rings.

I blink. Only blink.

And the snake is gone.

“Jesus,” I exhale. “It wasn’t real.”

I’d been so exhausted, so wound up, I’d fallen into a post-sleep hallucination, exactly like the kind I suspected Katie of experiencing when she saw the floating hand.

My phone rings again. I pick it up from the nightstand and check the screen.

“Hey, Chief,” I answer.

“You okay?” Dishman asks, genuinely concerned. I must sound terrible.

“Yeah,” I say. “Just, um… just got in from a run. Did you get the exhumation order?”

I hear the noise of his cruiser’s engine in the background. Theticktockof his turn signal.