Page 7 of The Darkness is Calling

And again.

I feel my skin begin to tighten.

I know who it is, and he knows I hate when he sends me one short message after another.

I clench my teeth and pull the phone from the pocket of my trousers, lifting it above my head.

Sasha: You said fifteen minutes. It’s been twenty-five.

Did the priest convert you?

My older brother’s reply appears immediately, directed at the youngest of the family.

Yar: Did the old ladies jump you?

Are you in danger?

I would leave the WhatsApp group my little

brother created again, but every time I do, he adds me back, so the gesture has become useless.

I tuck the phone back into my trouser pocket and sit up with a silent sigh. I look toward the altar, but no one is paying attention to me. I don’t even think they noticed when I came in, and I probably could have slept peacefully for a few minutes if the irritating voice of the man dressed in garments stitched with gold thread hadn’t fed the thirst making my blood race through my body.

Kill.

Kill.

I smile.

It’s time, I tell myself.

I rise slowly, step out from between the pews,

and stop in the long aisle brides walk down when they go to sign a different kind of sentence. Like them, I move closer to the altar, because I want him to see me. I want him to look into my eyes and understand why I am doing this.

He knows the reason.

I know it too.

So do the two little girls he sexually abused over the past year.

I don’t even know how many there were before them. They are only the ones I found out about.

Last week, I came here with one of the girls, but I played the part of the good man who had made a considerable donation to his church. Every trace of concern vanished from his face as he caught the expensive scent of my black suit, even though I was holding the hand of the eleven-year-old girl trembling beside me, terrified of the man trying to pose as a saint.

I stop behind the pews where the admirers of the priest, who isn’t even fifty, are sitting, so they won’t see me. By the time they understand what is happening, I will already be on my way to the door.

The priest sees me, and his brown eyes shine with delight. He probably thinks I’ve come to throw more money into the place where he carries out his sins with the girls chosen to be part of the church choir.

He keeps talking, but my solemn posture, my entirely black suit from shoes to tie and my cold eyes make him pay closer attention to me.

For one second, he stammers.

I extend my right arm, the pistol in my hand.

That is when he understands.

His face turns ashen, and the words stop completely. The air locks in his chest, and when I pull the trigger, I think that is the moment everything connects in his mind.