After the death of Moreno Brunelli, Gates Mill erupted with a vibrant sense of exigency.
The once quiet Texas town now played host to various news broadcasts, accusations, national stories, and protesters visiting from other towns, some even arriving from out of state. Each day—whenever Ariella and her friends rode in the truck to school, or when Vance and Lumis drove through the town during their workday—they would see more traffic than usual, the main road cluttered with protesters who seemed to harbor a deep disdain for the death of Moreno Brunelli. Many of the signs read things like JUSTICE NOT DEATH, THE HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS, and INTOLERANCE HAS BECOME MURDER. According to Lumis and his associates in the precinct, these protesters were pedophile sympathizers—and Vance was forced to look away from the sidewalks whenever he drove past the nutjobs, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to throw debris at them from the window.
And, contrary to these protesters—yet another extremist group had set up shop in Gates Mill, a huge gang of religious types who were holding very different types of protests. These extremists usually avoided the main road; instead, they would hunt down all the churches in Gates Mill, scream vulgarities at everyone who visited the churches, and flash their obnoxious signs at all the church attendees. Ariella, Vance, and everyone else frequently saw these protesters in passing. Their leader was an obese woman with a bellowing voice. The leader woman and her flock often displayed signs like YOU ALL DESERVE IT, DEATH TO THE WICKED, GATES MILL SHOULD BURN, GOD HATES YOU, MORENO BRUNELLI BURNS ETERNAL, and JUSTICE KNOWS NO MERCY.
Ariella and her friends spoke frequently about the protesters on the podcast, and they continued to generate massive reactions both online and throughout their school. Ariella continued to run errands for Rodney and help Julian with the church whenever it was needed, and while the town was undergoing a wave of urgency, none of them thought twice about it until the day the protesters targeted Gates Mill Church of God.
This was the same day Cutthroat dared to venture into public again.
He didn’t travel into Gates Mill this time; Cutthroat took a long walk to Harbor County, stopping in the first Laundromat he found and using his phone to connect to the Wi-Fi. After downloading all the latest podcast episodes, he searched over various other news websites, sitting in the corner of the Laundromat and reading as quickly as he could. He learned all about the protesters in Gates Mill, and the more he read, the angrier he became.
He didn’t reach his isolated shack again until around 3 pm.
When Cutthroat stepped into his dingy home, he glared at his wall, reading over his list of victims and trophies and gently stroking the scar along his cheek. He stood stock still for a while, his mind racing, heart pounding with a growing frustration.
It seemed the town—and the rest of the country—wasn’t understanding his message at all.
In fact, the more rampant the panic became, the less clear his message came to be.
Cutthroat’s adrenaline began to spike, his heart thrashing harder—now with excitement as well as agitation. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would protest against the death of a pedophile, even going as far as defending his actions—and the religious protesters were no better. He knew of those religious protesters full well, and he knew they often preached various types of intolerances across the board. They were as hypocritical and misguided as the rest.
It seemed clear that something needed to be done.
Somehow—by some drastic, clearer action—he would ensure that his message did not remain lost among the masses.
Cutthroat’s eyes locked onto his wall, fixating on his most recent victim. The name Brunelli was at the bottom of the list, and across from it, a bloody stain was on the paper, a saggy, cap-like chunk of flesh pinned perfectly into the board. A wicked smirk crawled across his face as he stared at it, the tip of his manhood, the very tool he once used to violate others. No longer could he weaponize that worthless tool of his.
Only Cutthroat’s tool remained in power—the rusty, bloodstained branch-saw that sat idly on the table beneath his wall of morbid trophies.
His mind wandered back to the podcasters—and to Ariella, and all of her friends. He’d been keeping a close eye on her for a good long while now, as well as her friends, her professor, her church, and her pastor. The longer he pondered on the podcasters, the more he felt the need to visit the town once more.
The thought of visiting Gates Mill during this frantic time was incredibly unsettling—but the town wasn’t getting his message, and the podcasters were due to visit their church again tonight.
It didn’t matter that the entire town was on high alert because of him, and it didn’t matter that the hound dog, Vance Callaghan, was on the hunt for him.
Something needed to be done; he’d chosen this path long ago, and he wouldn’t accomplish his goal if he didn’t take further action now.
He took a deep breath, grabbed his weapon, and marched out of his home with a powerful stride.
His message would become clear before night’s end.
As Ariella and her friends walked to Gates Mill Church of God, Arkus and Jaxson traded ideas about a new game for the podcast. Lucy hung off of Zane’s arm, Zane rolling his eyes, and Tammy was reading a book from psychology class, having a hard time trying to study and walk simultaneously, sometimes tripping on rocks and curbs.
“You don’t like any of those girls, do you?” Lucy asked, probably for the twentieth time today.
Zane shrugged. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”
“Why’d you take all their phone numbers?”
“Because they’re hot. Sue me.”
“But they’re just fangirls! They don’t actually care about you!” Lucy proclaimed.
Zane turned his head and glared her. “ You’re a fangirl.”
“Oh my God ,” Jaxson groaned, throwing his head back and staring irritably up at the sky, his bangs flying backward. “Would you two please, shut, up .”
Zane and Lucy had been bantering back and forth all day. Lucy got wound up when the fangirls at school surrounded Zane and the others, and she hadn’t yet dropped the issue.
“God—I really like you, and I really care about you,” Lucy whined. “What do I have to do? Climb the tallest building in town and shout it to the world?”
“No… but you could climb it and jump off,” Zane snarked back. “Then you won’t have nothing to worry about anymore. And it’ll be quieter.”
Lucy continued to moan and groan in Zane’s ear.
“Wish I could get that kind of attention from a girl,” Jaxson remarked, glancing back at Zane and Lucy. “Lucky asshole.”
“Don’t complain,” Tammy said, looking up from her book. “You’re getting attention, too… and so are we. Ari’s been getting some guys fanboying over her. The guys from the vocational class? Some of them are really cute, and they all love the podcast. A couple of them asked me if Ari was seeing anyone… and one of them asked me out, too.”
“What?” Ariella asked, instantly flushing.
“Yeah,” Tammy affirmed. “Why’re you surprised? You and Arkus and Jax pretty much run the murder segment—not to mention, you’re hot and you have the prettiest fucking blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I hate you for that. I only get the nerdiest fucking people coming after me now…”
“So… you’re gonna start dating a nerd man?” Jaxson asked Tammy. “That’s cool. If you’re gonna start dating, might as well start out slow. With beta-males.”
“Shut up …!” Tammy whacked him on the side of the head. “You’re so mean!”
“What, are you new here?” Jaxson grouched, rubbing his temple. “I’ve always been mean…”
Arkus was at the front of the group, gazing forward and falling oddly silent. Ariella sprinted up to him, wanting to ask him what was wrong, but she got her answer right away.
Down the street—at the edge of the church’s steep driveway—a line of protesters were standing across the street, holding abhorrent picket signs and throwing garbage across the road. At the driveway’s end, right on the church’s property line—Julian was standing opposite the protesters, hat tenting over his eyes, hands cupped behind his back, listening calmly as the protesters screamed at him.
Ariella’s group stopped walking and fell silent, all of them exchanging curious expressions.
At the front of the pack of protesters was the large, middle-aged woman with short graying hair and a saggy, sour face, which was twisted into a scowling expression. This woman—the leader of the religious protesters—began chanting, and the others were quick to follow her example.
“Down—with—false—churches!” the fat leader woman screamed. “Down—with—false—churches! Down—with—false—preachers!”
The pack of protesters, consisting of about twenty-five people, all repeated these lines, growing louder and louder.
Julian stared back at them with raised brows, seeming unfazed.
“What the hell is happening right now?” Ariella wondered. “Why’re they yelling at Julian?”
“Because he’s a preacher in a town of sin,” Arkus replied grimly. “I saw them on the news yesterday. They protest outside of all the churches in town. They hate everyone in Gates Mill, especially everyone at the churches here.”
Just then—a van rolled past them.
It was a media van; the vehicle parked beside the pack of religious protesters, and the local newswoman—Becky Miller—stepped out, holding a microphone and swiping her wavy hair aside, followed at the heels by a pudgy cameraman. Becky stood in the road and straightened up, and she began narrating into the camera with the protesters in the background of her shot.
Ariella felt a bolt of nervousness shoot down her body as she watched the scene unfold, but she gulped, taking a deep breath and forcing the feeling away. She and her friends observed quietly from the sidelines.
“I’m standing just across the street from Gates Mill Church of God—the fourth church to be visited by the protesters since their arrival—and as you can see behind me, they intend for their message to be heard. Miss?” Becky Miller turned around, waving and grabbing Leader-Woman’s attention. “What message are you trying to convey to the good people of Gates Mill?”
“ Good people? ” Leader-Woman scoffed ridiculously, her fat face jiggling as she reared back with disgust. “The people in this town are wicked—and they will face God’s wrath for their imperfections! This town spawns murderers —Gates Mill is known for its veteran population—and war is a crime against The Lord! This town harbors war veterans, homosexuals, and fake preachers like him who accept these wicked sinners into their churches!”
Leader-Woman’s flabby arm jutted out, pointing accusingly across the street at Julian. The cameraman shifted the camera over to the youth pastor, and Julian merely waved at the camera, wearing a whimsical smile.
“And look how proud he is!” Leader-Woman hollered, clearly annoyed that her yammering wasn’t bothering Julian at all. “He’s proud to let gays into his church! He’s proud to let delinquents into his church! He’s proud to celebrate Halloween—a Satanic holiday! He’s proud to blaspheme against The Lord, Our God!”
Ariella’s hands balled into fists.
“Of course I’m proud,” Julian said simply. “I have the peace and clarity of The Lord, sister. A true Christain is not meant to hate or judge anyone.”
“Tolerance for sin is nothing to be proud of!” Leader-Woman shrieked, spitting as she yelled. “You’re nothing but a heathen! And you’ll know it soon enough— when you’re burning in Hell like you deserve ! The Lord shows no mercy to the wicked!”
She grabbed her sign and held it up high, all of her followers cheering behind her. The sign read DEATH TO THE WICKED.
“So, you believe that all churches apart from yours are wicked?” Becky inquired, holding her microphone closer to Leader-Woman. “What makes your church any better than the churches here in Gates Mill?”
“Gates Mill is Murder Town! ” Leader-Woman yowled. “Veterans, and pedophiles, and serial killers—open your eyes! It doesn’t take a genius to see how evil this town is! And now—with all the killings—God is exacting his revenge on Murder Town, just like they deserve! This is God’s will! This is the glory of God’s retribution! You all deserve to die!”
Her fat arm pointed at Julian again.
“Especially people like you! ” she shrieked hatefully.
“Oh—SHUT UP!” Ariella erupted—storming toward the scene.
Arkus made a grab for her and missed.
Julian, Becky, and Leader-Woman all whirled around to see Ariella march forward, taking a stand at her pastor’s side.
“Why don’t you all just fuck off and go home?!” Ariella yelled at the protesters. “You really need to stop talking down to my friend—and veterans ? You’re talking shit about my dad, too. You can all just shut the hell up!”
“Ari…” Julian murmured warily, but Becky cut him off.
“And who are you?” Becky questioned, approaching and holding the microphone to Ariella.
“Ari,” Ariella stated, fighting down a rush of anxiousness as the camera aimed at her. “This is Julian, one of my best friends—and my father is a veteran.”
“Ari…” Arkus whispered, trying to grab her arm and pull her away, but she stayed put.
“And you, young man?” Becky and the camera both turned to Arkus. “What is your name?”
“Oh… who, me? I…” Arkus stuttered. “I’m, er… I’m Arkus. Commentator for the Gates Mill Gate Keepers. You can find us on jaxmax.com and follow our podcast. We follow the current events of Gates Mill and the murders that have been happening.”
“Nice,” Jaxson uttered with a smirk, smoothly placing his feathered hat atop his head. “He plugged us on the news. Awesome .”
“We’re trying to help solve everything,” Ariella announced loudly, shooting a nasty look at the protesters. “I’ve seen people get killed before. This topic hits close to home for us.”
“You witnessed murders? ” Leader-Woman shouted back. “Then The Lord wants you to see them! You saw those horrible things because you were meant to! It is God’s will! The Lord is sending you a message! He’s telling you that your sinful town is going to fall at his hands! Retribution for the wicked!”
“Really? Because I could’ve sworn it was because some crazy fucking freak just decided to go on a killing spree!” Ariella screamed.
“You’re a sinner— all of you are! You’re heathens, and you all deserve to die! Especially your false preachers— and especially people like your war-mongering father! ”
Something took over her instantly; Ariella shot under Becky’s arm and darted across the street, planting a solid kick into Leader-Woman’s picket sign. Leader-Woman fell to the grass, her round body knocking over several people near her. She hit the ground hard, kicking and flailing like a turtle on its back as countless shouts overtook the scene.
Ariella’s blood boiled, her thoughts gone, her worries absent, and just when she was about to mount Leader-Woman and throw a series of punches—Arkus and Julian seized her by the arms and yanked her away by force.
Leader-Woman’s allies threw down their signs and stepped forward, preparing for a fight.
Zane, Jaxson, Tammy, and Lucy all rushed forward, ready for the same.
Ariella fought to break free, but Arkus and Julian had practically wrapped themselves around either of her arms.
“Don’t,” Arkus whispered to her. “You’re on camera.”
Ariella didn’t care—she was livid.
Leader-Woman and her cronies stomped forward, all of them wanting to attack.
Arkus pulled Ariella away with all his might, and Julian let go of her, stepping between her and the mob of religious extremists like a human shield.
The mob continued forward, apparently planning to plow through Julian—but then, Zane and Jaxson stepped up, fists raised, standing around Julian and ready to throw down. Tammy stood directly in front of Julian, her hands shaking angrily as they curled into fists, and Lucy went to Zane’s side, trying to imitate his fighting stance.
When a crowd formed around Julian, the religious mob slowly lost their ambition. They all eased to a stop, glaring hatefully at the pastor and the group of people surrounding him—and all at once, everyone froze, glaring daggers into one another in the middle of the street in a long, heated standoff.
Becky was talking a mile a minute as her cameraman filmed the whole ordeal.
Ariella was on the other side of the street now, Arkus keeping his arms coiled tightly around her like a human harness.
There was a pause.
“Big man, you are,” Leader-Woman spat at Julian. “Hiding behind a bunch of thugs.”
Julian shrugged. “Normally, I try to take the diplomatic route… but, what can I say? Violence does solve some problems. I would advise that you stay away from my church, unless you want to see me lose all my diplomacy skills. That’d be a real shame.”
He was speaking incredibly quietly—so quietly, the camera couldn’t pick up his voice, and he was still smiling, appearing as if he was having a pleasant conversation.
“My friends and I don’t want to see you in or near my church—understand?” he said in a soft, light tone, perking hiw brow curtly at them.
The Leader-Woman’s face twisted into a furious, hideous expression.
“Thank you for your understanding,” Julian said politely, giving a slight bow and a casual wave. “Have a good day… and… God bless.”
At that, Julian motioned for the others to follow as he headed toward the steep driveway. He, Ariella, Arkus, and the others walked up the driveway and disappeared from the view of the protesters and Becky Miller’s camera.
They were all quiet until they reached the top of the hill and strolled to the other side of the empty parking lot, stopping at the double-doors of the youth wing. Julian let out a cloud of breath, removed his glasses, massaged his eyes, then put his glasses back on, facing Ariella.
“Please… don’t scare me like that again,” Julian sighed. “You could’ve been seriously hurt. Not to mention, the news was filming the whole thing. You could get in trouble. They have video evidence of you assaulting that woman.”
“I don’t care,” Ariella retorted, still fuming. “How can you just stand there and listen to them talk to you like that?!”
“Because their words don’t mean anything. They’re just idiots,” Julian told her. “Their opinions don’t matter.”
“Why were you just standing there, Julian?” Tammy asked. “I mean, I understand what you’re saying, but… they were throwing cans at you, and calling you names, and stuff. Why were you just standing there and letting it happen? Why didn’t you just leave?”
“Because… I knew the media would show up,” Julian explained. “I’ve seen those people on the news just about every day this week. If I stood there and stayed polite, I knew I’d have the moral high ground, and everyone watching the news will know it, too. Maybe if the townspeople see how those so-called Christians treat their community, it might urge the town to push them out. I don’t believe in starting fights, but… it wouldn’t be right of me to run and hide, either.”
“So… you stood there and did nothing on purpose?” Jaxson asked. “You made them look like the bad guys without even doing anything.”
“Exactly,” Julian agreed. “I didn’t have to make them look like the bad guys. They do it all by themselves, quite naturally.”
Ariella didn’t care about Julian’s tactful plan; the fat woman’s voice was still rattling around in her skull, angering her more by the minute.
“Ari… y’okay?” Arkus asked her.
“No,” Ariella growled. “I’m pissed. That bitch said my dad deserved to die. She has no idea what the hell she’s talking about…”
“You’re right, she doesn’t,” Julian said firmly. “That’s why you shouldn’t take it so personally. She’s nothing important.”
“I like how you went all Navy SEAL on her ass,” Zane complimented, smirking at Ariella. “You would’ve stomped her if you had the chance.”
Arkus and Jaxson chuckled, nodding in agreement.
Ariella breathed out a laugh. “I guess…”
“Okay… let’s go inside,” Julian said tiredly. “And forget this ever happened.”
They entered the youth wing, Arkus and Jaxson instantly diving for the basketballs and launching them at each other.
Ariella couldn’t stay angry, despite her best effort to do so; this was one of her favorite times of the week, when they’d show up to the youth service two hours early just to play in the gym and the game room. She decided to forget about the incident, at least for now.
Ariella and Tammy kicked basketballs at each other while Arkus and Jaxson used them as dodgeballs, as they usually did. Zane tried to break away from the group and listen to his mp3 player, but Lucy was stuck to him like glue. Julian had already gotten much of his cleaning done earlier in the day, and he wouldn’t have to clean again until after the service, so he sat on his foldable stage and watched his friends as they goofed around.
Meanwhile, in the woods surrounding the church—Cutthroat stared down the hill, eyeing the double-doors where the group of podcasters had vanished from his eyeshot. He remained hidden in the shadows of the trees, branches and shade tenting over him.
He plotted his next move, and this time, he’d have to be patient.
After nightfall, he would spring into action.
As time passed and as the church filled with young attendees, Ariella helped Julian to collect the basketballs and set up all the metal folding chairs. The chatter died down, and when it did, Ariella and her friends took their usual seats in the corner, watching as Julian preached.
Surprisingly, the young pastor opened his speech with a topic that didn’t involve the Bible.
“We all know what’s been going on lately,” Julian said, surveying all the faces staring back at him. “I’m talking about a great sin… one of the worst. I’m talking about something the rest of the world is demonizing our town for. I’m talking about murder.”
The whispers faded, the crowd falling deathly silent.
“The news has been exploiting it, and people have been reacting drastically to it. People tell me they’re afraid to leave their homes. They’re afraid to talk to anyone they don’t know. They want to move out of Gates Mill. People have been coming here from all over, just to ogle at us, just to demonize us. In times like these, our faiths are challenged, sometimes abandoned. But we shouldn’t be afraid. Hand your problems over to God… and relax. We have so much to do in this town. Me, myself—I’m only in my twenties, and most of you are even younger than I am. We have our whole lives ahead of us. We are not responsible for the murders taking place here, despite how Gates Mill has been portrayed to the rest of the world. We don’t have to let fear dictate our lives, nor should we let the media or the ignorant masses determine who we are.”
He carried on this tangent for a while, occasionally referencing the Bible amidst the speech about the Gates Mills murders. When he finished, he left a sense of severity in the air, looming over the crowd of stony-faced church attendees. Everyone silently moved to the dining area, but when they all saw the long line of pizza boxes, the tension lifted. Everyone began to eat and chat, and Julian put all the chairs away, clearing space for everyone to play in the gym.
Ariella and her friends ventured up the stairs to the game room, Zane playing one of the old arcade games while Arkus and Jaxson played pool. Tammy and Lucy took their usual corner and gossiped among themselves.
Ariella hung back and watched everyone, Julian’s speech still on her mind, her thoughts repeatedly wandering back to the incident with the protesters. She then thought of her father; she so hated to hear people slander him, especially people who had never even met him before. Vance was her hero—quite literally—and he was working day and night to protect the town. Yet still, people always found a reason to chastise him. Some of the cops at the precinct, Detective Lumis’s wife—and now, a group of religious strangers were unjustly demonizing him, too. The longer she pondered on it, the more confused she became by the infuriating phenomenon. Perhaps Rodney could explain this hysteria to her. He was the expert on psychology, after all…
Ariella left the game room and headed down the stairs, entering the dining area, which was mostly empty now. She grabbed a rag from the kitchen and went to work, helping Julian to wipe down the tables.
“I can count on you every day, can’t I?” Julian smiled. “I really do appreciate all the help.”
“You shouldn’t be doing it all alone,” Ariella replied.
When they were done wiping the tables, she moved to the kitchen and began pre-rinsing the dishes so Julian could wash them with less hassle. Moments later, he approached her from behind, seeming worrisome.
“Ari, I have a question.”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you really start that podcast?”
Ariella stopped. “I don’t know. It just seemed like a fun thing to do. It was Jax’s idea.”
“I’ve been listening every week,” Julian said. “I really love it. It’s an honorable goal, what you guys are trying to do… I just hope you’re being careful about it. You’ve seen this psycho’s work up close and personally, and I don’t… I don’t like thinking that he’s so close to you all.”
“Don’t worry,” Ariella told him reassuringly. “Nothing bad is gonna happen to us.”
Julian managed a smile and a nod.
Parents drove in and out of the parking lot after nightfall, church attendees leaving, the crowd whittling down until the gym was empty.
Soon, Ariella and her friends were the only ones left accompanying Julian. They always showed up early, and they always stayed late, as was their usual weekly routine. The once loud and bustling church fell somberly silent once more, and Julian began powering all of the lights off one by one.
“I’d appreciate it if you guys could help me lock up again,” Julian requested. “If you can lock the doors in the gym and the back entrance, I’ll go up front and double-check all the doors on that side. Meet me at the front when you’re done. if you could.”
Everyone agreed, and Julian nodded and shuffled off.
Ariella and Tammy went to lock the back door while Arkus and the others locked the double-doors. As they found the light switches and turned them off—Julian navigated through the main church, marching between the pews and turning off various lights as he checked the side doors, ensuring they were all locked before heading for the front entrance.
Just as he made his way down the darkened room and approached the double-doors, a peculiar scent slithered up his nose.
Julian slowed his step, treading steadily closer to the doors as the odd smell grew stronger. Inhaling heavily and feeling a spark of anxiety, he reached forward and gently pushed the doors open, slowly stepping outside and glancing around, the smell thickening terribly.
The doors eased shut behind him. He stood beneath the night sky, lingering at the front of the building for a short while, staring down the hill where the protesters were hours ago. A few picket signs were lying in the grass, but the mob of protesters was gone without a trace. Julian hoped they didn’t plan to return the next day to pick up their signs and continue their hateful banter, but really, it wouldn’t matter if they did. He and his friends wouldn’t be here again until the next youth service, after all.
“Idiots,” he murmured, shaking his head and turning back to the entrance.
He pulled the doors—but they would not open.
“What…?” Julian uttered, yanking on the door handles again. “I didn’t lock this already, did I? No, I know I didn’t…”
He tried to jerk the doors open a third time, but to no avail.
Perhaps those protesters had gotten into the church. That might’ve been why they left their signs down the hill. They might’ve still been nearby, and now, they were pulling a prank on one of the churches they hated.
Julian glanced down the hill again, searching for any hint of movement amidst the darkness and the abandoned picket signs, but he saw no one, and heard nothing.
So, he banged on the doors once more, shaking the hinges. “Very funny. Open the door.”
No one answered.
He squinted through the glass, gazing across the main room and the hallway just beside it, seeing only darkness. Perhaps it wasn’t the fanatical protesters who were toying with him now. He didn’t put it past his friends to pull a prank like this just to scare him for the fun of it. It wouldn’t have been the first time Arkus or Jaxson had such such a thing.
“Guys?” Julian yelled into the door, knocking again.
There was no response.
He sighed and dug into his pocket, then pulled out his keys, searching through them and trying to find the right one for the main entrance.
Something dripped onto his forehead and trickled just over his eyes.
Julian clasped his eyes shut and reared slightly back, making a wincing sort of face. He wiped the liquid off, thinking that a small rainfall might have just started.
Though when he examined his finger, he found no rainwater—but a small smear of blood.
He fell entirely still, staring at his finger as if his eyes were simply lying to him—but the longer he stared, the more certain he was that blood was smeared across his fingertip, his expression falling stony, his heart beginning to pound with a hard, heavy throb.
Then, he glimpsed down, past his hand, eyes slowly wandering to the concrete he stood upon—seeing that he was standing in a puddle, one much too thick and dark to be water.
Crimson ooz was pooled on the pavement beneath him, staining the soles of his shoes.
“Wh…” Julian gasped breathlessly.
His heart jolted with fear, and he slowly, dreadfully turned his gaze upward, searching for wherever the bloodfall had rained from.
On the top of the roof, and hanging directly above him—a figure was fixed onto the cross of the church, something large and round, about the size of a person, pouring blood, something skinnier hanging limply from beneath it—and a stream of crimson ran down the front of the building, dripping steadily to the ground just before him.
“ Oh my G …!”
Julian staggered back in a fright, clasping his mouth and forcing down a great wave of shock. Then, he tore his eyes from the morbid scene above and frantically separated his keys, jamming one into the entrance and shakily unlocking it.
He ripped the doors open rushed inside in an adrenalized daze, darting into the darkness, not able to see where he was going—
He collided with someone—screaming and scrambling back.
Ariella emerged from the shadows just before the pastor, Arkus and the rest of the gang following behind her.
“Julian—?”
“He’s here,” Julian stammered, grasping her shoulders and thoughtlessly pushing her away from the main entrance. “He’s here—listen—someone’s dead—the killer’s here—”
“The killer’s here? ” Tammy gasped.
Lucy clung to Zane fearfully. Arkus, Jaxson, and Zane all swapped serious looks.
“He’s… th-there’s a body out there, I think… maybe… um… two of them,” Julian told them, his voice trembling horribly. “It-it’s on the roof… bleeding… all over…”
“It’s okay,” Ariella assured, gently grabbing his arms. “Julian, it’s…”
“No… no, listen, he locked the door behind me,” Julian stuttered. “He locked the door when I stepped outside, and I had t… to unlock it again…”
“He’s inside somewhere,” Arkus understood, his eyes warily scoping up and down the darkened room. “With us.”
A long, terrible silence fell.
They all glimpsed around, the ordinarily calm darkness of the night now mysterious and unsettling, the church now feeling more like a grave, enclosed trap than a house of sanctuary.
“W… we need to call the cops,” Tammy said faintly. “Before something happens…”
“No, we need to get out ,” Arkus argued. “We’ll call the cops when we’re outside. It’s too enclosed in here. He could sneak up on us. He can’t sneak us if we’re out in the open—and I’ve got Vance’s revolver in my truck. We need to get to the truck now .”
“Yeah, let’s go. C’mon.” Ariella tried to lead everyone toward the main entrance, but Julian pulled her back.
“D—don’t,” he choked, shaking his head at her. “It’s right out there—it’s right out there. Don’t. Y—you don’t need to look at—”
“We have to go out that way. It’s the closest,” Ariella told him. “Come on.”
She tugged him along, dragging him toward the doors, the others following suit. She held Julian’s hand tightly as she walked, and she used the other to pull out her phone, turning it on and quickly dialing her father.
Vance was at home, pacing, racking his mind and drawing invisible spider webs of information in the air, as he often did. When his phone rang, he snapped out of his thoughts and answered it.
“Ari—”
“Dad—the killer’s here,” Ariella breathed. “He’s here with me and my friends.”
Vance’s heart dropped. “Where?”
“Gates Mill Church of God. There’s a body outside, maybe two. Julian just saw it.”
“I’ll be there in a second. Call 911.”
“Okay, I love you…”
“Love you too.”
Vance hung up—and he exploded out the front door, primed with a sudden burst of adrenaline. He leaped into his car, grabbing his 45 from the glove box and placing it in his lap. He then started the car, launched out of the driveway, and sped off like an absolute maniac.
All the while—Ariella and Arkus led their friends through the narrow darkened hall, both of their hearts hammering madly, a slow, steady fear rising inside, every soft footstep setting them on edge, every slight sound sending a shiver down their spines.
Nevertheless, they carried on, Ariella maintaining a viselike hold of Julian’s hand.
When they reached the doors, Arkus pushed them open.
The group hurried out of the church, stepping over the blood puddle and heading over to the middle of the parking lot.
“Don’t… don’t look up,” Julian urged them. “Don’t look up… just… keep walking…”
Ariella dialed 911 and informed them of the emergency, then hung up and spun around, her head going light, as she felt as if she was living through yet another dream. They were all in the center of the parking lot, standing still in the darkness next to Arkus’s truck, no killers in sight, the wind gusting by peacefully and unthreateningly, though the silent, dreadful tension looming over them now felt practically maddening.
Arkus opened his driver door and leaned into the vehicle, quickly retrieving Vance’s silver 357 from the glove box and sliding the small gun into his leather jacket, keeping a tight hold of it. Ariella suppressed the panic growing inside her, as did everyone else; they were all standing in a crooked circle, keeping eyes on all directions, Lucy and Tammy on the verge of tears. Julian was facing away from the church, his breaths becoming thin, hand clamped over his mouth.
Ariella took him by the arms again, meeting his eyes.
Julian was shaking terribly. He swallowed, returning her soothing gaze and inhaling a deep, trembling breath.
“Look at me,” Ariella said in the calmest voice she could muster. “Look at me… nowhere else… just look at me. We’re fine. Dad and the cops are coming. We’re good.”
“I know,” Julian nodded, his voice now rough and hoarse. “I know…”
Before the cops arrived, the roaring of a single car engine suddenly arrived and quickly grew louder—and Vance’s car rocketed up the driveway, catching a bit of air before it screeched to a loud, crooked stop in the parking lot.
Everyone looked on from a short distance; Vance shot out of his car, gun held low at his hip, speed-walking toward Ariella and her friends.
“What happened?” he asked.
“There’s a body,” Julian told him, pointing to the front of the church. “M-maybe two of them, on the roof… on the… cross…”
Vance’s eyes locked onto the church—he marched toward it instantly.
Ariella briskly strode after him.
“Ari, jus…” Arkus began, but she didn’t hear him. So, he broke into a jog and followed Ariella and her father.
The three of them crossed the parking lot, observing the front of the building, gazing up at the cross on the roof and the bodies lashed onto it.
Sirens sounded in the distance, steadily growing louder on the night air, and Vance held up his phone, dialing Lumis as he stared up at the grotesque scene.
“Hello?”
“Bill… I need you to get to Gates Mill Church of God. Now.”
He hung up without waiting for a reply.
Ariella drew closer, captivated by the bizarre sight. Arkus had a hand enclosed around her wrist, preventing her from getting any closer. Vance stood in front of them both, arm outstretched, blocking their path.
“Go back to your friends,” Vance ordered.
Neither of them listened.
The three of them fell entirely silent, and they gazed up at the horrific scene in morbid awe.
Leader-Woman was strung up to the cross, her head slacked far to the side, practically hanging off of her body, throat torn apart, her bright orange shirt now soaked with blood, which had flooded over her khakis and down the front of the church building. Her flabby arms were tied onto each arm of the cross—her right hand missing, having been sawed completely off her body. Underneath the large woman was a skinny, stringy-haired man whom Ariella didn’t recognize; the skinny man was hanging upside-down from the cross, dangling beneath Leader-Woman as his head hung disgustingly from the fleshy split in his throat, his left hand completely gone, the frayed nub remaining splattered with blood that stained the church’s once white wall.
Above both of the bodies, Leader-Woman’s picket sign was wedged between her wide back and the cross itself, held up on display as a hard, unmistakable message for the world to see—a message that was as clear as the stars of the Texas night sky.
DEATH TO THE WICKED.