Lock-In

On the day of the long-anticipated lock-in-Zane sat on the edge of Lucy’s bedside, both of them alone inside her dorm room.

Lucy had been acting strangely distant lately, very quiet and seldom speaking to anyone, even Zane. It didn’t slip by his notice, and he knew exactly what had her so disturbed, though he was confident she wouldn’t tell a soul.

After the night of David and Richard’s fun, Zane made a point to return to Lucy sometime later, tenderly removing the handcuffs and leading her into the nearest bathroom. He spent that entire evening bathing her, wiping her down, gingerly cleansing her hair, thanking her for the favor, and assuring her that everything would be all right. Lucy rarely replied, often staring off into space, but she seemed grateful that he bothered taking care of her at all, so grateful, it almost seemed as if she’d forgotten that he was to blame for her broken state in the first place. So desperate for his approval, just as she always was…

“I’m gonna be out all night,” Zane told her, smoothly moving her bangs aside. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

Lucy glumly shook her head.

“Are you sure?” Zane asked. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

Lucy shook her head again, gazing down at her comforters almost trancelike.

Zane patted her on the arm, stroking her wrist for a moment before withdrawing his hand.

He checked his phone, skimming over his YouTube channel—and his heart began to sink.

His thousands of subscribers had plummeted overnight. His channel of over ten-thousand subscribers now had little under four-thousand, and his heart began to pound angrily.

Something must’ve happened; perhaps his followers learned of one of his secrets.

Thinking of the Gate Keepers, Zane quickly maneuvered to Jaxson’s website, clicking the UPDATES page and reading the first post to pop up.

The post was from Ariella, published late last night, and it read:

To all our gracious followers, we may not have the time to record a podcast this week because we have a couple of big celebrations to attend. And for those of you still asking about Zane’s removal from the show, we have some new information to bring to light. Zane attacked Jaxson with a knife, and he attacked Arkus and I during Boomsday here in Gates Mill. Obviously, we have some serious issues to attend to before we can find the time to record again. Please don’t worry, because we’re all okay, and we will see you again soon. –Ari

“Oh… you little bitch ,” Zane hissed into his phone, resisting the urge to pitch it across the room.

“Zane,” Lucy said weakly, finally glancing up from her blankets. “What’s that smell…?”

Zane turned to her, trying to plaster on his fake visage of charm again. He reached to the side of the bed, holding up a large red gas can. “Gasoline.”

Lucy stared at him. “What’s that for…?”

Zane glared at his phone once more, pocketed it, grabbed the gas can, and headed for the door. He gave Lucy a brief answer before leaving her by her lonesome.

“I’m going to a party tonight… and it’s gonna be fucking lit .”

As Halloween loomed around the corner, Gates Mill remained the hottest topic in the country.

In every state and on every news network, everyone was speculating feverishly on the topic of Gates Mill, the town that allegedly had the worst police force in Texas, the town that apparently glorified death and didn’t care to put a stop to the serial murders which kept everyone vigilant and paranoid. Mayor Byers continued making false claims and vacant promises, patting himself on the back for all the effort he’d expended to put an end to the deaths. The protests on the streets continued with passion. The tension in the air had amplified even more; along the main road were growing groups of rag-tag protesters flashing their signs at cars, some reading WHAT ARE THE COPS DOING? or PEACE, NOT MURDER. Many protesters had formed a mob around the police station again, some lingering outside of the courthouse and while others chose to stay on the main road where they’d get the most attention.

Becky Miller—the newswoman who let no altercation, story, or tragedy go to waste—was covering the story circulating around the death of Marissa Lumis, speculating that Vance Callaghan might’ve been a suspicious character, as he was first on the scene even before the police. Vance—with a few townspeople angry at him now, and with his new stealthy task of tailing Zane around—chose to hang up his signature tan overcoat for a while, wearing a dark blue one instead. Those who knew him or knew of him simply recognized the tan coat too easily. And, depsite that Lumis was not in charge of the Marissa case—and that he was no longer giving his PI any orders—Vance continued following every faint scent he could catch all on his own, lingering outside of Zane’s dorm and watching him from a far distance. Unfortunately, he wasn’t on campus when Zane had wandered out of the dorm building with a gas canister.

Vance was also following a few loose pieces of information from his memories—random flashes and sensations that had never disturbed him on any previous cases. He felt there might’ve been a connection, but he wasn’t sure. All he knew for certain was that he was behaving strangely, even for him—because he found himself visiting the coffee shop on the main road daily now, a place he never paid much mind to before.

When the bloody days first reached their peak, Gates Mill had taken on a darker atmosphere. Everyone was speculating, expecting the worst, trading whispers and wondering who would be next. But now, it wasn’t just a subtle sense of fear floating around in the air; it had become louder, in everyone’s faces every time they drove down the main road and on everyone’s televisions in every home, school, and workplace. The shadow of fear had transformed fully now, a powerful urgency dominating the town. No one in Gates Mill had the option to look the other way now. The presence of a murderous threat was as plain as it was unsettling, and it was made clear by every protester who would wave their signs in the streets, every police car on every road and in every parking lot, every news broadcast and every useless speech given by Mayor Byers, and it was in nearly every public conversation one might overhear.

And on the day of the lock-in-with Lumis remaining in bed, Max in school, and Vance pacing around his house and racking his brain—Ariella and Arkus were walking to the church, planning to meet up with Tammy and Jaxson in the parking lot, as the two of them currently had the truck.

After reaching the street, Ariella and Arkus stopped at the corner, squinting further down the main road where protesters were waving signs at traffic. The signs nearest to them read things like DON’T TRUST GATES MILL and THIS TOWN SHOULD BE ASHAMED. They both watched grimly from a distance. Some of the cars honked in approval while a few people leaned out of their windows and screamed angrily at the protesters, displaying various angry gestures or middle fingers as they coasted by.

“This town used to be so quiet,” Arkus remarked.

“You think we should go say something to them?” Ariella asked. “I don’t like what they’re doing. They’re blaming the whole town for the murders…”

“No… remember what happened the last time you said something to some angry activists?” Arkus reminded her. “I think we’ve seen enough drama for a while. Let’s just go to church.”

They marched off the main road and headed toward Gates Mill Church of God, away from the ambient shouting and honking.

As they approached the hill where the church resided, Ariella glimpsed across the street, where weeks ago, when the fear in town was only just beginning to rise, a gang of religious protesters stood shouting at Julian, where Ariella picked a fight with the leader of the activists, and where Becky Miller’s van had pulled over to document the event.

That incident seemed far away, like it had happened decades ago, as if this frightful anxiety had always been part of the town; the street was now empty and quiet, sprinkled with orange leaves drifting by in the wind, peaceful and serene as if nothing out of the ordinary was amiss, and the protesters deeper in the town hardly seemed like a strange sight anymore.

When they reached the top of the hill, Ariella spotted Julian’s dark green car across the lot, sitting parked in front of the gym’s double-doors. They approached the car, seeing Julian asleep in the driver seat. He wore a black suit and a navy blue tie, and his hat had fallen off, his glasses dangling off the end of his nose. His head was slumped over, mouth hanging agape.

Ariella knocked on the window.

Julian blinked awake, straightening up and stepping out of the car.

“Oy, mate… you all right?” Arkus asked. “Too much to drink last night?”

Julian shot him a sarcastic smirk. “You know better than that, Arkus.”

“I thought you said you’d get some sleep at home,” Ariella remarked. “Why’re you sleeping in your car again?”

“I did try…” Julian yawned. “I spent the last two nights at home, but I just couldn’t sleep.”

Ariella and Arkus frowned. Julian had trouble sleeping even during his normal life—but after what he’d witnessed here at the church, it seemed as if a good night of sleep might as well have been a pipe-dream for him.

“You okay?” Ariella asked gently.

“Yes,” Julian replied with a nod. “Let’s go inside. We’ve got some work to do. You wanted cherry cola floats, right? Someone’s gotta make them. People will start showing up soon.”

The three of them entered the Halloween-centric church and headed to the kitchen at once. Before making the floats, Julian put them to work assembling plastic bowls of chili, chips, and cheese. Tammy and Jaxson arrived minutes later. Unlike the youth service, people began showing up much earlier—and as usual, someone took the liberty of plugging their phone into the speakers behind the stage, filling the gym with music. The crowd in the gym was still small, which left enough room for some of the attendees to play basketball.

Ariella, Arkus, and Julian prepared the food in the kitchen for a while. When the gym was full of roughly twenty people, Jaxson waltzed into the dining area, peering over the counter and into the kitchen, where his friends were cooking in a hurry.

“Jax, come help us,” Ariella insisted, waving him over. “This is taking forever.”

“Oh, yeeeah… I’d love to, but I twisted my liver,” Jaxson snarked in response. “I can’t stand up for too long. Doctor’s orders.”

“Not a problem,” Julian said with a curt smile, lifting the gigantic pot of chili sauce and carrying it out to the dining area. He set it down in front of Jaxson. “Since you need a sitting-down job, you can assemble the chili chips n’ cheese bowls for us. Now we can get the floats made.”

Jaxson scowled at the chili pot. Ariella and Arkus laughed at him.

The crowd in the gym doubled in size during the manufacturing of cherry cola floats. After making about thirty cups of ice cream-filled soda, Ariella slipped out of the kitchen, surveying the gym. Many of the attendees were people from her school, and about half of them were in costume, some looking like detailed cosplayers while others were dressed as your average vampires, witches, werewolves, and serial killers. A few people were dancing near the stage while others continued to play basketball. One of Julian’s jack-o-lanterns was lying in shambles on the floor after someone had knocked it over by accident.

Ariella stood in the doorway for a moment, revealing a calm smile. With all the terrible news and frightful incidents that had dawned upon them all so recently, she felt certain that a night like this was needed.

Her angry thoughts of Zane seemed so very far now, so distant from the glee and the fun all around her.

Throughout the night as the party carried on, Ariella found herself fighting Arkus and Jaxson with basketballs, as they often did. Tammy was drinking quite a bit, repeatedly stumbling up to Ariella and remarking on how cute Jaxson was. At some point, Tammy and Jaxson joined the wild crowd on the dance floor, dancing insanely in a manner Arkus couldn’t resist recording with his phone. Once the time of cherry cola floats and chili, chips, and cheese came to be, Ariella and her friends ended up in the game room upstairs, eating their food and joking around, launching the billard balls across the pool table and trying to smack the balls out of one another’s hands, occasionally smashing each other’s fingers in the process.

Eventually, they all rejoined the crowd in gym, those closest to the hoops still playing basketball while the costumed attendees danced fervently on the other side. Some people were sitting in the dining area gossiping and playing cards while a few others sat along the gym’s wall, whispering to each other and playing around on their phones.

Arkus spotted Jaxson and quickly liberated one of the basketballs rolling by. He launched it at Jaxson like a cannon, striking him in the stomach with a loud PING.

Jaxson froze and gaped down at his stomach, slowly raising his head with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open, plastering on a dramatically offended expression.

“Oh… we’re doing that now?” he challenged.

The battle began. Ariella, Arkus, Tammy, and Jaxson began hurtling basketballs at each other stupidly, laughing and turning red-faced. Others formed a crowd around them, most of them chortling while a few whispered questioningly to one another, wondering why they were using basketballs as dodgeballs.

Suddenly, Jaxson fell to the ground. “Ahh—my leg! Owww, you fucked up my leg!”

“Oh—sorry, mate, you all right?” Arkus rushed to his side—then Jaxson jumped up and bashed a basketball into his face, making him jolt backward and nearly fall over.

The crowd, and Jaxson, all roared with laughter. Ariella crept behind Jaxson and gave him the same treatment; she smashed a basketball into his skull, making him double over and roll away. The laughter amidst the gym instantly became deafening.

As they continued to play around, Ariella felt miles away from all the problems she and her friends had faced. Here they were, goofing off and acting like idiots like they always did, which brought about a bizarre sense of serenity she couldn’t describe if she tried.

Time passed, and the party began to die down.

Fewer people were dancing and playing, and more of them were climbing into their blankets and sleeping bags. The music had been turned down quite a bit, soft and lulling, and the room was filled with people sitting and lying across the floor, wrapped in their blankets, toying with their phones, and conversing with each other.

“Where’s Julian?” Jaxson questioned, scanning over the ocean of sleepy partyers. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Probably cleaning something,” Arkus figured. “No rest for the non-wicked.”

Ariella sighed. Julian had been missing from the party since the beginning, when they were preparing chili bowls and floats for everyone. He was probably off working somewhere, despite that he hadn’t slept properly all week. She’d have to lecture him about it whenever she could…

The four of them stepped over and around the wrapped-up party attendees who occupied most of the gym’s floor, heading toward the far corner where they’d left their sleeping bags, all tucked securely behind the foldable stage. Ariella and Arkus laid out their sleeping bags next to each other, and Jaxson spread his out sideways with Tammy’s.

“Fun night,” Arkus commented. “Wish I wasn’t so tired.”

“It sucks that the party has to end,” Jaxson said. “But I’m ‘eepy…”

“I’m gonna cuddle you so hard,” Tammy grinned, clamping onto his arm.

They all nestled into their sleeping bags and made themselves comfortable.

For a little while, the three of them traded chit-chat, and around midnight, their eyelids grew heavy. The gym was dark now, and nearly everyone else was fast asleep.

Arkus extended his hand across the floor, intertwining his fingers with Ariella’s. The two of them drifted to sleep, their hands clasped together.

For a while, things remained dark and peaceful, everyone snoozing lightly across the enormous room of the youth church.

Ping.

Ariella, almost completely asleep, blinked herself awake at hearing the noise. Arkus, Jaxson, and Tammy were lost in a deep slumber now, much like everyone else. In a daze, Ariella rubbed her eyes and swiped her phone’s screen, expecting to see a text from Lumis or Julian. Her phone’s light shone over her face in the darkness, her blurred vision straightening out and reading the text message. It was sent from a restricted number, and it read:

The host of the party is gone, and you’re just going to sleep?

At once, Ariella felt as though her entire body had been submerged in ice, a wave of goosebumps crawling up and down her. She glared into the screen for several long seconds, a slow, daunting horror arising inside.

She gulped, glimpsing over at Arkus, who was snoozing lightly on his side, then to Jaxson, who was sprawled across the floor, his sleeping bag tangled between his legs, Tammy wrapped around him and sleeping silently.

Forcing herself calm, Ariella typed a response to the mystery texter.

What’s your problem, asshole?

Send. Ping.

I don’t have a problem. Julian does.

It became nearly impossible to stifle the growing panic brewing inside, but Ariella tried with all her might to remain composed.

Slowly, she stood upright, stepping over Arkus and moving past all the sleeping partiers, heading toward the darkened dining area. She began pacing up and down the empty room alongside the messy table, typing another text as she did, sending and replying to the mystery texter as quickly as she could.

I know who you are, Zane. You’re not fooling anyone. Where is Julian?

He’s around. You really shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that. Poor Zane, being branded as a bad guy. Be careful who you trust. I could be anyone.

Nice try. My friends are all asleep. None of them could be texting me right now.

Maybe. Or maybe they’re hiding their phones in their sleeping bags, typing their texts when you’re not looking. Or, maybe your father finally cracked, and he’s dishing out some vigilante justice with a trusty knife instead of his 45. Or maybe I’m Cutthroat. Who knows.

Stop wasting my time with your bullshit. Where is Julian?

It took a while for him to reply to this text.

Clearly, he was biding his time, trying to make Ariella panic—and he was succeeding.

She paced up and down the dark dining area more quickly now, feeling sick. Then, a habit she’d learned from her father soon arose, and she found herself scanning over every detail of the room around her, examining the mess left over by all the party attendees; the table was still full of dirty bowls and plastic cups that once contained ice cream floats. The chili was drying on the sides of the bowls, and the ice cream floats had melted, the leftover foam glued to the rims of the cups and morphing into a sticky substance. This mess had been left here for hours—which was highly unusual. Julian never got around to cleaning it, and that wasn’t like him at all.

He really must’ve been in trouble.

Ariella glanced through the doorway several times, observing Arkus, Tammy, and Jaxson from afar. They all appeared to be sleeping—and she should have expected nothing less.

Still, it was troubling to read these texts—the texts about her friends, about her father. This guy knew a lot about her. There weren’t many people who knew these details about Ariella and her loved ones.

It had to be one of her friends—someone who knew her, just as Vance had suspected.

Ping.

Cutthroat kills people who deserve it. And I think ALL of you deserve it.

Ariella let out a furious breath, typing her response rapidly.

Stop wasting my time. WHERE IS JULIAN?!

He’s in the church where he belongs, duh. I wouldn’t call 911 if I were you—the cops are looking for a reason to lock you up. Everyone suspects you and your father, remember? Oh—and if I see any cops, or if I hear any sirens, I’ll rip Julian’s sensitive little heart out.

Why? Why are you doing this? Julian didn’t do anything wrong.

Who cares? I hate people like him. He’s weak. In my book, he DOES deserve it.

You’re a piece of shit.

Cry me a river. Why are you still texting me? Julian’s bleeding to death. I’m not wasting your time—you are. Get to searching, and hurry up. This is a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek. You better win, or he pays the price.

Ariella lowered her phone, a stream of tears rolling down her cheeks. She whimpered a series of silent sobs, her hands shaky as she planted them over her mouth.

Julian was right to be afraid after what had happened here—and now, it was happening to him.

And, here she was, crying helplessly again.

Just like she did last time.

Ariella suddenly stopped, a mysterious sense of cold, strange composure overwhelming her.

She wiped away her tears, taking a deep breath and stuffing her phone into her hoodie pocket, pulling out her father’s old pocketknife and flipping it open. Now, the odd, powerful sensation had returned in full—the very same feeling that overcame her the night she mended Arkus’s wound, the night she vowed not to hide and let the world trample over her. It eliminated the fear immediately, crushing any helplessness or anxiety that might’ve handicapped her. After her friends were attacked—after she herself was attacked—and after Eddie—she didn’t have the energy to cry. No—she was simply tired. Crying didn’t help. Being afraid didn’t help.

She would do just what her father would do—take action.

If any dominos fell, she wouldn’t fall—she’d be the one to tip them over.

Ariella gulped and nodded to herself, primed with adrenaline; she went to the doorway, staring at Arkus, Tammy, and Jaxson across the gym. He wouldn’t target them here—not while they were in this room, full of nearly a hundred eyewitnesses. As long as they remained here, they would be safe.

But—it would be a stupid move to do this alone. She couldn’t bring herself to put her friends in harm’s way, not after what happened to Arkus on Boomsday—and she couldn’t call the police—but she knew for certain she couldn’t deal with this by herself.

As she inched through the gym and approached the far hallway, she dialed her father, and after four rings, he answered.

“Ari…?” Vance yawned.

“The other killer is here,” Ariella whispered, her eyes darting around nervously, hoping not to wake anyone. “He has Julian.”

“What?” Vance’s voice suddenly sprung to life. “What’s going on?”

“He started texting me. Julian disappeared from the party a few hours ago—and the killer says he’s stuck in the church somewhere, bleeding to death. He said he’d kill Julian if the cops came, so don’t tell Lumis anything. I’m gonna look for Julian—and you need to look for the killer.”

“What? Wait, Ari, don’t do anything until I get—”

“I need to find my friend,” Ariella stated firmly. “Love you.”

“ Ari —!”

Ariella hung up and stuffed the phone away.

Her father would order her to stay put, to sit idly by until he arrived to help her—but she couldn’t. If Julian really was bleeding to death, she didn’t have time to waste playing it safe. He needed to be found as soon as possible.

Ariella marched up the stairs with a pep in her step, entering the dark hallway of the second floor. She turned the lights on, nearly blinding herself, and proceeded to check every room. The game room was empty, and so was its closet. The office down the hall was empty as well, just like the bathrooms. No one was on the second floor.

Ping.

Ariella checked her phone again.

You spend all your spare time on the first and second floors when you’re at church—but you never stopped to look further down the stairway, did you?

Ariella paused, rereading the text a few times. Yes—the stairway had two sets of stairs, one leading up to the second floor, and one leading down into an area she’d never explored before.

So, Ariella ventured down the stairs again, turning and stopping at the midway point. The other set of stairs was beside the first set, reaching below the first floor into a place shrouded in shadows, pitch-black. These stairs were narrower, and much older. She couldn’t tell how far down they reached, though they appeared to lead to a dingy, isolated basement area.

Just when she took the first step—a haunting rush of old feelings returned to her as if from nowhere, her adrenaline spiking, her heart thrashing painfully, and her head beginning to feel light. Suddenly, all of her fear had flooded back into her with absolute haste.

It was the same.

It was the same exact thing that had happened before.

It was happening all over again.

Ariella was here, in a darkened stairway, shaking, teary-eyed, tip-toeing down the stairs, worried for the pastor, dreading what would happen when she reached the bottom…

She somehow took another step, the stair creaking loudly.

What would it look like this time?

The vivid recollections bombarded her mind—the yelling, the cursing, the wrestling, and the gunshot that had ended it all. Part of her expected to wake up when she reached the bottom, to see Eliza and to snap out of her childhood nightmare—but when she finally reached the last stair, she heard nothing, saw no one.

Before her was an ancient, wooden door, still closed. This must’ve been a storage area for the church, as it certainly wasn’t meant for the church attendees.

Ariella placed a hand on the splintery door, fearing what she would see when she finally mustered the courage to open it.

And, the longer she dwelled in the terrible dread—the more she began to gaze through the old wooden door, staring mesmerized ahead, almost as if the door in front of her was no longer there.

She could practically see the Grant home directly before her, living room off to the right, a kitchen full of yelling to the left, just around that fateful corner.

Every light of the home and every picture on the wall, every detail of the tiled floor and every step it took to reach the door to the front porch—it never once left her mind. Every detail of it echoed throughout her very being, the ghost of her past, and she heard it all even now—the ambiance of a dysfunctional home, Eddie and Eliza shouting at one another.

Shut the fuck up, Ed—stop drinking—I’m gonna go up there and put her ass to bed!

Dishes shattered as they struggled against the kitchen counter—Eliza loading a revolver—Eddie desperately trying to wrestle it away from her—a deafening blast, and the moment Ariella would lay eyes on the scene, it would be too late.

Hesitant and trembling like a leaf, Ariella blinked several times, slowly returning to reality.

This stairway was different, dark and narrow, no living room ahead, no lights around, no shouting around a corner…

She tightened her grip on her pocketknife, her free hand cautiously pushing the old wooden door open. The bottom of the door scraped against the floor, making a horrible scratching sound. And, as to be expected, there were no signs of the Grant household on the other side.

Surprisingly, the inside of the basement wasn’t pitch-black; most of this room resided underground, but high on the opposite wall was a rectangular window, positioned just above the surface of the earth and allowing a dim stream of moonlight into the room. The place smelled of mildew, and the floor was made of rough wood. There were pillars throughout the basement, thick wooden stalks standing both vertically and horizontally across the room, and along the walls were cardboard boxes containing various items that belonged to the church.

Then—as her eyes absorbed everything in sight—her gaze fixated on a familiar figure near the window, a person, someone who was positioned upright, but not standing. He was facing the window, his arms bound tightly to one of the horizontal pillars, his body tied firmly to one of the vertical ones. He hung from the structure like Jesus Christ himself, crucified, his head hanging, hair covering his face, his body dangling from his spread-eagle arms, and his consciousness trying to abandon him.

Ariella drew closer, stepping in front of the figure, his feet hanging a few inches above the ground, his hat soaking in a puddle of his own blood on the dirty floor. His long black hair was thrown messily over his visage, and his coat and shirt had both been ripped open. His stomach bled profusely, bearing a long, deep knife wound, and on the pastor’s chest was a pencil-thin carving, spelled in bloody letters.

Where’s Your God Now?

“Oh God… Julian…” Ariella gasped.

At once, she pressed her hand over the wound, attempting to stop the bleeding. With her other hand, she began feverishly sawing at the ropes around his body, dragging the blade up and down, splitting the ropes until they finally fell apart. First, she removed the ones along his torso, then on his wrists—and in a flash, the ropes gave away, and Julian fell from the makeshift cross. Ariella barely caught him before he could hit the floor.

“Ari…” he breathed weakly.

Ariella hurriedly removed her hoodie, lifting Julian upright and twisting the hoodie around him. She tied the sleeves around his bleeding stomach as tightly as she could, sealing the gaping wound and preventing any more blood loss.

Julian couldn’t seem to maintain his focus. He was fighting a losing battle with unconsciousness, his eyes struggling to open.

Ariella held him, cradling his head as she sat knelt under the window, her eyes watering once more.

“S’ okay…” he croaked in a hoarse, pained whisper. “Thank you…”

Ariella bit her lip, reaching around him and retrieving the phone from the hoodie’s pocket. Calling 911 was an absolute necessity now—as the pastor’s life was dreadfully fading away.

As she made the call, she squeezed Julian tight.

The moonlight washed over Ariella and Julian as a dim, glowing spotlight, almost like an ominous baptism from a knowing, ironic God.

And just when Ariella located her pastor—Arkus began to stir awake upstairs, groping around past his sleeping bag for Ariella’s hand and finding that it was no longer in his grasp.

He blinked several times, hearing a faint splashing noise and smelling something toxic.

Arkus yawned and sat tiredly upright. He scanned over the enormous room, various people snoozing in their blankets and sleeping bags all around him, the gym lights dark, almost nothing stirring at all.

Then, he caught a hint of movement in the darkness—a cloaked figure, stepping quietly around the sleeping partyers and carrying a red gas canister. The figure stepped cautiously and quietly around the sleeping folks, jerking the canister around and spreading small splashes of liquid all over the room.

The hooded figure wore a white mask, adjusting his face covering once as he continued to douse the floors with gasoline.

Arkus’s mouth drifted open in shock, raising his hand and realizing that his palm was damp, stinking of gas—a small line of gasoline right beside his own sleeping bag, staining the blankets beneath Jaxson and Tammy.

“OY!” Arkus bellowed with furious urgency, leaping briskly to his feet. “GET UP! EVERYONE GET UP!”

The skull-faced figure jolted—facing Arkus in alarm.

A few people drearily began to awaken—Arkus’s face twisted up in rage, his eyes locking onto the hooded figure across the room. He broke into a run, leaping over people and causing many of them to shout out in pain, as his boots collided with several fingers and toes—but he didn’t care and he barreled directly toward the hooded figure—

Skull-Face sprinted to the opposite side of the room—dashing toward the exit with his cloak flapping behind him, upturning the canister as he ran and leaving a trail of gasoline in his wake.

Arkus skidded to a stop, suddenly realizing he wouldn’t catch the perpetrator in time—then he whipped around, his expression stricken with fright, and he began screaming and motioning frantically to everyone around him.

“GET UP! GET UP NOW—HE’S GONNA LIGHT THE PLACE ON FIRE! GET UP! RUN! ”

Instantly, many frantic things were happening at once; Vance’s car rocketed into the parking lot just after Skull-Face darted outside, rushing across the pavement and leaping into the trees with a gasoline trail on the concrete behind him. People ran screaming in an absolute panic out of the church, flooding outside without caring to grab their belongings—Vance flying out of his car as police began to swarm into the parking lot right behind him—Jaxson and Tammy ramming into Arkus as they dragged him outside—

The parking lot became filled with a terrified crowd—and Skull-Face stopped inside the woods, turning and removing the mask from his face, smiling wickedly at the church opposite him.

Zane pulled a lighter from his pocket, leaned down, and held the flame to the end of his gasoline trail. The line of gas ignited—and the flame soared across the parking lot, rocketing past several people’s feet and making many of them shriek and stagger back.

“Ari—where’s Ari?!” Arkus panted, looking to his friends and glancing around at the crowd, though he didn’t see Ariella anywhere.

The moment he turned to the church again—a horrendous sight met his eyes.

The entirety of the inside illuminated in a sudden blinding wave; along every wall across the whole bottom floor, a massive fire erupted, brightening the windows and burning everything inside their youth wing.

Arkus lunged forward—trying to run back inside—Jaxson and Tammy seizing his arms and restraining him best they could.

Vance watched in horror as the church went up in flames, many of the policemen around him doing the same.

Ariella—still kneeling in the basement, holding onto Julian—stared up at the stairway, seeing a sudden flash of light upstairs, flickering madly just down the hallway on the floor above.

“Fire,” she breathed.

“H… he had a gas can,” Julian croaked faintly. “You need t… you need to go…”

“ No ,” Ariella cried, tightening her grasp on him. “I can’t …”

“Ari,” Julian rasped, trying to fix his unfocused gaze onto hers. “Please go… please go…”

Ariella—rushed with terror and adrenaline—felt her head spinning, emotions waging rampant war inside as she clung onto him, feeling as if she was being torn in two.

She couldn’t hope to escape unless she ran for it right now—but she’d have to leave her pastor behind in order to do so.

“Either… one of us dies… or both of us die,” Julian told her.

“Don’t make me,” Ariella sputtered, hot tears stinging her eyes as a wall of fire covered the hallway above. “Don’t make me leave… please don’t make me…”

Julian opened his mouth to argue, his energy quickly abandoning him. His eyes fluttered shut, and he fell entirely unconscious in her arms.

The rest happened in a fog, Ariella hardly aware of her own movements, releasing him, standing, opening the small rectangular window, climbing upward—and squeezing herself outside, sliding through the opening and appearing on the grassy hillside behind the church.

She knew she’d reached the outside, knew she climbed onto the grass and rolled onto her back, though she could scarcely feel anything now, no thought, no emotion… nothing…

Ariella, shocked to the bone and stained with Julian’s blood, lay on the grass and stared emptily at the night sky, submerged in shock and utterly devoid of thought or feeling now. Somehow, when her body lumbered upright by itself, she found herself wandering into the night without any forethought whatsoever.

Cutthroat watched in absolute awe.

All night long, he’d been perched on the top of the wooded hillside behind the church, biding his time and waiting to see Zane make another unwelcome appearance—but now, after the masked figure sprinted out of the church, a massive screaming crowd had formed in the parking lot, police were sweeping the scene, and the church was lost amidst a blazing inferno, flickering and crackling as the walls inside scarred black, fires coasting out the windows and licking the exterior of the youth wing, brightening the night in a horrific manner.

An urgency rose up inside—and Cutthroat knew instantly he’d have to distance himself from this place right now. He turned, wondering which route would be best to escape—but then, he eyed the back of the building, seeing a peculiar sight down below.

Ariella had crawled out the basement window, standing and wandering off into the trees.

Cutthroat spared the frantic scene below a final glance before his eyes landed on the girl, and then, he began to quietly follow her trail.

All of Julian’s loyal friends and attendees screamed and wailed in terror, crying and pointing up at his burning church, many of them hollering and asking where their pastor was. Arkus finally stopped fighting against his friends, huffing and furious, glaring into the fiery inferno of the double-doors before him, Tammy and Jaxson still clasped onto him viselike. Police rushed in front of everyone, urging them to distance themselves as much as possible, Vance striding through the crowd and shoving people aside until he spotted Arkus’s head of wild brown hairs.

“Hey!” Vance yelled—twisting Arkus around. “Are you all okay? Where’s Ari?!”

Arkus shook his head, grinding his teeth and swatting at the church as tears stung his eyes.

Vance gazed into the fire, feeling as if his heart had stopped.

“Some guy had a gas can,” Jaxson coughed, patting Vance’s arm. “He ran outside right before he lit the gas.”

Vance gulped, trying to force down every feeling of panic inside—and he whipped around, his eyes following the thin trail of flames that led into the woods.

“Follow that!” Vance barked, snapping and grabbing the attention of all the closest police officers. “The arsonist lit the fire from the woods—follow that trail and fan out!”

The police whirled around, spotting the trail and springing into action, many of them sprinting into the woods with their guns drawn.

A firetruck soared up the steep driveway, racing toward the building with sirens wailing, Vance grabbing all of Ariella’s friends and forcing them away from the burning entrance.

A grave, terrible sense of funereal bereavement took over the dark atmosphere in the parking lot of Gates Mill Church of God, hundreds of eyes gazing up at the burning building, watching as the firemen fought against the flames, thinking of their pastor—and of Ariella, a deep worry festering inside them all.

This much-needed night of celebration had taken an unexpected turn for the absolute worst—and now, no one could smile, and no one could laugh. Every ounce of peace and joy from earlier in the evening was gone without a trace, and all that was felt among the crowd now was pain, terror, concern, worry and despair, nearly every eye filling with tears as their church, and presumably their missing friend and pastor, burned away before their very eyes.

The grave exigency in town, the media and the protesters, the hype and the fear in everyone’s day-to-day lives and conversations—it all paled in comparison to the fiery insanity that had befallen Gates Mill now.