“God,” Reilly repeated. “Sure. You’re doing God’s work.”
“He works in mysterious ways,” said Terrence. “Race isn’t anything to him. God is no respecter of persons. He doesn’t care if you’re black or white or purple. If he decrees it’s your time, then it’s your time. And I am only a servant in his master plan.”
“Which he communicates to you how?” Reilly didn’t know what he was doing. Did he really think he could argue this man out of his crazy faith? Obviously, the guy was committed. And not only that, experienced. No, going at this rationally, it was exactly the wrong call. The more he argued, the more the man would shore up his walls until he became impenetrable. He needed a different plan.
“Well, in various ways.” Terrence unrolled a roll of fabric. Inside were three very sharp knives.
Reilly grimaced. “You don’t want to do this.”
“You’re right,” said Terrence. “I don’t. It’s the Lord that wants it. He makes the commands, and I follow through. I figure this is punishment for a few months back, when we let one go. We saw him out in the woods, walking past us, and we didn’t take him. None of us takes any pleasure in it, you know. It’s a messy and awful business, back-breaking too. I’d be happy enough to never have to kill another man.”
“Then don’t,” said Reilly.
“Got to,” said Terrence, selecting one of the knives. He peered down at Reilly. “I have to say, though, I’ve never carved up a black man. All that dark skin of yours… it’s exotic.”
Exotic? Seriously? Reilly gazed up at the top of the pavilion, seething. This was not the way he died. Not at the hands of this idiotic backwoods man who thought his skin was exotic. No, he was getting out of here, and he had to be smart.
Terrence ran his finger over the blade of the knife, testing it. “So, I’ll cling to that novelty to help me through it. I expect it’ll all be the same once we get skin deep. I had this friend named LaShawn once, back when I was in college.” He set down the knife and selected another one. “Bet you never thought I went to college, did you?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Reilly, even though he had painted an idea of the man as ignorant in his mind. Knowing that he wasn’t, it made Reilly hate him even more. It made what he was doing even more evil.
“Well, I did,” said Terrence. “Didn’t graduate. One summer, I ended up out at the compound, and I listened to the words of David Song and I tripped on acid with Vivian Delacroix, and I never did leave after that. Tried to, but I couldn’t. The Lord wasn’t pleased that I didn’t want to do his bidding.” He tested the second knife. “Anyway, LaShawn. He and I used to play basketball one-on-one at one of the hoops on campus. He’d always trounce me, and I used to say it was on account of his being black. Because, I mean, everyone knows black people are better at basketball.”
Reilly gritted his teeth. If there was any fairness in the universe, right now, he’d be able to snap the ropes binding him and use them to strangle Terrence. But life wasn’t fair. Actually, his grandmother had been fond of saying that too.
Terrence began matter-of-factly slicing through the sleeve of Reilly’s t-shirt. “But he told me I was worthless, racist sack of shit for saying that.”
Reilly swallowed. “Did he?”
“Well, I didn’t know any better,” said Terrence. “I thought it was science. I thought they’d proved it and black men had more blood vessels or something. LaShawn said that it was all social. That when a boy grows up in a world where the only kind of powerful men like him that he sees are basketball stars and rappers, he gets the idea that he better get good at one of those things. He said there was no difference between black men and white men, no advantage that made black men better than white men at basketball. He said it was just a sign that we lived in a racist cesspool of a world, and that I was lucky to have been born white.” He sliced through the front of Reilly’s shirt and then cut off the other sleeve.
The ribbons of Reilly’s shirt fell to the floor of the pavilion.
“I saw things different after that,” said Terrence. “I guess I’d never really put myself in a black man’s place before. I’d never thought of what it would be like.” He surveyed Reilly. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this.”
“I’m not sure either,” said Reilly, looking up at him. Deep down, he knew that his best strategy for getting mercy was to be vulnerable, expose his weaknesses, and beg for this man not to hurt him. But he was goddamned if he thought he could do that right now. Beg from this guy? Oh, hell, no.
“I’d kill you before I skinned you,” said Terrence apologetically. “But I have to spill blood on the altar. It’s what the Lord decrees. I’m afraid this is going to really hurt.”
Reilly struggled against the ropes that held him again, knowing it was useless, but not being able to stop himself. But nothing happened. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists and ankles, and he couldn’t get anywhere.
Terrence ran the blade of the knife over Reilly’s chest, not cutting him, just testing it out, marking his path.
Reilly shivered in spite of himself.
“For the glory of the Crimson Ram,” Terrence breathed, and then his blade bit into Reilly’s skin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wren was trying to slip her hands out of the ropes that held her to the ceiling, but she wasn’t having a lot of luck. They were tied too tightly, and she had long since lost much feeling in her hands or fingers. They were bloodless and pale above her and she could only feel pins and needles.
Karen Freeman was kneeling down, putting fire into the wood stove.
“Karen,” said Wren. “You don’t have to do this. Let me down. Let’s talk about this.”
Karen ignored her. She went back into the kitchen part of the house and got out a very large cast iron pot. It was really more like a cauldron, like something a witch would have and use to boil things over the fire. She set the cauldron on top of the wood stove.
“Hawk’s the person threatening you, isn’t he?” said Wren. “Can you at least tell me that?”
Karen went back into the kitchen and got three empty buckets. She went out the front door.
Leaving Wren alone.
Wren looked around, trying to see how she could use this sudden lack of supervision to her advantage. But she couldn’t, not unless she could get her hands free.
She tried kicking out her legs, but the strain on her wrists was agonizing, and she couldn’t reach anything anyway.
A cry of frustration escaped her lips.
Karen was back, lugging three buckets of water. She set them down in front of the wood stove.
“I know Hawk. I understand him,” said Wren. “I know that I can convince him not to do whatever he’s threatened to do. Who has he threatened? Who is he trying to hurt?”
Karen picked up one of the buckets and carefully poured the water into the cauldron.
“Okay, what are you doing with that?” said Wren. “Something tells me you’re not making soup.”
Karen turned to her, a dull look in her eyes. “We do what we must.”
Wren’s voice broke. “Is that for Reilly? Those bones I saw piled around the pavilion out there, they were pretty clean. You boil them, don’t you?”
Karen picked up the next bucket and poured it into the cauldron.
“You don’t have to hurt Reilly,” said Wren. “Um, Caius. His name is Caius. He’s a good man. He has a son named Timmy. Timmy’s autistic, and he’s just learning to talk, even though he’s ten years old. Reilly—Caius. He and his wife, they found this way to reach the kid, and if you kill Reilly now, before he has the chance to hear his son talk, that would be the cruelest thing I could possibly think of. I remember you, Karen. You’re not cruel. You’re a good woman. You turned in my mother. You stopped the murders. You and Terrence did the right thing. How could you be out here murdering people?”
Karen dumped in the third bucket, but she wasn’t as careful. Water splashed out on the floor. “Damn,
” said Karen, going to get a rag. She got down on her hands and knees.
“Let Reilly go, and we’ll help you get Hawk,” said Wren. “I know he threatened to kill someone, but we’ll stop him.”
Karen wiped up the water. “We can’t risk that, Wren. I’m sorry.”
Oh, God. Karen was talking back.
“You can,” said Wren. “You’re a good person. I know you are. You don’t have to do this.”
Karen looked up at her, and her eyes were shining. “We wanted to be good, but it was too late.”
“It’s never too late.”
“We are consecrated to the Horned Lord,” said Karen. “We gave ourselves to him to do his bidding, whether for good or for evil.”
“The Crimson Ram isn’t evil. David Song said—”
“He’s both,” said Karen. “The Lord is the source of all the good in the world, but also the source of all the evil. There must be evil, Wren, because without it, there would be no good. There must be balance. We pledged ourselves to him, and then we tried to take it back. We turned in Vivian, and she was arrested, and the work of the Lord was stopped. He needed it to continue. He forced us to come out here and exile ourselves. And we have to kill. And because we were not satisfied to do as he asked before, because we tried to take it all into our own hands, we must do the worst thing we can imagine. We must kill and eat others.”
“Eat?” said Wren.
Karen’s face crumpled. “It is our punishment, Wren, to be as beasts.”
“Look, this is bullshit.” Wren shook at the ropes hanging her from the ceiling. “Who told you this?”
“We saw it in a vision,” said Karen.
“So… Terrence?” said Wren. “He told you?”
“It came from the Lord,” said Karen.
“There’s no Horned Lord,” said Wren. “He’s made up. He’s not real. All this, out here, you don’t have to do any of it.”
“I wish he was made up,” said Karen. “Oh, how I wish it. When Terrence and I went to the police, I thought that we could escape him. I thought we gave him the power, our allegiance was what made him strong. I thought if we took our belief back, he would be weak. But…” She sat back on her knees and wiped at her eyes. “That’s not what happened.”
“Okay, look, not Reilly,” said Wren. “You have to help me with Reilly. You can sacrifice someone else.”
“Hawk wants the black man dead,” said Karen.
“Well, screw Hawk,” said Wren. “I’m telling you, I can handle Hawk.”
“Hawk is in communication with the Lord,” said Karen. “He and the Lord speak together, and Hawk is his servant as much as we are. Hawk must kill as well. If the Crimson Ram has decided he wants more sacrifice from us, he will use Hawk to extract it from us. This is not the time to be weak. We have to do as we are commanded.”
“No,” said Wren. “No, please. Reilly’s a good man, I’m telling you. You can’t take him away from his son. He’s a father—”
“Shut up,” said Karen, getting to her feet. “Just shut up.”
“I won’t,” said Wren. “I refuse to be quiet if you’re just standing by while an innocent man is slaughtered.”
Karen threw back her head and let out an ear-piercing shriek.
* * *
The scream cut through the air and Terrence looked up from what he was doing to Reilly.
Reilly panted. He should be screaming like that. There was a T shape cut into his chest. Shallow cuts, not that deep, but Terrence had been starting to peel back the skin under Reilly’s collarbone, and Reilly had been thrashing away from him, but not making any noise, gritting his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek, but not making a sound, because…
Well, hell, he didn’t know why.
Now, though, this scream, and Terrence stopped.
Blood dripped down Reilly’s chest, down onto stone surface of the altar where Reilly was tied up. It made a plopping noise, like a leaky faucet.
Terrence raised his hand, still holding his bloody knife, shading his eyes as he looked in the direction of the cabin. He raised his voice. “Karen?”
Seconds ticked by. There was no sound except the drip of Reilly’s blood.
Reilly made a funny gasping noise, his breath catching in his throat.
“Karen!” yelled Terrence. “What’s wrong?”
No response from Karen.
Terrence looked back at Reilly. “That woman, I swear.”
Reilly licked his lips. “Better go check on her.”
Terrence raised his eyebrows at him. “You concerned about my wife? Somehow I highly doubt that.”
“She alone?”
“Well, Wren’s with her.”
“No telling what Wren did to her,” said Reilly, baring his teeth.
“Oh, come on. Little Wren Delacroix? I remember her as a little girl. She was so sweet.”
“Well, she’s grown up now,” said Reilly. “She takes after her mother. She’s got a vicious streak.”
Terrence’s face twitched. He scratched his forehead, leaving behind a streak of Reilly’s blood. “Well, hell,” he muttered. He stabbed the knife into one of the posts of the pavilion. The hilt was several inches from Reilly’s face. “Don’t go anywhere, huh?” Terrence chuckled, and then walked off, leaving Reilly alone.
Reilly looked at the knife, sticking out there, taunting him. He listened to his blood dripping against the stone altar beneath him. He leaned his head back so that he could see where Terrence was, and he waited until the man was across the field, almost into the woods.
Then Reilly started to move. He had an idea. It probably wouldn’t work, but he had to try something.
If he managed to wriggle all the way around this post here in the middle, he could line up his arms and legs with that knife. Maybe he could manage to get the rope over there, to use the knife to saw through it. Maybe he could get free.
He shifted his hips, moving the muscles in his stomach to inch around.
Blood spurted out of his wounds.
He grunted.
But he’d moved. Only a little, sure, but it was something. He didn’t know how much time he’d have until Terrence came back. He had to keep trying.
And so, he did.
Blood gushed against the altar.
Reilly cried out in pain.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Karen was stuffing the rag she’d used to clean the floor into Wren’s mouth.
Well, she was trying. She wasn’t succeeding, because Wren was kicking her.
Terrence appeared in the doorway. “What the hell are you doing up here?”
Karen turned on him, shaking the rag at him. “She won’t keep her mouth shut. She’s driving me out of my mind.”
“Ignore her,” said Terrence. “This is why you’re screaming bloody murder? Because she’s talking? I thought you were being stabbed to death the way you were screaming.”
Karen glared at him. “I don’t like any of this, Terrence. I hate it. It makes me ill what we do out here. Are we sure it’s the will of the Lord?”
“We let that one go, Karen, and now this,” said Terrence. “You know this is what comes of getting soft.”
“Well, at least the girls aren’t here to see this one,” said Karen, going back into the kitchen. She flung the rag down on the counter.
“Girls?” said Wren.
“Shut up,” said Karen, pointing at her. She turned back to Terrence. “Can’t we knock her out or something?”
“Do what you want, just don’t kill her,” said Terrence, turning his back on her.
“What girls?” said Wren, who wasn’t having too much trouble putting this together. The other room with the two beds? “You have daughters? Does Hawk have your daughters? How old are they?”
Karen’s eyes snapped to Wren’s, holding her gaze. “How do you know that?”
“Not hard to figure out,” said Wren. “Are they young?”
“They’re twins,” said Karen. “They’re eleven
.”
“Oh, no,” said Wren.
“Just how he likes them,” said Karen, her voice cracking. “If we don’t do exactly as he says, he’ll hurt our little girls. He’ll take them from us.” Tears were starting to spill out of her eyes. “Hell, he might do it anyway if we don’t hurry.”
“Take me to him,” said Wren. “Take me now. It’s not about the girls, it’s about me. He kills them because he wants me. Let Reilly go, and I’ll save your daughters, I swear.”
Karen turned to Terrence, questions in her eyes.
“I was that age,” said Wren. “Remember? I was that age when Hawk and I were paired. It’s all about me, don’t you see? If you let me go to him, I can stop all of this.”
“Karen,” said Terrence, shaking his head. “You gotta stop listening to her. This isn’t about Hawk, it’s about our duty to the Lord.”
“But do we really have a duty?” she said. “Maybe we just are looking at it a certain way, and maybe—”
“Come with me,” said Terrence, taking her by the arm. “Leave her here and bear witness while I fulfill the sacrifice.”
“But if she could talk to Hawk,” said Karen. “Maybe then this could all stop.”
“No,” said Terrence, yanking on her arm. He dragged her out of the cabin.
* * *
Terrence dragged Karen along after him until they got back to the pavilion. He looked over Reilly, but the man was just as he’d left him, except there was a good bit more blood on the altar than there had been.
“Stand here,” he told Karen. “You need to watch.”
Karen was openly sobbing, and not bothering to brush her tears away. “I just want our babies back. That’s all I want. I don’t want to kill. I never wanted this.”
“I tell you the truth,” said Terrence in an imperious voice. “Unless you eat of the flesh, you have no life in you. Whoever eats of the flesh will have eternal life, and will be raised up on the last day.”
“But Terrence—”
“Verily, verily, the skin must be taken and the blood spilled and the flesh consumed,” roared Terrence. Then he squinted. “Now, where the hell did I put that knife?”
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