Hold Fast (22 page)

“We need to go, Sean. Remember?” I tug at his sleeve, but I might as well be pulling at a cloth-covered statue. “That’s the door, right up there. Through there, out the front of the barn, and then we’re safe.”

“She already took my brothers, Courtney! I won’t let her have you, too.”

“Look,” I say, backing slowly away from him toward the window. “It’s safe.”

“No,” he insists. “It’s not. Come back.”

I stop when I feel the rough-hewn timber wall of the rectory at my back, the curtain against my hair.

“See? Now, come on, Sean,” I urge. “Let’s go. Through the door.” The gun droops again, and he takes a hesitant step toward me, then another. “Good! Just a few more, then we can leave here forever. We can go home. Together.”

The wind shifts again, and the curtain brushes against my shoulders and-- that’s not the wind. Someone’s there.

“
SEAN!
” I scream, but whatever it is, he’s already seen it.

“
Get down, get down! Down, down, down!
” I drop, curling into a ball at the base of the wall and cover my head with my arms. The silenced gun is up again, steady on the window, and Sean pulls the trigger as soon as I’m clear of the window.

Click.

Sean’s face falls, eyes huge again, and now he’s truly panicking.

Why? What happened? What’s wrong?

The weapon is so quiet anyway that it takes me a moment to understand that it didn’t fire, and by then I see a shape sticking out of the window directly above me. It’s long, black, and narrow and the tip of it is less than ten feet away from the man who’s risked his life to rescue me. Sean drops the submachine gun and reaches for a pistol with a fat black can on the end of the barrel. He’s fast – the pistol is clear of the holster by the time gravity drags the first weapon to the end of its strap.

He’s fast, but not fast enough. He’ll never make it in time. Nobody could miss him at this distance!

I reach up to the gun barrel sticking out of the window, grabbing and tugging as hard as I can. Whoever is holding it tries desperately to pull it back, and of course they pull the trigger, but it’s not pointed at my love anymore. The shot is deafening, and I know I’ll have blisters on my hands from the heat of the barrel, but I don’t care.

It’s a tug-of-war now, with whoever holds the other end of it, and tug-of-war tricks work. I relax for a moment, bracing my legs against the wall and then pull as hard as I can. Not only does the gun come out the window, but a squirming body follows it out to land on top of me.

“
Get clear, Courtney! Get clear!
” Sean orders, but I’m still struggling, pinned underneath whoever it was that fell on me. The
small
person that fell on top of me. Short hair. It’s not a woman. It’s just a boy.

“
Nathan!
” I yell, with as much authority as I can manage. “Get off me,
right now!
” All the fight goes out of him in an instant, and he falls to the ground beside me, shaking with silent tears.

He’s not scary. He’s just… scared.

“Why are you doing this, Courtney?” I kneel, taking the little boy’s hands and pulling him up to his own knees in front of me. Nathan looks over at me with tears streaking his soot-covered face. “Why did you bring him here to kill us?”

“Because you had her locked in a fucking box,” Sean says, standing behind him. Nathan flinches as the muzzle of Sean’s pistol touches the back of his neck. “Because you were going to marry her off to some greasy, sadistic piece of shit.”

“My brother’s a good man!” Nathan yells, turning to face Sean with a face screwed up in hatred, but freezes after a sharp rap on the head from the pistol barrel.

“Your brother?” Sean asks, suddenly full of courteous curiosity. “Jeremiah is your brother?”

“Yes,” Nathan whimpers. “He’s a
good
man. He’ll be a prophet, one day, when our father ascends to Heaven. A holy man.” The tears fall in earnest now, and his shoulders quiver. He’s trying so hard to be brave.

“Oh, Nathan,” I sigh, and hug him. “Sweetheart, your brother is a monster. He
hurt
me, Nathan. And he was going to keep on
hurting
me. Until it finally killed me.”

“But if you submit…” The boy looks up at me with confused eyes. “Courtney, you
have
to submit. It’s The Lord’s
Will
that you submit. You’re a
woman
. You
have
to be punished for Eve’s sin, for causing the fall of Adam!”

“Sweetie? I’m not going to submit, not to
anyone.
I’m never going to be
property
again.
Ever again
.” Another tight hug, then I release him and stand. “And the only sins I’ll be punished for will be my own. It was never
The Lord’s
Will. It’s your
father’s
will. But, you see, I love Sean. And Sean loves me.”

“My father is The Lord’s prophet?” It should have been a statement, but the boy’s inflection makes it a question instead. Maybe I’ve accomplished something with him after all. “A holy man?”

“Speaking of your father,” Sean says, tapping Nathan on the head again. “Shut the fuck
up
! I
know
time’s a factor here. Look, we’re working on it, but I think there’s one more piece of unfinished business.”

“But I didn’t say anything,” Nathan whines.

“I know, sweetie. He’s not talking to you.”

“Right,” Sean says, his attention back on Nathan. “Sorry, where was I? Right. Your father. Holy man. I’d like to meet this
hole
-ly man. See if I can help him become even
hole
-lier.”

“He’s, he’s…” Nathan stammers, hiccupping from the tears. “He’s in the chapel. He went there to pray for our deliverance from Satan’s evil power. Who were you talking to just now?”

“Sauron,” Sean says with a truly vicious grin, but Nathan just looks confused. “Courtney, my love? Let’s take a moment to visit the chapel. See if we can’t help answer the old bastard’s prayers.”

“Nathan,” I say. “Sweetheart? Be safe, okay? We’re going now. When the policemen come, when the firemen come tonight? Go with them. They’ll take you somewhere safe and warm, and you can have a bath and something to eat, okay?”

“I’ll be okay,” he says, numbly.

The little boy stays on his knees, back to us, as we disappear through the door into the barn. He never even looks at the shotgun in the dirt next to him.

“That kid’s a piece of work,” Sean says. “He was in the running to be just as bad as his father and brother.”

“It’s how he was raised,” I tell him. “He’s never known anything different.”

“He didn’t even know who Sauron was. Can he read? We gotta send him a copy of
Lord of the Rings
for Christmas or something, if we can find out which juvie he winds up in.”

“Sean, I’m worried about the kids,” I say. “Jennie. Matthew. All the others. What’s going to happen to them?”

“Pretty much what you told little killer back there,” he answers. “They’ll go into the system, probably. If that’s what they’re turning out here, I don’t see any of these nutjobs getting to keep their kids.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I mean, Child Services… it’s not great, but it’ll be better than anything they’ve known here. They’ll be able to get counseling, at least. Try and undo some of…” Sean trails off, gesturing with the barrel of the pistol, encompassing not just the barn but also the entire compound.

“I wish we could just take them away right now. Take them with us.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Me too. I saw how you were with that little girl. You love her. You’re probably more of a mom to her than her
actual
mother is. But we can’t,” he says gently. “We just can’t. We need to get
you
to safety first.
Then
we can see about getting Child Services in here, if the Warden Service and the fire fighters don’t do it for us tonight.”

Flames lick at the edges of the barn, and sparks blow through the front door. Any moment, it will become an inferno when the straw on the floor catches.

“We’d better get out of here,” I say.

“Yes,” Sean agrees. “First, though, the chapel.” His face is hard, his mouth a narrow, grim slash.

The chapel is on fire. It’s not fully involved, not yet, but the roof is already burning and it’s only a matter of time before it’s completely gone. My heart soars as I watch one of the bleached-white streamers bursts into flame.

It’s the best news ever. My wedding is cancelled.

I look up at Sean’s face, impassive and pitiless, and squeeze his hand. His face does not change, but he squeezes back.

There’s a small crowd gathered there now, men and women, some of the children. I don’t see Jennie or Matthew. Most of the men still have rifles or shotguns, some have hammers or axes, but leaderless, nobody raises a hand against us. The crowd parts silently, the Red Sea before a grim latter-day Moses covered in armor and blood. Sean releases my hand and removes his helmet as we climb the few steps up to the already-opened double doors.

The heat inside the chapel is intense. Flames lick at the base of one wall, and the flowers gathered around the altar have wilted and browned. Father Emmanuel kneels in prayer before the altar, under a cracked plaster ceiling. Charred black spots grow, moment by moment.

Sean’s heavy boots are drumbeats on the wooden floor as we approach Emmanuel, stopping between the first row of pews. The old man does not look back.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he says in a weary voice.

“Take your time,” Sean answers equably, and after a handful of seconds the old man rises to his feet, brushing off his knees. It’s a reflex: his hands, black with soot, leave more of a mess than they cleaned off.

“I see I was wrong about you, Mister Pearse,” he says finally. “You
were
a threat after all.”

“No,” Sean replies, softly. “I’m not a threat. I’m vengeance.”

“‘Vengeance is mine, I will--’” Emmanuel begins, but Sean interrupts him.

“‘The Lord is a man of war,’” he quotes. “The Book of Exodus. And as for vengeance?
I. Will. Re. Pay.
”

“You dare blaspheme in this, the house of The Lord? You blaspheme with the very words of The Lord himself?” Emmanuel throws up his hands, his hair an insane white halo. Smoke is gathering near the ceiling, and now a second wall is starting to burn as well.

“This is not God’s house, Emmanuel,” I say. “Or whatever your name actually is. In fact, I really don’t know what your name is. Even a last name, for your sons.” I snort, shaking my head at the realization.

How stupid are these people? Following someone when they genuinely don’t know a thing about him?

Emmanuel looks daggers at me, cocking his arm back to slap me, but stays his hand, relaxing it and slowly letting it fall when Sean raises the big pistol.

“Isn’t it amazing how our perception of size changes?” Sean muses. “I mean, nine millimeters? That’s not very big. But right now? To you? It looks as big as the deepest, darkest gateway to hell.”

The flowers around the altar are burning now, the altar itself wreathed in flame. Plaster falls from the ceiling, and the smoldering horsehair embedded in it adds to the acrid smoke. I’ve always know he was Satan in human form, but now? Backlit by the flames, he’s never looked more demonic.

“If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine!” Emmanuel’s voice is frantic, screechy.

Sean barks a laugh. It’s harsh, but filled with genuine humor.

“Seriously?” he asks. “You’re going to quote fucking
Star Wars
at me? That’s how you want to go out?” Sean shakes his head. “That line didn’t work out so well for Obi-Wan,” Sean tells the madman. “Still, perhaps it’s best not to take the chance.”

Sean lowers the pistol from Emmanuel’s head, and fires twice. Emmanuel falls to the ground, and my heart sings out to hear the son of a bitch screaming in such pain. One of Sean’s bullets pulverized his left kneecap. The other took him low in the belly. Neither wound is necessarily fatal, but either one will make it hard to get out of the burning chapel.

“You have raised your hand against the Anointed of The Lord!” Emmanuel gasps, writhing on the floor. His voice is raspy from the smoke, weakened by pain and blood loss. “You will burn for this!”

For a long moment I think about all the lives that this lunatic has destroyed with his perversion of religion. My own life, maimed and tortured, but never broken. The torment that he’s put me through. The future he’d planned for me. Every tick mark on that scorecard is a point against him, and my heart hardens with each one.

“
You… will burn… for this…”

Sean raises the pistol again to put him down, to end Emmanuel’s pain. To end the screaming.

“No, Sean,” I say, gently pushing his hand down. I stoop to kneel next to the son of a bitch, close enough to kiss him if I wanted to. Close enough to whisper in his ear.
"You burn first."

Sean holsters the pistol, and we walk out of the chapel, hand in hand.

The silent congregation is still gathered there, but it’s now grown larger by two members: the grisly corpse of Brother Lucas lies on a blanket at the bottom of the steps; and Nathan, clutching a huge antique family Bible in his hands, who stands on the small landing at the top. He’s watched everything, through the open doors.

He’s so lost. So confused. My heart breaks for this little boy. He’s been responsible for so much pain, both for me and others. I know he caused the deaths of Daniel and Joshua when he told his father about what he’d seen them doing together, but how can I blame him? He was manipulated, placed in a position where there was no other course he knew how to take. I don’t know what to say to the boy, and hold out a silent hand toward him.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Just go.”

Sean’s truck rumbles at idle behind the crowd, and someone revs the engine wildly as we go down the steps.

“Come on! Move! Move!” the driver yells through the open passenger window. “We’ve got about six minutes to get the fuck away from here!”

The ride out – the
egress
, Sean calls it – is a bumpy one, and his big four-wheel drive truck earns its reputation a hundred times over as the big man at the wheel races us into the pitch darkness away from the burning compound. He drives with no lights on, using another set of the same four-eyed night vision goggles that my Sean wears. It’s only a short run off road, just a few minutes, but my head bounces off the roof of the Blazer at least fourteen thousand times before we find the other man’s truck in a clearing in the woods.