Seba sighs. “We’re not getting blown up.”
“Fine, smited from afar, because the overlord of Jesus’ Cult is nowhere to be found.”
“He’ll be here,” Andrea says so quietly that I almost miss it. It’s the first time she’s spoken since we parked. She stares through the windshield as if she can see through the outer wall of the chapel. “He’s arrogant to a fault.”
“And we’re gonna use that to our advantage,” Seba adds. “He thinks he’s a living extension of God, so he assumes everything will go his way.”
Andrea glances between us. “We need to feed the illusion that things are going to whatever fucked up plan he’s got in his head. Follow the routine. Act like this is regular scheduled programming.” To Sebastian. “You enter from the back. We’ll go through to the lector’s entrance and stay in the hall— it’s got a clear view of the whole chapel.”
Chewing my thumbnail, I cycle through all the ways this could go wrong. We’re dealing with a holy drug lord here. Anything could happen. Bombing would be the most efficientmethod, yes but who knows? He could go with a baptismal drowning…
Sebastian laces our fingers, bringing our joined hands to his lips to kiss my knuckles. “Nothing’s gonna separate us again, baby.”
You’re right. We’ll die together.
A thin layer of sweat coats my palms. I rip the cuticle, not even phased by the blood now bubbling from the nail-bed.
The churning in my gut isn’t just Blue panicking. It’s not Mom fabricating paranoid delusions. It’s not even Red being a reactive bitch. It’s me— my very essence screaming at us to LEAVE NOW.
“Hey, look at me.”
If I do, I’m gonna cave.
Shit, I can’tnotlook at him.
Ballsacks, I’m gonna cave.
I’m caving.
“I don’t like it.”
“I know, darlin’, I don’t either.” He leans over and kisses my temple, lingering as he breathes me in. I turn to putty. “Just one last thing. Then we’re free.”
Andrea gently takes my other hand, wrapping the hem of her shirt around my bloody thumb. “Let me make something clear to you, love. The three of us? We’re stuck with each other. Forever. Even in the afterlife. And the after-afterlife. And whatever the fuck is after that, because there’s not a place in any world, universe, or realm where we don’t belong together. We're a package deal. Our souls? Superglued at the seams. We’re an unholy trinity, bound by shame and forged in hellfire. Together, we’re Sinclair’s worst nightmare. That righteous bastard should fearus.”
They’re so sure. So convinced. I want to believe. So badly. But a voice I haven’t heard in over half a year slips past the tightly sealed vault door in the back of my mind.
You know the way this goes…
Seventy-Three
SEBA
Each footstep boomsoff the marble floor, wooden rafters and empty pews of the chapel, lit only by candles and moonlight spilling through the stained glass windows. Dank, stagnant air reeks of incense and mildew, filling the space like a balloon inflated within the confines of a tightly sealed box. Pressurized with foreboding. Weighted with anticipation.
I used to think the heaviness here meant God was present. Watching. Listening even to my private thoughts. Now, as I stand in the place I once believed held all the answers, I’m reminded how naive I was. How brainwashed. And it dredges up so much…sadness. For the lost young man desperate for guidance. The fatherless son searching for security and validation. The innocent teenager terrified to accept his sexuality. He wanted a reason— someone to blame for the bad things because it’s too depressing to think some people are just unlucky and sometimes life is just unfair. The allure of religion isn’t lost on me.
It’s easier to believe.
I don’t regret having faith. It shaped me into the man I am today. But I’ve expanded my mind. And while there are still so many inexplicable things about our world, I no longer attribute them to one almighty being in the sky, lording over my everymove. God may exist. He may not. No one has concrete evidence either way, but what Idoknow is I’d rather not spend my short time on earth serving anyone other than the two people I love most.
Once I reach the altar, I drop to one knee and make the sign of the cross— our signal.
“A model disciple for such a sinner.”
When I start to rise, something ice cold and metal presses against the back of my skull.
A click.
