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"Just checking," he shrugs.
Perfect, he’s out cold.
“Laurel Celesti, what were you thinking?” Mom’s voice is pitched high from fear and anger, and when I turn back to look at her she has tears running down her face. “Don’t you dare think these are upset tears, young lady. These are rage tears!”
She’s not fooling me, so I wrap her up in a tight hug and apologize. “I prepped the Ketamine just in case someone caught us. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry, but I knew if I could get to him I’d be able to dose him.”
“What are we going to do now?” Sil asks, standing over the Reverant with a scowl on her face and hands on her hips. “He’s not going to let this go, Laurel. I’ve never seen him like that, it’s almost like he’s lost touch with reality.”
“We can’t let him go, that’s for sure,” Cas says, surprising us all. “What? He will absolutely tell people about you and never stop trying to kill you. You’ll never be safe. He’s the kind of bastard who would search the world for you just to have the credit of taking you out for his god.”
“Then what do you recommend?” I ask, knowing what he means, but wanting him to make the choice for himself.
“I recommend we give him a taste of his own medicine, while ruining his name at the same time.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It took some back and forth, but we figured out a plan we think will work. I watch too many crime scene shows so I nix several ideas before they really form, but what we ultimately decide on is suicide, then destruction by fire. The first aid kit in the front office has several pairs of gloves, so we all put those on and get to work.
Cas has been forging his father's handwriting since we were kids, so we’ve decided to spin a tale of a man who can no longer live a lie. The Reverant will admit he followed in his father’s footsteps because it was what was expected of him, but they both knew all along the Bright God was never real. They wanted power over people, so his ancestors spun their tale of a new, old god. Ultimately, he will claim that instead of facing those he has wronged, he’s taking the coward’s way out. By ending his own life at the same time he destroys the temple, he is hoping to provide solace to those he led to believe in an entity that never existed.
He’ll end the letter by saying he may die from blood loss, or he may die by fire, but either way he won’t feel it because he will be drugging himself. He admits he doesn’t deserve the oblivion, but knew if he faced his death head on he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
I simply wanted him to recant his belief in his god, but Cas was not satisfied with that. Making him out to be a coward and a liar is especially satisfying for Cas, so I let him do what he thought was best. He believed that even though his father was “admitting” to what he had done, he’d never write a simple letter. He would make himself out to be a martyr that was saving the people by finally giving them the truth.
Once the letter is complete we seal it in an envelope and tuck it into the windshield wiper blade on his car addressed to “Castor Addamson,” then grab the gas cans out of the maintenance shed. While Cas and I worked on the letter and got the gas, Mom and Sil packed up our implements and wiped off the altar and syringe so my fingerprints won’t be found, then we sent them home with the car so it won’t be seen here. The Reverant is surprisingly light, so Cas and I are easily able to lift him into position on the altar. Luckily, I injected him in a location he could easily reach himself, so it won’t seem odd to find the syringe, now covered in his fingerprints, lying next to his limp right hand if it survives the fire. The gasoline is sprinkled on him and trails in a thin line to the entrance of the temple, the majority poured on the wooden benches and splashed on the walls, with the now empty cans dropped to the ground beside him.
Normally, I wouldn’t think the Mother would condone human sacrifice, but with Mom being so sick and the Reverant threatening to sacrifice her to his own god in the same manner her priestesses were? I’ll hold a ceremony of my own to both seek aid and get revenge.
Prep complete, I give Cas the opportunity to leave before the ceremony.
“I want to see this finished. He tried to kill you and Marian. He would have killed us all.”
Nodding, I point to the first bench and he takes a seat without another word.
“Mother, hear me as I come to you with offering and supplication. Here lies your enemy, sacrificed to you on the altar of his own god. As he sought to end our lives for his god, now I end his for you. I rebuke the Radiant God and claim this temple as yours for the last act of worship. Take this offering and do with it what you will, but I humbly beg you to find favor with this gift and help my mother make it through her illness. I ask nothing for myself, only for you to do as you see fit.
Accept this sacrifice, Mother, in the same manner this man’s ancestors sacrificed your priestesses of old.”
Taking up the Reverant’s knife in my gloved hands I slice him from wrist to elbow, beginning with shallow hesitation marks and then cutting deep. His blood begins to spill quickly, the vibrant red pooling beneath him on the white marble before spilling over the edges in a steady stream. I watch to make sure he doesn’t wake up from the pain, but he doesn’t move a muscle. Concerned, I lift my gaze from the dying man to check on Cas. He’s staring at his father bleeding out before me, but all I can find in his face and posture is relief.
My attention is soon pulled back to the body as it begins twitching slightly, most likely his body's subconscious desperation to cling to life. Not long after he finally releases a last breath.
I reach over to check his pulse and find nothing, then look up to lock gazes with Cas.
The Reverant is dead.
Since cleanup was already handled, all that is left to do is light the fire and watch as his kingdom burns and crumbles around him. Though this man and this place were difficult for me, it was more so for Cas. For me, it was a sacrifice of time and comfort. For him, it was a prison. He deserves to finish it.
When he joins me on the stage to look down on his father for the last time, he scoffs. “He doesn’t look so strong now, does he? My whole life it felt like he was this great powerful entity that ruled over me with an iron fist. Now he just looks like a frail old man.”
I press a kiss to his shoulder before leaning my head against it, then hold out my hand. The small, generic box of matches I keep to light my candles is in the center of my palm, partially opened and displaying the few that are left.
“Are you ready?” I ask, still almost waiting for him to balk at this.
“Absolutely. It’s time to move on, don’t you think?”
“I do. Do you want to do the honors? Burn down the temple of the god you never worshiped in the name of the Goddess. Finish what your mom started, and make her sacrifice worth it.”
