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Matt and John move around me and in less than a minute, they have both men tied up. I let their protests fuel the rage boiling in my blood, let it remind me of why I’m doing this.
I used to protest with these same men.
And just like them, I will show no mercy.
In true unholy fashion, Father Brine and Deacon Block sputter obscenities that would make a nun blush as Matt and John drag them down the hall toward the confessionals. I don’t bother looking back as I walk, confident my friends have them in hand. We have to pass several of the rooms where their fall from grace began, and each door seems to taunt me with a different hellish memory.
Shaking my head, I push the thoughts aside, needing to ignore them so I don’t get sidetracked. We came here tonight with one goal in mind, and a trip down nightmare lane isn’t it.
“You won’t get away with this,” Deacon Block snaps as Matt shoves him into the first confessional we come to.
“And who are you gonna tell?” I counter.
“The police, for starters.”
I lift the gas can and grin. “Hard to talk when you’re fried to a crisp.”
“You’re damning yourself to Hell,” Father Brine says, doing his best to maintain some sort of composure. He’s failing miserably, but it’s entertaining to watch.
“I was damned the second my parents dragged me into this place.” I turn to face John and lift my hands to sign. “Toss him in, man. I’m done listening to their bullshit.”
John bodily lifts the priest and shoves him into the same confessional as the deacon. As soon as they’re closed inside, I start pouring gasoline on the floor, making sure it splashes onto the door. The shouts and banging fists from our captives only make my every move more meaningful.
At least they can shout. I always had to bite my tongue because of the shame.
I walk backward to trail the accelerant toward the pews, not stopping until the can is empty. After tossing it aside, I reach into my pocket and grab my own pack of matches. I strike one and watch the flame dance.
“Let’s light ‘em up,” I declare.
Matt and John step to the side, and I flick the match to the floor. Flames leap and whoosh, the culmination of all my dreams come true. As we make our way through the pews, tossing lit matches in our wake, heat ricochets around us, threatening to blacken our souls more than our actions ever could.
“This is insane,” Matt shouts to be heard over the crackling roar of the fire. “And amazing!”
Screams from the confessional are like music to my ears, and I glance at John. He’s standing there with a grin on his face to match my own. I arch a brow at him as if to ask ‘what’.
“I can’t hear shit.” John’s cheeks are red, and his eyes are as bright as the flames. “I can’t hear their screams, and I love it.”
Matt steps closer. “How do you know they’re screaming?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
I throw my head back and laugh. This is better than I imagined.
“We should go,” John signs, and I nod. “Before someone calls 911, we need to be long gone.”
He grabs my arm and starts to drag me toward the door. I blindly follow, not wanting to leave, but knowing he’s right. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Matt still standing near the burning pews, staring into the flames.
I shove John and when he stumbles, he glares at me. I motion for him to go ahead without me. He hesitates but goes.
“We’ve gotta go!” I shout to Matt.
He’s frozen in place, and I run back to him and yank on his arm.
“Matt, c’mon!” I shake him until he snaps out of his stupor. “We’re not who dies tonight. Let’s go, man.”
The two of us race in the direction John went, away from the devastation and destruction, away from years of pain and abuse and a hellish existence.
When we meet John outside, he’s holding his cell phone so we can see the screen. I read the text from Mary.
