by Lincoln Cole
He stepped past the spikes, barely noticing the grotesque expressions of pain and terror on the faces of his friends. He’d seen worse in his time.
He’d done worse in his time.
He moved to the door and slipped the snub nose revolver from his belt. It felt comfortable in his hand, ready and waiting to deal death.
The door was cracked. Inside, he heard the creaking of a board as someone strode across the floor.
“Whoever I find inside,” he said, “I will kill.”
A moment passed in silence, and then a silky, smooth voice came back to him. It was a voice he recognized instantly:
“That…”
The Reverend felt a shiver run down his spine and his heart skipped a beat. “No, no, no,” he muttered.
The door opened smoothly in front of him and he saw Abigail standing there, a lascivious smile on her face.
“…would be a shame,” she finished.
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