"Judgement for a judge," I mutter, raising the crossbow again to aim it at the tree.
"Judgement for a man who believes he's a judge, though he is not God and he has a wicked heart." Jonah sneers.
I open my mouth to point out how he is passing judgement on others—even condemning them to death—but I quickly close it. Elijah wants me to be respectful, and honestly, I need his flock to stand behind me after I kill my father. If I ever need someone to vouch for my good character or say that I loved my father, they'll all lie for me because they think it's for the greater good.
There is no greater good. There are only judges, the prosecuted, and the gallows.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Teresa (late Monday afternoon)
When Aaron and I drive up to the Alpha and Omega Temple compound, we only wait a minute before a man comes over to open the gates. I recognize him as the founder, Jonah Walker, from Donovan's e-mailed research.
"So, which government acronym are you?" he asks. "FBI? CIA? NSA? DHS?"
"Why would you think we're the Department of Homeland Security?" Aaron asks.
"I don't. I mean the Department of Human Services."
Aaron turns to me. "We have too many acronyms."
I sigh. "Mr. Walker, I'm FBI, Aaron is the chief of police in Wyatt. Could we ask you a few questions?"
"Pertaining to what?"
"Various topics, Mr. Walker."
He raises both his eyebrows, but seems unfazed by our presence. "Certainly. Come on in. Why don't we talk in the temple? I always feel like I'm closest to God there, and when the government is asking me a few questions, I find it easiest to deal with it when I feel my Lord and Creator close to me."
We follow him as we walk toward the temple. Light reflects off the steel and glass dome, seeming to blinding some women as they shield their eyes, which I find fitting for a cult. After we step through the doors, Jonah walks toward the altar at the front of the temple. He sits down in the center of it. I walk straight up to him and remain standing. Aaron follows me, lingering a step or two behind.
"So? What are your questions?"
"How about we start with something simple," I say. "Can you tell me what your church believes? Are you Catholics? Baptists? Lutherans?"
"We don't take any of those labels," he says. "We don't take any labels at all. We believe Jesus Christ is our Savior and He will one day rise again. We're a very peaceful group. I suppose there are some people who dislike us—like the Catholics who believe they can get to heaven through good deeds, or the homosexuals who are constantly pushing their agenda—"
"Hey," Aaron snaps. "Maybe you should reread the parts of the Bible that say you shouldn't judge others."
"The Bible says I should judge others if I am sinning as well—'How can you say to your brother, "Let me take the speck out of your eye," when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?' Matthew, chapter seven, verse four. I have removed any plank from my eye and God has forgiven me. He hasn't forgiven those who continue to be sexually immoral or the faithless."
"How are Catholics faithless?"
"Okay, Aaron," I interrupt. "We're not here to argue religion."
"He's making Christianity look bad!"
"I think you're a little late worrying about that, considering the Crusades."
"That was over nine hundred years ago!"
"Oh, my God," I say.
Jonah crosses his arms over his chest, a deep frown set in his face.
I glance up at the ceiling. "Sorry, God. Didn't mean to take your name in vain."
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out.
New message from Barrett Donovan
I click on it.
Barrett Donovan: LaPonte received a lot of support (vocally and financially) from the Alpha and Omega Temple in 2014 and they were on his Representative online page. He took them off and disavowed them after a reporter made some remarks about the Temple being a cult and how women were treated like servants. Apparently, Jonah Walker wasn't too happy about this. He wrote an article to the Wyatt Daily, calling LaPonte "antichrist," and saying he was a pawn of Satan. After reading this, I will never run for office.
Me: Thanks.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and look over at Jonah, who has his eyes closed and appears to be praying.
"Uh, Mr. Walker?" I ask. He opens his eyes, glaring at me. "What is your relationship with Representative LaPonte?"
"As you likely already know, we had a falling out," he says. "I was angry, so I said some horrible things. LaPonte angered many people, but that doesn't mean any of us would kill him. I was very upset over hearing he was killed. I know when we went our separate ways, he had begun to wander away from God, so I only pray he still accepted Jesus as his savior before he was killed."
"What about Sarah Latham? Do you know her?" I ask.
He glances down at his hands. "She's friends with some of the kids around here. I don't pay much attention. I met her once and she's been hanging out with various people for the last week or so."
"Do you know any of the other kids' names?"
"No. I told you, I don't pay much attention."
I glance over at Aaron. He steps up closer to the two of us.
"Mr. Walker, what do you think about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?"
A good question. We never released the fact that LaPonte had a verse carved into his forehead to the press.
"The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? From Revelation? They're the first part of the Apocalypse. There's Famine, Conquest, War, and Death."
"That's it? That's all you think?"
"What more is there to think?" he asks. "I suppose when Jesus begins the Apocalypse, there's a small chance I could meet them, but otherwise, I don't know anything else. They're all supposed to ride different colored horses. Is that helpful?"
"What about the Apocalypse? When do you think that's going to happen?"
"I don't know. Nobody does. Nobody is supposed to know." A muscle twitches along his jaw.
When Aaron glances over at me, I know he saw it, too.
"We should get going," he says. "Clearly, he's not our guy."
I nod. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Walker."
"Of course," he says. "Have a nice day."
Aaron and I walk out of the temple together. As we reach my SUV, a woman's already closing the gate.
Once inside my vehicle, I turn to him. "Are we both in agreement about this?"
"That this cult is guilty as sin for killing LaPonte? Yep."
"We don't have any concrete evidence, though."
"I can try to get a warrant, but it will likely be hard since no judge will want to go up against a religious institution because they'll be afraid of stepping on religious freedom."
"I'll…get ahold of the Anchorage hotel that LaPonte was staying at and see if they'll send over security footage. Maybe Jonah Walker will be in the video. Or Sarah. Or anybody religious enough that they could belong to this temple."
"So, we're looking for a needle in a haystack?"
"Don't be a downer." He teases. "We've got this. We found Sarah Latham, we sent Mason to prison, I'm the chief of police, and you're the special agent who's going to be doing some amazing undercover job. We've got this. We can do this."
I grin. "Absolutely."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sarah (Monday night)
It's a few minutes past nine when I open the front door of my house. As I snap the door shut behind me, the sound seems to echo in the house. Or maybe I just want to hear some form of noise because my mind seems oddly calm. It feels like I've been waiting for this moment my whole life.
I see the glow of light coming from the second floor, so I walk up the stairs then down the hallway until I'm at the room where the light is coming from. It's my father's office. The light seems to push away the darkness as if Moses had parted the Red Sea, causing a path for me to walk on. I simply follow the light.
My father m
ust sense my eyes on him because he glances up from where he's working at his desk.
"Sarah," he says. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to a movie."
"I just said that so I would have an alibi."
We stare at each other. I didn't get his eye color—they're a whiskey brown while mine are baby blue—but there's something in them that have always made me think my eyes are more similar to his than my mother's blue eyes—maybe the determination, maybe the immorality, maybe the capability of murder without remorse.
But, he hasn't actually gotten his hands dirty as far as I know. He just allows killers to walk free.
"Why do you need an alibi?" His voice full of caution.
"Because of you." I try to keep my rage in check, but it seeps into my words anyway. "It's all because of you. I've lived in this house that you've made a hell. I've taken every fist that you hit me with. I've watched you demean and beat my mother. I've watched you walk around like you're a god and you're not. You're just a pitiful asshole who helps men similar to you cover up the murder of their sisters."
"Are you crazy?" He hisses and slams his fist on the desk, his jaw set as his own anger begins to ripple to the surface. "What are you even talking about? I didn't cover up any murder other than helping you cover up the one you committed. Do you know why I did that? Because I love you. Because I raised you. I always gave you the best money could buy, and you are my goddamn daughter. Apparently, you don't feel the same way toward me, which would have been nice to know instead of you reaping all of the benefits of my work while hating me the whole time."
"You won't have to worry about that for long." I step closer to him, my thighs pressing against his desk. He stands up, his body rigid. "Maybe when I'm pretending to be in shock over your death, I'll accidentally spill the little secret about how you sneak into my room at night to get yourself off."
"You're sick. You have no idea what you're talking about." He sneers.
"You don't remember?" I ask. "All those times you put your hands on me? And I'm sure you thought it was okay because it wasn't under my clothes. I'm sure you thought it was okay because I pretended to be asleep, but I can tell you, nobody else will see it that way. Because you're the one who's sick."
"If you deny him mercy, I will deny you mercy."
The voice doesn't come from around me like it does when Debbie or the other dead people show up. It's in my head except at the same time it feels like it's in my chest.
"Sarah, you've been imagining things." My father snarls. "I never did any of that. You're crazy. Ever since the incident in the mine, you've lost it."
"I came to you to lead you back on the path of righteousness, but you refuse to see Me right in front of you."
I turn to my father. "Do you hear that?"
"What? Hear what? I'm talking to you right now. What the hell is wrong with you?"
It's not possible. It must be Debbie trying to trick me because God doesn't speak to people. God isn't even real. Any emotion I felt while being baptized was just hope manifesting itself as something stronger. There is no God.
"Sarah!"
As he leans forward, I slide my hand into my jacket and pull the combat knife out of my inside pocket. I thrust the knife up into the curve under his chin. His eyes are wide as he makes a strangled choking noise. I jerk the knife out. He stumbles back into his chair, blood pouring out from his throat.
"The Alpha and Omega Temple wanted me to shoot you with a crossbow because of the multiple references of a bow in the Bible, which symbolizes God's judgement," I say as he clutches at his throat, "but I don't want you to die because of God's judgement. I want you to die because of my judgement."
I sit down across from his desk, place the knife on the chair's armrest, and wait for him to die. As I glance around his office, I notice Debbie lingering in the right corner near the wall my father hangs newspaper clippings he has been featured in. She doesn't say a word, only blinking once before her body seems to become blurry colors—like looking at someone in the rain—before the haze rises up past the ceiling. Was she a guardian angel? Was I meant to do this the whole time, and she was simply guiding me to it?
No. Angels aren't real either.
"I know I didn't imagine what you did to me at night and it's despicable you can't even admit it now," I tell him.
He stares right back at me, though I'm not certain how much he's understanding as he continues to lose blood.
"There is no dream or illusion that could even come close to that hard, ugly feeling in my chest. No nightmare could reenact my fear that one day you would take it even further. Don't you dare deny it and tell me it never happened because I fucking lived it."
He opens his mouth as if to speak, but a cough comes out instead, particles of blood falling onto the desk.
"It's too late. You had your chance to confess your sins, but your time is up. The Temple wanted me to tell you this whole verse about the Red Horseman of War, but I have a different one for you. Jesus said it—or, at least, the Bible says he said it in the First Epistle of John. I memorized it just for you."
His chest stops heaving and his whole body seems to become slack, but his eyes are still on me.
"Jesus said, 'You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.' And I have never heard anything more true about our relationship."
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't move at all.
Oh. I suppose that means it's part two of my plan.
I pick the knife back up and I thrust it into my abdomen.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aaron (Monday night)
"Okay, we never took the surveillance footage because we were sure the killers didn't leave through the lobby. But now I need the surveillance footage—" I say, holding my cell phone up to my ear as I talk to the owner of Silver Anchor Hotel.
"Mr. Grant, we can't just give you our surveillance footage. We have clients that pay a good price for us to keep their anonymity and privacy—"
"I don't care how secretive your clients want to be. I don't care if the President of United States is coming in with a prostitute, a drug dealer, and the leader of North Korea. I just want to look at the footage and see if—"
"Mr. Grant, if you just bring in a warrant, we'll give you whatever the warrant requires us to give you."
"I shouldn't need a warrant! Getting a warrant takes time, most of which is trying to convince a judge to think I have probable cause. I don't know if I have that much time. I could have a person who has committed a series of murders and I need to figure out if he or she is involved with this one…so I can have them arrested."
"I'm sure one or two more days won't make much of a difference."
"I'm the chief of police in Wyatt! What am I going to do that you think is so awful?" I shout. My phone beeps. I glance at the screen. It's Holtzman, one of the Wyatt police officers.
"Mr. Grant, I assure you that everyone at Silver Anchor Hotel respects your authority, but we simply can't—"
"Okay, you know what? Never mind. I will come back there with a warrant and I'll take extra time to see if anything you're doing is illegal. Good night."
I hang up on him and switch the call to Holtzman.
"Holtzman, I'm going to need someone to go convince one of our judges to sign a warrant so that we can look at Silver Anchor Hotel's surveillance footage."
"Uh, okay," he says. "But…it's not going to be Judge Latham."
"Why not?" I ask, gripping the phone. "Was he arrested?"
"What? No. Why would you think that? No. He's dead."
"What? Holy shit, what do you mean he's dead? Did he have a heart attack or something?"
"No, he was stabbed in the throat and bled to death."
"Can you start elaborating a little bit? Just a little bit?" I say,
trying not to be as much of an asshole as I want to be right now.
"Well, according to Sarah Latham—"
"She was there? Sarah was there?"
"If you want me to elaborate, let me elaborate," he says. I press my lips together, my mind racing. "Sarah was supposed to be at the movies, but she returned home because she'd forgot her wallet was out of her purse. When she walked into the house and up to her room, she went to her father's office to greet him and instead, she walked into a man leaving the scene of the murder. He stabbed her before she could get a good look at him."
"So…wait, is she okay, then?"
"She's gone to the hospital, but the EMTs thought the stab wound wouldn't be fatal."
"I'm coming over there."
"That's a good idea, because I have a feeling this town is going to start freaking out about these murders. You'll probably have a bunch of vigilantes before long."
"I'm coming. Just stay there and preserve the scene as much as possible."
* * *
When I show up at the Latham house, there's two police cars and the yard has been taped. I jump out of my car then run across the yard, but Greg grabs my arm before I reach the door.
"Aaron, stop," he says. "We need to talk."
"I just need to look at the crime scene. There's so much more going on here than you realize, and I need to look at the scene before they change anything."
"Aaron—"
"Chief Grant," Officer Holtzman strides up to me. "I'm going to need you to put your hands behind your back."
"What?" I snap. "Are you arresting me? Why?"
Officer Holtzman's face is completely unreadable, so I turn to Greg.
His face is pinched together, etched with distress. "Sarah Latham told us that it was you who attacked her father."
"What? No, that's crazy. Why would I kill Judge Latham?"
"She said that you were alleging he was involved with Zoë's death, Junior's death, LaPonte's death, and Nick's death. She said you blamed him for the murders Mason committed, too. She also said when she came in and saw you standing over him that you forced him to confess he had killed all those people before you killed him, and then attacked her. She said after you stabbed her, you threatened her and said if she survived to be questioned by the police, you wanted her to lie or else you would come back to kill her."
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