The days after the trial were even crazier than the trial itself

The days after the trial were even crazier than the trial itself. The death of Matthew Harrison Brady had left the whole world in shock. Sarah Brady had seen it fitting that her husband be laid to rest in Hillsboro, the one place that had loved him unconditionally and housed his last hurrah.

And so, the town flooded with mourners. Despite what EK Hornbeck thought, people DID love Brady, and there were tears for him. Hornbeck perhaps was the only reporter who stayed away.

Those who had spent their lives in the town watched in awe. Was this really the sleepy little village they had grown to love?

Thanks to Bert Cates, Hillsboro would never be the same.

Rachel's eyes widened as she stepped out onto the train station.

She had never seen so many people before, at one time. So many sounds and colors it began to make her feel faint. She just stopped and stared until she felt Bert tugging at her hand.

"Rache, come on, lets go,"

She nodded wordlessly and let Bert lead her through the crowd. They made their way out to the Chicago streets, and grimaced as soon as she saw them.

It wasn't the clean, peacefulness of Hillsboro, that was for sure. There was strange stench hanging in the air, and the streets were busy with cars. Rachel had seen only a handful of cars in her life, so this many at once…

"Hey, you ok?" Bert asked her softly, staring at her with his gentle eyes.

"I'm fine," She replied, "It's just a little bit…"

"Overwhelming?" Bert finished. Rachel nodded and laughed, "I know how you feel, love."

He squeezed her hand and at his words Rachel blushed, feeling silly that she was the one feeling overwhelmed at the moment.

Bert then hailed a taxi, and soon he and Rachel were whizzing down the street towards their new life. They were dropped off in front of an intimidating tall hotel building and together they stepped out of the cab.

"You sure you're okay?" Bert asked, "I know this is different."

"Yeah, it is," Rachel said, "But I think I'm up to the challenge."

Bert smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"That's my girl."

THE HILLSBORO HYPOCRITE

As the world well knows, Matthew Harrison Brady died last Friday.

Should we mourn the death of our prophet, valiantly taken out in the wake of his final battle?

Some people think so. But what is surprising is who.

At the site of his death, Henry Drummond could be heard praising this man, this enemy of his. After he had been defeated, Drummond was talking about this man like any of those common religious hicks of the

EK Hornbeck let out a frustrated sigh. He ripped the paper out of the typewriter, crumpled it, and neatly tossed it into the wastepaper basket. He then picked up a fresh, white page and began anew.

Father,

You can't possibly say you didn't know this was coming. After everything you did to Bert. We're leaving. Don't look for me.

I love you Daddy. But I love him too. And you were the one who made me choose.

Goodbye. I'll come back for Christmas.

Love, Rachel

Reverend Jeremiah Brown held the short, cold note in his trembling hands. The full wave of his mistakes was only now hitting him. She was gone. He had failed. He'd let God come between him and his only child. Did his beliefs really mean that much to him?

The answer was no. But he had been too blind to see that. So now all he could do was bow his head and weep for his stupidity.

Henry Drummond did not attend the funeral of Matthew Harrison Brady.

There were enough people to weep for the man. He was quite content to read the coverage of the funeral in the newspaper with his glass of scotch. Besides, he had practically murdered the man, he wouldn't have been well received at the funeral.

But whether or not he wanted to admit it, he missed him. He missed the rivalry he'd had with Brady and despite their numerous arguments he knew he was a good man.

Smiling sadly, he picked up the newspaper.

…Some people say he was a great man. Others simply a raving religious nutjob.

But what everyone can agree on is that he stood up for what he believed in. Brady was a man who knew what he felt and what he wanted, and wasn't afraid to go after it.

Even by those who did not agree with him, even by those who did not like him, he was a person to be respected.

As an atheist myself, I often found my opinions butting heads with that of Matthew Harrison Brady. I unjustly hated him, slandered him.

But now I realize my mistake. And I realized by many of us loathed him. He wasn't afraid to do what we were terrified of. He risked everything to speak out for his beliefs.

And because of that, I, EK Hornbeck, will be the first to say that this man will be missed.

Drummond smiled approvingly and lifted his glass of scotch as he stared at a photograph of the coffin being lowered into the ground.

"To Brady," He toasted to the empty room, his voice gruff with emotion. He drained his glass, and repeated, "To Brady."