Varlyn Stroud leaned against the porch frame and took a slow drag from his cigarette. He was not a man used to feeling incompetent but then again, this night had brought about many unexpected emotions. He had warned Justin that the carnival was a trap but Justin had been insistent. Try as he might, Varlyn could not get an accurate read on Justin. To be sure, Varlyn was in awe of Justin. His power, his presence….all of those qualities Varlyn recognized as lacking in himself.
Before they had left the house this evening, Varlyn had been embraced as a true believer and one of Justin's most trusted confidents. By the end of the night, he had been issued an ultimatum. Find the maid girl or don't bother coming back. Rolling the cigarette between his calloused fingers, Varlyn let out a frustrated grunt. He had looked high and low for that bitch and had come up empty handed. The only thing left to do he supposed was go back to the house to see is she had wandered back.
He hated the idea of walking into that house without the girl. Justin would be in no mood for excuses. There was the possibility that Justin would still be gone but that could mean even bigger problems. Varlyn had seen the way Justin's eyes had narrowed into suspicious slits every time Iris entered a room where Varlyn was present. In a strange way, it was almost as if Justin could read his mind and see the many ways in which Varlyn dreamt of defiling Iris.
A slight smile played across Varlyn Stroud's face as he remembered shoving Iris against the wall as he rammed his tongue down her throat. She had been shocked but had held her own. Varyln respected that. Most women would have run to tell their brother but Iris had just resumed her daily schedule the next day as if nothing had happened. Before he could decide whether to make his way down to the house, Varlyn noticed a car was speeding its way up the solitary road to the shack.
He flicked his cigarette stub onto the battered beams of the makeshift porch and took out his gun. Twirling the chamber, Varlyn hoped it was someone disposable coming up the road. A good old-fashioned killing would go a long way in boosting his shaky confidence this evening. Cocking the gun, Varlyn aimed for the car and waited for the driver to reveal himself. He was more than a little surprised to see Justin come barreling out of the driver's side.
Putting the gun back in the holster, Varlyn stood up straight to greet his Prophet. "Brother Justin what are you…." His words were cut short as soon as Justin's face became clear in the moonlight. Justin wore an expression Varlyn had never seen on him before. The cracks on Justin's face intermingled with the lines of dried blood made Varyln think of a mirror that had broken.
"I need Wilfred. Have you seen him?" While Varlyn could hear the clipped authority in Justin's question, he also noticed his words were laced with desperation.
"I seen what's left of him. Guess he should have come on down to the river for a dunking." Varlyn hoped his joke would be met with a laugh. It wasn't.
Justin grabbed Varlyn by the collar and threw him against the shack door. "Don't play games with me! Where is he!"
Fear clouded Varlyn's eyes but he managed to speak. "He's dead. I found him earlier. Before you dealt with Scudder. Left him on the hillside for the buzzards."
Justin responded to his words with an ear-splitting scream that sounded as if his heart was being ripped from his body. "He can't be dead. She needs him! His black magic is the only way!" Justin began to stalk the porch like a caged animal on the verge of insanity. For once, Varlyn chose silence as the best recourse.
Finally, Justin stopped his pacing and stood in front of Stroud. "There was an accident. Iris….she…" Justin licked his lips as he struggled to find the words. "I need to bring her back." Justin's words floated between the two men, naked and wretched. Slowly, the reality of Justin's words sunk into Varlyn.
"You saying she's dead?" Varlyn was stunned to find his chest tighten at the news. When Justin did not answer, Varlyn reached out his hand and placed it on Justin's shoulder. This one act seemed to unleash a torrent in Justin as tears welled up in his eyes. "Well then I think we got to go get her and bring her to the Templars. They'll know how to fix her." While he doubted the truth behind his words, Varlyn knew that Justin needed hope to cling to at this moment. Anything less would lead to certain devastation. Leading Justin to the car like a child, Varlyn opened the door and helped Justin in. While this sudden reversal in power should have comforted Varlyn, all it did was unnerve him.
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Across the camp, Ben Hawkins crept silently through the same back door he had walked through not 48 hours before. Making his way down the dim hallway, Ben was just about to climb the stairs when he heard an audible groan coming from the front room. It reminded Ben of the cat he had nursed as a child. The plaintive, wailing sound was the same one the cat had made before dying.
For a moment, Ben froze. It could be another trap. Shaking his head, Ben tried to focus on finding the Preacher. As he started to climb the stairs, he heard another whimper. There was something in the sound that made him turn back. Pressing his back flat against the hall wall, Ben moved like a ghost toward the sound. He crouched down and peeked his head around the corner. It was too dark to see and so he crawled on his knees to get a better look. As he moved along the floor, Ben felt a viscous liquid glide between his fingers. Holding his hand up to inspect it, Ben saw it for what it was: blood. Wiping his hand on his shirt, he continued to move into the parlor.
The sight that greeted him caused Ben to stop in his tracks. Large pools of blood soaked the floor as tiny shards of ceramic from a broken vase glistened like an omen. To his right, a woman lay on the sofa covered in a blanket. A deep red ring had sprung from the fibers marking her with certain death. Peering at the woman, Ben noticed it was the Preacher's sister.
He swallowed hard but forced his eyes to continue their assault on the room. He noticed that there were footprints painted in blood that trailed into the hall and out the door. He knew without knowing that they belonged to the Preacher. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft moan. Ben peered across the room and in the darkness, he could make out the shape of someone lying on the floor. Moving slowly toward the shape, Ben realized with a start that it was the man from the wheelchair. Ben had to force himself from giving into the sudden need to vomit. The scene bore all the grisly markings of the Preacher's handiwork. Norman had been sliced repeatedly and his stomach gutted open. A handle still stuck from his body as a final affront.
He knelt down and reached for the man's hand. Ben jumped back when the man's eyes flew open at the touch.
"You're alive." Knowing he should be looking for the Preacher but unable to turn away from the pleading in the man's eyes, Ben rested one hand on Norman's forehead and placed his other hand on his chest. As Ben lowered his head to begin the healing ritual, Norman struggled to speak.
"Her."
Opening his eyes, Ben looked first to Norman and then to Iris before looking sadly into Norman's beseeching eyes. "Ain't nothing to be done for her."
Clinging to the bit of life that remained in him, Norman grabbed at the boy's hand. "Me…for…her." While his words were faint, Ben understood the request.
"I can't be killin' no man of God. It ain't the way."
"Please, she's…the only…way." Norman could feel the fog in his mind growing thicker. "…only way to stop him."
Ben watched as a single tear fell from Norman's eye. He heard Norman's breathing falter and knew a decision had to be made. Holding Norman's hand tight, Ben looked down at the man.
"It ain't right."
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Varlyn Stroud struggled to keep up with Justin as he barreled through the front door. He was shouting instructions, only half of which Stroud could make out.
"get the money…make sure there is enough gas in the car we can't stop…"
Running on full steam to keep up, Varlyn barreled into Justin's back when Justin stopped short. One sweep of the room told Varlyn why Justin had gone silent. The room bore the look of carnage but there was a missing component. There were no bodies.
The stillness that overtook the room was like a shouting prophecy to Justin's ears. His eyes burned into the sofa as if his desire alone could make her materialize. She had been taken from him again.
"You want I should look in the other rooms?" Varlyn's question was met with silence.
Finally, without turning, Justin spoke, "She isn't here."
Varlyn felt his heart stop when Justin turned slowly to face him. Not a man easily frightened, Varlyn Stroud would have traded places with Satan himself to not be facing the scrutiny of Justin Crowe at this moment. Justin's body had gone rigid and his eyes pitch black. The timber of his voice was controlled but deadly. "Bring me the guards."
Having rounded up the three Knights on duty, Varlyn ushered the men into the room. They found Justin hunched on the sofa tracing an outline of blood. Varyln heard the three men gasp at the sight that greeted them. He took a moment to consider the room from their perspective. It must have looked like it was: a bloodbath.
"Gentlemen, come here." The three Knights went to stand before Justin, each looking more nervous than the next.
"I have a question for you men and I want you to think very carefully before answering. Did someone come into my house this evening?" The three men shifted nervously and exchanged panicky glances. Finally, the Knight known as Berg braved an answer.
"Well Sir, we don't rightly know. With everything that was going on down at the carnival we thought we'd better head down there."
Justin looked at Berg with the slightest of smiles tugging at his lips. "You thought?"
"Well, yes sir. I…" His response was cut off when Justin stood and in one step grabbed the man by the throat. He squeezed until he could see the blood vessels break and seep red into the white's of Berg's eyes. A slight trail of spit ran from Berg's mouth and Justin let him fall to the floor. "Now then," he continued, "does anyone have any other information they would like to share?" Justin looked from one man to the other and waited.
"I seen something. Didn't seem right but then things was so crazy….."
Justin went to stand before the man. "Go on."
The man wiped his suddenly sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. "I seen a man come out of the house carrying something in a blanket. I think it was a person, dead like, cause he put it on the cart with the rest of the bodies we picked up for planting." The man stopped as he watched Justin flinch.
Feeling as though the room had been sucked of oxygen, Justin closed his eyes to silence the screaming in his head. She had been thrown out like the trash. To be buried alongside of those who were nothing. She who deserved to have alters erected in her name had been buried as though she were common. His reflections were cut short by a sudden thought.
"What about the man? Did you recognize him?"
"Oh yes sir. It was the healer from the show tonight. After he dumped the blanket he went back inside and I seen him carrying something to the car. Couldn't get a close enough look at it to tell you what it was though."
"Norman!" Rage seared through Justin's body as he put the pieces of the puzzle together. The boy must have found Norman and healed him. His need to punish became overwhelming and he focused his fury on the two men standing in front of him. Drawing upon the hatred that burned within him, Justin twisted their necks until he heard the familiar pop. Both fell to the ground with a thud. Yet, it did nothing to lessen the emotion that was threatening to overtake Justin. He swept the room for another target on which to inflict pain when his eyes caught sight of a familiar object. Reaching beneath the sofa, Justin gingerly picked up the item and let his fingers glide over the ornate carving. Iris' necklace. He held it up and let his lips linger upon the polished wood. A sudden clarity overtook him. There would be a time for mourning. Now was the time for vengeance.
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The trailer creaked along the winding road creating puffs of smoke that followed the caravan like an omen. Samson glanced over at the body lying in repose behind the shroud. In barely more than a whisper he spoke to the still figure.
"Don't you worry Miss Iris. Everything is gonna be just fine."