Prettyinpinkgal: I'm starting to worry that this plot is extremely contrived. Well, I suppose it's better than having virtually no plot at all like I struggled with when I started this story half a decade ago... Well, in any case, please drop a review and let me know if you're enjoying this story still.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Tuck Everlasting".

FOSTER EVERLASTING

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: MORNING TO NIGHT, PART IV

Winnie listened to the crackling sound for several moments before it occurred to her that it was a fire. She did not open her eyes to check. She had been awake for a few minutes now, but her head ached terribly and her eyes were heavy. Furthermore, there was something inside her saying, "Do not wake. Not yet. Pull yourself together."

Why should she pull herself together? Was she not in the Tucks' cottage?

She listened to the little voice in her head, though, and tried to breathe in deeply and slowly. That's right, James was now staying with them too. Why was that?

She shifted slightly, not enough to insinuate that she was awake. She felt as if she couldn't move that much, anyway: the throbbing roared when she had moved even that little inch. This was strange. She almost never had migraines.

She shifted again, feeling her dress, which felt more close-fitting than usual, slide across her skin. And she didn't think she felt any clothing around her ankles. This was strange as well. Her dresses rarely rose above the ankle...

She got it from Walter, she suddenly realized. Walter, who was murdered brutally. She had gone to town to investigate and speak with his wife, who was nearly mad. She had been knocked out.

Suddenly the concern she felt regarding waking up made complete sense. The attacker-the reverand?-was nearby. She had to think this through carefully.

It would be much easier to make her escape if only she could open her eyes, even briefly. If she could only see where she was, if only for a moment, she could throw herself through the nearest exit and escape.

But if the killer was watching her-and this thought disturbed her to no end-then the moment she opened her eyes, he would be prepared to grab her.

Her decision was taken graciously out of her hands. Before she could utter more than a squeak, her face was suddenly grabbed and slapped several times.

"I've been waiting long enough now. Wakey-wakey."

He let her go, and she crumpled onto the bed, shaking and feeling a part of her cheek bleeding. Her eyes were opened now, and there stood the reverand, smiling serenely at her.

"Good morning, child," he said.

"W-why are you doing this?" she gasped, willing herself not to cry.

"I've been following you ever since you started talking to those chits this morning."

For so long? Winnie slowly sat up and leaned against the wall, arms wrapped around herself.

The reverand began pacing the room. "It was only after you and James Kendel left the cemetary that I put two and two together and realized you were the two young people who disappeared nearly thirty years ago. I'd heard stories about the immortals from James's uncle, you see, long ago. And you were looking so different today, I could easily guess that you were trying to find out who was after your little friend. I knew if I came looking for both of you at once, you two could easily run. If it was just one name I'd mentioned, the other would do their best to protect their friend."

That was one comfort, at least: He only knew of Winnie and James. He did not know, for a fact at least, that the Tucks and Natasha were back.

"If you're trying to get our attention to ask us where the way to immortality is, it's gone now," she said, her voice shaking greatly to her immense shame and self-reproach.

"I don't care about that. Besides, I'm past my prime anyway. Why should I like to stay this age always?"

"The money, then? You're planning on making spectacles of us?"

The reverand's eyes widened dreadfully. "Don't be stupid, child. I'm getting my revenge on you."

Winnie shrank back even more, as if trying to become the wall. "What revenge? I don't understand," she whispered.

"My wife died ten years ago. She was perfect, always considerate of others, but she came down with an incurable illness and died. So why, why should you selfish little brats take eternal life when my Patricia could not have it with me?"

Noticing the vein throbbing in his forehead, she quickly said, "I'm very sorry for you loss, but, ah, that's the natural order of life and everything. It's...it's a wheel, you see?" She drew her hand in frantic circles, adding, "And, um, well, my friend can describe it better, but, ah, trust me, I hate being immortal. It's depressing and I became timeless for a stupid reason and now I'm stuck and trust me, it's not as nice as one thinks. And aren't you a reverand? Your wife has eternal life in heaven, you know!"

"Yes, that is my consolation. But she was forced to leave me nonetheless. Yes, that's right, she was obeying God...whereas you two have committed a most deplorable sin."

The man was clearly mad. His reasons kept changing. It wasn't as if killing them would bring his wife back...

"Even if you think you're right in hurting us," Winnie cried, "there is no excuse for what you did to poor Walter."

"It's all in God's plan."

"You think God condones your behavior?" she shrieked, feeling on the verge of hysterics.

"Of course. I am doing His Will. The ends justify the means."

Winnie snarled, "Now you're just mixing in Machiavelli. I went to church very little-my grandmother was always too ill to go so far-but I saw you in town on occassion. You seemed like a good, sensible man back then. What you're doing now...it's outrageous!"

"You're panicking," he said with a giddy smile. "Good. You should fear me."

She saw the door showing just on the other side of the room. It was a large room though-she realized she was within the church, and the fire burning was made by the wooden cross which once hung meaningfully high upon the wall-and it would take her a great deal of time to get over there.

Wait...the cross was burning? In her state, she could only really register and focus on one thing at a time.

Her eyes darted to the side and saw he had essentially made a bonfire. There was enough precaution taken to prevent it from burning the building down, but if he kicked it slightly over...

...everything would go up in flames.

"You're going to kill yourself?" Winnie breathed.

"Later. After I've punished you two sufficiently. But let's-"

Winnie couldn't take it anymore. She flew up and away, faintly grateful that she didn't need to worry about tripping on her dress. But with alarming speed, he grabbed her hair and threw her against the pulpit, causing her head to drip with blood and for her migraine, which had started to fade slightly, to roar up again like a vengeful creature.

Before she could gather her wits again, he yanked her again, this time to tie her hands behind her back and her feet together. Such strength could not belong to a man in his sixties naturally; he had to be beyond all feeling of strain and pain.

"Why didn't you try and give me my punishment earlier?" she gasped out, begging her mind to start working again and deciding to start with this somewhat pointless question.

His mad grin grew ever wider. "Why, I couldn't have you unconscious for it, could I?"

While Winnie trembled and prayed to God that He would strike this madman dead, the reverand disappeared for a moment. She found another comfort: It was dark outside, and clearly past six o'clock. The others had to be looking for her now. The reverand was strong, but the others no doubt could stop him if he was...

"Unarmed," her lips moved just barely to mouth as the reverand stepped into view again. The pale moonlight made the thing in his hands glint menacingly.

"Now, let's have some fun, shall we?"

Winnie's screams seemed to echo throughout the world, but the church was remote.

Only a frog hopped by, pausing to hear the shrieks before going on its way.