Page 132 of Roses Are Dead
Trust and obey,
For there’s no other way
To be happy in Jesus,
But to trust and obey.
Cautiously, I walked my fingers along my right thigh where Carl couldn’t see the movement. The straps for my athame were in place, but the weight felt wrong.
“I took your knife. Too bad it’s such a cursed thing. The craftsmanship is exceptional. Did Bear buy that for you?”
I nodded to avoid the pain in my throat.
A small chuckle emanated from Carl. “He was too easy to fool, wasn’t he? You played your role masterfully.”
“What role?” I rasped out.
“Why, Jezebel. Delilah. The original Eve, holding a poisoned apple and bringing God’s Adam low.”
If I could bring Carl low…
The hill we stopped on was barren. At first, it was unfamiliar. But in the distance, an oak tree twisted with familiar angles. Just a short walk down the hill from it, turn left at the creek, walk at least a hundred yards further, and when the meadow opened back up, I’d see the ruins of my grandmother’s house.
“Why’d you bring me here?”
Carl’s eyes lit up. “To finish what I started.” He laughed again. “Did you really fall for my story about getting back what was mine? I never wanted that. I only needed access to this place.”
My mouth was dry. Despite the efforts to bulldoze over the pit, fill in the scars on the earth, and remake a scene of death and destruction into paradise, the work was in vain. It was as if God himself had cursed the land.
And well he should.
The original foundation for the new church was rubble. The girders and support posts that had been lovingly blessed in a special sanctification ceremony, uprooted and removed. Only the cornerstone wall and its single smooth temporary flagpole remained. Embedded under it was a dedication plaque. It replaced the original one. The newer square of bronze had a name inscribed. Under it, the words, Humble servant, faithful Deacon, loving father, child of God.
The only truth in those lines was his position. The power he yielded that made others look away when his sins became too pronounced.
Like the sin of lust.
“Get out.”
“No.”
He studied me. “Defiant to the end, aren’t you? Don’t you realize you are doing the one thing that will keep you out of Heaven. You’re denying God.”
No, I was denying Carl. My Gods were Goddesses. They empowered women, they didn’t rape them. They cherished the sacred connection to the elements and actions of life which we’re all part of. They didn’t force submission upon the earth and its creatures. “Are you speaking for God now?” That was a sin.
He hit me again and again.
32
Bear
There were twenty-two marks carved into the wood by Carl’s back door. Two more than when KC commented on them. With a hunch that bordered on clarity, I traced the top mark sitting all by itself.
“The deacon.” That’s the murder Carl and Rose committed together. It stood apart as if symbolic.
And it likely was. The first murder he’d orchestrated and gotten away with.
Then I traced the three rows of five marks each between that time and the fateful night KC and Sketch chased down the four gangbangers who took Sketch’s girl.
