“Adele,” Mrs. Autin says, her voice soft and confused. “It’s only Ruth. Your daughter.”
My mother and I lock eyes. “That’s not my daughter,” she says. “I don’t know what that is.”
So be it. I point my torch up at the balcony. “That justice you’ve always feared, Dad. It’s here.”
Surprise drains the color out of his face. The severity of his reaction is more than I expected. He seems suddenly, truly, afraid. “It’s you?” he asks, voice wavering. “You’re the Low Man?”
“Yes, Dad. I’m the beast you made.”
The people onstage crowd closer, looking at each other in alarm. “What about Everett Duncan?” Julie cries.
“James, get hold of yourself,” my mother barks. “This is no time to lose your head.”
He’s terrified—but it’s not because of me. It’s decades of his own guilt and paranoia catching up to him. I am his telltale heart, walking beforehim. I stride to the velvet wall hangings, deep purple and stitched with gold crosses, and hold up my torch. “I’m going to ask you a question. If you answer honestly, I’ll let someone leave. If you don’t, this church will burn.”
“You’re holding us hostage?” Mrs. Autin twists her head to my father. “Your daughter’s gone mad, Reverend! Stop her!”
He remains rigid, watching me.
“First question’s easy. Did you help distribute drugs with the sheriff, Fred Fortenot, Augustus Blanchard, and the Sons of Liberty? Is everything in this church—all these fine things—the spoils of your crimes?” I draw the torch closer to the velvet. “Was this bought with drug money?”
“Don’t listen to her,” my mother shouts. I can hear her panic, her fear that the town she’s lorded over for so many years will know the truth. “She’s gone mad, like Mrs. Autin said.”
But Julie’s eyes gleam, and I know she’s thinking of Fred and his secret dock. They’ll believe me when this is all over. I must trust it.
My father is now red-faced, scanning the people below. “I did no such thing.”
I tip the torch to the velvet hanging, and then its neighbor. The flames catch quick, racing up the wall.
“Bad start.” I walk to the pews and point at the cushioned seats. “Try again. Did you allow Fred Fortenot to beat his daughter, Beth, without intervention, yes or no?”
“Quiet!” he roars, gripping the balustrade. “She’s been sent by the Devil to confuse us.”
“Liar,” I call, and set the pews on fire. The cloth seats catch as quickly as the velvet, flames crawling down the rows. Smoke billows from the wall.
I move closer to the stage. The small group staggers back, Mrs. Autin clinging to Julie.
“All you need to do,” I yell to my father, “is choose these people over your ego.”Don’t melt in the fire, I beg.Show me what you’re made of.
“Reverend,” one of the fishing wives calls, “help us.”
“Did you allow Herman Blanchard to teach children for decades even though you knew he was a predator? Did you sacrifice kids for the sake of your own power, yes or no?”
Mrs. Anderson gasps, turning to my mother in disgust. Oh, yes—however this ends, word will spread. He’ll never be free of it.
“She lies,” my father yells. “Don’t fall into her trap.”
I light more pews on fire. Sweat beads my skin. The fire from the velvet hangings is traveling across the wall, slowly consuming the textile art they’ve hung, and the pews behind me are ablaze. Smoke stings my eyes.
I climb onstage to the podium and my hostages cower in the corner. There’s no escaping it: I am the villain. But this justice will be worth it.
I point my torch at the sumptuous red cloth hanging from the podium. Holy Fire Born Again is embroidered in gold thread. “Did you tell Killian Duncan his wife was a witch, and if she wouldn’t come to church, she was too dangerous to live?”
“No!” he yells.
“Did that lead him to kill her?” Sweat slides down my face. “Was she the first person you killed, or were there others before her?”
“Be silent!” he screams, and I light the podium on fire.
