Calvina starts crying then, fat tears rolling down her face. “I can’t do this,” she murmurs, just loud enough I can hear her. “I won’t.”
“What did you say? You must speak up, MissWatterson.”
Calvina stands, her eyes wide. “I said, I can’t do this!Youput those words in my mouth, sir. You said you’d pay for my mama’s funeral if I promised to—”
Bellflower pounds the gavel on the altar. It flies out of his hands. The chandelier above starts twirling in a mad circle. Something’s happening here, and it’s not me making it happen. Not even Bellflower. Not this time. I wonder if it’s Anneliese.
“Sit down!” Bellflower commands.
Calvina shakes her head and stabs her finger at the townsfolk. “Now, y’all listen, and you listen good! MissDoherty and her granny ain’t never been nothin’ but good to me and everyone else in this town. This man’s a false prophet and he’s got you half blind and foolish with his lies, and y’all better wake up, ’cause if you hang that innocent girl, you’ll bring a curse down on this town, the likes of which you never seen. Nowthat’sa vision I had from the Lord Himself. You can mark it.”
Calvina shrugs like she’s satisfied and steps down from the altar. I smile at her, tears of gratitude filling my eyes. She nods at me as she walks down the aisle and out the door. After she leaves, everybody starts talking at once.
Bellflower glowers at me, his eyes boring holes into mine. I don’t flinch. I don’t even blink. He tries to retain order, tries to refute Calvina’s testimony, but the cacophony of voices drowns him out. The energy in the room has changed. He’s losing control of his flock for the very first time.
There’s genuine fear and hysteria now. A pair of young girls fall out of their pew, howling and clawing at their hair. One of them faints. A froth of spittle bubbles from her mouth. Aunt Val comes screeching out of the corner, her arms covered in oozing, red scratches. She latches on to Bellflower’s arm. He pushes her away, a look of disgust on his face. “She sent her creature down from the rafters. It did this!” she cries, holding out her arms for the congregation to see. Blood drips from the scratches. If she did that to herself, I can’t help but admire her dedication to her act. Damn.
Some menfolk take out their guns. This ain’t good. All it’ll take for this to turn into a massacre is one idjit hillbilly popping off a shot. Next to me, Sheriff Murphy cocks his sidearm. I turn my head to see I’m facing down the barrel of a gun.
“Better my gun pointed at you than theirs.”
He ain’t wrong, but my trust of anyone in authority here has long since gone.
Bellflower finally manages to calm the rabble. The church goes silent again, apart from the wild creaking as the chandelier sways above our heads. Sheriff Murphy slowly lowers his pistol. I pull in a shaky breath.
“I now call the accused to testify,” Bellflower intones. “MissDoherty, if you claim to be innocent of the crimes of which you are accused, now is your opportunity to prove it.”
How on earth can I prove anything? Especially when Bellflower already wants me dead so his demon can claim my body? This is just part of his sideshow game.
I stand once more and move forward, feeling a hundred pairs of eyes pinned on my back. I fold myself wearily into the chair at the front of the sanctuary and try to focus my hunger-crazed mind. Whatever I say or do next, I need to be careful and choose my words wisely.
Bellflower steps down from the pulpit to stand in front of me. He regards me coolly. “When did you come to Tin Mountain, MissDoherty?”
“In the winter of my fourteenth year.”
“And how did you come to live with Deirdre Werner?”
“She’s the mother of my aunt by marriage. Valerie.”
“So, you bear no blood relation to her?”
“No. I do not.”
“Interesting.” Bellflower walks back and forth in front of me, three times. “MissDoherty, will you stand, and turn your back to the congregation?”
Acrid, cold fear winds up my throat. I sit, stock-still, afraid to move.
“If you are innocent, you’ve no reason to be concerned by what I’ve asked. Now, please stand.”
I reckon I don’t have much of a choice, so I do as he says. When I feel his hands, cold on the back of my neck, I freeze. Then, in one motion, he rips the flimsy jailhouse shift I’m wearing down to my waist, exposing my back to the crowd. There’s a collective gasp. Bellflowerruns his fingers up my back, tracing the treelike lines of the witch rash. Where his fingers touch my flesh, it burns like fire.
“Deirdre had the same mark,” he whispers in my ear, his hand resting between my shoulders. “So did Betsy.”
“Leave her alone! Don’t you touch her!” It’s Abby. She rushes up the aisle, her eyes feverish. She nearly gets to Bellflower before Sheriff Murphy wrestles her away. “Get your hands off me!” She thrashes, wild as a bobcat. “Gracie!”
Murphy wrangles her outside, into the churchyard.
Suddenly, a loud groan sounds from above, metal twisting and screaming as it’s wrenched from wood. The chandelier crashes to the floor, landing on some of the congregants. They fight their way out from underneath it. I see blood on the floor.
