Page 252 of Safe Word

He ruined everything.

Days of meticulous planning. Since the moment I saw her in that club, legs parted for D’Angelo, I’d known…

She was radiant. She was heavenly. Beneath that black wig, pretending she was common, pretending that she blended in with the sheep.

That she wasn’t searching. For reason. For faith.

Absolution.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

Pray for us sinners,

Now and at the hour of our death…

My thoughts snapped back to the looping reel of the weeks before.

I had seen Harris stumble into the open concrete of the ground floor, dripping sweat and confusion. And it had been a gift – a sign.

From Him.

I’d relished it – the slow ritual of peeling the rot from his body. The blood had spilt gloriously, purifying the very ground where she had been meant to be cleansed.

Where she still could be.

Mother would have been proud of me. Father too. I was the only one who went to confession, scraping the filth from my soul.

The filth they poured into me.

I had seen my mother. With her lovers. My father with his. Lying. Cheating. Building kingdoms on the bones of the damned.

Their rot spread like plague.

But mine would be cleansed.

I had a higher calling. The Lord had let me witness it all so He could reveal my true purpose.

Three hundred and seventy-three.

A humble number of souls I’d guided into penance. Few, but pure. She was supposed to be the last – my swan song – but Mr Harris had turned out to be a catalyst. A messenger. A prophet to whisper that my work was not yet complete.

She would be my final verse.

Just not now.

The Lord valued patience. I’d already given Him twenty-five years. What was another twenty-five in the light of salvation? Just a grain of dust in eternity’s hourglass.

I pushed the door of my Mercedes and eased myself out. My ribs still ached from where D’Angelo had driven his knee into them in the ring – sin against salvation. The wound he’d cut over my rib was still sore – one he’d graced me with at the makeshift altar.

But pain was holy. Pain reminded me I was still worthy of His service.

What was broken would always be mended. Eventually. And I had nothing but time.

Sunlight struck the car’s polished hood, glinting so fiercely it hurt to look. A halo. Divine light upon my chariot.

I turned to the other vehicle beside it – her uncle’s Range Rover – filthy, dull, desecrated by dust. Like him.

Opening the rear door, I flicked the gun from the seat into the duffel to hide it from the light, and lifted the white box tied with a silver ribbon. A white balloon bobbed above it, the pacifier symbol across it shining in the afternoon sun.