The Blessed - By Tonya Hurley Page 0,107
snidely. “You have a lot in common. Both sociopathic and violent. Murderous. Incurable. Though in his case it was young children, not teenage girls.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “A death-penalty candidate.”
“Nearly. But as I explained to the court, he’s not responsible for his actions.”
“We are all responsible for our actions, Doctor. And for the consequences.”
Dr. Frey patted Sicarius on the shoulder, drawing a twisted smile from the defective delinquent. Frey’s crunchy footfalls echoed loudly as he and his assassin drew slowly closer.
“Still quite a mess in here. I have to make a note to speak to the developers about the status of my investment in the conversion.”
“Why are you so afraid of me?” Sebastian asked coolly. “I understand the need for you, for what you believe, yet you see no place for me.”
“Not afraid. Concerned. As I am for all my patients.”
“Bullshit, you tried to erase my mind. My identity.”
“Erase you? Or treat you?”
“Same difference, Doctor.”
“You are sick, Sebastian. You think me evil, when all I’ve ever tried to do was help you, protect you from your own insanity. And when that proved impossible, to protect others from you.”
Sebastian fought the urge to strangle Frey right on the spot and kept his cool.
“Is that what you told the police? And Jesse?”
“I told them that you were a murderer and a kidnapper. A uniquely dangerous and delusional young man. The truth.”
“It all sounds so reasonable, Doctor—even to me.”
“It should. Those girls down there are in jeopardy because of you. Not me.”
“That’s a lie.”
“You filled their heads with the same superstitious nonsense. We are long past the need for this,” Frey said adamantly, pointing to the altar. “Or for those like you.”
“Why? Because now we have you?” Sebastian said derisively. “You don’t offer happiness. You don’t offer fulfillment. You don’t offer love. You prescribe it. Soulessness. In daily doses.”
“Whatever works,” he said blithely.
“What happens when the prescription runs out, Doctor?”
“You get a refill, Sebastian.”
“Here, I’m always full,” Sebastian said. “I don’t need a refill or an insurance card or a straitjacket.”
“No, just a small weekly donation.”
“No one charged me admission.”
“So romantic. I can see why the girls fall for it. Dangle a few bracelets, tell them you are destined to be together. Surely there are easier ways to get a date.”
“They came to me. They were led to me as I was to them.”
“There is nothing special about you, Sebastian. You are as deluded as a person who sees the face of Jesus in a bowl of cornflakes.”
“I know what I know,” Sebastian said firmly.
“You know nothing. You believe. You are spreading lies. Dangerous ones.”
“Nothing is more dangerous than truth, Doctor.”
“Science is truth. A rigorous process of study undertaken over years to arrive at answers to age-old questions. To separate fact from fiction. There are papers, reviewed and published, open to scrutiny.”
“All paid for by the like-minded, Doctor. Ever changing. Evolving, as they say. What I know can’t be bought. It is eternal.”
“Why am I bothering? I had this argument recently with Father Piazza. You remember him?”
Frey could see that even the old priest’s name was painful to Sebastian.
“Even self-styled men of God didn’t believe you. Betrayed you. The world has turned, Sebastian.”
“Yes, it has turned. To shit.”
“And you and your little harem are here to give it a colonic? Is that right? Cleanse us all for the Second Coming? Please don’t preach to me.”
“If you didn’t believe it, Doctor, fear it, you wouldn’t be here.”
“All hypotheticals, Sebastian. But keep telling yourself that.”
“Reality, Doctor. And soon everyone will know it.”
“No. The reality is that the police will be here shortly. Fire department too, from the looks of things. Your girlfriends will be dead. I will be a hostage. And you will be blamed. Or dead.”
“They can take care of themselves,” Sebastian responded. “And so can I.”
“Such faith you have, Sebastian. But so rarely tested.”
Jesse poked his head up again and began to tremble, frightened out of his mind for Lucy and the girls, and for Sebastian. What was coming next was obvious to all of them.
“Sicarius,” Frey commanded.
Frey motioned to his lackey, who seemed to snap out of his stupor at the order, rushing forward down the center aisle like a wild animal smelling blood. Sebastian jumped to the chancel floor from the pulpit to intercept him, defending the church sanctuary as if his life depended on it.
A last stand.
The massive collision carried them both over the altar and to the floor in a cloud of grit and dust. All of the assassin’s weight