Helltown - Jeremy Bates Page 0,85

popped the trunk, and retrieved the two lengths of half-inch chain and the two heavy-duty padlocks he’d kept there since deciding on Mother of Sorrows church as the venue for his contingency plan.

He secured the doors on the east side of the church first, looping one chain through the sturdy brass handles several times before attaching a padlock. He repeated this procedure with the front doors. Both times he tested his handiwork, tugging the handles quietly.

Spencer had always been curious as to how he would feel when the occasion inevitably arose when he would have to murder his brothers. They weren’t nameless, random women. He had grown up with them, went to school with them, opened presents on Christmas day with them. They were blood. He had hoped he would feel regret or sadness—those would be the appropriate emotions one should feel in such a situation—but as it turned out he didn’t feel anything. Their deaths would be meaningless to him.

Back at the Volvo’s trunk Spencer withdrew the red jerry can, unscrewed the cap, and walked the circumference of the church, splashing a line of gasoline behind him. When he met up with where he’d begun, he lit a match and dropped it in the gas. Flames whooshed to life and chased the flammable fluid around the wooden building like a line of falling dominoes.

A sense of accomplishment filled Spencer. It was done. Everyone inside the church would meet their fiery deaths shortly. There would be no one left who knew about the Mary Atwater incident. Moreover, they would take the fall not only for the murders this evening, but for each and every murder over the past twenty-four months. The police would raid the House in the Woods and find eight skeletons buried out back. They might not be able to explain who was responsible for locking and burning the church to the ground, but they wouldn’t have any reason to suspect Spencer. It would remain a mystery, which, in the big picture, wouldn’t matter anyway—because the main culprits were dead, justice was served.

Spencer, of course, could not continue with the Satanic masses on his own, at least not in Boston Mills. This would be a shame. He had become comfortable with the arrangement he’d orchestrated. Nevertheless, a return to his old ways would be its own relief. He would no longer have to worry about other people talking, other people screwing up. He would once again be wholeheartedly in control of his fate.

“Goodbye, gentlemen,” Spencer said as the heat from the quickly escalating fire rose against his face. “Be sure to give our fair Lucifer my salutations when you see him.”

CHAPTER 26

“It’s been a funny sort of day, hasn’t it?”

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

The storm continued to strengthen, the torrent of driving raindrops turning the surface of Stanford Road into a furious boil. The first peal of thunder rumbled ominously in the dark sky, almost directly overhead.

Greta, more skipping than walking, said, “How are you feeling?”

Beetle rubbed rainwater from his eyes. “Wet.”

Greta laughed, tilted her head to the heavens, and stuck out her tongue, to catch the raindrops on it. “I love walking in the rain.”

“You’re in the minority.”

“Then you should have brought an umbrella, Herr Beetle.” She smiled crookedly at him. “Are you still drunk?”

Yeah, he was. Drunk and stoned and a bit squishy inside. But walking in the midst of a storm had a way of sobering you up. “I’m fine,” he said.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“We’re talking right now.”

“Because I’m talking to you. I think if I never said anything, you might not either.”

Beetle wondered about that. He supposed she was right. He’d never been much of a talker, especially with strangers. And although Greta was no longer really a stranger—more like the talkative girl at a party who wouldn’t leave you alone—he was in no mood for chitchat. In fact, he was already beginning to second-guess his decision to come along on this witch hunt or whatever it was.

He hunched his shoulders against the rain and dug his fists deeper into his pant pockets.

“See!” Greta said.

“Huh?” he said, glancing sidelong at her. Her eyes were sparkling, her wet face glowing. She was really getting off being out in a storm.

“I didn’t say anything, to see if you would say something, and you didn’t.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

Greta rolled her eyes. “Nothing. That isn’t the point. Talking doesn’t have to be about something. You can just talk to talk.”

Beetle nodded, realized this