forgot about Jack.”
“Of course you didn’t—not with the constant reminder you had.”
Before Cathy could respond, the next song on the jukebox began playing. For a half second her heart stopped as Whitney Houston’s amazing voice rose above the clatter inside the Ice Palace.
Cathy closed her eyes as the song her son had chosen for her took her mind back nearly seventeen years. The incredible Ms. Houston sang “I Will Always Love You,” the song that was playing on the car radio the November night Seth had been conceived. As the mournful words enveloped her, Cathy opened her eyes, and her gaze sought and found Jack. He stopped talking to Mike, turned and looked directly at her. He, too, was remembering the last night they had spent together, the day before Jack left Dunmore to return to active duty.
She knelt in prayer. If anyone noticed her, they would think nothing of seeing her inside the gazebo alone and obviously beseeching God for His help. No one must ever suspect the truth: that she was God’s angel of vengeance. Her holy mission was a secret pact between her and the Almighty. If anyone discovered her identity, they would put an end to her righteous executions.
Only God knew what was in her heart. What she did, she did for the good of all mankind. If only someone had taken up the task of separating the wheat from the chaff years ago, not only would she have been saved from the agony she endured, but many others would have been, too. But it was not her place to question God’s reasons for allowing these so-called ministers and priests and professed do-gooders to spread their evil. No, her place was to follow God’s instructions and mete out punishment to the wicked blasphemers.
She lifted her face upward toward heaven and respectfully closed her eyes. Her prayers were spoken now in silence, as she suffered in silence. No one could help her. No one could change the past. But she had the power to change not only her future, but the future of others. She must be the protector of the weak and defenseless, those without the power to overcome their oppressors. By slaying those who did not deserve to live, she could wash away her own sins, the sin in which she had been born.
“Speak to me, Lord. Tell me who You have chosen for Your righteous judgment. Lead me along the right path, direct me to his doorstep. Whisper his name in my ear.”
God had already shown her that Patsy Floyd was to be spared, that indeed she could erase all female clergy from her mental list of chosen ones. Only men were capable of the kinds of carnal evil that required death by fire. Although not blameless, women were to be spared until the final day of judgment. She accepted His decision without question.
“Will I visit Dewan Phillips next?” she asked. “Or is it time to strike against Donnie Hovater? Speak his name, Lord. Is it either of them, or have You chosen someone else?”
She prayed in earnest until her knees ached and tears streamed down her face. And finally, God spoke to her. Softly. Quietly. As gentle as the rustle of the wind. But she heard him.
“Yes, of course. I knew in my heart that he would be next. And yes, I will not wait. I will mete out his just punishment tomorrow night.”
How fitting that God had chosen the night after Bruce Kelley’s funeral to strike down yet another wicked blasphemer.
Chapter Twenty-six
This was the last place on earth Cathy wanted to be, but here she was at Bruce Kelley’s funeral. A special section of the Decatur Presbyterian Church had been roped off for the family members of the other Fire and Brimstone Killer’s victims. And since Mark had been the first victim, at least as far as the authorities knew, that made the Cantrells sort of the first family. Seth had been as disinclined to attend as she had been, but his grandparents had persuaded him that this was the right thing to do. Cathy had come here solely because of her son. He didn’t need to go through the ordeal without her. It had been so difficult for him at Mark’s funeral. A boy barely fourteen who had loved and admired his father, Seth had put on a brave front in public, being the man his grandfather had expected him to be. But in private her son had wept in her