Their Will be Done - Logan Fox Page 0,44

around under the bed?

PING goes the laptop.

My heart’s about to give out, but then my fingers brush the plastic cover. It shifted, but it’s still there.

The laptop’s whirring, but nothing else is happening. How slow is this thing?

I can’t stop myself.

I turn and look at the clock.

It’s five past eight.

I deflate like a balloon, my shoulders sagging as I let out a relieved sigh.

What the fuck are those condoms doing in the drawer?

I squeeze my eyes closed. What did Apollo say about this device? Did the computer have to be on all the way, or just powered up? He said I didn’t have to do anything, just plug it in, but when?

I guess it doesn’t matter. Sooner rather than later, right?

My fingers have turned into foot-long sausages. I drop the cap and spend several billion tick-fucking-tocks trying to get the stupid fucking drive into the stupid fucking slot.

When it finally slides into place like a greased pig, I glare at it.

No wonder people throw computers and shit against the wall. I’m stinking of sweat, never mind those fucking mothballs.

The screen starts spitting out letters.

Shit.

Shit!

Was this a virus or something? Was that the Brotherhood’s plan all along? But then I actually read the messages, and calm down a little. The computers in the library would spout shit like this too. Checking this, allocating that.

Normal. It’s all normal.

My gaze is inexorably drawn back to the clock.

Seven minutes past eight.

Fuck.

I drum my fingers against the laptop’s plastic frame. The Windows logo pops up, accompanied by a too-loud set of chimes that I’m sure Jasper heard back in our room.

Christ, I’m breaking out in hives.

Ten past eight.

This is ridiculous. There’s no way a computer can take this long—

A bright blue desktop pops open. Twenty or so folders and files scream for my attention.

I have no idea if the drive is doing its thing, but I can’t be bothered with it right now. I have about three minutes before I need to shove this thing back in its bag.

Three minutes to prove that Father Gabriel is a good guy.

Three fucking minutes.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Zach

My timing was off. Instead of the five to seven minutes I’d thought it would take Gabriel to make his way down to the classroom. He gets here in three minutes.

Three fucking minutes.

Did he run track or some shit?

I think I’m hearing things when his shoes thump up the stairs. I barely get to the other end of the hall before he clears the stairs. My heart beats so loud in my chest, I’m shocked Gabriel doesn’t first stop to investigate the sound.

He races down the passage, a dark shape against the shadows. I’ve left the lights off to make it seem no one’s been here yet except Cass.

Hopefully, Cass heard him coming.

Muffled voices reach me. I make my way down the stairs, race across the downstairs hall, and then come up the other side where Gabriel entered.

By the time I skid to a halt outside class 2C, I’m panting.

I flick on the light, flooding the classroom white.

Gabriel is on the floor. The chair Cass had been standing on lies on its back a yard or so away.

“Father?”

Gabriel shifts at the sound of my voice, but he doesn’t look up. My chest is so tight, I can barely breathe. I like to think that I’m intelligent and cautious, but I just realized I’m an impulsive fucking idiot.

Cass isn’t moving.

With the lights on, the ligature marks around his neck are too bright, too red, too fucking real.

“Did you call Timothy?”

Of course I hadn’t. Cass was supposed to tip over the chair as Gabriel walked in. He’d be hanging for seconds before Gabriel brought him down.

Unless he slipped.

Unless he actually did break his fucking neck.

Unless the sick fuck let him choke to death as he watched, because he’s known all along about us, known we were watching, and he was waiting for just the right moment, the perfect opportunity to—

“Brother Zachary!”

I flinch, tearing my eyes from Cass’s slack face.

“Call Timothy.” Gabriel doesn’t shout. In fact, he sounds calm as fuck.

My fingers are numb as I slide my phone from my pocket. I make the call, and speak the words, but it’s as if it’s all happening to someone else.

Gabriel lays Cass on the floor and starts doing CPR. When he presses his mouth to Cass’s, something inside me snaps.

“Don’t!” I snarl, falling to my knees beside Cass’s limp body. I shove Gabriel away, dimly aware that I’m doing this all wrong, so fucking wrong, but I