Until We Burn_A Psychological Thriller
Copyright Ⓒ 2018 David Kummer
All rights reserved.
Until We Burn: A Psychological Thriller
The town is not safe. It never will be. Not until we burn. Every sin has a price, and ours has been a long time coming. The question isn’t when, or how. But instead, who will survive?
Prologue Beginnings
Part 1 Black
Chapter 1 The Truth
Chapter 2 Unwelcome
Chapter 3 Cyrus and the Church
Chapter 4 A Garden, A Boy
Chapter 5 Reminiscence
Chapter 6 Friendly
Chapter 7 Cyrus and the Girl
Chapter 8 New Horizons
Chapter 9 Sinners and Saints
Chapter 10 Repentance
Chapter 11 Cyrus and the Future
Chapter 12 Adam
Part 2 Red
Chapter 13 Communion
Chapter 14 Cyrus and the Flaw
Chapter 15 Twilight
Chapter 16 Mania
Chapter 17 A Seance With Angels
Chapter 18 The Changing of the Guard
Chapter 19 Therapeutic
Chapter 20 Cyrus and the Mistake
Chapter 21 Outside of Your Head
Chapter 22 Haunted
Chapter 23 The Counselor
Chapter 24 Cyrus and the Fight
Chapter 25 Flickers
Part 3 Gray
Chapter 26 Eye
Chapter 27 Seduction
Chapter 28 The Hero
Chapter 29 One Foot Out
Chapter 30 The Library
Chapter 31 Curtains Closed
Chapter 32 Cyrus and the Fire
Chapter 33 The Second One
Chapter 34 Cyrus and the Police
Chapter 35 Secrets
Chapter 36 Cyrus and the Beach
Chapter 37 The Iron Grip
Chapter 38 Gray
Chapter 39 The End
To all my loyal readers…
To my genius beta-readers…
To all the poor Google sites I’ve searched a hundred times…
To my parents, for dealing with the madness…
To my friends and family, for buying/reading/sharing/clicking/liking/posting…
To my girlfriend, for listening to me go on and on…
To you, who picked up this book, and gave it a shot...
Thank you.
And enjoy.
After much planning, hoping, writing, editing, and help this book is ready for you to read, and to ultimately judge.
But before you go on, keep in mind these people who helped me in various roles, all extremely large! (DW Designs even created the color, and… it was perfect.)
Theresa Jacobs- https://www.amazon.com/Theresa-Jacobs/e/B01BAS13T2
Jordon Greene- https://www.amazon.com/Jordon-Greene/e/B01DTOSYBK
Dark Wish Designs- https://www.darkwishdesigns.com/
Prologue
Beginnings
“Jesus…”
It was something like a prayer, a wish. The police officer held a hand to his forehead, wiping away sweat. Above him, the cross-shaped steeple reached towards Heaven, its body wrapped in flames. Their entire world here set on fire, impossible to stop. All they could do: Pray.
“Jesus Christ…”
A yellow sign stood by the road, its color a thousand times brighter because of the fire. Dancing, brilliant flames were reflected on the shimmering surface, blinding anybody who stared for too long. “Church” was written in deep, black letters against a background brighter than the sun, standing out against the darkness all around it.
Just like their church. Contrasting against the dark sky, it was impossible to ignore. Above them, the sky marveled with a deep blue color, like the dark parts of the ocean where no human life should ever explore. Clouds swung by overhead. But that beauty soared, ignored, while the people below abhorred what they saw.
A crowd stood helpless as they watched it burn. The few firemen tried to keep it from spreading, but a few poor buildings being consumed were already counted as lost. Behind the dramatic scene, a country road ran far and wide in either direction, heading towards Werifesteria or towards the outside world, depending on how you turned. Those were the only two places you could go.
“How many dead?” the police chief asked another man, also staring ahead at the dismal scene.
“We aren’t for sure,” the detective reported. “There are a lot. There was some youth event going on inside, youth and children. Adults, too. They were having their own religious thing. Probably to raise money for something.”
“Keep your bias out of this, okay? I just need to know how many died.”
The detective nodded.
“What terrible person burns down a church? The only church?” The chief shook his head. “We’ve got to catch this guy.”
“Sir, there won’t be much evidence after the flames-”
“Don’t talk to me about evidence,” he growled. “We don’t have a choice. We have to get him.”
“And if we don’t?”
Nobody said a word as they watched the firemen do their best. No hope, but they all clung to something impossible to say out loud. If the church was already lost, at least there would be justice. They would find whoever did it, and that despicable person would pay. With their life.
Slowly, the crowd disappeared. Only the men with hoses remained, watching as the church burned to ashes and everything inside was lost. Fourteen people, the church building that has stood for over a century, and now it was all ashes on the ground.
Eventually, even those men left, and the smoldering pile was left on the smooth, green lawn. It’d been mowed just the other day, and piles of grass stood beside the pile of wreckage. Across the road, the yellow church sign was standing peacefully, observing.
It would take them 15 years of waiting before that became a reality. Because in Werifesteria, it takes an outsider to catch one. Cyrus Streett was just that man.
Yellow, rusted, and marked with bullet holes-
Part 1
Black
Chapter 1
The Truth
*Fifteen Years Later*
-the sign was a reminder, a natural monument. It was a diamond shape, with “Church” written across the center in bold, black letters. There was no graffiti, and the post stood in fine shape, holding it up. Besides the bullet holes, and the word written across the middle, the sign wasn’t important to anyone. Even monuments can be forgotten, blocked out.
No other road signs marked the entrance; no “Welcome to Werifesteria” sign, no “Home of 1950 State Champions”, no “Est. 1880.” Really, he couldn’t see any warnings that the town existed at all. His previous knowledge, being so extensive, gave him plenty of confidence that it was still around. He knew where it was.
“Church, huh?” he mumbled, tapping his foot on the brake to slow down a bit. “I don’t see any church around here.”
After the bullet-marked sign, no other landmarks were in sight for a mile. No speed limit warnings, no road names, and certainly no churches. For whatever reason, that single sign had been left standing. Was there a meaning?
The first house he spotted was right next to the road, almost rubbing against it. Behind the small shack and reaching out far, a field of soybeans. A single truck sat parked in the driveway, beaten down from end to end. Much larger was the tractor that roared in the fields behind it, and the hat-wearing farmer who drove it.
Slowly, the countryside gave way to sidewalks, and small houses turned into two-stories. There were multiple cars in driveways, or none at all. Each lawn was pristine, or it was dreary. The
small town seemed to have no middle class. Either you owned the town or the town owned you.
Cyrus progressed slowly down the main road, heading for the church steeple at the center. His radio was loud, and he knew everybody could hear it. Reaching down for the knob, he turned it louder, and wore the same don’t-care expression.
Every time he glanced out at the passing town, there were eyes following him. It was an old lady watering her garden, or a small child riding their bike up the sidewalk. Everyone glared as the black convertible crawled up the road, roof down and music up.
Cyrus had dark sunglasses covering his eyes, and a rough edge to his features that came from not shaving for three days. His brows furrowed anytime he made eye contact, his jaw set firm, almost threatening. Whenever somebody stared at him, it wasn’t for long.
“Hello, Indiana,” he said softly, pulling into the almost-empty parking lot of the church. Almost-empty, because the pastor’s car was waiting.
He pulled his convertible up beside the SUV, a dazzling and clean white. The window rolled down slowly, as Cyrus kept an emotionless face.
“Welcome, again!” the pastor beamed, smiling too wide.
He struggled for a second, eventually sticking a hand out of the window. Cyrus leaned over casually and shook it, studying the man. His hair was dark, but obviously balding at the peak of his temple. Just from his posture, Cyrus could tell he was something of a small and squat, monk-ish person. If it’d been the Middle Ages, he could’ve lived in a monastery.
Cyrus grunted as a response, and the pastor drew his hand back into the vehicle.
“The name’s John Keener, Pastor John Keener. I’ll be showing you to your little house. It’s not a great set-up, but I’m sure with a little bit of work-”
“It’s cheap,” Cyrus said gruffly. “That’s all I want.”
“Fair enough.” The pastor nodded, chewing on his lip. “It’s certainly on the lower end of prices around here. I hope you’ll find everything comfortable enough, here in our little town. It’s a… a quiet place, for the most part. And very friendly if you’re friendly to it.”
Cyrus nodded curtly. “I don’t expect there to be any issues.”
“Wonderful, wonderful.” Pastor Keener shifted into drive. “Alright, then. Just follow me. It’s only a couple blocks from here. Then again, the whole town’s only a couple blocks wide!” He chuckled loudly. The tinted window rolled up and blocked his face from view.
Without saying a word, Cyrus followed him out of the parking lot and onto the vacant roads. Main Street was made of two lanes on each side, and a turning lane in the middle. It was fairly nice, and void of potholes. Every other paved area was dotted with them like chicken pox. All the other back roads and adjoining streets were uglier, skinnier. There was no need for any other kind in Werifesteria. Nobody had reason to visit.
As the pastor drove his SUV, the families around town instantly recognized him. It was like the president passing by. Everybody dropped what they were doing to wave, call out with no use, and bask in his presence. Immediately after, they shot wary glares at Cyrus, who kept his eyes straight ahead, blocking them out.
It was a few minutes later, after they crawled their way down the various roads, that Pastor Keener turned into a gravel driveway. Cyrus pulled up behind him and shut the car off, not bothering to put up the top.
It was a nice home, maybe a bit cramped. The base was small, and any patch outside you could “yard” seemed to be swarming with high grass and weeds. But with two stories and an attic, the house certainly had supple room for him, and for all his baggage.
“Nice car you got there,” the pastor remarked, climbing out of his SUV. “I’ve had this one for years and years now. Best car I ever owned, really. Bought it new and I’ll drive it ‘til it dies.”
“This looks different than the pictures,” Cyrus said, nodding towards the house.
Pastor Keener turned to face it. “Oh, yes. Well… those may have been a bit old. We put up all the empty houses online, trying to get some new blood in the town. We never expected to sell this one, so we hadn’t updated the picture from a while ago.” He added quickly, “You’re still okay with the home… right?”
“Yeah. It’s fine.” Cyrus's eyes drifted up to the attic exterior, which sloped strangely. The back side of the house rose much higher than the front, appearing something like a cat arching its back.
“I know the outside isn’t all that impressive, and definitely needs some painting.” The pastor cleared his throat. “The actual wood is alright and everything. There’s nothing wrong with the structure of the house, inside or out. I’d say it just needs a new layer of color, some yard work, and there’s a broken window on one side. Um… if you find anything else, I’ll pay for it. Those are everything I had in the advertisement online.”
Cyrus was staring at the structure, scanning every surface visible. The outside was well-worn and had been through plenty of storms, that was obvious. Most of the house was wood, from what he could tell, and the pastor seemed confident that it was sound. There was a circular window into the attic above, and the strange-shaped roof. All in all, it was just as he remembered.
“What’s on the second floor?” He kept his eyes fixed on that circle window.
“On the tall end, the back, there is a guest room and maybe a bathroom. On this near end, there’s another bedroom. The central staircase leads from the first, to the second, all the way to the attic, with a narrow landing at each.”
“Could I use it for a personal study?” Cyrus questioned.
“The attic? Yes, I suppose you could. It would work for anything, really. There’s also a nice patch of grass in the backyard, where I’d say you could put a swing set or something, but you don’t have a- I mean, anybody else here. It’s a good place, though. You could invite some neighbors over, have a barbecue-”
“Is there a boy in town I can hire to paint and mow?”
The pastor raised an eyebrow. “Are you not able to?”
“I could.” Cyrus hardened his features, reaching up for the sunglasses and taking them off his cold eyes. “But I don’t have any desire.”
Pastor Keener took a step back, seeing his glare. “Oh. I mean. I’m sure you can hire somebody. There’s a boy, named Will, who isn’t working anywhere and usually gets a job during this time of year. I can tell him to come see you, if you want?”
“How old?”
“Um, he’d be about 17 or 18 now. He’s plenty old enough, and can drive, if that’s important. He should be willing, and definitely has time. I’ll let him know tomorrow at church. Will you be attending? I’ve got a real good April Fool’s Joke to start my sermon, you know.”
Cyrus wrinkled his nose and took a second to reply. “Not tomorrow. I’ve got work to do inside.”
“Oh. Well, there’s always next week, right? We’d love for you to come. Everybody in town is a- I mean, it’s a great place to meet people.”
“Is this a church or a dating website?” he scoffed.
Pastor Keener frowned. “I’m just saying that you’re new in town, and you might want to meet some new people. The church is a great place, because everybody in town comes every Sunday. So, whenever you’re available, we’d love for you to attend.”
“And?”
The pastor choked on his tongue and took a moment to compose himself. Breathing deeply, he stood up straight. “Well, that’s up to you. I’ve actually got to go. Church business, you know. So I’ll see you around, and Will should come over sometime soon. Maybe Monday or Tuesday.”
Cyrus nodded and extended his hand. “House key?”
“Oh yes, yes.” Pastor Keener fumbled around in the pocket of his slacks for a minute, before pulling out a tiny, bronze key. “This is the only one we’ve got, so don’t lose it.”
“I won’t. I’m very careful.” Cyrus snatched it out of his hand and shoved the key into his own pocket. “Have a good afternoon.”
The pastor nodded and extended his
hand. “You as well.”
Cyrus turned away, ignoring his kind gesture, and headed for his home. “You’ll find the first month’s payment in your office at the church.”
Pastor Keener raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. He turned around and headed for the SUV. In a moment, he pulled out into the yard and then around the black convertible. Cyrus watched him leave from the attic window, rubbing the pattern stained on the glass.
“Nice place. Very nice.”
He transferred the luggage from his convertible into the house, slow and delicate, one heavy load for each of his many trips. He opened the car trunk, grabbed a cardboard box, and marched away into the house. Two minutes later, he returned for a second, and then for a third. There were nearly a dozen boxes in all, and the process of moving them inside took Cyrus over a half-hour.
He started with unpacking the pictures, placing them on the shelves in the living room, in the right spots as far as he could remember. There were pictures of a woman and a smiling child, standing in the park on a sunny day. Another showed Cyrus himself, much younger and wearing a tuxedo. His face was clean-shaven then, and the girl standing beside him radiated with joy.
Pausing, he stared at these two pictures for a long time. Then he went back to work.
After the entire living room shone with dozens of photographs and paintings, he set those boxes aside and began unpacking the kitchen supplies. This house had come with all the couches, freezers, fridges, shelves, dressers, and storage that he would need. Whoever had owned it previously hadn’t taken much with them, even though everything was in good shape. He didn’t recognize any of it. Shame. That couch from years ago had been the most comfortable he could remember.