Until We Burn_A Psychological Thriller Read online

  “What?” Will asked. “I need to work.”

  The little girl raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Not getting much done standing there, now are you?”

  Will turned away, heading for the back again. She called out to him, but he ignored her. Ducking inside the garage, he took a moment searching for his gas can. The air was thick inside, and made him cough. His eyes stung as he emerged, gasoline in hand, and another coughing fit assaulted his body.

  “Allergies?” the little girl asked again. She was still standing by the gate, in the same spot. Both small, childish hands were on the wood now, rubbing it, almost obsessively. Her hair lay straight and black, curving around her head unnaturally. A small bow rested at the top of it.

  “Who are you?” he said, peering intently at her face. “I don’t… I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Are you new?”

  She shook her head, folding both arms against her chest. “I’ve been here forever.”

  “Your whole life? But I know everyone in town.”

  “Guess not.” She shrugged, then giggled. “You definitely don’t know Cyrus.”

  “Oh, you’re one of those people?” Will rolled his eyes and moved over to the weed eater. “What, did your parents tell you he’s a bad man?’

  “No, not at all.” She smirked with one side of her mouth. “My momma loves him. Mostly.”

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “No reason.” Her grin grew wider, and she began stroking the fence more aggressively.

  “Don’t do that,” Will chided. “You’re gonna… you’ll get splinters.”

  “Did you paint this?” she asked, watching his expression. “Ah, you did. Well, it’s a very nice job, but you already knew that.”

  “Can you go away? I’m trying to work.” He reached down for the weed eater and held it up.

  The little girl frowned and did her best pouty-eyed expression. “I just wanted to tell you something. A secret.”

  “What is it, then? Hurry up.”

  “Do you know why Cyrus never has you plant things in that patch of grass out back? Didn’t he tell you it would be a garden?”

  Will’s mouth flew open, but he shut it. “I mean… the weather’s not… right.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.” She placed one hand on the fence and began to amble down the sidewalk, away from Will. “Maybe he’s hiding something, huh? How about that, Will?”

  “You don’t sound like a little girl…”

  “Maybe I’m not.” She winked at him, and pulled chapstick out of her pocket. She applied it deftly, and then licked it off.

  “What-”

  “Goodbye, Will,” she called out, her voice light and flirtatious. “I’ll see you again, sometime, maybe. I’m only here as a warning, after all. Things are going to get very, very…” She sighed. “Well, you’ll see for yourself.”

  “Wait!” he yelled, but she was gone, too far down the road. Will placed a hand to his forehead. “Why can’t I just have a normal day here?”

  He revved the engine and set work on the house, trying to send his thoughts flying away and destroy them like the weeds he cut down. His mind wasn’t so easily tamed.

  Chapter 17

  A Seance With Angels

  “Please take a seat, Mr. Cyrus.” The secretary pointed to six chairs lined up against the wall, like a miniature waiting room for a doctor’s office.

  “Why?” Cyrus snapped. “I really need to see the-”

  “The pastor is in a meeting, but will be done shortly. Please take a seat, and wait your turn.” She glared at him, until Cyrus shuffled to the chairs. Her eyes flicked back to the desktop computer, adjusting her thin, modern-styled glasses.

  “Does he always have meetings?” Cyrus mumbled.

  The secretary didn’t take her eyes off the screen, but shook her head, the tight bun on her head barely moving. “There’s magazines for you to read. I’m working.”

  Folding his arms, Cyrus sat rigid and kept his gaze straight ahead. He scanned every inch of her desk, each curve and pattern in the wood. His mind was rumbling with thoughts, pouring over every detail that he could remember. This new church was more modern and less familiar than the old one. Yet another example of how the town moved on.

  They hadn’t, though. He nodded, letting the thoughts sink in, trying to absorb all of the information. So many people still affected by it. Never forgot, but refuse to remember.

  “Who is he talking to?” Cyrus asked. “Somebody important, or what? I need to get back home because Will-”

  “Then you should’ve scheduled an appointment.” She clicked her tongue. “Nobody understands that nowadays.”

  “Not to seem like a jerk…” Cyrus paused. “But I’m probably more important than whoever he’s talking to.”

  “You’re nothing in this town, Cyrus.”

  “Oh, really?”

  He leapt out of his chair and bolted past her desk.

  “Wait, you can’t-!”

  He wrenched the door knob and slammed his shoulder into it, tumbling into the room. As soon as his knees hit the carpet, he regretted the decision. It was too late now.

  “Cyrus?” the pastor yelped, as the door flew open.

  Peering up from the ground, he took in the scene. Pastor Keener was standing behind his large, solid wood desk, his chair pushed back like he’d jumped to his feet. In the leather seat facing it, not paying any attention, was a young man wearing a hat, with short-cut hair and a professional appearance.

  “What’s going on here?” the pastor asked, staring at the doorway where the secretary now stood.

  “Pastor, he-”

  “It’s fine.” Pastor Keener waved his hand through the air, sighing. “I’ll have to talk to you later, Dumpy.”

  Cyrus’s heart skipped a few beats and he struggled slowly to his knees. “What do you mean…?”

  The man in the chair turned around, tipping his hat. “Dumpy Jr., very pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, Cyrus.”

  “But… Dumpy didn’t have-”

  “He did have a kid. Only one. Just me.” There was a faint smile on the young man’s face. “Just because you aren’t married, doesn’t mean you can’t have kids. Or did you miss that part of middle school sex-ed?”

  “Why are you here?” Cyrus curled his lip. “Leave!” He was standing on his feet now, almost a head shorter.

  “Cyrus!” the pastor scolded.

  “Why do you think I’m here? My father just died, and I’m selling all his assets. The stores can… well, whoever wants them can keep them alive, but there’s no use in them for me. Just like the rest of this god-forsaken town.”

  “Now, hold on, Dumpy.” The pastor stretched out his arm to pat the man’s elbow. “We’re all going through a tough time here, but business will pick back up. Those stores are… they’re part of your family lineage, part of the history of this-”

  “I don’t care about this town, Pastor! There’s nothing here for me, nor for you.” He locked his eyes on Cyrus. “Don’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, and this wild investigation of yours can continue. Yeah, I heard all about it. You’re probably the reason my old man’s dead.” He chewed on the side of his cheek, eyeing Cyrus up and down. “Sorry to say, I didn’t care too much for him. If I did, you’d be a dead man right now.”

  Cyrus crossed his arms and stood his ground. “At least I’m not a bastard.”

  “Is that supposed to offend me?” He grinned. “See, Pastor, this here is why I’m leaving your town, your history, behind. You’re all so stuck in the past.” He took a few steps closer to Cyrus. “You know what we call people like me in Houston?” With one swift move, he raised an elbow and smashed it into Cyrus’s nose.

  He crumpled to the ground in one moment, and Dumpy Jr. walked out over him. “We call it a man,” he mocked over his shoulder. “Grow a pair and be one. Let the past be the past. You can’t save her
now.”

  The pastor motioned for his secretary to leave the room. She mumbled something under her breath and shut the door behind her, with a small click. Pastor Keener knelt down beside Cyrus, who batted his helping hands away. They were left alone in the office.

  “I’m fine. Guy’s got no zing, anyways.”

  “You’re not good at making friends.”

  Cyrus rolled his eyes, and grabbed the leather chair arm, supporting himself as he got to his feet. “I don’t need that guy to be my friend.”

  “But the town does, Cyrus. Not everything is about you! We really needed to keep that business. Now that he’s gone…”

  Propping his elbows on the chair, Cyrus buried his head on it. His knees where jelly, and his entire body visibly shaking.

  “Are you alright?” The pastor reached for his shoulder, but thought better and pulled back.

  “Why do they always use Ophelia?” Cyrus said quietly. “They still go after her, when they want to get at me. She’s still my weak spot, all these years later.” His head rose, eyes brimming with tears.

  “Some wounds don’t heal over time.” Pastor Keener bowed his head. “Some feuds don’t either, apparently.”

  “How much do you think Dumpy told him?”

  “Enough to make him hate you, and enough to make himself look better.” Shaking his head, the pastor took a seat behind his desk. “Dumpy could never grasp the concept of forgiveness.”

  “But I didn’t even-!”

  “I’m not saying you did anything wrong. It’s not my place to judge.” The pastor held up his hands, silencing Cyrus. “I’m just saying that in Dumpy’s mind, you hurt him. And he could never find a way past that fact.”

  Cyrus seated himself in the leather chair, hugging himself like the temperature had sunk to below freezing. “I came here to talk about the future, not the past.”

  “Your past decides your future. You can’t escape it.”

  “You’re a pastor, not a prophet.” Cyrus coughed, grabbing a box of tissues from the desk. His nose started to drip blood. After stuffing it, he pulled out a scrap of paper with words scribbled onto it. “I need to know a few things. Mostly about the fire. I think, if I can figure out this guy’s motive, we can guess who exactly it is.”

  “And you think he’s the same guy that started the fire? Not just somebody using the name and the fame?”

  “It has to be that guy. I’m certain.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions, Cyrus.” Pastor Keener lowered his brow. “Be careful.”

  “You aren’t a police chief either, so shut it. Just answer my questions.” Before the pastor could carry on, he asked, “How many people died in that fire?”

  “I can’t be for sure,” the pastor said hazily. “There were a ton of us, a ton of bodies never recovered, and even more that were unrecognizable. Have you seen what fire does to a human corpse? It’s unspeakable-”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “I don’t know, Cyrus. I really don’t!” The pastor leaned back in his chair, covering his face with a hand. “The youth group was about twenty kids at events, plus maybe thirty parents, some others… I don’t know, 60 or so people at the least. It was the biggest event we had all year. Tons of volunteers, teens, a real revival.”

  “Out of how many in the town?” Cyrus lowered his eyes to jot a note down on the paper, using a pen from the pastor.

  “Maybe 800 or 900 back then, closer to 500 now. Lots of people moved away. Or passed.” Pastor Keener closed his eyes. “Yes, that’s about right. Depressing, but right.”

  “How many people survived that fire, who were in the building that night?”

  “We can’t be for sure.” The pastor’s eyes immediately dropped to his desk.

  “Pastor Keener. Look at me,” Cyrus demanded.

  The pastor’s eyes rose slowly, meeting his.

  “How many people survived that fire?”

  “Listen, Cyrus, there’s so much uncertainty about-”

  “Answer me!”

  The pastor folded his hands together on the desk and took a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you is something that’s been heavy on my heart. I really thought about telling people. I honestly did. But… you have to understand. It would make things much, much worse. It would cause… fear. And in this town, that’s the most dangerous thing to let loose.”

  “What have you been keeping from me?” Cyrus growled.

  “There is a pattern between the murders. Both young women were students back then, and they survived. The third, the attempted murder, was the same. Dumpy was a teacher back then, too. He survived. Everyone who survived that fire is dead. Even the three boys who lived through it moved away, and now they’re dead because of ‘natural causes.’ But… I’m starting to doubt even those cases. I mean, what are the chances? That everyone who was there and lived is now dead.”

  Cyrus shook his head. “It’s impossible, and can’t be a coincidence. So that has to be the motive.”

  “Seems like it.”

  “Why go after me, though?” Cyrus pounded his forehead with a closed fist. “I wasn’t there! I lost somebody, just like everyone else.”

  “I don’t know, Cyrus. That’s what I wondered as well. If you’re right, and the same man is responsible for both, then he must be killing them to protect himself. That’s my theory, anyways. What if he’s going around, killing the survivors, because of the off-chance that they might have seen him, might remember?” The pastor’s lip began to quiver.

  “Maybe…” Cyrus grabbed another tissue. “I have my own ideas, but I’ll keep those to myself for now.”

  “So is that all you wanted to hear?”

  Cyrus shut his eyes and lowered his head, curling over in the chair. “You’re forgetting one thing, pastor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There was another survivor. They aren’t all dead yet.”

  “Cyrus… We don’t need to-”

  “You, pastor.” He raised his head and stared directly at the man. “You were there, whether you want to admit it or not. You made it out. You’re the last one.”

  Chapter 18

  The Changing of the Guard

  “I told Cyrus I didn’t want you coming on these,” Will growled, turning the wheel of his car and drifting onto the street. Ahead of them, the pastor’s SUV rumbled through bright patches on the road, illuminated by the grubby street lights overhead. The sun fell quickly in the sky, less and less of it visible.

  “Babe, it’s alright. I’m safe.”

  “I still don’t like it.” He shook his head. “Whatever. Nothing’s gonna happen tonight anyways.”

  “Don’t jinx it.”

  The pastor drove the main road for a while, eventually parking on the sidewalk and shutting off his car. Will followed suit, a block behind him. Zada noticed the wide space between their vehicles.

  “Why didn’t you park closer?”

  “He doesn’t know we’re following him. Cyrus said to hold a good distance, but close enough to keep him safe.”

  Zada gripped her door handle. “Shall we go, then? Can’t do much protecting from here.”

  “Hopefully there isn’t anything to do.” Will opened his own door, and quietly made an exit to the sidewalk. Keeping away from the patch of light beside his car, he joined Zada behind the vehicle. “Where the heck is he going?”

  “Don’t know.” Zada peered ahead, trying to see across the dimly lit street. “I… is he going to the alleyway?”

  “Oh my god.” Will hurried forwards, almost at a run. “How stupid is he?”

  “What is he doing there, is the better question?”

  The pastor, indeed, took a sharp right, speed-walking out of view. Will approached the corner cautiously, Zada right behind him.

  “Is this the same road-?”

  “Yeah,” she interrupted. “The same place where we saw Dumpy get that rope.”

  The store was up ahead of them, and they could bar
ely make out the pastor’s shadow scurrying up to that shop. He’d pulled his hood up and was hunched over, clearly afraid to be seen. Will took Zada’s hand, out of fear and not infatuation. They kept close to the wall, hiding themselves easily in the shadows.

  “Keep quiet,” Will whispered.

  “Obviously.” Her snark reply didn’t mask her anxiety.

  The pastor glanced around him. His eyes seemed to linger on their position for an instant, but his head swiveled back and he knocked softly on the glass door. A haggard man appeared, drawing back the blinds. All of the windows were completely covered with them, so whatever happened inside was private.

  Once the door was shut and the pastor gone into the depths of the shop, Zada turned to Will, her eyes wide.

  “So either the pastor is just going in to buy some protection for himself…”

  Her voice faded, but Will picked up the train of thought. “Or he’s involved in some pretty shady stuff himself.”

  They turned back to face that section of the road, before Zada exclaimed, “Wait. What if this guy who owns the store is in on the plan with Dumpy, and they’re both killing off people? Maybe he killed Dumpy to tie up loose ends, and now he’s going after the pastor!”

  Will raised an eyebrow, barely visible. “I mean… there’s crazier theories.”

  “What are we supposed to do, though? We can’t barge in to the storefront of a murderer.”

  “We could… call Cyrus.”

  Zada folded her arms. “Is that your plan every single time?” She went on in a mocking, boy-voice. “Let’s just call Cyrus, hardy har har.”

  “I don’t know?” Will sounded hurt. “I was just saying-”

  “Shh!” Zada pressed her back against the wall. “Here he is!”

  The shop door opened and the store owner strolled out, his hands folded together. Will’s breath caught in his throat, but then the pastor sauntered out as well, and shook the man’s hand. They exchanged words in low voices, before Pastor Keener turned away and began marching back up the street. A moment later, the lights flicked out and they were left alone with the pastor.