arms out as if receiving prayer, he laughed at the image of the outstretched arms of Christ in the stained glass window above.
Some of the ash fell from the cigarette onto his trophy. Septis bent down and twisted the lifeless head to face him. Bones broke and tendons popped in the corpse’s neck. Fixed eyes stared back, lifeless, frozen in horror from their final moment.
Near the altar, an enormous metal cross hung from the ceiling, suspended by heavy steel cord. The shadows noticed it, too, and their hissing became agitated.
Septis stepped off the body and went to the altar, hurling it from his way. He tore the cross from the ceiling, steel cords snapping in half and ripping from the walls, and laid it beside the body. From inside his jacket he pulled out a knife and removed it from its protective sleeve. He kneeled next to the corpse, bending low to press his face to its cheek, then placed the point of the knife on the boy’s sternum. He turned the head so that the vacant eyes looked upwards to the colored image in the stained glass window and whispered, “Who will dare deny us now that you are dead, Fortitudo Dei?”
He plunged the blade into the boy’s still heart with a sickening crunch of bone splitting in two.
CHAPTER TEN
Slow down!” Gabe shouted.
His father ignored the protest and accelerated the car.
“You’re going to get thrown in jail!”
They sped through the city, negotiating the intersecting streets. Turning a sharp corner, their headlights found the trunk of a yellow cab. His dad jammed his foot on the brakes to avoid collision. The antilock mechanism rocked the car with vibrations.
Gabe grabbed the faux leather handlebar on the dash and braced for impact as the car slowed, just short of the cab.
His father cursed under his breath. The panic in his voice caused his accent to become more pronounced. Sometimes, when he was upset or excited, Gabe couldn’t understand him at all.
“What the hell is wrong with you, driving like this?” On the dash, Gabe felt indentions the shape of his fingers in the handle. The feeling of being out of control, especially at the hands of his father of all people, was something foreign, terrifying.
Still, his father ignored him, focused only on the street ahead.
They rode the cab’s bumper for a calm minute, boxed in their lane by traffic, before something caught his dad’s eye. “What’s that?” He leaned into the steering wheel for a better view.
“Never mind. Concentrate on the road.”
“There. In the sky.”
Gabe relented and peered through the windshield and beyond the buildings in the distance to see an all too familiar orange glow coloring the sky.
“That’s the direction of the cathedral,” he said and hit the horn, causing the car next to them to stop short as he cut in front. The engine revved, and the front end lifted, pushing Gabe back into his seat. The car lurched forward faster and sped around the cab. “Put on your seat belt,” his father said. He seemed desperate.
“Trust me. It’s been on since we left the hospital.” Gabe tightened the band over his chest, ensuring its tension.
They veered into oncoming traffic to get around another cab, but then his dad jerked the wheel at the sight of flashing headlights and swerved back into their lane. The sound of a horn blared past his window.
“You’re going to get us killed,” Gabe said.
They turned onto a street filled with traffic, ignoring the red light. Cars slid on the snow and asphalt, brake pads smoking in a near pileup. His father spun the wheel again and righted the car onto the road leading to the cathedral. The sudden change in direction threw Gabe into the passenger door, his shoulder ramming the hard plastic.
“We’re almost there. Hold tight.” He then gasped and stood on the brakes, hurtling Gabe toward the windshield. The seat belt locked and snapped him back, his face barely missing the dash. They skidded to a stop just ahead of a