He nodded. "Didn’t see anyone other than guards."
"You checked every room?" Where was everyone?
"You trying to tell me how to do my job?"
Raising my hands in defeat, I stepped closer to the altar, murmuring, "Da? Security is dealt with."
He just grunted as he tugged off the hat on the Archbishop’s head, then slapped him until he was conscious.
Unlike before, he now had a matching Cheshire Cat grin thanks to Ma. I’d seen her use a knife in the kitchen, and she’d certainly learned some skills while cooking was all I’d say.
The dull thwacking sounds sent blood spattering everywhere, but Da didn’t care about blood evidence. Why would he when he was going to torch the ancient edifice anyway?
Masters came awake with a slurred, "Where am I?"
Da rumbled, "You’re at the gateway to hell." His head tipped back as he peered at the Sanctuary’s ceiling.
A sacrifice was going to be made tonight, but it was anything other than Catholic in origin. Far more pagan than I thought Da was capable of.
Like those words brought him to full wakefulness, though, the Archbishop sobbed, "No, please, no. Last rites, I need—"
Da punched him in the face, not that the bastard had to be feeling all that much by now. Brain damage was already underway especially with how fractured his orbital bones were.
A bag appeared from his pocket and it was placed around Masters’ head, then Finn and I both sucked in a sharp, surprised breath, as Ma, wielding the duct tape, began to tape it in place.
As the Archbishop made agonized sounds as he gasped for air, the bag grew fuller and fuller, turning into a balloon as he started struggling in the wheelchair.
Da raised his arm and tucked Ma under it. "See him squirm, baby?"
"I do," Ma confirmed. "Wish Conor could see it. Wish Conor could know." Her cheeks gleamed with tears that flowed non-stop. Tears that had nothing to do with the rain that had wet us all through.
Nervously, I licked my lips. "You’re not going to tell him?"
"Your father told me you promised Conor to keep it a secret from us."
A harsh sob escaped her, one so loud and so surprising after the calmness of her earlier tone that I flinched at the sound of her agony. It made me close my eyes as I felt her pain with her.
I’d never processed what it had done to me to see Conor being abused like that.
I’d never processed how it had felt to kill that son of a bitch.
Uncle Paddy had taken Finn and me boxing for a while, but then he’d died.
Well, pretended to die.
Christ, I still had to tell Da that.
Scrubbing a hand over my face as Ma sobbed out her fucking heart, falling forward with the agony of her sorrow, needing Da to prop her up and stop her from sinking to her knees in a puddle of grief, I felt Finn huddle nearer to me.
At that moment, I knew we both felt the same way. Like small boys who were seeing our parents break down. We didn’t know what to do, where to turn, not when our constant was suffering, so we found solace in each other. As we’d often done over the years.
"You’re my brother, aren’t you?" I whispered to the soundtrack of my ma’s grief.
"Yeah," he replied just as quietly.
"I always thought you were anyway."
"Me too."
"Fitting, I guess. To find out tonight." I turned to him and reached up and drew him in for a hug. "No matter what, blood aside, you’ve always been my brother." I pushed my forehead against his and muttered, "Always, Finn."
He nodded, our foreheads dragging against each other, before he rasped, "Why don’t I think tonight’s going to end well?"
I pulled back and said, "Because you’ve got a brain between those big ears?"
He smirked, his teeth glinting in the meager light surrounding us. "Mine match yours."
Grunting, I turned back to my parents, and watched as the Archbishop began to take his last few breaths of air. I knew because they were slower, lethargic, strained.
My jaw clamped down as I watched, but then I couldn’t just watch. I couldn’t just let him die. Not when kids had suffered because of this bastard. Not just my brother, but only God knew how many.
And he’d allowed it.
He’d let it happen.
He’d even facilitated it.
Again and again.
Over and over.
It fueled me, much as the gasoline would fuel the fire that’d make the seat of this bastard’s archdiocese burn like the gateway to hell Da had declared it as being.
Like a phoenix who was reborn in flames, I needed that. I needed the Archbishop to die in agony just so he could experience a smidgen of Conor’s pain.
So I hobbled along to the Sanctuary, and I drew out my knife. It gleamed in the candlelight, and I prodded the bag with the tip, watching as air whistled in through that hole and Masters gulped it down like it was a torrent rather than a trickle.
Turning to my parents, I declared, "Let him feel the fire. Let it eat him alive." My jaw clenched again. "Just like it’s eaten Conor alive, and just like what we had to do has eaten us alive."
Finn rasped, "Hear, hear."
Da rumbled, "You dealt with McKenna, so it’s your decision, boys." He gritted his teeth. "I’ll even let you light the fire."
I shook my head, knowing they needed that release. "You can have that honor."
Stepping away from the altar, I retreated to Finn’s side, unaware that tears crawled down my cheeks, merely watching as the men stopped sloshing gasoline around the place, bringing it right to the altar. One of them went the extra mile and poured it on Masters too.
I was surprised when none of them argued because this was a sacred place, but like good children, they behaved themselves before Da told them, "Go and wait in the van."
They retreated like robots, silent and deadly ones, then Da pulled out a box of matches, and asked, "Lena?"
She took the box without a word.
Expecting them both to head down the steps to the aisle, to my horror, I watched as Ma didn’t move an inch away from Masters. Stayed right where she was as she lit the match and threw it onto the Archbishop.
A howl escaped him as he went up in flames, and the roar of the fire was so sudden it scorched my eyes as I staggered back, blasted by it. Finn too. My folks stood their ground as much as they could, watching him burn, until I yelled, "Get the fuck away from him!"
"What the hell are you doing?" Finn shouted, a scant second later.
Ma didn’t listen, just reached for another match.
"This is suicide," I screamed, hobbling forward, wanting to get to them before they did something fucking stupid. Something that couldn’t be taken back.
Some days, I hated them. Others, I loved them.
Either way, I didn’t want this to be my last day with them.
For this to be our final memory.
She tossed the flame to the left of the altar. It shot up as Da called out, "Go, boys. Go. We’ll be fine."
We’ll be fine?
The light of the fire, the fucking heat of it, gleamed on Finn’s face as we stared at each other in horror while we both rushed forward. The flames licked at us when we made it up there, and we tackled them both.
Ma shrieked as Finn grabbed her around the waist, hauling her up onto his shoulder. Her howl of agony as she was denied something she wanted, made the sounds coming from Masters seem pleasant. I wanted to close my ears against the noise, but I couldn’t, instead, I focused on the fire that was beginning to rage, that was starting to make my skin tighten with the heat, that was going to hit my father soon if I didn’t hurry.