Free The Dark Sacrament by David Kiely

Heather pleaded.
    The window yielded at last. Joe forced it up. Rip needed no prompting; he leaped through to freedom. Heather followed. Once out, Joe allowed the frame to drop with a crash. He heard glass shatter; he did not care. They reached the safety of the car.
    On the journey to his aunt’s house, Joe struggled to regain his composure. He was jabbering and swearing and trembling, his mind in turmoil. He could not come to terms with the terrible events. Rip, in the back seat, lay whimpering.
    But Heather was eerily calm. She sat quietly, staring straight ahead. He could not understand it. Was she in shock? They had both experienced unimaginably terrifying events. She had almost died. How, he asked himself, could she be so calm?
    â€œHeather, are you okay?”
    She did not answer, seemed unaware that he had even spoken.
    â€œHeather? Honey?”
    She said nothing. Instead, her hands shot out, and latched onto the steering wheel. She was forcing the car toward the wrong side of the road.
    â€œHeather, what the f*** are you doing?”
    Joe wrestled for control of the wheel—and found he was no match for her strength. Her hands were locked in position, forcing the car on a collision course. The road was treacherous; it had rained heavily for most of the day. Their fighting for control of the wheel was sending the car into a skid.
    Up ahead in the distance, Joe could see the lights of a truck approaching.
    â€œHeather, let go!”
    He had to stop the car. He knew that if he tried to brake, the car might end up on its roof—or worse. The headlights of the truck were drawing closer.
    â€œJesus Christ, Heather, stop it!” he yelled.
    As if by magic, she released her grip on the steering wheel.
    They were in the path of the oncoming truck. The gap was closing rapidly. Joe heard the blaring of twin air horns; six banks of high-intensity headlights flashed, flooding the car with light, half-blinding him. He heard Rip’s frantic barking. And, through all the sound and the fury, he heard something he would never forget. It was the same mocking laughter that had driven them out of their home just minutes before.
    There were four of them in the car now.
    He flung the wheel wildly, sending the car out of the truck’s path, missing it by inches. He saw a tree coming up to meet them. But they avoided it. The car ended up with the front wheels in a ditch. The truck drove on.
    Joe collapsed over the wheel, sweating and shaking. He was unable to speak. Rip was moaning and scratching at the rear window, desperate to get out. The derisive laughter continued. He lookedacross at Heather—and froze. She sat with her head thrown back. The cackling was emerging from her throat.
    Joe found his voice. “What…what the f*** are you doing?” he screamed into her face. “You nearly got us killed!”
    She stopped laughing abruptly and turned to look at him for the first time. “Thought we’d have some fun,” she said in a flat voice.
    Joe was horrified.
    â€œI figured she was in shock,” he explains. “I thought she might be having a seizure or a fit of some kind. All I know is that she wasn’t herself. I didn’t like to do it, but I slapped her hard across the face. Thought that would make her snap out of it.”
    But Heather did not flinch. She was smiling.
    â€œFun!” he cried.
    â€œYes, fun. Breda’s not at home. She’s in the f***ing church praying her useless prayers. So we’d have been sitting outside her house, twiddling our f***ing thumbs, waiting on the bitch.”
    â€œWhat?” Joe had never heard her talk about his aunt that way. “How could you know what Aunt Breda was doing? We didn’t have time to call her.”
    â€œI know everything. They show me.” She cocked her head to one side in an unnerving way. “She dropped her f***ing rosary beads on the bus, so she’ll be in a bloody flap when we get