Free The Burning Time by J. G. Faherty Page A

sorry I didn’t say anything. But Mitch...”
    “Yeah, I know. He asked you not to. Guys stick up for each other, I get it. But I’m responsible for him, and I need to know what’s happening in his life.”
    “Danni—”
    She shook her head. “Maybe you should call it a day. We’ll see you in the morning.”
    He wanted to stay, to try and explain further, but her face had taken a hard, tight, determined expression he’d never seen her wear before.
    “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    John headed down the drive, hoping the young woman hadn’t soured on him being around. He needed the money, sure, but more than that, he needed someone in town who trusted him, who didn’t look at him as an outsider.
    Otherwise, his job would be much, much harder.
     

 
Chapter 12
    Billy Ray held a plastic bag filled with ice cubes against his cheek, the ice bringing blessed numbness to the swollen flesh.
    “He’s got it in for me, just because I was kind of wild when I was a kid,” Billy said to Reverend Christian. Sharp pains in his mouth and chest accompanied each word.
    The reverend stepped forward and poked a steel-hard finger into Billy’s chest. “I don’t care what you did before you came to town. I don’t care what you did as a child. But as long as you work for me, you’ll stay out of trouble. Don’t give the police any reason to suspect you of anything. Understand?” He emphasized his words with another poke.
    Backing up a step, Billy nodded. “I got it. Don’t worry. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Yet. He rubbed his chest; the spot where Christian’s finger had hit felt like he’d been struck with a hammer.
    “Keep it that way. Remember, my Gods see all.”
    “Uh, yeah, right.” Billy hated it when Christian talked like that. Somehow, coming from his thin-lipped mouth, the warped Sunday-school words took on a deeper, more sinister meaning. Billy could almost see an angry God staring at him from up in heaven, his eyesight more powerful than any spy satellite as he watched over his flock, ready to weed out the sinners.
    Jesus, I’m starting to sound like him!
    Hoping to change the subject away from himself, he adjusted his cold pack and said, “Maybe your Gods should keep his eye on that new guy in town. He’s in some hot water, too.”
    “Who?”
    “That old guy you asked me to find out about. I got his name today. John Root. He—”
    The Reverend’s face grew angry and he practically shouted, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
    Caught off guard by the man’s unexpected vehemence, Billy stuttered as he answered. “I...I...planned to. I mean, I am. Now.”
    “What did you find out?” Christian’s eyes, normally coal-black, seemed even darker, like black ice.
    “When the cops were using me for a punching bag, they got a call about this Root guy. They were heading to his place after they dropped me off. Something about him spending too much time with some little kid.”
    “What did the Sheriff say?”
    Billy shook his head. “Not much. Just that they were gonna check him out.”
    Christian smiled and turned back toward the window. “Thank you, Billy. That’s interesting news. Let me know if you hear anything else.”
    “Sure.” Billy edged his way over toward the door, eager to get away. “Uh, I gotta go get more ice.” Before Christian could say anything else, Billy closed the door and hurried down the hall.
    That night, Billy’s sleep was haunted by nightmares of vengeful gods pursuing him with lightning bolts. The gods all had Christian’s face and black holes for eyes.
    When he came awake for the fourth time, teeth clenched around a scream, he gave up and spent the rest of the night with the lights on and the television blaring.
    Even then, the mocking laughter of the gods echoed in his head.
     
    *   *   *
     
    Well after midnight, Cyrus Christian removed a leather-bound book from his bottom drawer. His memory guided him through the stiff, yellowed pages