gunshot exploded. Dwayne paused for a second and then came down with the hammer again and again. And again.
Brendan slowly approached. Ellis lay on his back, rolling side to side, hands clenched against his throat and blood spurting out between his fingers. His eyes darted all around, registering nothing, or maybe everything.
Dwayne stood, admired his work, dropped the hammer. He had smashed in the side of the neighbor’s face. Only one eye remained and half of his jaw. The blood and brain matter had splattered across his driveway.
Dwayne went to Ellis, knelt next to him. “You saved me and I wish I could do the same for you, but God has other plans.” He grabbed Ellis’s hands and pulled them off his throat. A fountain of blood spurted out. A moment later, Dwayne released Ellis’s hands and they dropped to the street. He stood and stared at Brendan.
Would he kill him now, too? Was this what God had been planning all along? What kind of fucked-up ending was this?
“Get in the car,” he said. “We’ve got to get away.”
“But my father, my brother.”
“Get in the car or I’ll walk over there and kill them both right now.”
“No,” Brendan said. “Leave us alone.” He tried to sound strong but he wanted to cry.
Dwayne smiled, even released a small chuckle. He bent over, picked up the hammer; when he turned back, Brendan had the gun in both hands, barrel poised on Dwayne.
For a moment, Dwayne said nothing. The police were nearly here. “Your hands are shaking.”
He stepped toward Brendan.
“Put down the hammer.”
Dwayne let it clatter to the street, stepped forward again.
“Why did God let this happen?”
Dwayne shook his head. “Why would you ruin everything now? God has a plan and we might not like it, but we must do His will.”
Another step.
Brendan’s index fingers rested on the trigger.
“Fuck His will.
Another laugh, an adult amused at a silly child. “You still haven’t put it all together, have you?” Another step, just over an arm’s reach away. “Dr. Carroll. That stupid book he gave you. You were chosen. Selected. God wants this for you.
“Don’t move.”
“Give me the gun, son,” Dwayne said. “There’s a whole new life for you. We only have to search for it and God will guide us.”
“
Dwayne took another step. Brendan clenched his jaw, tried to close his ears, narrowed his eyes. Was this what God wanted? Was God even involved at all? Was there any plan, any fucking plan at all? Tears muddled his vision. “No,” he said again, almost a whisper.
“God will deliver you as he does all his disciples.”
Dwayne’s hand reached out, cutting through the air in slow motion. What would Bo Blast do? What would Dad do? Why had he killed Delaney? Why?
Dwayne’s hand cupped the gun and Brendan released.
* * *
Dwayne drove them quickly away from the burning house and bloody bodies. Two cop cars sped past them. Brendan thought again of Bo Blast and his endless search for the dark villain. He wouldn’t have to look any further. Brendan had found the Darkman right here.
EPILOGUE
1
On Christmas Eve, Tyler was in the delivery room holding Sasha Karras’s hand as she endured a particularly painful birthing. Large beads of sweat speckled her forehead and her cheeks turned white from grinding her jaw. She squeezed his hand as hard as she could and breathed heavily through clenched teeth with spit rolling down her chin.
He was only doing this because Dad said it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t going to be Sasha’s lover or this baby’s father, but he had an obligation to be here for the product of his making. Dad wanted him to adopt the child, but Tyler talked him out of that, thank God. Tyler would never survive that. He couldn’t take care of a baby. Dad certainly wasn’t in any condition to do so, either.
And definitely not Mom.
When the child was born and first placed in Sasha’s arms, a strange wave of heat filled Tyler’s body and he wondered what it would be like to take responsibility for this baby, to raise him as a son. She asked if he wanted to hold the baby but Tyler declined. Holding the kid would be too much.
Later, in a hospital room of her own, baby still in her arms, Sasha cooed to the newborn and smiled when he gurgled back. “He’s beautiful,” she said.
“Yes,” Tyler agreed.
“I”m going to name him Brendan.”
When Tyler left, he sat in his car in the parking lot until his nerves settled. She wasn’t going to name the baby Brendan, or anything for that matter. The baby was immediately going up for adoption. The paperwork had already been taken care of, but Sasha had forgotten all about it.
She’d forgotten about a lot of things, though the doctors and the police never fully believed her. She needed a lot of treatment, they said. She was seriously deranged and possibly violent. Tyler thought of her smile when the baby reached for her with its chubby arm and then he thought of the restraint straps dangling from her bed and the swollen bruise in the crook of her elbow where the staff had to constantly inject her with sedative. He thought of Sasha’s mother and spells and curses. He thought about all of this and wondered if it meant anything.
2
Anthony had gotten rid of the pills.
Still, Chloe managed to find something, always something. The last time she was released, she drank two bottles of Listerine and stabbed herself in the thigh with a butter knife. He thought that was going to be it for her, but the paramedics arrived and shoved a big tube down her throat, pumped out all the fluid and stopped the gushing wound in her leg.
Now the house was bare. No alcohol. No drugs. No sharp objects. There was nothing she could use to hurt herself, to try to return to her comatose splendor. She would try, Anthony knew that. She’d get creative and maybe even manage to kill herself.
She had been in rehab three times since Easter and even a short stay at the Psychiatric Center. The doctors told him it was his decision. So, he took her back and straight to the bed she went. She refused to eat anything but a piece of bread or two every other day and an occasional sip of water.
He spent most days in bed with her, petting her hair and talking about the time Before Everything Went to Hell. They had once been a happy family, one full of love and noise. Now the house was quiet and cold.
He tried to stay away from the bad memories. When the dark images tried to invade his mind, he pushed them away, mostly. Every now and again, however, they’d grab hold and trap him.
“I hope he’s okay,” Anthony said to her. She had fallen into a restless sleep. Her eyelids twitched as did her arms and legs. She woke with a gasp, grabbed the pillow so hard her knuckles threatened to break through the skin. He petted her. She bit the pillow and screamed until her face turned red and she passed out.
“I hope he’s at least happy and safe. That’s all I want for him. Safety and happiness.”
That wasn’t completely true, of course; what he wanted was to find Dwayne and use pliers to rip out every one of his teeth and then slice off his eyelids and piss on his face and then slowly cut open his chest from neck to crotch until his guts spilled out and he finally died.
The police had searched the First Church of Jesus Christ the Empowered, taken numerous testimonies, but it added up to nothing. They never even found Dr. Carroll, though Anthony never mentioned him, either.
