“Deputy. What can I do for you? I thought you were long gone from here.”
“We were,” Thomas said, “but we tracked your brother right back to here.”
“My brother?”
“Ethan.”
The man shrugged. “Ethan is not here.”
“That’s a lie, Padre,” Thomas said. “I thought priests weren’t supposed to lie?”
Father Vincent bit his lip.
“But brothers, they lie for each other,” Thomas said. “I know, because I always used to lie for my brothers when we were kids. But we’re not kids anymore, and neither are you and Ethan.” He pointed. “That’s his saddle and that’s his horse. The horse leaves a very distinct hoofprint. See it? Almost like a star?”
Vincent did see it, and knew he couldn’t lie again.
“Where is he, Father?”
74
Matthew saw the man in the first pew sitting with his head bowed. His footsteps echoed as he approached the receptacle with the holy water. Out of reflex, he was going to dip his fingers and make the sign of the cross.
At the sound of the footsteps, Ethan Langer’s head jerked up. He stood and turned quickly. He saw a large man standing just inside the front doors. The sunlight coming through the stained-glass windows high above them reflected off the badge on the big man’s chest.
Ethan did not hesitate. He drew and fired.
Matthew had his fingertips in the holy water when the bullet hit him in the chest, just next to the badge he wore. He grunted and took a step back. He wasn’t sure what had happened. Confused, he looked down and saw the blood on his shirt. Still, it never occurred to him to reach for his gun.
He looked up and saw a man—Ethan Langer—walking up the center aisle toward him, gun in hand.
“Wait—” he said, but the man fired again. The bullet struck him in the shoulder and knocked him off balance. He staggered back, lost his footing and fell.
The man who shot him loomed over him with his gun pointed down at him.
“E-Ethan Langer?” Matthew asked, his vision dimming.
“That’s right, Deputy. Why are you trailing me to hell and back over a goddamned bank in South Texas?”
“Y-You killed my mother.”
“Your mother?” Ethan asked. “That stupid bitch was your mother?”
“Y-You can’t call her—”
“Do me a favor, will ya?” Ethan asked. “When you see her, tell her to leave me the hell alone.”
He fired one last time….
At the sound of the first shot, Thomas and Father Vincent started running toward the church, each concerned for their own brother. Damn Matthew if he went inside, Thomas swore.
While they were running they heard the second shot.
“This way!” Father Vincent said to Thomas, grabbing him from behind and directing him toward a back door of the church.
As they reached that door they heard the third and final shot.
Ethan stepped over the dead lawman’s body and headed for the front door. He wanted to see if there were any more outside. He opened the door and stuck his head out, but the square was empty, except for a woman and her small daughter, who were walking toward the church.
He closed the door and looked at the lawman again. At that point he heard someone rushing in from behind the altar. Quickly, he opened the door again and stepped out.
Thomas and Father Vincent ran up the center aisle toward the fallen man, each with their heart in their throat. It was Thomas, however, whose heart sank when he saw Matthew lying in a pool of blood.
“Oh, Matthew,” he said, “no!”
“Oh, my God,” Father Vincent said, feeling pain and relief at the same time.
Matthew had been shot twice in the chest and once in the head. Thomas knelt next to his brother, cradled his head in his lap and began to cry.
Father Vincent knelt next to the dead man and began to administer Last Rites.
75
Father Vincent didn’t get very far with the Last Rites because they heard a woman screaming and shouting from outside. Thomas didn’t want to leave Matthew, but he gently laid his brother’s head back down on the floor and ran to the door, followed by the priest. Outside, a woman was screaming and wringing her hands.
“Mrs. Paul,” Father Vincent said, “what is it?”
“A man,” she said, “a man came out of the church with a gun and took my daughter.”
“Jenny? He took Jenny?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, still wringing her hands, “he took her. Why did he take her?”
Vincent looked at Thomas. “She’s six,” he said, “six years old.”
Thomas looked at the woman. She was faded, looked too old and worn-out to have a daughter that young.
“Which way did he go?” Thomas asked.
“Across the square,” she said, pointing. “He ran across the square, draggin’ my baby—”
“Stay with her,” Thomas said to the priest, “and with my brother.”
“But—”
Thomas didn’t wait any longer. He drew his gun and started running. Father Vincent was caught in a quandary. There was a dead man on the floor of his church, Mrs. Paul needed comforting, and a man was chasing his brother with the goal of killing him.
Like any man with too many options, he just froze.
Ethan had his gun in his right hand and the little girl on his left. He alternately dragged her and lifted her off the ground. Either way, she kicked and screamed for help. People were getting out of his way, pointing and shouting, and he knew he was leaving an easy trail to follow. No one made a move to try and stop him, though. The people in this city were the same as the people in Epitaph had been. No one would step up and lend a hand, try to help.
He’d had no time to think about killing the lawman. Would killing the son get rid of the mother who was haunting him? He didn’t know. Had Vincent, his own brother, sent the law after him, after making an excuse to leave the church? He didn’t know that either. He didn’t know much, and he especially didn’t know where he was running to.
He wished the girl he was carrying would stop screaming.
Ethan was leaving an easy trail for Thomas to follow. In fact, people pointed the way, helping him follow in Ethan’s wake. Also, as he got closer, Thomas could hear the girl screaming. He tried to put the sight of Matthew lying dead on the floor of the church out of his mind and just concentrate on catching Ethan—the man who had killed both his mother and his brother.
Ethan staggered in the middle of the street now, unsure of which way to go. He held the girl tightly, trying not to pay attention to her screaming, but it was echoing in his ears, and it seemed to be in unison with the screams that were already there.
“Stop screaming!” he shouted, turning in circles. “Stop screaming, damn it!”
He wasn’t only shouting at the little girl.
Thomas turned a corner and came to an abrupt stop. Ethan was standing in the middle of the street, waving
