Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (classic literature list .txt) 📗

It would have been better for him if he had stayed down. As she looked back at Father Preston, she could see that his eyes also had shifted behind him to the fallen detective. He looked back at her and, almost arrogantly and without breaking eye contact, stepped back two paces, turned and unleashed a savage kick to the side of Manny’s head. Manny flopped down on his side and lay still once again.

Maureen wasn’t sure if this was the chance she had been waiting for, but as soon as the priest’s eyes shifted to a different prey, her body took over. Her right hand flew behind her and grabbed the pistol from her waistband. She swept it around in front of her and held it, aiming it at his chest and trying to look as threatening as she could. She cocked back the hammer of the pistol to make the message sink in.

Maureen locked eyes with Father Preston once more. For the first time, she felt as though she could detect the slightest hint of emotion in them. Was it indignation that she was seeing? Was it scorn at her audacity to pull a gun and attempt to kill him? Maybe amusement at her feeble threat? Maybe a perverse assurance that his faith would protect him from a bullet? Whatever it was, it was clear to her that he was silently daring her to pull the trigger. She was caught. Maureen felt her face twitch as she uncocked the hammer. Her heart sank into her stomach further as she let her arms fall and dropped the gun.

At that moment, another image flashed into her head. Manny’s gun. She had a vague idea of where it had come to rest. If she could just get by the priest and get to it before he had a chance to react, she might still have a chance to end this. She tensed her muscles, getting ready to spring to her left. As she did so, she broke eye contact with Father Preston and shifted her gaze toward the area in front of the front pew where she knew the pistol lay. Its barrel caught the candlelight and glinted just enough for her to mark its position.

It took less than a second for her to realize she had made a mistake. As she glanced back toward the priest, she noticed how his eyes had followed hers and now, as they again made eye contact, a sickening, knowing grin broke on his lips. As if he had read her thoughts, he darted in the direction of the gun, and, despite his long priest’s garb, hurdled the railing surrounding the altar.

The move threw Maureen’s timing off, and she darted around the railing as fast as she could in a desperate attempt to reach the weapon before her opponent. She was a split second too late as Father Preston made a baseball slide in front of her. Maureen leaped on his back. Her momentum betrayed her, though, and Father Preston managed with stunning ease to throw her over his shoulder and send her crashing painfully into the hard wood of the pew.

The shock wave of pain that radiated to all the extremities of her body shut down Maureen’s thoughts for a brief moment. She recovered to find herself lying on her side, back still against the pew, with Father Preston hovering a few paces away. He was facing her, obviously pleased with himself, and holding her last hope firmly in his right hand.

“It seems God is on my side,” he said triumphantly.

“You actually believe that,” she snorted back. The wild light in his eyes had slowly begun to grow, as if the madness inside his mind had at last begun to seep through the cracks.

“I know it, Ms. Allen,” he shouted, spreading his arms wide in emulation of the pose of the carved Christ behind him and looking up to the ceiling rafters.

Maureen bristled at his use of her name.

“Oh, you didn’t know that I knew who you were?” he continued, looking back down at her. His voice was rising to a manic tone. “Of course I know you. That old fool Father Patrick won’t stop talking about you. The mystery woman with the visions. I found it very interesting that you and he believe that you can see inside my mind. Well if it is true, tell me, do you understand the great work that I am undertaking?”

“I understand that you’re insane and you think sacrificing children like they were a cow or a lamb is what it will take to gain your God’s favor.”

Father Preston’s chuckle froze her blood. “You understand nothing,” he growled, gliding a half dozen paces away from her and placing himself in front of the altar. He then began to pace, as if he were giving a sermon to a full congregation seated in the shadows before him.

“The world has descended into chaos,” he intoned in his most priestly voice. “The enemies of God are closing in on all sides. The faithful, those who truly understand the Bible’s teachings, are scarce. The end times are approaching faster than you realize. This war in the Middle East is the prelude to Armageddon, and we have to choose the side we will serve. Will we join with the armies of Gog and Magog and be destroyed, or will we join the enlightened and the faithful and achieve paradise? That is the choice that lies before us.

“But we must be ready, for those who would count themselves among the chosen must prove themselves obedient. I’m no monster, Ms. Allen. I am a shepherd. I am the Ra’ah! I do not sacrifice these children for perverse pleasure. I do it to wipe away the sins of their families, and in so doing, to bring them back into favor with God. Only when one loses something pure and precious to them, can one find atonement. They will not do it for themselves.