Deadly Devotion

“I didn’t do anything,” Alec murmured. “Yet.” He looked at the many doors, most of which had been sealed long ago with heavy padlocks that now hung rusted and corroded. “Let me guess…your conscience lives behind these doors? Safely locked away so you can do what you do without the burden of guilt?” He looked at the man, his eyes dead. “The Sheriff doesn’t believe you have a conscience. But that isn’t true. You’ve just found a way to silence yours. Lock it up so it never gets out.” He tapped the tip of the bat against his palm and stepped up to the nearest door.

“No!” Randall cried, sudden panic swelling his voice. “No—you can’t open those doors! You can’t!”

Alec smiled, his black eyes churning. “I think it’s time to reacquaint you with conviction.” He turned swiftly and smashed the bat down on the lock, busting the weakened metal as bits of rust exploded into the air. Randall screamed as Alec kicked the door open so hard the hinges ripped loose, splintering the rotted door frame, and stumbled away, terror filling his eyes as a bright light poured out of the room, spilling into the corridor and spreading across the floor like a living thing.

“No!” Randall backed away in a hurry.

Alec walked to the next door and smashed it open. He stared at Randall as the man fell to his knees, clutching his hair, screaming. He scooted down the corridor on his ass, scrambling away from the light as it flowed toward him.

“Did you think if you locked up your conscience, told yourself you still had a place in heaven…that it would make it so?” Alec hissed low. “That if you played your part and went to church, then you could fool God, and He wouldn’t see when you abused and molested your child?” Alec paused at the next room and swung the bat up over his shoulder. “You didn’t fool Him.”