Peter took a moment to catch his breath.
“I left. I left the grounds. But something’s bad has happened. Sh-she…Hanna
died!” He coughed and his eyes watered. “Because of me! My fault. It was my
fault. You gotta help her! I always screw up. Always. Please…”
Pastor Finn put his hands on Peter’s
shoulders and shook him. “Why’d you leave? I told you never to leave here.
You’ll put us all in danger. Yourself in danger. I didn’t save your butt for
you to screw this up, boy.” He yanked Peter by the shirt and down the stairs.
Then dragged him, practically running, all the way to the cellar stairs where
he pointed at the small door where Peter had escaped. “Sixteen years old and
you think you are man enough to make it out there?” he grumbled. “This is where
you got out?” He sighed. “You don’t understand.”
“It’s my fault! Did you hear me? I killed
someone! You gotta help her.” Peter jerked out of his grasp and grabbed Pastor
Finn’s shirt, facing off with him. For once in a long while, he stared down the
man eye to eye. He straightened up to his full height. The older man’s gray
crew cut and piercing blue eyes were filled with fear. Peter’s hand loosened in
shock that it was the first time he remembered that Pastor Finn looked afraid.
“I can’t help the dead.” He pushed Peter’s
hands away from him. “But I have to help you. Come with me.”
Peter watched him, confused. His teeth
clenched at Pastor Finn’s betrayal. “I thought you were different. I have to go
back. Bury her, like she deserves.” Peter stumbled backwards.
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