As promised, dears, here is the second half of my tale.
As I freed my new acquaintance from his confinement, his true size struck me. This boy, who couldn’t have been older than 17, was already at least 6 feet 4 inches tall. Very muscular as well. He fairly towered over me, an experience I haven’t had very often. I’m sure his proximity was meant to intimidate me, but I simply smiled up at him.
“What’s your name, dear?"
The poor boy looked befuddled by the question, as if nobody had bothered to speak kindly to him before. “Morgan Stern…ma’am.”
I chuckled. Please understand, dears. This boy’s reactions to my questions were rather amusing. “Well, Morgan, you’re free. Would you like to join me in a little fun?”
As he nodded, I realized that I could see Father, hanging back in the trees behind Morgan, watching us. Normally His presence would reassure me. In this instance, though…I found myself disquieted. I knew it was his influence that had caused me to murder Mr. Roye. How much of me was still me, and how much was Father using for his puppet? I no longer know, dear readers, but for the time being I chose to continue as before and hope that my doubts would resolve themselves. I smiled at Morgan, leading him back to my vehicle. Again, nobody so much as glanced at us, an oddity which I now recognized as Father’s influence at work.
The agent who had owned this car before me was either a weapons aficionado or believed in being extremely well-prepared. The first time I had opened the trunk, I discovered to my delight that it was filled with weapons of various types, as well as appropriate ammunition containers, all neatly labeled and organized. This was the first time, however, that I would willingly use a gun. Firearms are exceptionally noisy weapons, you see, and I prefer to avoid them. I chose a nice Beretta rifle for myself, loading it and tucking extra magazines into my pockets. Morgan, for his part, chose an HK USP and several magazines with 9mm hollowpoint rounds.
We proceeded to round up all the happy campers, a surprisingly easy task considering the size of the compound. Staff and clients alike were herded into their disgustingly large chapel. Why must you people persist in worshipping an ineffective and possibly imaginary deity? I honestly don’t understand. You build grand structures to His glory, ignoring the fact that every single one of you follows a tradition founded in blood and iniquity. At least those of us who follow Father are HONEST about our origins. We recognize that our god is a cruel god, a dark one that hunts worshippers and strangers alike. We accept this and follow Him anyhow. But you…you’re all hypocrites.
Morgan and I took up positions in the balcony, our guns trained on the pathetically mewling crowd below. They all looked so small and terrified. I found it telling that not a one of them was praying to their God, despite the fact that they were in a chapel and in mortal danger. This fact normally would have amused me. In this circumstance, however, it simply made me sad. Even if I had doubts about what I was doing, I still had faith in my Father. They had apparently lost theirs. One particular boy caught my eye. He looked familiar to me for some reason, having black hair and very European features despite his slim build. He was staring up at me, his eyes full of tears, pleading. He was silently mouthing a single word over and over.
I couldn’t stand to look at him for one more second. I squeezed the trigger on my rifle, planting a bullet squarely in the center of his forehead. I spoke harshly, voice projecting so that I could be heard by the congregation.
“All of you! Strip! Right now!”
They began to do so, very hesitant and slower than I would have liked. Blowing off the head of a middle-aged woman was sufficient incentive for them to finish the job, though. They soon stood, naked, shivering and revealed to the world, each trying to avoid contacts with all the others. I hefted the rifle, noting that Morgan was watching all of this quite calmly. I closed my eyes momentarily behind my sunglasses, quietly reciting a prayer that had sprung to mind.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who have sinned against us, for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”
I don’t know why that prayer came to mind, or why I chose to say it. In any case, it didn’t change my course of action. My next command caused gasps of dismay and outright disgust from many of them. I spoke coldly, forcing myself to restrain several unwanted doubts and emotions that were threatening to interfere with my work.
“Men pair with men. Women with women. You are to engage in sexual congress with each other. Anyone who refuses will be shot, and others will be ordered to rape the corpse.”
Morgan smirked slightly at this. I found my stomach churning. What was I doing? This was…despicable. On several levels. Yet I couldn’t stop. One part of me was thoroughly enjoying this desecration, while another was screaming at me to stop it and leave while I still had some shred of dignity. Unfortunately, the former side won. I smirked slightly, the expression icy and brittle as I watched these people begin to essentially condemn themselves to their Hell by following my orders. It devolved into a full-on orgy as they lost all moral restraint. I had to forcibly bite down on my tongue to stop myself from crying out that they could stop now, it was enough, they were done. This continued for…nearly an hour, I believe. As the camp employees and clients began running out of energy Morgan and I let loose, shooting haphazardly into the crowd. In under two minutes, every person in the chapel was either dead or immobilized and dying. Morgan was smirking. I kept my expression flat, trying to force the roiling disgust in my stomach to vanish.
Before we left, we raided the camp’s motor pool, finding several drums of gasoline. The chapel was ignited first, the screams of those still alive inside perfectly audible over the crackling of fierce flames. I forced myself to ignore it once more. The rest of the camp followed. As we sped off in the Mustang, the flames and smoke could be seen rising for miles. I found myself quietly reciting another unknown prayer as we drove.
“God our Father, your power brings us to birth, your providence guides our lives, and by Your command we return to dust.
Lord, those who die live still in Your presence. Their lives change but do not end. I pray in hope for their families, relatives and friends, and for all the dead known to You alone.
In company with Christ, who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all their tears are wiped away. Unite them again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever.
But not me.”