Chapter 5: The Cross and the Rules

We walked a few hundred feet down the quiet street before Pastor Ray stopped beneath a streetlamp, yellow light spilling around us. He pulled a small silver cross from his pocket and pressed it into my hand.

I stared, surprised. Pastor Ray sighed, his voice soft. "Take it. I watched you grow up, and you’ve always been a good kid. This might save your life."

He squeezed my hand, his eyes shining with regret. The metal felt warm—like it held all his hopes and worries.

The cross was warm in my palm, a strange comfort threading through me. For a moment, I almost believed it could shield me from whatever darkness had come for my family.

I couldn’t help myself: "Pastor Ray, why did my sister-in-law hang herself?"

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, echoing in the empty street. My throat went tight, afraid of the answer but needing to know.

Pastor Ray’s gaze snapped up, pinning me. His stare made my skin crawl. Just when I thought he’d say nothing, he finally spoke:

His eyes drilled right through me, as if he could see every secret I’d ever tried to hide. The cicadas hummed in the sticky night.

"If you want to stay alive, remember three things. First, keep the cross I gave you, and don’t let anyone see it. Second, when you sleep at night, don’t sleep on the bed—sleep under it. Third, never ask about your sister-in-law’s death again. Don’t ask anyone. That’s all I have to say. Whether you listen or not is up to you."

He rattled off the rules, each heavier than the last. A chill worked its way up my spine as I squeezed the cross tighter, knuckles aching.

Without waiting for a reply, Pastor Ray turned on his heel and strode off, shoes crunching on the gravel. He disappeared into the dark, leaving me clutching the cross, the streetlight buzzing overhead. That’s when I realized—I was more alone than I’d ever been in my life.