I’m in church, sitting next to my sister in the third pew from the front. Ama is absently picking at a scab on her knee while staring up at Father Derrik in the pulpit. Father Derrik is all fired up, preaching about brimstone and damnation to the whole congregation. He doesn’t pull any punches, getting very graphic when he tells us all exactly what he’s trying to save us from.

You’ll be boiled in oil, and then rolled in salt. The salt will seep into every wound, stinging infernally. But that is only the beginning of the suffering you’ll endure!

He pounds his fist.

Your eyes will pop out of their sockets. Your tongue will be the first muscle that bloats. Your mouth will be filled with dead flesh so that you cannot scream!

He pounds his fist.

Your skin will melt from your bones. Demons will flay the flesh left, and yet you will not die! Your corpse, stripped bare, will dance on the flesh of so many other sinners!

He pounds his fist.

Every time he pounds the pulpit, everyone in the Church jumps. No one wants to be singled out for not listening, for thinking that we are too good to listen to his divine prophecies. We’ve all seen individual church members singled out and publicly scorned.

So, I sit up straight as an arrow, watching Father Derrik closely. Amabel does too. We’re packed in the first ten rows of pews like sardines, practically on top of each other. I am pressed hip to hip with Ama and Sister Agathe.

Behind us, the rest of the church lies empty. I have a stray thought, a flash of memory.

Dryas’s grinning face.

I frown and push it away. Father Derrik calls for us to pray, to beg God on our knees. Ama and I climb down to kneel on the bare hardwood floors. I close my eyes against the intrusive thought, praying silently. Clasping my hands, I lean my forehead against them.

Another flash. Dryas on the beach, naked as the day he was born, heading into the ocean. His rear is on full display, flexing with every step he takes.

Sucking in a breath, my eyes fly open. How can I be thinking about that, when I am here in church? I can’t seem to stop myself, but that is no excuse.

“What are you doing?” Ama mutters.

I turn my head to look at her. She’s staring straight at me, her bright green eyes unblinking, her mouth set in a scowl.

“What?” I ask, trying to keep my voice near-silent.

Then I realize that it’s not just Ama staring at me. Looking around, the whole congregation is staring at me, their expressions scornful.

Father Derrik launches himself from the pulpit, zeroing in on me and a look of manic glee. His perfect blond hair doesn’t move from its side part as he gets close, leaning in. He grows absurdly large, wagging his finger. “Rue, why are you thinking of him? Don’t you know that thinking about his cock will ensure that you burn in Hell, alongside all the sinners?”

Beside me, Ama begins to cry, her tears running down both cheeks. “Why are you thinking of him, Rue? Don’t you care about what happens to me?”

My voice comes out choked. “I didn’t mean to, I swear! He forced me to look!”

Father Derrik gets closer on one side, his head and his wagging finger cartoonishly large. On the other side, Ama and the congregation press in, muttering how unrepentant I am. Clutching at my throat, I struggle to breathe.