“I’m gonna need you to acknowledge what I just told you,” she says.

“Fine,” he mutters.

“Come again?”

“I said fuckin’ fine. Whatever you want.”

“I want something else.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Don’t push yours. You ever read the Bible, Officer Petry?”

“I go to church.”

“Ain’t the same thing. Most folks go to service but never crack the Good Book. Devil can quote scripture and all that. Well, think of me as being the devil on your shoulder, and let me quote a bit of scripture to you, something someone said to me recently. If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It’s from one of the gospels, though I’ll be honest, my memory is lapsing as to which one. Guess I’m not a very good devil. Or angel. But I am a spectacular human being, and we human beings love our punishments.”

Shane steps back. Watches, rapt, scared, arms folded over like he’s suddenly cold.

“Get on with it,” Petry says, voice muffled by the earth.

“Put out your hand,” she says. “Your right one. Same hand that held the gun that ushered Chris up onto that hill. Same hand that gave him the rope. Same hand that shot my dog in the head. A dog that lives, by the way. Hey, let me ask you something while you’re here. They found a note in Chris’s pocket. Where’d that come from?”

“His journal. Open on his desk the night I took him from his house. I ripped it out. Seemed a good enough suicide note.”

“Fine. Now put out that hand.”

Petry hesitates.

She jabs him between the shoulder blades with the barrel. “Either your hand or the back of your head. Your call.”

“Please,” he says.

“Pleading, now? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“I have a wife and kids.”

“How sad for them.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hand. Or head. I’ll count down from five.” She starts. “Five . . . four . . .”

His arm moves. The right hand—already with a bleeding wrist from where the cheap katana lacerated the skin—creeps out like a pale spider, fingers walking it along.

“Extend your arm all the way,” she says.

He tenses, then does just that.

“Chris was my friend. He was Shane’s friend. He was a lot of people’s friends. He lit up a room like a birthday cake stuck with Fourth-of-July sparklers. And you took that away from all of us.” She blinks back tears. “This doesn’t end for me. But it does for you.”

She pulls the trigger.