“Scream and I’ll condemn your soul to hell!” the voice assured her. “Now get moving!”

She hurried forward, picking her way through the tombs, obeying as she’d been taught. Her thoughts sped to her mother and father, still young by most standards, in their early fifties and still tending to her youngest siblings. Images of all six of them flitted through her mind, but it was Marie, the youngest, whose face came to her. Barely eight, with freckles, curly hair, and eyes a deep, somber brown, she and Asteria were the most alike in appearance and conviction to God, even though Marie was still too young to really understand her faith.

“On your knees,” the rough voice ordered as she reached a grave where a sculptured angel, wings spread wide, scowled down at her from atop a tomb. Blocking the moon, the statue’s face was shadowed, its expression hidden. “Here!”

Asteria was pushed hard.

She fell to the ground, gravel cutting through the dress, slicing into her knees. “What are the wages of sin?” the voice demanded.

What? Fear skated on tiny blades over her skin.

“For the wages of sin are . . .”

Oh, God! “Death,” she squeaked as terror screamed through her body. Silently, her voice now having abandoned her completely, she began to pray.

Our Father who art—

A noose was cast over her neck.

No!

Fight, Asteria! You have to fight! There’s no one to help you!

She tried to rise, but the thin, strong loop around her throat tightened quickly, cutting deep into her flesh.

Panic surged through her, a screaming redness flashing before her eyes.

Fight! Run! Get the hell away from this psycho!

She tried to scream. To breathe.

Her fingers clawed at her neck, searching for purchase, trying to yank the vile garrote free.

Oh, please, Father, please, save me, she thought wildly, all the while struggling. She flung one arm through the air while the other dug at her throat, trying to loosen the cutting noose. Her lungs were on fire, her brain screaming in pain. Blackness pulled at the edges of her consciousness, and, as if from far away, church bells began to clang.

Oh, no . . . please . . . Savior, please . . .

She was spinning, pinned down by the crushing pressure in her chest. Her soul clung to her body for a last second before, as if rising above her body, she saw her attacker twisting the garrote, forcing the sharp, steely cord into her flesh. From above, she watched as spots of blood bloomed at her throat, small garnet gems that glistened and spread. Her body bucked, then went limp.

Zzzt! Snap!

In that instant she slipped away, floating upward, thinking in dissociated, fragmented thoughts that the bright flash that exploded before her eyes was the one so many people spoke of, the light that leads upward. Oh, God . . . The blackness came over her again, a thick, murky cloud that absorbed her pain, quieted the terror.

She was dying.