The blast seemed to cancel everything. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Only the wind shuddering through the trees, the night birds calling, the strange croaking jungle sounds of the Southern night. All of the community out in the open, the moon and stars shining down on them in their pajamas. They looked like dirty angels. They looked like a choir come down from heaven, Cass in the lead, the most holy communion of people ever assembled, and I was letting them all down.

It was the worst feeling I’d ever had in my life. It was worse than Mom’s death.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

We got in the Trans Am and left.

Chapter 47

Murphy explained the whole thing to me on the drive back. That is, she explained as much as she could before Horace started losing consciousness. The rest she told me while we waited in the emergency room.

I was numb, empty, and all cried out, and Murphy talked fast, but I caught most of it.

She said, “After I realized Grandma had gone completely nuts and you started talking in that weird-ass old-timey preacher voice, I knew I had to move quick to save us. No offense, big brother, but you were pretty much a lost cause at that point, so I knew I had to do it myself. I just had to bide my time until the moment was right.

“The day you went to Benign to get your stupid fucking suit, I snuck out to that toolshed while the guard was off taking a shit. I ripped the gag off Horace’s face and took one of Grandma’s kitchen knives and pointed it right at his head. I said, ‘Tell me right now why I shouldn’t let them kill you.’ And Horace got to talking. He had a whole hell of a lot of things to say. About how the Farm was a cult, how Mom was raised in it, how after her brother died she ran away and barely escaped with her life. How a lot of folks weren’t nearly so lucky. How Mom had started seeing some of the old cult members—Sheriff Bearden, for one—sneaking around our neighborhood, spying on you. How she knew that they would come for us soon, you and me, to fulfill whatever vision Grandma first had about Jeremiah and Mom and the Farm. We were their second chance, I guess. That’s why Mom had Horace adopt us, even though we never would have consented to it. Mom knew she was in danger, and she was trying to keep us away from Grandma no matter what. Even if Mom should die. I asked Horace if he had any evidence, and he said, ‘It’s all in my car.’