women, and children. How could I remember them so clearly...unless I was the one who killed them?
Clamping my eyes shut, I hold my head in my hands. I take great, shuddering breaths, fighting to pull myself together.
Because I already know. I know what comes next.
War Willow is a man of peace at heart. In his way, he is as much of a soulful seeker as Free or Zen. He can be gentler than Kitty or Kenya.
But on the warpath, he is nearly unstoppable. Only one man can stop him.
War Willow himself.
I draw the revolver from the holster on my belt and cock the hammer. Sweat runs down my face as I stare at the cold, black metal of the barrel.
If indeed I am under outside control, killing my own family , thinking they're evil imposters...this is what I have to do. I must kill one more Willow to save all the rest.
An Apache prayer drifts through my mind as I raise the gun. An Amish hymn.
This is the hero's way. A hero would sooner destroy himself than let himself be used as a tool of evil. It's that simple.
I raise the gun to my mouth and close my eyes. Use my Ninja training to stop my hands from shaking.
I slide the barrel between my lips.
One last time, I think of my brothers and sisters: Free, Kitty, Leif, Bella, Buzz, Kenya, Hiss, Holly, and Zen. Father Law, too, and Gary Escuchar. Even Jeremiah Weed, Ballantyne Foster, and Scandinavian Steve.
Then, my finger wraps around the trigger.
It takes a moment to say a prayer and get myself ready. To summon the courage.
I tilt the barrel up so it is pointing at the roof of my mouth. And I start the countdown. Three.
Two.
One.
Suddenly, my eyes snap open. My finger uncurls from the trigger.
Two words are flashing like Vegas neon in my mind.
TOTALLY SURE.
Those two words are the reason I'm still alive. For just as I can't be totally sure that I'm not under evil control, I also can't be totally sure that I am .
Either way, doesn't it make more sense not to kill myself? Because now that I'm aware of the possibility that I've been compromised, maybe I can fight off any dark influence and rescue my family.
And myself.
There's another reason I didn't pull the trigger, too. If Amish Amos were here, he'd explain, just as he did when he taught me years ago among the Plain Folk of Ohio.
"Suicide is the abominable sin," Amos would say. "It severs your soul from Our Lord for all eternity. It condemns you to the fires of Hell forever.
"For it is not just murder, which is hated by God. It is murder of self, which is avoidable, which is refusal of the gift of life from God...which is the refusal, the shunning, of God Himself."
So I can't take it lightly. Not while I can't be totally sure , not while there's still as much of a chance that my mind is free as that it's enslaved .
I'll give myself more time. Continue with my mission and be vigilant. Aware of the possibilities.
And one more thing.
I do it while I slosh gasoline from a plastic can all over the inside of the house. While I leave a trail of fuel, leading outside and across the porch and down the steps. While I light the trail with a dropped match.
While I walk away as the house burns behind me, devouring the Hiss Willow imposter and his wheelchair and his laptop computer and every trace of evidence that I was ever there.
The one more thing I do is this: I pray.
Using the words Amish Amos taught me, I pray to God for strength and courage. Clear-headedness and righteousness. Good fortune.
And forgiveness. For what I've done, whether I remember it or not.
And for what I'm going to do. Three Willows down, six plus Gowdy to go.
Â
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CHAPTER 19
Â
"Just imagine." Quincy reached for his mug of beer. "War Willow himself on a killing spree. Murdering his own brothers and sisters in cold blood."
"That wasn't War," said Hannahlee. "That wasn't Sabre Torrent."
Quincy downed the last swig of his beer and crashed the mug down on the bar. "You should know. He's your brother." Quincy belched. " When did you say was
Clamping my eyes shut, I hold my head in my hands. I take great, shuddering breaths, fighting to pull myself together.
Because I already know. I know what comes next.
War Willow is a man of peace at heart. In his way, he is as much of a soulful seeker as Free or Zen. He can be gentler than Kitty or Kenya.
But on the warpath, he is nearly unstoppable. Only one man can stop him.
War Willow himself.
I draw the revolver from the holster on my belt and cock the hammer. Sweat runs down my face as I stare at the cold, black metal of the barrel.
If indeed I am under outside control, killing my own family , thinking they're evil imposters...this is what I have to do. I must kill one more Willow to save all the rest.
An Apache prayer drifts through my mind as I raise the gun. An Amish hymn.
This is the hero's way. A hero would sooner destroy himself than let himself be used as a tool of evil. It's that simple.
I raise the gun to my mouth and close my eyes. Use my Ninja training to stop my hands from shaking.
I slide the barrel between my lips.
One last time, I think of my brothers and sisters: Free, Kitty, Leif, Bella, Buzz, Kenya, Hiss, Holly, and Zen. Father Law, too, and Gary Escuchar. Even Jeremiah Weed, Ballantyne Foster, and Scandinavian Steve.
Then, my finger wraps around the trigger.
It takes a moment to say a prayer and get myself ready. To summon the courage.
I tilt the barrel up so it is pointing at the roof of my mouth. And I start the countdown. Three.
Two.
One.
Suddenly, my eyes snap open. My finger uncurls from the trigger.
Two words are flashing like Vegas neon in my mind.
TOTALLY SURE.
Those two words are the reason I'm still alive. For just as I can't be totally sure that I'm not under evil control, I also can't be totally sure that I am .
Either way, doesn't it make more sense not to kill myself? Because now that I'm aware of the possibility that I've been compromised, maybe I can fight off any dark influence and rescue my family.
And myself.
There's another reason I didn't pull the trigger, too. If Amish Amos were here, he'd explain, just as he did when he taught me years ago among the Plain Folk of Ohio.
"Suicide is the abominable sin," Amos would say. "It severs your soul from Our Lord for all eternity. It condemns you to the fires of Hell forever.
"For it is not just murder, which is hated by God. It is murder of self, which is avoidable, which is refusal of the gift of life from God...which is the refusal, the shunning, of God Himself."
So I can't take it lightly. Not while I can't be totally sure , not while there's still as much of a chance that my mind is free as that it's enslaved .
I'll give myself more time. Continue with my mission and be vigilant. Aware of the possibilities.
And one more thing.
I do it while I slosh gasoline from a plastic can all over the inside of the house. While I leave a trail of fuel, leading outside and across the porch and down the steps. While I light the trail with a dropped match.
While I walk away as the house burns behind me, devouring the Hiss Willow imposter and his wheelchair and his laptop computer and every trace of evidence that I was ever there.
The one more thing I do is this: I pray.
Using the words Amish Amos taught me, I pray to God for strength and courage. Clear-headedness and righteousness. Good fortune.
And forgiveness. For what I've done, whether I remember it or not.
And for what I'm going to do. Three Willows down, six plus Gowdy to go.
Â
Â
CHAPTER 19
Â
"Just imagine." Quincy reached for his mug of beer. "War Willow himself on a killing spree. Murdering his own brothers and sisters in cold blood."
"That wasn't War," said Hannahlee. "That wasn't Sabre Torrent."
Quincy downed the last swig of his beer and crashed the mug down on the bar. "You should know. He's your brother." Quincy belched. " When did you say was
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