Her dad drove slow along the rain-slicked streets, the skies eaten away by the darkness and the depressing grey clouds. Every once in a while her mom would ask if she was okay, and sitting in the backseat of her dad's car made her feel like a teenager again. She hadn't sat in the backseat of the black Chevy in a long time, and knowing that their destination was the Church settled near the river only worsened her nostalgia.

They parked in the full parking lot for evening mass, and she couldn't help but groan internally. I haven't been to church since I was a freshman in high school. Oh how I really don't miss these days.

She tugged her jacket tighter to her body and followed her parents towards the Church, neither of them saying a word. Her parents' moods had fallen grim and frustrated ever since the night of their argument with Dante's parents; they had ultimately stopped talking with one another and chose to ignore them for the rest of their stay in Hood River. While the fabrics of their relationship with one another were deteriorating, the police were still trying to locate Dante. They had acquired extra help from the FBI to broaden their search, but no one could find where he had gone.

Vianne also hadn't spoken to either officer Navarro or Diaz, so she suspected they didn't think she was involved in the disappearance of Dante - or at least, they didn't show it. She had seen other police officers, like officer Smith, roaming around her neighborhood on constant watch. The idea that the police were enlarging the number of officer surveillance made Vianne feel more paranoid than she had previously felt before.

The search had become public knowledge and Dante's face was plastered on every television screen. There were so many articles regarding his disappearance that every time Vianne saw them she wanted to rip her hair out. There were numerous people in her own part of town that publicly posted on their social media how heartbroken they were when they never even knew him. They had no idea what kind of person he was, and yet the whole town came together to pray and hope for his return. He doesn't deserve any prayers, Vianne thought, even if they don't work, the mere thought of wishing him well disgusts me.

Stepping inside the Church she was engulfed in warmth; the dainty lights hanging above them casted a warm, yellow-orange hue, and the red carpet and high ceiling allowed a gothic mood to encircle the vast space. Vianne bit the bottom of her lip as she followed her parents to one of the seats near the front, just near the statue of the Virgin Mary with a small globe sitting in the palm of her hand. Vianne frowned slightly, observing the altar as the priest exited one of the back rooms.

It felt blasphemous to sit and listen to the priest's homily from the Book of Revelation when she herself did not believe in the faith. She listened to the songs and hymns, stood alongside her parents as they spoke the prayers in unison, and knelt on her knees as the priest blessed the Eucharist. The Eucharist itself tasted like poison on her tongue as she swallowed down the false pretense that she herself was a good Catholic; she felt fake.

But that's what she had been doing all along. She had built upon her face a facade of crocodile tears and counterfeit worry for Dante's well-being. She had sat at that table weeping and trembling like a scared cat all the while she watched her family devour Dante on her birthday dinner. She was living a complete and utter lie.

She squirmed in her seat, watching the tongues of fire on the candles sway back and forth. She had killed Dante for happiness, and here she was, sitting in Church and feeling so unhappy. It was as if everyone in the Church was silently looking at her, casting her out as one of the Devil's accomplices, hiding their hate for her under their "good" and "holy" appearances. Why does it feel like everyone in this room knows what I've done? She glanced back to the prayer book and followed along, murmuring the words under her breath as her heartbeat thudded hard against her chest. Webs of paranoia were being spun within her mind, it's silver lining stuck to every thought.

"St. Michael the Archangel: Defend us in battle; be our defense against wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray..."

Tears pricked her eyes and her vision blurred as she continued reading from the booklet in her hands. Her anxiety swam throughout her veins, eating away at the grim and intimidating facade she had held up for so long. She couldn't help but think all of the prayers the congregation was muttering were all directed to her.

"And do you, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into Hell Satan and the other evil spirits who prowl about the world for the ruin of souls. Amen."

Did they know that Tom sat in this Church before, secretly cursing the religion like I am now? Did they know they were welcoming a murderer into their "all-loving" arms? The booklet shook in her hands as she glanced back up to the Virgin Mary statue, the dark paint of her eyes focused on Vianne as if she too knew what Vianne had done. Why does it feel like I am being judged by everyone around me? Why would they hate me for getting rid of the evil they've sworn to banish?

"Friends," the priest said, raising his hands slightly as everyone rose from their seats, "I am glad you have all come here today just before the birth of our savior Jesus Christ, as it is during this Christmas time that we look inwards and reflect upon our own misdeeds. What is it that I have done to harm others? When was a time I myself chose against my good morals? Against God? See, this is a period of great joy and love, but it is also a time where we look towards reconciling our sins and trusting in God to guide us back onto His good path."

Vianne shivered, staring down at the booklet, still seated while everyone was standing above her. Her umber skin was slicked with hot-cold sweat, and the dim lighting of the Church only heightened the anxiety filling her veins. The tears that shadowed her vision were hot and boiling, as all of the emotions she kept hidden were fighting to rise to the surface.

Everyone knows, she thought superstitiously, I don't know how but they know that I killed Dante - that I killed Rowan and Alex too. But they don't understand that I did a bad thing to do good, that I got rid of some truly evil people so they won't have to hurt anyone else again. But they'll never understand why I did what I did. They'd throw me to the pits of Hell if they could, and they'd justify their actions by saying it was in the name of God. How hypocritical of—

"Vianne," her mom whispered, peering down at Vianne who was shaking in her seat, "are you alright?"

Vianne took in a sharp breath, a single tear spilling over the cliffs of her eye as she tried her best to muffle her enraged sobs. Even when I've accomplished some form of justice, Vianne thought hopelessly, I never win.

Vianne's shoulders shrunk inwards, tilting her head down in defeat as her ribs contracted and a piercing cry escaped her mouth. It echoed within the large expanse of the Church, and the crowd of people turned their heads in her direction but soon dismissed her cries. The priest continued speaking. The altar servers still walked with clasped hands and monotonous stares. The choir still hummed.

Luciana sat down beside Vianne and wrapped her arms around her. "Hey, it's okay," she whispered as Vianne leaned into her, the facade of stone she carried collapsing within a mere second, "it's going to be alright."

No, Vianne thought indignantly, I am never going to be free from misfortune, and I'll forever be plagued by paranoia. I'm never going to be happy as the long as the world remains broken in its twisted sense of justice.

Her dad took a seat next to Luciana to ask if she was okay, but she couldn't speak through her muffled cries. She could only watch as the mass ended and the people swarmed towards the exits and ignored the wailing echoing within the Church.

As a few people lingered near the back of the Church, the priest glided towards Vianne with soft, grey eyes. His skin was pale and wrinkled, hair the color of the clouds, and he trembled as he lifted his hand towards her.

"Vianne Sanders, is it?" He questioned. Vianne clenched her jaw hard, her teary eyes narrowing as she glanced up at him. She remained mute, her shoulders shaking as her cries grew silent. "The congregation and I have prayed every day for your husband. And are you, dear, being a good wife and praying as well? Have you turned finally to God to assist you? Because as far as I can recall, I have not once seen you attend any of my masses."

Vianne sniffled, wiping at her eyes as she stood from her seat, her skin growing hotter and hotter, the anger seething in her core catching fire, and bitterness replacing her paranoia. She was so enraged that she couldn't speak; hot tears burned her cheeks and her hard cries kept squeezing her ribcage until she couldn't quite breathe. Everything you preach is bullshit, you care more for a Devil than you do for me. How could you stand there and preach forgiveness when I know you'll cast me out for doing what was right? Vianne wanted to scream at him, but her tortured cries wouldn't allow her to - and maybe it was for the best she refused to say anything.

"Well," Luciana answered for her with a shaky smile, "she's busy all the time but she still speaks with God at home."

"Ah, I see," the priest said as he escorted Vianne and her parents towards the exit of the Church, the cold immediately wrapping around their melancholic shapes, "Well, have a good rest of your night, Vianne. Remember to pray daily and keep God close to your heart. Only then will you see Him work in mysterious ways."