“Ahhhh,” Ammon said. “I feel the power. Who am I, Rutherford?”
Rutherford clasped his hands together. “You’re a fallen angel. Yes, yes. You’re the Lord God of Pandemonium. One of the seven princes of hell.”
“Suddenly it all makes sense,” Ammon said. “I always knew, of course. I always knew that I mattered more than others. That what I wanted was more important. That my desires were to be honored above those of others. That I was on a higher plane. I never said it aloud before this, because, well, you know, I might have come off as a sociopath. I would have been misunderstood. But now I understand. I’ve always felt more important than others because I am more important. I am Mammon!”
“Well, ah, technically, we haven’t performed the ceremony yet,” Rutherford said.
“Get on with it, then,” Ammon said. “Perform the Ceremony of the Opening of the Gates.”
Rutherford took the Book of Mammon off the altar and began reading. “?‘Oh, Mammon, I call upon you to welcome this sacrifice and take your place upon this earth.’?” He leaned forward, toward Ammon. “This is where you kill her, sir.”
“Very well,” Ammon said. “Where’s the garrote?”
“I thought you were bringing the garrote,” Rutherford said.
Ammon rolled his eyes. “Idiot! I’m the demon god. I can’t be expected to bring my own garrote. Do we have a length of rope?”
Ammon and Rutherford scanned the room. No rope.
“Perhaps we could use my tie or my belt,” Rutherford said.
Ammon shook his head. “That would be inappropriate.”
“Of course,” Rutherford said. “What was I thinking?”
“We’ll have to shoot her,” Ammon said. “Give me your gun.”
“Um, I don’t carry a gun,” Rutherford said.
“Well, get one! Do I have to always think of everything?”
Rutherford blinked and gasped, ran to the door, and wrenched it open. “I need someone’s gun!” he said to the men waiting in the vestibule. “I need it now!”
He returned with a gun and offered it to Ammon.
“I think you should do this,” Ammon said. “I have to be ready for Mammon to emerge.”
“Um, excuse me? What?”
“Shoot her.”
“Yes, yes. Ha-ha. You want me to shoot her. Ahhh, well, this will be a new experience.” A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. “I don’t…that is, ha-ha.” He aimed the gun at me. “Uh, where would you like me to place the bullet?”
“Oh for Pete’s sake! In the head. No, wait. In the heart.”
“The heart. Are you sure? It’s um, behind a breast. And, uh, let’s see how we work this gun. I’ve never actually shot a gun before.”
“It’s easy,” Ammon said. “You pull the trigger.”
Rutherford’s hand was shaking and sweat was dripping into his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course, but, ha-ha, am I holding this correctly?” He turned to Ammon. “Do I, ah, have the proper grip? I really think it would be best if you did this, sir. I don’t feel entirely, ha-ha, competent here.”
Ammon’s face went scarlet. His fists were clenched and his face was contorted with anger. “Just freaking pull the trigger and shoot her!”
Ammon grabbed at the gun, there was a small awkward wrestling match, and BANG!
Ammon’s face went blank and a red stain began to spread across his chest.
“Oops,” Rutherford said.
Ammon crashed to the floor, and Rutherford bent over him.
“Mr. Mammon?” Rutherford asked. “Hello?”
No one answered. Rutherford carefully placed the gun on the floor. He stood and smoothed his tie.
“Ha-ha,” Rutherford said, backing up, moving toward the door. “My bad. Ha-ha. Well, I’m just going to leave now. I, uh, I actually have a job offer in…Tasmania. And, um, I might consider it. So it’s been lovely. And you have a fabulous day. The weather should be outstanding today. Outstanding.”
Rutherford slipped out of the room and carefully closed the door behind him. Words were said in the vestibule, but I couldn’t make them out. There was the sound of footsteps and then it was quiet.
I looked over at Hatchet. “Okay, then,” I said. “That went well.”
“I think I hath pooped myself,” Hatchet said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The door opened and Diesel walked in. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded. I’d been running on bravado up to this point, but it was fast disappearing, getting replaced with a wash of relief that had me close to tears.
“Who shot Ammon?”
“Rutherford,” I said. “Not entirely intentional.”
“He was running out of the house when I arrived. Everyone was running out of the house. I grabbed him, and he said you were in the basement chapel and you were lovely in your white gown and waiting for me.”
“The waiting part is true. Not sure about the gown,” I said.
Josh and Glo and Clara rushed in.
“Whoops,” Clara said, spotting Ammon. “Looks like we’re late for the party.”
Diesel got Hatchet off the hook and dumped him onto the floor.