Run! Get away from her! Do it now!

Just as he turned to flee, she tossed the lighter, the flame locked, onto his back. Instantly, the gasoline she had tossed on him ignited and quickly turned him into a human torch. As the flames ate away at his clothing, he ran in a blind panic and then realized, even through the haze of agony spreading through his body, that in running he was simply feeding the flames. He dropped to his knees as the fire and pain engulfed him.

Help me, dear God. Help me!

He managed to roll over a couple of times, not recognizing the screams he heard as being his own. Before the unbearable anguish consumed him, blessed unconsciousness came as the answer to his prayer.

She stood there for a few seconds and watched the magnificence of her handiwork. Bruce Kelley was being punished for his sins, for professing to be a man of God and yet harboring Satan’s own evil within his heart.

After picking up the hot, lighter from the ground, she slipped it into her pocket and, clutching the handle on the gasoline can, turned and walked away. She hurried out of the backyard and into the alleyway where she had parked her car. Once she had stored the can in the trunk, she opened the door and slid behind the wheel. As she slowly drove down the alley and toward the street at the end of the block, she recited an appropriate Biblical passage to herself. Her lips were silent, but her heart shouted.

“For behold the Lord will come with fire, and with His chariots like a whirlwind, to render His anger with fury, and His rebuke with flames of fire. For by fire and by His sword will the Lord plead with all flesh: and the slain of the Lord shall be many.”

Isaiah 66:15-16.

At first Mirabelle wasn’t sure if the screams she heard were real or perhaps coming from a television program. Had Mr. Bruce gone downstairs to watch TV? No, surely not. Every night after he helped her with Miss Sandie, he went to his room, and unless she needed him during the night, she didn’t see him or hear anything from him until the next morning.

That meant the screams she heard were real. Someone outside was screaming as if they were hurting something awful.

She glanced down at Miss Sandie, who had fallen sound asleep only moments ago.

She’ll be all right for a little while.

Mirabelle left the bedroom, walked down the hall and saw that Mr. Bruce’s bedroom door was open and the bedside lamp was on, but the room was empty.

Without hesitation, she went down the back stairs that led to the kitchen. The back door stood partially open, and the outside lights were on. She thought it odd that Mr. Bruce would have gone outside this late at night, and she didn’t like the idea of going outside in the dark by herself. But she needed to find Mr. Bruce and tell him about the screams that she’d heard.

When she walked out onto the deck, she didn’t see Mr. Bruce. But as she reached the steps, she saw something lying on the ground. Was it the person who had rung the doorbell? The grass around the unmoving man-at least she thought it was a man-looked very dark, as if someone had painted it black.

“Mr. Bruce, where are you?” she called.

No one answered.

She didn’t want to get close to the strange body lying near the steps. Whoever it was, he looked dead.

“Mr. Bruce,” she screamed. “Help, help, there’s a dead body in the yard!”

Mirabelle kept calling for help. She didn’t know what else to do. Then suddenly she remembered what they had taught them at Bright Side.

In an emergency, dial 911.

Just as she started to go back inside and make the call, she heard voices saying her name. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw two people she recognized, Judy and Bob Calhoun, who were the Kelleys’ neighbors, both of them nice people.

“I have to call 911,” she told them as they halted when they saw the body. “I can’t find Mr. Bruce to tell him about the screams I heard and about this dead person in the yard.”

If Jack hadn’t put his phone on vibrate as well as ring, he would have missed the call. He’d spent the past few hours at the Purple Mustang Club in Huntsville, and the noise level was off the charts. He’d drunk a couple of beers, danced with three different women and had finally narrowed down his choice to the sassy little brunette curled up in his lap.

“Why don’t we get out of here and go to my place?” She licked a circle around his ear.

“We will,” he told her as he lifted her off his lap and set her back in the chair beside him. “I need to get this first.” He pulled the phone off his belt loop, put it to his ear and covered his other ear with his hand to block out some of the noise. “Yeah, Perdue here.”

“Jack, it’s Mike. Did I wake you?”

“No. I’m awake. So, what’s up?” Jack asked.

“Where the hell are you? I can hear some pretty loud background noise. I figured you’d be in bed at this hour.”

“I’m out of town. What time is it anyway?”

“Nearly two o’clock,” Mike answered. “Wherever the hell you are, get yourself over to Decatur pronto and meet me at police headquarters-that is, if you’re not too drunk to drive. We’ve got ourselves another Fire and Brimstone murder.”

“Son of a bitch. Who was it this time?”

“A Presbyterian minister by the name of Dr. Bruce Kelley.”

“I’m not too drunk to drive. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He glanced at the woman beside him and noted her pouting lips. He’d been looking forward to finding out just what those lips could do to him tonight.

“Derek was right,” Mike said. “Our killer didn’t even wait a whole month before killing again.”

Jack slipped his phone onto the belt holder and scooted back his chair. His companion stood, wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her body against his.

“You’re not really leaving me, are you?”

“Sorry, honey. Duty calls.”

Frowning, she backed away from him. “If I give you my number, will you get in touch later?”

“Sure.”

She recited the number and then frowned when he didn’t make any attempt to write it down.

“I’ve got it memorized,” he told her as he walked away.

By the time he reached his car in the side parking lot, he had forgotten her number. But that was just as well, because he couldn’t remember her name, either. Knowing that the Fire and Brimstone Killer had struck again, the only name that mattered to Jack was Catherine Nelson Cantrell, the woman whose life would be turned topsy-turvy by the news that her husband’s killer had struck again.

Chapter Twenty

“Reverend Kelley is still alive,” Mike said as he met Jack outside Chief Richard Donaldson’s office at Decatur police headquarters. “Just barely.”

“What kind of shape’s he in?” Jack asked.

“From what I’ve been told, he has third-degree burns over seventy-five percent of his body, his neck and the back of his head. He’s unconscious, and the odds of him living twenty-four hours are slim to none.”

“Then there’s no way to question him?”

Mike shook his head. “The only reason he’s alive is because neighbors heard him screaming and then heard his wife’s caretaker screaming. They got to him pretty fast right after it happened and called 911. He was airlifted from Decatur General straight to Vanderbilt. They’re a Level One Trauma Center with a top-notch burn center.”

“Did any of the neighbors see anything, see anybody?”

“Nope. But they thought they heard a car in the alley, so the entire alley is being considered part of the crime scene.”

“Have you contacted Wayne Morgan?” Jack asked about the ABI agent who headed the Fire and Brimstone Killer task force.

“He’s got a unit on its way to the crime scene right now.” Mike inclined his head toward the exit. “Leave your car here and ride over to the reverend’s house with me. Chief Donaldson’s given us the green light since two of the four murders occurred in our jurisdiction and you’re on the task force.”