The dog moved aside as Jimmy reached the top step, but continued to bark. Jimmy knocked on the right double door. He didn't know if the Nazarenes would be home on a Wednesday afternoon, but it was worth a try. He knocked hard so he would be heard over the dog, and the door swung inward. The dog stopped barking and ran inside.

Jimmy pushed the door open wider. "Hello?" he called. "You have a squirrel loose in the church!"

No one answered, so Jimmy entered and went through the vestibule into the sanctuary. There were no windows, and the place was dark and cool. It reeked of Pine-Sol. Even with a shaft of afternoon light stabbing through the open doorway, Jimmy couldn't see anything clearly. He heard the dog's toenails clicking somewhere ahead, but that was all.

He looked back into the vestibule for light switches and saw none, so he ran his hands over the paneled sanctuary walls on either side of the vestibule. There were no light switches here either. Maybe they were up front near the pulpit. He stepped away from the vestibule and walked straight ahead, up what he guessed was the center aisle. He was beginning to see long shadows that must be pews.

The dog's toenail clicks stopped, so Jimmy stood still and listened. There was a growl and then a squeal, followed by rattles and clangs. Then the toenail clicks returned. Jimmy felt the dog's furry body brush against his jeans. He turned back toward the vestibule and saw the dog trot into the sunshine. It was carrying a limp squirrel.

Jimmy clapped and whistled. He watched the dog start down the concrete steps, its tail wagging.

Then a loud crack cut the air. There was a spatter of blood. The dog fell over and lay still, halfway down the first step.

Jimmy stared at the dog's rump. He couldn't see its front half. He couldn't see the squirrel. The dog's rump didn't move. Its tail didn't wag.

Officer Johnston stepped into the rectangle of light and looked down at the dog. He was dressed in brown, with a black belt and boots. He was wearing his mirrored sunglasses. He was hatless, his thinning hair slicked back with grease. He held his big blue pistol in his right hand. He cocked it with his thumb and pointed it at the dog.

"Trespasser," he said.

Johnston prodded the dog with a boot. The dog's rump slid off the landing, leaving only a little blood. Johnston looked into the church, and Jimmy felt the cop's mirrored eyes probing.

"That must be you in there, Mr. Firecracker," Johnston said. "Come on out."

From the moment of the gunshot, Jimmy had been numb. Now, in the glare of the twin mirrors, the numbness burned off like frost before a flame. He hated the cop more than Satan hated God. He would not obey that bastard. Johnston wasn't his old man. Johnston wasn't shit.

Jimmy crouched and moved to his right, groping for a pew. He would get underneath and crawl toward the vestibule. Then he would wait until Johnston came well into the sanctuary, and dash out. If he was quiet and quick, Johnston wouldn't see him. There would be no way to prove who had been inside the church with the dog.

Johnston came inside. Jimmy hurried to get under a pew and banged into metal.

There were no pews. There were metal folding chairs instead. There was no way to hide under them and crawl to the door. The Nazarenes were a cheap-ass denomination.

Johnston stopped just inside the sanctuary and stood straddle-legged. He raised his cocked pistol. "Hey! Boy! Freeze!" His breath rasped. He smoked too much.

Jimmy knew that Johnston couldn't see him. Not without lights, and wearing mirrorshades. Jimmy backed up the aisle. As long as he didn't run into any more chairs, he didn't think Johnston would be able to hear him over the cop's own breathing.

Johnston came forward, fanning his pistol before him. He was looking back and forth, searching. He kept his sunglasses on. He didn't see Jimmy.

Jimmy came up against the dais at the front of the sanctuary and stepped onto it. It stood a foot off the floor and was covered with what felt like artificial turf. Jimmy glanced to his left and saw the shadow of the pulpit. He got down on all fours and crawled to hide behind it. Once there, he discovered that it was hollow. The hollow was covered with a cloth. Jimmy pushed through the cloth and crawled inside.

His left hand came down with his full weight on something soft and furry. The thing squeaked. Jimmy pulled his hand back and drew his legs into the pulpit. He sat with his knees hugged to his chest and tried to keep his breaths shallow and quiet.

The dais creaked as Johnston stepped onto it. His footsteps went toward the back wall, then stopped. Outside the pulpit, lights came on. They shone through the cloth. The cloth was white. It didn't hang all the way to the floor. Jimmy looked down and saw that the furry thing was a squirrel in a nest of shredded paper. It wasn't moving. He had crushed it. There was a bloody mess behind and beside it, and tiny pink babies. They looked dead too.

Johnston's footsteps resumed. They were loud thumps on the thin plywood. The platform groaned. The light dimmed, and the scuffed leather toes of Johnston's boots appeared below the edge of the white cloth.

"Come on out, boy," Johnston's voice said from above. "You're under arrest for trespassing."

Jimmy didn't want to leave the pulpit. He looked away from Johnston's toes and stared at the dead mama squirrel and her babies instead. He smelled blood.

"You know, Mr. Firecracker," Johnston said above, "I don't know for a fact that it's you in there. Could be a professional church thief. Could be a convict. Nobody'd blame me if I acted in self-defense. I could put a bullet through the pulpit and nobody'd question it. Not a soul."

Jimmy stared at the dead mama squirrel. Something was happening inside his head and chest. It knotted in his gut. Today was his birthday, and he had wanted to buy a car. Then he had tried to help a hungry dog, and the town cop had killed the dog for no reason. Now the cop wanted to kill him too. Because he was hiding in a pulpit.

"I could shoot you," Johnston said above, "just like I shot that damn dog."

There it was. The dog was dead. Jimmy had tried to help it, and Dad had made him drop his pants and had switched him with the fishing rod. The dog had killed rats, and Dad had shot it. The blind man had said that Jesus would help, but Mom had left, and the dog was dead. The dog had killed a squirrel, and Johnston had shot it. The blind man had not heard the voice of Jesus, had made it all up, had lied to him. Jimmy had swum in the pond with the dog, and now it was dead. Dad had hit Mom in the mouth. Jasmine had screamed at monsters in the night. Jimmy had hit the dog with a hammer so it wouldn't hurt. But Jasmine had seen. He had come into the church with the dog, and now it was dead. Jesus had not listened to him even though he was saved on Easter. Glass had broken in the living room. He had awakened in the morning with his sheets glued to his legs in lines of blood. Boss Stud had taunted his sister and stomped his kite. Johnston had kicked the dog down the steps. Jimmy had wrapped the dog in shop rags to bury it, and it was all his fault because he had made a deal with God. Jasmine came to him to say that she hated him. Dad pushed his face into the gravel, and Mom came back and served smoked pork chops. The dog swam out to where he and Ernie splashed and then the sound of the shotgun and the red splash on the concrete in front of the Nazarene church.

There it was.

The dog was dead.

Jimmy waited a moment longer, to feel the tightness of the change inside, to know it was right. It meant never seeing Mom again. Or Jasmine. Never goofing off with Ernie. Never trying to snuggle with Mary Carol Hauser. Never graduating from high school.

And then there was Dad.