Read Sinner for Free Online Page B

name-calling. Society at large had turned against Christianity with a vengeance over the past decade, and for good reason, Darcy thought. But poking fun at those who still embraced the faith was mean-spirited.
    She changed the feed and began to surf. News? No, not news. Reality game shows? She didn’t have enough patience to watch others make a spectacle of themselves tonight. She should just head to bed with the Frakes novel.
    She rotated into the Discovery feed. Tonight’s documentary examined events that led to the two assassination attempts on President Robert Stenton last year—the second of which succeeded. Numerous theories were still argued, but the one that dominated suggested that Stenton had been hit by Muslim extremists in retaliation for the Iranian prime minister’s death—while on U.S. soil.
    If there was a silver lining to the upheaval last year, it was the West’s final awaking to the volatility of religion, or more rightly, faith. The last twenty years were replete with examples of violence carried out in the name of God or Allah or whatever the fundamental extremists worshipped with their raging hearts and bloody swords.
    Tolerance had become the watchword of the day. A modest but important bit of progress in world history. Or at least American history. It was a step in the right direction, to be sure, but only a step. What the world needed was a thousand more steps in the same direction.
    Darcy sipped her tea and lingered on the feed. The commentator switched to an interview with an expert on the subject. The peace in Darcy’s small, protected bubble was shattered with a single image.
    A priest in a black robe.
    She set her cup down, felt it tip as she scrambled for the controls. Hot tea burned her thumb, but her mind was more interested in changing channels.
    Not until she’d successfully done so did she manage a curse. That was it; she was done with the screen tonight.
    She cleaned up the mess with a towel,went through what she called her retiring ritual—pink flannel pajamas, face wash, face cream, tall glass of iced water, covers back, book in hand—and slipped between her sheets with a sigh.
    That night Darcy read two chapters of Birthright before setting the book on the nightstand, turning the lights off, and snuggling three pillows tight against her body as her mind drifted into the land of flying black beasts seducing young maidens with promises of immortality and power.
    She was asleep before she had time to wonder if she would fall asleep quickly.
    The sounds began at one that morning. At first in her dreams, a steady thumping knocked about the edges of the tale she was constructing deep in REM sleep.
    Knock, knock, knock.
    An innocent construction of a healthy imagination.
    I’m a-knockin’, knockin’, knockin’ at your back door, baby .
    She felt herself smile at the sound of that voice. She knew it, of course. It was Billy.
    Wanna take a look, Darcy? Just one look, one taste, one tiny spike in their minds. Wanna trip, baby?
    I don’t know, should I, Billy?
    One look, baby. Only one.
    Thunk, thunk, thunk .
    Darcy’s eyes snapped open. The clock read 1:23 in bold red letters. She’d had a nightmare. They came and went every few months, not like they used to.
    She flipped her pillow over so the cool side would rest against her cheek. Wouldn’t really call them nightmares anymore. Just recurring dreams. They hardly bothered—
    Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
    Darcy gasped and pushed herself up. Had she actually heard that?
    Rat-a-tat-tat. Thunk, thunk.
    Her heart slammed into her throat. Someone was beating on the house. The front door?
    Thunk, thunk . . . crash .
    Darcy threw the sheets off and slid her feet to the floor. Someone or something was beating on the front door. She lived in a small two-bedroom house surrounded by three acres just outside of Lewiston. She’d chosen the place because it was affordable and private.