Chapter 35

However, I wasn’t often alone. The Reverend Jeremiah Berglund kept regular company. Once, I sat down on the side of my bed and had a conversation with the dead bastard. I told him in a very logical fashion he’d taken the lives of two good men, so it was only proper he paid with his own.

He didn’t see it that way, of course. He blamed me for flaunting my nakedness and my obscene, jutting penis before the good folk of his flock. Ikilled my friends with my libertine actions, not him.

That brought sweat to my brow, so I explained I was preparing for my holy hemblecha. There was nothing sensual about it.

Holy? It was a heathen ritual filled with devil worship and unnatural sex and who knows what other affronts to the God Jehovah and his Christian congregation. According to Berglund’s lights, I’d robbed him of something more precious than his gold and silver—the rest of his life.

He’d put me on the defensive, so I turned snarky. Tit-for-tat.