Three boys stared at Greg, mouths open in shocked surprise. Ragged and gangly, the teens also looked terrified out of their minds.

The one, with red hair, shivering in the corner, resembled an anemic vampire ready to bolt at the first sign of blood. Greg made a mental note to have a talk with this young man about Mary Beth Blakely.

“How did you find us?” the dark-haired one asked, stepping in front of his two friends in a protective stance, his chin pointed upward with authority he probably didn’t feel.

Sharla entered through the church door. “We’re looking for you, Kenny.” She took the shotgun from Greg, with a reprimanding glance, and leaned it against the wall.

“All three of you ducked through the trees as if the town psycho was crawling up your asses. You might want to be careful, because if we saw you, anyone else can, too.”

“So?” Kenny crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Greg with a defiance he’d never been brave enough to show at that age, especially to grown-ups. But something else lay under that defiance. Fear.

“It’s obvious you don’t want anyone to know about this church, which makes me wonder just what you’ve been hiding out here.”  Greg glared right back, not willing to trust just anyone yet, even if they were just kids.

Kenny glanced at Sharla and lost some of his bluster, but he still hesitated to say anything at all.

“It’s okay, Kenny. You’re among friends here. And we can maybe help each other, and hopefully put to rest the nightmare this town has become.” Sharla moved down the aisle and gave him a one-armed hug. “By the way, I don’t know if I ever thanked you for your help the other night.”

Kenny shrugged. “It was nothing.”

Johnny cleared his throat, and then cleared it again, only louder this time. When Kenny still didn’t get the hint, Johnny stepped on his foot, eliciting a yelp of pain and sharp jab to his ribs from a bony elbow.

Kenny gestured toward his two friends. “Sharla this is Tommy and Johnny. Guys, this is Sharla.” He pointed at Greg. “I don’t know who that dude is.”

Sharla laughed. “It’s Greg. Nice to meet you boys. Actually, it’s nice to just meet someone sane in this town.”

Greg inclined his head their way. “Boys.” He’d let Sharla put the young men at ease while he tried to appear less menacing. He strode toward the pulpit and ran a finger along the dust-covered Bible, leaving a trail down the middle of the title between the Y and B. Old and cracked from age, it lay on top of a rotten surface. Strange no one removed the book when the church died.

He headed for the rear entrance, twisted the knob on the door, and pushed against it with his shoulder until it popped loose from the swollen frame.

Tall grass and massive blackberry vines covered the backyard, swaying in a slow breeze. Forced to stay on the rapidly disintegrating porch, unless he wanted to tangle with a copperhead or rattlesnake in that mess, Greg stared across the wide open space. He tried to imagine church dinners spread out on picnic tables back in a time when this town was probably worth living in, and Sunday afternoon get-togethers meant something.

A ragged trail parted the brambles as if someone had walked from around the left side of the building, or was dragged, through them and disappeared in the forest beyond the church. Whoever it was, he hoped they made it to the other side without a nasty bite from an even nastier snake.

Perhaps they hadn’t gone willingly. A chilling thought to have on a church’s back stoop.

“Greg,” Sharla called from the doorway.

“Yeah?” he said without turning, mesmerized by what he imagined Sleeping Beauty’s backyard must have looked like in the land of Fairy Tales.

“I think you’d better come and hear Kenny’s story.”

Inside, Greg leaned against the pulpit and waited for the nervous teen to stop fidgeting and tell him what the hell was going on here.

“A few months ago, Johnny and I were out riding our bikes just after dusk when a woman stumbled out into the road in front of us. She’d been badly beaten and could barely stand up, let alone walk.” Kenny shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “We knew what had happened to her. That didn’t surprise us. We just couldn’t believe she had survived it.”

“Who did that to her?” Greg asked, keeping his voice soft, hiding the rage simmering below the surface. God he hated men who beat women.

“Some men from town—and—and my dad.” Kenny stared at the floor, took a shuddering breath and continued. “When fresh meat, that’s what they call outside women, show up in this town, the men go berserk and attack her, beating and raping her repeatedly until she’s dead.”

“Like a fucked-up black widow,” Johnny said.

Tommy whacked him on the back of the head, and they silently punched and slapped at each other until Kenny jumped between them with a warning glower.

“Jesus.” Sharla turned a concerned glance Greg’s way. “How can they get away with it?”

“The sheriff’s in on it too, and if someone comes around asking questions, he tells them the woman stayed a day or two, and then left town and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since.”

Greg shifted and asked, “Where is she now?”

“We brought her here, and that’s where she was until about two days ago, and then she just up and vanished.” Pain flickered in his eyes as if he blamed himself for her disappearance, which he probably did.

“Like a ghost,” Tommy whispered.

“Why did you keep her here for so long?” Greg asked.

“We were trying to figure out a way to smuggle her out of town.” Kenny took a seat, slumping in exhaustion. “She’s pregnant, too.” The boy pulled his hands out of his pockets and curled them into fists. “We thought she’d be safe on sacred ground,” he finished in a whisper.

“What’s her name?”

“Lizzie—Elizabeth Howard.”

Greg’s heart dropped like a stone into his stomach. His best friend’s sister had been within his grasp two days ago, and now God only knew where she might be today.