AN: This chapter has depictions of religious bigotry. I do not endorse the views expressed here or think that all Christians share these beliefs. This isn't true Christianity, it is an example of an abusive cult. Also, I am aware that this chapter could be better edited; let me know if you spot anything I could improve.

As she settled into the back seat, Carly gave their unconscious passenger a quick glance to check he was still breathing. His skin looked a bit too pale. Duct tape covered the Scotsman's mouth, a blindfold pulled tight around his forehead. His hands were tied behind his back; there would be no unexpected surprises.

'By the grace of God, it has begun,' the man she knew as the Pastor said. 'The End of Days.'

To the world he was DCI Fletcher, but as he reminded the most godly and faithful of the Church's disciples, the chosen few let into the secret of his double identity, that was nothing more than a title. Carly had seldom been let into anyone's inner circle. God was nothing more than a swear word for most of her life. Being born again still felt like a dream.

The Pastor had kept telling Carly it was all sorted, all in God's hands, that they were soldiers of the Lord and she had nothing to fear, no trouble. She'd never believed it until she'd seen the cop actually passed out on the floor. Now she truly did believe in miracles.

His phone, his bank cards, his passport and the £50 she'd found in his wallet were all safely in her pocket.

Carly was going to hold onto the money. Surely God would understand, especially if Ophelia Beauchamp kept messing her around about the payment. Ophelia had stopped taking her calls. What was that saying in the bible? 'Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's and render unto God what is God's?' The stuck up old hag had evidently not read her bible. Ophelia wanted to keep everything for herself and her nervous wreck of a husband and not pay Carly what she was rightfully owed.

Carly still didn't know how much she believed in the Pastor's message. She wasn't sure she even understood it all sometimes. At first, she wasn't sure how much the Pastor believed it either. But the Church's visiting team had been the bright light in her darkest tunnel.

After they found her, they'd taken care of her.

She'd been suspicious of him at first. She'd sensed he was a copper and coppers meant trouble. But Jesus had been friends with tax collectors. Sex workers. Criminals. Under him, everyone was of one body.

And copper or not, inside, everyone was scared of the Abundant Blessing Church of Christ.

Even the screws.

Jesus freaks. Nutters, they said.

Once she'd joined, they'd steered clear of her and out of her way. Carly hadn't even had to do anything, and instead of laughing at her, taking the piss or worse, the other girls on D Wing had hardly dared to look at her any more.

The Pastor said the Lord took care of his own. She liked that.

'Today is an exalted day. See how the clock is ticking. The Lord works to his own schedule, not that of Mammon.' The Pastor sounded content. He reached behind him as the driver stared at the road, and gave Carly's leg a squeeze. A smile spread over her face at the sudden illicit thrill. Only men were part of the inner circle. But none of the other disciples knew that Carly was the most 'inner' of the lot of them.

'Women are a temptation,' the Pastor said in words that seemed only meant for her. 'The Lord uses the temptation of men for his own purposes.'

The car turned onto a main road, slowed to a crawl in the night time traffic. The Pastor flashed the lights to turn off the main road. He tossed his head back, exclaiming, 'Revelation 6. 1. I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, "Come!" 2. I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.' He laughed. 'Conquest. That is what our Scotsman set out to do, is it not, Sister Carlotta?'

Carly nodded. 'Yeah.'

The Pastor chuckled again. 'The crown. Crown Prosecution Service. Crown vs Smith 1972. The Beast sent him to conquer with his godless law. Yet, the army of the Lord hath defeated our first horseman.' Carly liked when he spoke in these verses, though she didn't always understand him. She'd never known anyone to do that before; he was so good with words. He was a poet, like a prophet in the bible he'd given her as a gift when she joined.

'Conquest, War, Famine and Death,' he said thoughtfully. 'The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The Lord has delivered us Conquest. Who shall be next?'

*

The church building looked different in the dark as they pulled up. It looked imposing. A metal cross stood against the street lights. A plastic bag was blowing around in the wind as Carly opened the car door. The policeman's arm felt slightly stiff as she tugged on it. She could see spit around his mouth. Her heart jolted. She hoped he hadn't died.

He wasn't supposed to yet.

'There's a sleeping bag in the back of the car,' the Pastor said. 'Help me get him in and take him to the basement.' The preacher spoke with firmness and authority. Not the authority that the cops and the DWP did when they were trying to catch Carly out, trap her into doing things and giving away things about her life she didn't want to. Something deeper.

Something divine.

Carly watched as three male disciples exited the back of the church building, where a light was flickering. Two of them were big men; the other was a pale, scrawny kid called Matteo. He was Spanish or Portuguese. Something foreign anyway. The Church's male and female members were under strict instructions not to speak to each other without the Pastor's permission, but Carly didn't always listen to that. The Pastor took hold of Alex's legs. After putting on a black face mask, the Pastor gripped his shoulders. Alex coughed and spluttered; the disciples held their breath, but, fortunately for them, the policeman did not wake up. Somewhere a dog whined in the darkness.

'His Word is a beacon of light in a world of darkness,' the Pastor remarked, shoving the bag over limp legs. 'Is it not?' The policeman twitched but did not wake up as the Pastor and the two men helping him pulled the sleeping bag over his head. You don't have to change your entire life when you become saved. The disciples had told her.

They had been right. This was like some of the things she'd done before.

But now, she was no longer a sinner.

She pushed open the door to the back of the church to let the men through. She followed them down the narrow staircase. It was lit by dim fluorescent bulbs which hummed. Spiders had made webs in the corners of the ceiling. The sleeping bag squirmed and she thought she heard a groan.

If he hadn't been a cop she'd have felt sorry for him.

The room at the bottom of the stairs was full of cardboard boxes. After the Abundant Blessing Church of Christ had bought this building all the children's drawings, all the leaflets from the fake church that had occupied it before had been stored down here, in the basement. There was even a rainbow banner with the slogan 'God is for everyone'. The plan was, one day, to burn them and upload the video to TikTok. Carly had barely ever thought of any of that before she found this holy congregation.

Now it all made her stomach clench.

That stuff was always just lies. When they said 'for everyone' they never meant it about her.

But it was the life-size wooden cross at the centre of the dusty room that drew Carly's attention. Around the top of the cross was a tangle of brambles and dead rose branches, twisted into a ring.

Carly had helped make it for Easter. The crown of thorns. Among all these forgotten, sinful objects, their faith stood firm. The Pastor always said it was a reminder of life's entire purpose.

'He's a Catholic, is Conquest,' the Pastor said in disdain, nudging the sleeping bag with his foot. 'He went to the Vatican a few weeks ago with his mother. He went to see the consecration of the new pope, or whatever they call it.'

'Is he?' Carly sniffed, then mentally kicked herself. Women had to keep silent in church. The bible said so.

'The Catholics mock our Lord by placing a graven image of his body on the crucifix,' the Pastor said quietly, with a glance at the man on the floor. To Carly's relief he ignored her indiscretion. Maybe he didn't care. He bent down and unzipped the bag. 'They worship the pope and call him infallible.' He was at his most passionate when talking about religion. Carly liked it when he saved some of that passion for her. 'Those who make a mockery of our Lord's suffering should feel something of the pain he felt.'

A spider ran across the floor. Carly stamped on it hard.

She saw him give her a brief look of what she knew was more than clerical concern; the most their circumstances would allow. He waved a hand at the crucifix. 'The first thing he'll see when he wakes up.' On one of the rough foldable wooden shelves nearby was a pack of nails; Carly found herself wincing.

It wouldn't be a nice way to go, would it.

'And as we know...' the Pastor continued as he turned his back on the unconscious man. The disciples followed him towards the stairs. 'God did not intend his cross to solely be an ornament.'

As they trudged upstairs the dusty air was pierced by a ringtone. 'Fu -' Matteo stuttered, stumbling on the stairs.

The Pastor whipped around, glared at him. 'Language.'

Matteo fumbled in his pocket. 'Sorry. I bet it's my dad.' He reached inside and drew out his phone. 'Dad. I'm out at the moment. I'll be back tomorrow. Oh. Uncle Alfonso? I'm at the pub. Can't it wait?' After a few seconds, he hung up. 'Sorry. He was in a stress. He wants to see me and wouldn't tell me what it's about.' He blew out a breath. 'He won't get off my back.'

That name felt familiar to Carly, she kept hearing it. She shut the basement door behind her, stepped aside for the Pastor to put the padlock on, racking her brains trying to remember as they stood in the night air. He'd been at the Crime Convention. She'd sat near him in the forensics workshop. He'd asked some questions, hadn't he? That was it. Grey hair. Glasses. An older guy, geeky science type.

Then it hit her.

She'd seen Erica Scott that night talking to that policewoman. Even right before they started the recording, Donna and Erica wouldn't shut up about wanting to have her on their podcast. What a contrast; with all her smiles and false politeness Erica could never get rid of Carly fast enough.  Erica had stood in the corridor, apologising about things Donna said. She was mentally ill. Borderline personality. Couldn't help it. Anger still pulsed through Carly's body as she remembered; Erica hadn't apologised to her.

'He's with Rita Silvera,' she said cautiously. 'The detective.'

Matteo looked at the Pastor, then looked at her and nodded. 'That's the third time this evening, Pastor. I'm worried he might have...guessed...about the plan.' He looked towards the basement. 'Not this. The other one.'

'Has he?' the Pastor said, a hint of an edge in his voice that unnerved Carly. She seldom saw him anxious or agitated and she didn't like it. 'I'll speak with you shortly. We'll pray upon it.'

'Can I say something, Pastor?' Carly hesitated. She was a woman after all. 'About the next horseman.'

'Go ahead,' the Pastor muttered, meeting Carly's eyes. The flash in his eyes under the dim outside lighting felt like an electrical shock. He made her feel so important, even as bile rose in her throat at the furious memories playing in her mind and anxiety crawled over her like an insect.

'Our horseman is just a...symbol of the real horseman in the bible, isn't he, the one who Satan will send, right?' She spoke haltingly.

'Nothing is ever 'just' a symbol, Sister Carlotta,' the Pastor said, a mild reproach in his voice as he used the name. Carly tried to swallow down her embarrassment, tried to tell herself it changed nothing.

'OK,' she hesitated. 'Does the next...rider...have to be a man?'

The five seconds as the Pastor digested her words felt like forever to her. Finally, he spoke. 'No.'

'Oh,' Carly said. 'The next one's War, right?'

'Yes, well remembered,' the Pastor said, a hint of warmth creeping back to his tone. A rare thing, he had whispered in her ear yesterday night as they'd snatched a moment in his car, away from worldly eyes. He'd told her she was a woman of worth and virtue, worth more than rubies. It was from the bible. Nobody else had ever spoken to her so beautifully.

'OK,' Carly said, lowering her gaze the way the Pastor liked his woman of virtue to do. 'I might have an idea.'