Betty spoiled them. Jesus had shown him the way. Betty would ruin them. They had to be taken from her, from the world.
He slid the bolt to the front door, put the chain lock in place, picked up the gun and walked lightly toward the bedroom. As he passed by the kitchen doorway, Betty looked up. She raised her eyebrows questioningly. He didn't say anything, just kept going. In the bedroom, he opened his dresser drawer, took out five bullets from the box of .22 shells, and loaded the rifle.
When he came out of the bedroom, the girls were kneeling on the chairs, their elbows on the table, watching Betty roll out the cookie dough.
"Which shall we make next, stars or angels?" Betty asked.
"Angels," Wes said.
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