I see my reflection in the pool of blood on the table in the Hiss Willow imposter's kitchen. I stare so long that the image gets fuzzy, like snow on a TV screen when the cable goes down...only scarlet.
A clear droplet lands in the blood with a tiny splash, a droplet fallen like a star from above. A tear from my eye.
This one should have been easier than the first two. He was a wicked Poison Oak, deserving no mercy. Not only that, but his face was that of the least trustworthy Willow—Hiss the turncoat.
So why is this killing affecting me?
I back into a corner of the room and slide down to my haunches. Another tear burns its way out of my eye and runs over my hand as I chew my nails.
Is it because of my target's condition? Because I found him in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down?
Not the likeliest evil terrorist master of disguise, was he? Couldn't have done much damage to America from that chair, could he? Is that what's bothering me? Or is it because of what the Kitty imposter said in the game? About being sure. Totally sure.
Or is it both?
I close my eyes to shut out the scene and regain my bearings. Instead, the gruesome vision swirls upon me once more, the one that haunted me before I killed the Bella imposter at the movie studio.
Small, bloody bodies in my vision. The bodies of children.
A woman's body, sprawled in a crimson pool. Unmoving.
Flies buzzing.
Bodies everywhere, all ages, all sizes. Some clinging to each other, some cut down alone. I step over them, shoes slipping in the blood.
So many faces, eyes gaping in death. I know all of them. Every last one of them.
Looking up, I see another lifeless face, frozen forever. Hanging above it all.
I know that face, too. Jesus Christ.
Heart thundering, I open my eyes. Swipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
Am I? Am I totally sure?
Evil cloaks itself in many guises...but the old man in the wheelchair had seemed awfully harmless. No whiff of deception.
That doesn't mean the deception wasn't there. But still. What if. For the sake of argument.
What if I'm the one under the influence of evil?
I get to my feet and stagger out of the kitchen.
It's possible, and I know it.
Once, my sisters turned evil. The case of "Hell Hath Four Furies." They were all under hypnosis.
In the living room, there are photos on the walls—photos of Hiss and the family. One of Hiss and me, fishing. Photos can be faked.
But what if these aren't fakes?
I drop onto the couch, still chewing my nails...and it's then I remember.
War Willow doesn't chew his nails.
The room spins. Against my own will, I do the mental math.
I've killed three people who were perfect doubles of my brothers and sisters. However, I might not be in control of my own actions.
Therefore, the people I killed might not have been who I thought they were.
And what about the visions? So many dead—men, women, and children. How could I remember them so clearly...unless I was the one who killed them?
Clamping my eyes shut, I hold my head in my hands. I take great, shuddering breaths, fighting to pull myself together.
Because I already know. I know what comes next.
War Willow is a man of peace at heart. In his way, he is as much of a soulful seeker as Free or Zen. He can be gentler than Kitty or Kenya.
But on the warpath, he is nearly unstoppable. Only one man can stop him.
War Willow himself.
I draw the revolver from the holster on my belt and cock the hammer. Sweat runs down my face as I stare at the cold, black metal of the barrel.
If indeed I am under outside control, killing my own family, thinking they're evil imposters...this is what I have to do. I must kill one more Willow to save all the rest.
An Apache prayer drifts through my mind as I raise the gun. An Amish hymn.
This is the hero's way. A hero would sooner destroy himself than let himself be used as a tool of evil. It's that simple.
I raise the gun to my mouth and close my eyes. Use my Ninja training to stop my hands from shaking.
I slide the barrel between my lips.
One last time, I think of my brothers and sisters: Free, Kitty, Leif, Bella, Buzz, Kenya, Hiss, Holly, and Zen. Father Law, too, and Gary Escuchar. Even Jeremiah Weed, Ballantyne Foster, and Scandinavian Steve.
Then, my finger wraps around the trigger.
It takes a moment to say a prayer and get myself ready. To summon the courage.
I tilt the barrel up so it is pointing at the roof of my mouth. And I start the countdown. Three.
Two.
One.
Suddenly, my eyes snap open. My finger uncurls from the trigger.
Two words are flashing like Vegas neon in my mind.
TOTALLY SURE.
Those two words are the reason I'm still alive. For just as I can't be totally sure that I'm not under evil control, I also can't be totally sure that I am.
Either way, doesn't it make more sense not to kill myself? Because now that I'm aware of the possibility that I've been compromised, maybe I can fight off any dark influence and rescue my family.
And myself.
There's another reason I didn't pull the trigger, too. If Amish Amos were here, he'd explain, just as he did when he taught me years ago among the Plain Folk of Ohio.
"Suicide is the abominable sin," Amos would say. "It severs your soul from Our Lord for all eternity. It condemns you to the fires of Hell forever.
"For it is not just murder, which is hated by God. It is murder of self, which is avoidable, which is refusal of the gift of life from God...which is the refusal, the shunning, of God Himself."
So I can't take it lightly. Not while I can't be totally sure, not while there's still as much of a chance that my mind is free as that it's enslaved.
I'll give myself more time. Continue with my mission and be vigilant. Aware of the possibilities.
And one more thing.
I do it while I slosh gasoline from a plastic can all over the inside of the house. While I leave a trail of fuel, leading outside and across the porch and down the steps. While I light the trail with a dropped match.
While I walk away as the house burns behind me, devouring the Hiss Willow imposter and his wheelchair and his laptop computer and every trace of evidence that I was ever there.
The one more thing I do is this: I pray.
Using the words Amish Amos taught me, I pray to God for strength and courage. Clear-headedness and righteousness. Good fortune.
And forgiveness. For what I've done, whether I remember it or not.
And for what I'm going to do. Three Willows down, six plus Gowdy to go.