She sobbed, a high, reedy sound, her stiletto heels skidding uselessly against the stone as they pulled her through the heavy wooden doors.

The church doors slammed shut, plunging the sanctuary back into a heavy, traumatic quiet.

The board members were rapidly dialing their cell phones, already initiating the crisis-management protocols that would formally sever Evan from his empire.

The journalists were rushing out the side exits to break the story of the decade.

Slowly, the congregation began to file out, heads bowed, unable to meet my eyes.

They had come to witness a tragedy; they had survived a slaughter.

Soon, only Mr. Halden, my sister, and I remained.