Later that week four long days after the Rich humiliation Tura found herself back in the same place, positioning her legs in the lotus position she folded the page of the Faster Pussy Cat Kill Kill! CD booklet, earmarking her progress, descriptions filled her mind, measures of what she read, "mind blowing, irresistable, other adjectives suffer in comparison." The sermon in the church being still in progress Tura had some time to kill while she waited for Billie to meet up with her. She had a few miniature bottles of Barakardi to keep her warm for the wait, the sips that she had already made her nose slightly pink. Tura sniffed at the numbness of the rest of her face.

"Sounds great Kat! I'll have a look at it when I get there."

"Yeah well hurry up then I can hear them singing hymns in there, Rosie will be here before you do."

"Na huh I'll be there first betcha or god shall smite my Mustang."

"Hey we're on holy ground here, don't go there."

Tura put Billy straight on her understanding of time that it was indisputable even Stephen Hawkins wouldn't argue. Placing her cellphone on standby mode she then thereby closed the conversation. Tuesday night was the last time Tura had hung out near the church, they had made sure to avoid the weekend, eluding any related festivities and any unwanted adult attention. That way Tura, Rosie and Billie could binge on the tree of knowledge without the guilt trip from holyistic music.

Notes from the choir today though rose, bathing the church like a warm lamp in internal faith, the notes warbled and bowed according to the size of the choir members, those that sang along mumbled the body and howled the chorus. Tura imagined susbstituted lyrics in the motif "O Lord, O Saviour our deliver I love you, please reason with our young daughters to love their bodies and food with the same faith and by the way smite thy bad role supermodels, especially Kate Moss, the only dieting is allowed on the cross." Tura let half a smile through. She had seen the topic of that days sermon while in the Church of the later day saints lobby, the pamphlet had sat behind a neon frame describing that Sundays criticism of Gods creation.

In the closing period before the whole of her friends, fellow Goth patriots, arrived she licked her own black lipsticked lips and read once more the written lyrics of the CD. Tura took in her own form of gospel, phonetically versed them to herself forgetting for a minute about the clout from her ex boyfriend Rich, she swore under her breath. Tura stopped reading then and returned to the bullshit of December with Billie pulling up in her dented Ford Mustang and the sermon ending, the denizens released on to the innocuous streets of Sierra Vista, Nevada.

Since the grunge look only went so far Tura struggled to compose herself so at least she would be identifiable from a humanoid fragment, for a quick identification she extracted her ankh necklace, composing herself to full resolution. Billie had already hooked up with Rosie at the steps of the church. Rosie had seen the same familiar blue Mustang skid into the communion of the station wagons and broke aisle disposition for a rapid "What up?" to Billie, her ride for the cruise through the middle of their universe. An instantaneous quick search for the proximity of Tura found her looking back at the, above the parking lot the portrait of anti-equanimity.

"First to behere yet last to be picked up, doesn't that just beat all?"

"That's what you get for being sensible Kat. God your lips look bluer than usual hun."

"If you had so much against hanging outside slowly freezing, you could of come inside with all us God fearing folk, plenty of tea and such."

"Not until I receive my own personal divine premonition to join the flock Rosie."

The girls shared a laugh noticing cold stares from two particular constituents of the church doing the arms crossed shuffle towards their car, Tura acknowledged them with a nod.

"Hey Mr and Mrs Pantoliano, don't worry about your daughter, we won't confuse her too badly. We don't watch Xena for that reason we're Goth's not dyke's, hence nothing to fear but the shroud of death, the ultimate eventuality."

Rosie's parents scowled back, a reminder for Tura of her status and that they knew her parents well. They failed to yell at Rosie. Her mother and father had total and utter faith in their child, she could do no wrong and any advice would be wasted on their only child. They had raised the perfect child. Tosie was a reflection of them, the rebellious side of her was just a phase, her presence among them in fact was a positive influence. Closing the door of their four door family vehicle with the oversized Labrador in the back they drove off with a pair of overconfident grins.

"Sh-it Kat you are gonna get yourself in trouble messing with 'em like that ya know and what was that you said, 'the shroud of death, the ultimate eventuality', was that qupted from the album you got?"

"You better believe it girlfriend, haven't had time to memorise the whole thing yet its my own personal gospel."

Tura pulled the album from her jacket and tossed it onto the drivers seat of Billies car. The Mustang was still running to maintain the cars heater for both the benefit of the passenger compartment and to keep the engine from freezing over. The radio was up loud enough for Tura to recognise the MXPX playing.

"So we gonna take off or what?"

"Sure enough when the traffic breaks, its door to door at the mo', it's the golden congestion right now, plenty of pensioners punching thirty miles an hour for home and jeopardy."

Tura spoke up "and you really think you're going to get in our ride in that dress?"

"My dress?" Rosie looked down, inspecting the cut of her dress, on review she found nothing wrong with her long flowered sun dress. Tura doing the same double take found the dress had a disturbing lack of tone, especially black.

"Yeah" Billie agreed. "You look like Miss Strawberry shortcake or something." Lighting up a cigarette she blew the fumes in the direction of Rosie, hoping to disolve all the multicoloured flowers in a puff of smoke.

Activity after twelve o'clock was beginning to cease from a crawl to an inert defunct dead thing, Cachise country left to the torpidly of the public had time for a brief restoration back to the quiet command of the Huachuca mountains, the Spanish namesake of Sierra Vista.

While waiting for the last traffic to dissipate Billie finished her cigarette. Savouring the last taste Billie stomped it out cold and hopped into the drivers seat, suggesting Rosie and Tura to follow. Taking her gloves off Tura waved her fingers across the cars heater, appreciating the tempering effect. Billie saw the opportunity to open discussion on a delicate sbject deprived from Tuesday night.

"Tell me Kat, tell me that you didn't spend your time in thought about Rich while you were waiting for me to pick you up."

Tura shifted around feeling rather guilty and self conscious the way that Rosie was feeling in the back seat about her dress, her reaction was almost mimicry. She didn't answer but Billie pressed the question. "Kat c'mon."

"Alright maybe being near a church 'n all."

"Oh shit tell me you didn't Kat"

"I only left my mobile on standby okay huh?"

Billie gave her an irate guilt look. Tura took no notice, omitting her look to the right window, away towards the appearance of a car pulling up beside them in a steroid overtone, grunting and growling at Billies second hand Mustang, nearly knocking an elderly lady off her walking frame in the process.

"The devil made me do it" a voice shouted, obviously directed at Tura. The voices head caught up with the body. Isaacs head stopped in line with Tura's, the driver of the car, Rufus, was just visible on the drivers side of the Corvette Stingray. In turning the engine off and the squeak of the wheels stopping she knew they wanted to continue the conversation that Billie had started without a bridge to continue continuity.

Billie and Rosie hadn't missed Isaac and Rufus' arrival. Trapped in a consorted conversation Rosie tried to merge with the vinyl of the back seat while Billie raced to defend Tura. "If I didn't know better, I would guess you two good time boys had come to church to confess your sins. Sorry this ain't no confessional boys."

Tura changed her gaze forward, trying her best to remain staunch.

"Oh yeah very funny dyke. Well we all know you ain't no saint either so don't try to be holyier than thou" Rufus barked back.

"Just fuck off will ya, your piece of shit is invading my personal space."

Billie tried to stay in Isaac's face, diverting attention away from Tura but Isaac had followed them here for a reason and wasn't going to miss the chance. Tura could of timed it to the second, she turned her head just enough to see him say it. She noticed Isaac had recently grown a goatee, it looked like a bear trap keeping his face in a scowl.

"Oh tell me Tura or should I say Kat, is this racing stripe on the car there to designate you as a Ho or what because that's what Rich is wondering."

"You fuck!" Billie screamed, immediately enraged, the only thing holding her back was her seatbelt. Even Rosie showed her head enough to let fly insults. Issac sat there with an enormous grin, he had been saving that one up for a long time. Tura cooly tormented by what was said swallowed, pulled out her cellphone and switched it off. Billie still pissed off put her car in reverse, wanting to save the day and get her friend as far away from them as possible. "Let me guess," she said wanting to get in the last word. "The devil made you do it you loser fuck." Slamming the accelarator she blasted the Mustang out of the parking space, screeching in a slide spin, brake lights lighting up hard before she made for the main road, leaving Isaac and Rufus alone in the parking lot.

Tura wouldn't listen to Billies reassurances, her mind was elsewhere, watching the fading sight of the lit up cross convert to the larger signs of fast food restaurants, the spinning pivot of town before Fort Huachuca. She found the volume control of the CD player, cranking it up loud she searched for the other miniature bottles of Barakardi in a frenzy matched by the pulse of the music. Finding them already empty she tossed them out the window and waited for the sound of breaking glass. It wasn't so much what was said that hurt the most, it was the admission of a truth, a fact in a place where she couldn't be forgiven or resign her pain to a few hail marys. If only she thought it was possible to toss the parturition doll from a speeding car as easy as she had done with the glass bottles.