Disclaimer: I don't own Preacher or any of its characters. I only own Beth and this fic, so please don't steal.

Chapter 3

"Morning, Beth!" Emily greeted, rushing up to the other woman. Her and the preacher were standing outside the Fair 'N' Square, asking for suggestions for All Saints. Beth rolled her eyes behind her aviators, picking up her pace to try and avoid them. Jesse was easy enough to get around, since he was only half-heartedly passing out the pamphlets and such. Emily, on the other hand, was persistent as ever. "You got a suggestion for the church?" she inquired, holding out a pamphlet.

"If I suggested you leave me the fuck alone, would you listen?" Beth said without pausing on her entrance into the store. Emily paused, momentarily stunned.

"I'll be right back," Emily told Jesse before chasing after the irate woman. "Beth," she said, startling the woman with her sudden appearance, "Hey, listen, I know we don't really get along but—" Enough is enough, Beth thought, stopping in her tracks. Whipping around, she ripped off her sunglasses and got in Emily's face.

"Since my subtle hints seem to go over your head, let me spell it out for you: I don't believe in God." Emily's mouth dropped in shock, uncertain what to say. Not that it mattered because Beth didn't give her a chance to rebuttal. "I don't believe in Heaven or Hell, angels, the devil, or that a man can turn water into wine just because he popped out of a virgin's snatch, or any of that fantasy mierda, and do you know why?" Beth asked rhetorically, but Emily still shook her head. Stepping even closer to her, she said, "Because I don't care that a bunch of pinche gringos got together and decided that all that bullshit in your precious Bible was real so I should be penitent and afraid and behave because, if I don't, some invisible absentee father in the sky will punish me. I just don't care. Do you understand now?" Emily, who had gone pale during Beth's rant, nodded sheepishly. "Bueno. So, for the last time: fuck, off."

Putting her sunglasses on, protecting her eyes from the obnoxiously bright store lights that aggravated her hangover, Beth turned from Emily and went about her business. Emily stood there a moment, eyes focused on the linoleum floor, composing herself before returning back outside, smile plastered on her face. Later that night, as she sat drinking and watching TV, Beth replayed her brief conversation with Emily in her mind. She had been cruel, unnecessarily so, she could admit that. Other than annoying her with her kindness, Emily had never done anything to her to deserve Beth's ire. In fact, she was one of the only people in Annville that tried to befriend her. Beth remembered when she'd returned to town a few years ago, Emily had shown up on her doorstep at the trailer park with a casserole.

"¡Joder!" Beth cursed angrily, stomping out of her trailer.

She made it to the church in record time, shocking since her truck was a rusted piece of junk that barely worked most days. Beth had intentionally hurt Emily, so she would apologize in her normal fashion: throw money at the problem. The whole town had been complaining about the AC being broken at All Saints, so that seemed like the best option. But she need to know the model of air conditioner the church had first so she could buy the same one, just brand new. After snapping a picture of the conditioners information, she walked inside the church to grab a drink, maybe some of the communal wine. But she immediately stopped at the sight of two dead bodies and a man writhing in the blood that was splattered all over the place. The man in question was lanky Irishman from the bar, slurping up the blood like he was at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Walking closer, the heels of her boots clicked against the floor. It was dark but she could clearly make out the blood caked all over his face, soaking his shirt and pants. His eyes met hers and he grunted, rolling unsteadily to his feet. Beth's eyes were drawn to his stomach, where his shirt had ridden up and allowed her watch what appeared to be a shotgun wound close. Her mind was a steady steam of every curse word in her vocabulary, in English and Spanish.

"Shite," the Irishman declared. "Okay, easy now, luv," he soothed, hands raised as if trying to calm a wild animal. "Don't scream. I can explain." Beth had no intention of screaming, quite the contrary. This wasn't the first time she'd seen such a bloody mess. She'd hoped that part of her life was behind her but that didn't seem to be in the cards. Without hesitation, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her cellphone. "Ah, ah, ah! You don't wanna be doing that!" he warned, but Beth ignored him. She took a screenshot of lock screen, so she could make a note of the time later, and quickly put it phone away.

"You look like you need a hand, Lucky," she stated calmly. "I'll get the trash bags," she added, already moving to the little house attached to the church. It took a minute to find them, stashed underneath the sink in the kitchen, and she grabbed a dishtowel as well as the rubber washing gloves.

""Lucky"?" he echoed confusedly.

"Like a leprechaun," she responded, with a shrug walking back to the main room. She tossed the towel at him, letting it smack him in his face. "Clean yourself up."

""Lucky", really? What, 'cause I'm Irish?" he inquired, wiping his face clean as best he could. Beth shrugged noncommittally. "Supposin' I start calling you Speedy then, huh? " Beth stared blankly. "'Cause of Speedy Gonzales. Ándale, ándale arriba!" he mocked, huffing with laughter.

Glaring, Beth remarked, "That's racist."

"And calling me a bloody leprechaun isn't?!" he snapped. She shook her head. The man shrugged and pulled off his bloody shirts and vest, chucking it towards the dismembered pile of soon-to-be trash. "Name's Cassidy. What's yours, bartender?"

"Beth," she answered, shaking open a large black trash bag. "Enough talk. We have work to do."