The Last Sunday

by Terry E. Hill

  “‘I’m calling the police,’ he yelled. ‘We just killed a man. I’m calling the police.’

  “‘David, wait a minute,’ she said. ‘Let me at least check to see if he’s dead. He may still be alive.’

  “Samantha walked to me. She knelt down and first checked my coat pockets and then the pockets of my pants. I held my breath the entire time she was searching me. She stood up and faced the guy and said, ‘He doesn’t have a gun.’

  “‘What?’ the man screamed.

  “‘You just killed an unarmed man,’ she said coldly.

  “‘Oh shit!’ the guy said. ‘Oh shit! Oh God, Samantha, you said he had a gun! You said he was going to kill you.’

  “‘It looked like he had a gun in his pocket. I thought he had a gun,’ Samantha said curtly.

  “The guy, David, began to pace back and forth next to what they thought was my dead body. ‘What have I done?’ he said. ‘Look what you made me do!’

  “I saw Samantha throw the gun into her car. David was beginning to panic. She grabbed him by his shoulders and said, ‘David, stop,’ trying to calm him down. ‘Listen to me. We have to leave. No one knows we were here. We need to just leave now and never speak of this to anyone. Do you understand me?’

  “‘Leave?’ He was almost hysterical. ‘Just leave him here? Are you sure?’

  “‘Yes, I’m sure. Everything will be fine. I want you to go home to Scarlett and not say a word about this to anyone. ’”

  Gideon bolted upright. “Scarlett?” he said. “She’s a member of the church’s board of trustees. That must’ve been her husband, David Shackelford.”

  Danny ignored him and continued. “Samantha kept shaking his shoulders. ‘Do you understand me? Someone will find him here in the morning. They’ll never be able to link any of this to either you or me as long as we both agree that it never happened. Okay?’

  “‘Are you sure no one will find out?’ the guy asked.

  “‘I’m sure. Now, go to your car and wait for me at the bottom of the hill. I’ll follow you as far as Wilshire Boulevard. Then I want you to drive straight home and put this out of you mind.’

  “The guy said he understood. Samantha started to dust off his suit and said, ‘Make sure you are at church tomorrow. I want to see you there with Scarlett on one side and Natalie on your lap. We have to act like everything is normal. Do you understand?’

  “‘Yes,’ he said.

  “‘Good. Everything is going to be fine, David. I’ll call you in the morning to check on you.’”

  Danny paused for a moment and took a deep breath. Recalling the events had caused his body to tremble slightly. Then he continued.

  “I heard the guy walk away. It was so dark that I couldn’t see him after he was only a few feet away from me. I could still see her standing near the car, watching him. Suddenly I heard a thud in the distance. I think he fell down the side of the short cliff that led to the road below, where he parked his car. Eventually, I heard a car start in the distance. When Samantha heard the car, she walked back to where I lay on the ground. She lifted my wrist.

  “That’s when I heard her say, ‘I assume Hezekiah gave this to you, so technically it belongs to me.’ She took the Rolex you gave me off my wrist, removed my wallet, and said, ‘Good-bye, Danny St. John. It was so nice to finally meet you.’

  “She got into her car and drove away.” Danny said, dropping his head on the cushion again. “They just left me there. What kind of person would do that? I can’t stop shaking.”Danny coughed again as the two sat in silence. He could now feel the throbbing in his arm.

  “This is incredible. I can’t believe you would try something so crazy,” Gideon said softly.

  “You know what she’s capable of. You could have been killed.”

  “I was desperate, Gideon. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I know it was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not talking about the blackmail.”

  Danny looked at him with surprise.

  “I understand how you could conclude that blackmailing her was your only option. Hell, I might have thought the same thing if it were me. You made a mistake. We all do. What I’m talking about is you underestimating just how dangerous she really is. The thought of losing you, Danny, is more that I can take. Please don’t ever do anything crazy like that again. It took me my whole life to find you, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

  Gideon pulled Danny’s quivering body to his chest and held him tightly. Gideon began to sob in his ear. “Please don’t ever do anything that stupid again, Danny. I can’t bear the thought of not having you in my life.”

  Danny began to match his sobs breath for breath and tear for tear. The two men held each other close and cried for what they had almost lost. They cried for what they now had found in each other.

  “She’s going to pay for what she did to you, Danny St. John. I promise I’m going to make her pay.”

  Chapter 2

  Hattie Williams looked at her reflection in the oval vanity mirror. Her eyes followed the road map of lines that had been paved by life in her almond skin. She could almost pinpoint the exact event that had preceded each distinct wrinkle. The creases in her brow had appeared shortly after her husband’s death ten years earlier. The lines at the corner of each eye had come when she buried her mother. The hollows in her cheeks were the most recent indication that she had survived yet another tragedy. On a Sunday only three months ago, her beloved pastor, Hezekiah T. Cleaveland, had been gunned down in the pulpit of New Testament Cathedral.

  Hattie ran the stiff bristles of a silver hairbrush through gray-streaked hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She never took her eyes off her face, fearing that if she looked away, she would miss the vision she knew was coming. Her few strands of black hair were awash in a sea of silky gray, which shimmered from the light of the full moon. Crickets could be heard chirping in the flower bed of pink and lavender foxgloves just outside her window.

  She knew a message was only moments away. The light-headedness she always felt just before a vision came had caused her to wilt onto the stool at the vanity and had left her helpless, able only to wait for the scene to appear in the mirror. Sheer white curtains bristled slightly from the evening breeze, and the scent of lilac powder from a cloth-covered box on the vanity filled the room.

  And then he appeared. Hattie’s face in the mirror slowly gave way to the image of Hezekiah Cleaveland. He looked just as he had only months earlier, when he was full of life, love, and hope. Light seemed to pour from beneath the surface of his glowing brown skin. His eyes were clear and bright, even brighter than she remembered. He looked to her lovingly, as if he knew she was there. But there was a divide between them that prevented her from reaching out and touching his gentle face.

  Hezekiah didn’t speak, but she could hear every word in his heart, as if he were in the room. She felt every emotion. There was a peace that she had never felt from him when he was alive. His face was content, but beneath the surface she could also sense fear.

  “What are you afraid of, Pastor?” she asked out loud.

  But he did not respond. Instead, the feelings of fear and concern seemed to grow and overtake the peace and contentment.

  “You’re with the Lord now,” she said gently. “No one can hurt you anymore.”

  Hezekiah’s expression grew dire as her words evaporated into the moonlight. Now a pain so intense that she could feel it in her stomach poured from the mirror. Then she heard the words “Don’t let her do it.” Hezekiah’s lips didn’t move, but she knew his voice. Then she heard it again. “Don’t let her do it.”

  “Do what, Pastor?” she asked the mirror. Hattie placed the silver brush on the vanity and leaned closer to the image. “Don’t let who do what? I can’t know what I’m not told.” She reached out and placed her open palm on the mirror and touched Hezekiah’s cheek. The glass surface was hot against her skin. She jerked away as if she had touched an open flame. Hezekiah looked more
intently at her. A tear fell from his eye as he stared pleadingly.

  “Don’t let Samantha do it again,” were the words from the mirror. “Please don’t let her do it again.”

  At that point Hattie understood clearly. The guilt she had felt for not preventing his death washed over her like a flood. She had known Hezekiah was in danger months before he was killed, but she did nothing to prevent his death. She remembered the warning vision she had received in her kitchen window weeks before he was killed.

  Until that sunny day four months earlier, Hattie had never seen so many warriors on the battlefield of one man’s soul. She had seen deadly equestrians attacking Hezekiah as she sat helplessly before her kitchen window. A white horse whose rider was death had galloped at full speed toward Hezekiah. Another horseman had thrashed at his breastplate. Confusion, riding a black horse, had delivered crushing blows to his head, and death had leveled the final assault, which had left him lifeless in the dust, under the horse’s hooves. Recalling the horrible images brought tears to Hattie’s eyes.

  “I couldn’t interfere with the path you chose for yourself, Pastor,” she said pleadingly to his tormented image in her mirror. “A man’s life is between himself and God. It’s not my place to interfere,” she added, appealing to his unresponsive face.

  The words came again. This time they were more intense. “Don’t let her do it again.”

  Hattie began to sob out loud. “I prayed for you, Pastor,” Hattie said through her tears. “You know I did my best to intercede, but that was the path you chose.”

  “Don’t let her do it again,” came even louder. Hezekiah’s face did not change. Her pleas had no effect on his expression or the feelings that poured from the mirror.

  “But what could I have done to stop her? What can I do now? I’m an old woman. All I have is my faith and my prayers,” she said pleadingly. “That’s all I have to give anyone, and I gave that freely to you from the first day I met you until the day you died.”

  Her words crashed onto the flat, shiny surface of the mirror and rushed back at her like a gust of wind, causing her tears to flow in a steady stream. “I’m so sorry, Pastor. I should have done something. I should have told you about the danger that was ahead, but . . . but I just didn’t know how. Please forgive me, Pastor. I should have warned you.”

  Hattie felt tormented by Hezekiah’s unyielding glare, which seemed to look straight through her. She cupped a hand over her quivering mouth and sobbed uncontrollably. But the forgiveness she sought was nowhere to be found in his pained expression or felt in his tortured spirit. He was oblivious to her pain and consumed by his own.

  “Don’t let her do it again,” his voice insisted. “Don’t let her hurt him.”

  Hattie froze when she heard the words. “Who, Pastor?” she begged. “Hurt who?” Her face was wet with tears as she leaned closer to the mirror. She reached her hand out again to the mirror but stopped short of touching it, remembering the fire she had felt during her last attempt to cross the divide. “Tell me who, Pastor,” she desperately implored. “Who?”

  When she said the words, the room grew still. She felt somehow suspended in time. The quivering curtains rested dead against the window seal. The chirping crickets could no longer be heard. Hezekiah’s face became soft and expressionless. Hattie had sat frozen in front of the mirror for what seemed like an eternity when she finally heard his calm voice say, “Don’t let her hurt Danny.”

  She could feel the fear that had flowed so powerfully from the mirror dissipate into the night as the words reverberated in her head. Once again peace came forward as the dominant emotion she felt from Hezekiah. The light from deep within him began to glow again, and his eyes were as bright as they had been when he first appeared. She knew he was free now. He had spoken his heart and revealed his love. Now he could rest in peace.

  “It’s all right, Pastor. I know you loved him, but more importantly, he knew it too,” she said calmly as his image slowly faded from the mirror. “You can rest now.”

  The shimmering glass building had finally risen from the dust. The construction of the new church and media center was complete. It had taken three years, forty-five million dollars, and the lives of three men to build the shrine to the Cleavelands. The ten-story, twenty-five-thousand-seat sanctuary sparkled like a diamond on the lush green ten-acre compound in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. Three months had passed since Hezekiah’s death. Samantha had insisted that construction continue the day after his murder and that the workers not stop until the last nail was hammered, the final Italian tile was laid, and the last glass panel was installed.

  Cement trucks had churned along dirt roads while Hezekiah’s cold body had lain in state in the mortuary. Scaffolding had been erected precariously along the sides of the steel skeleton, and workers had pounded, bolted, and soldered on all levels of the structure. On the morning after Hezekiah’s death Samantha had received a call from Benny Winters, the general contractor for the construction project.

  “Mrs. Cleaveland, this is Benny . . . ,” he had said timidly. “Benny Winters. Ma’am, I don’t know what to say. This is such a tragedy. Pastor Cleaveland was such a great man. He will be deeply missed.”

  “Thank you, Benny,” Samantha had replied with a measured dose of grief.

  “Everyone on the crew asked that I convey to you their deepest condolences.”

  “Please tell them, ‘Thank you,’ and to remember me in their prayers,” she said, finding it tiresome to feign sorrow.

  “Of course, I’ve halted construction in honor of Pastor Cleaveland, and I will wait until I receive further instructions from the board of trustees before we resume.”

  Samantha was standing in the window of her study at the Cleaveland estate on that Monday morning when Benny called. A burning cigarette in an ashtray on her desk released ribbons of smoke into the room. When she heard the words, her body became rigid.

  “Who told you to stop construction?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “Well . . . no one, ma’am,” Benny replied gently. “I assumed that under the circumstances the board of trustees would think it only appropriate.”

  At that moment in the conversation Samantha lost all ability to play the role of grieving widow convincingly.

  “Mr. Winters,” she said curtly, “you assumed incorrectly. First of all, stopping construction is neither your nor the board of trustees’s decision. My husband and I raised the forty-five million dollars that is paying your salary and that of your crew. Therefore, in the absence of my husband, the decision becomes mine alone.”

  She took a threatening step toward the window, as if Benny were standing in front of her. “Secondly,” she continued, no longer able to contain her contempt for the presumptuous blue-collar worker, “I want you to get your full crew onto that construction site within the hour.”

  Benny Winters couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But, Mrs. Cleaveland, it’s standard industry practice in situations like this, when the primary client dies unexpectedly, to stop all work for at least two days. It’s just common respect.”

  “I need you to respect me,” she snapped. “Hezekiah is no longer your primary client, nor is the board of trustees. From the moment that bullet entered his head, I became your primary client. Do you understand?”

  Benny was speechless. The cold way in which she spoke of her husband’s death, which had happened only the day before, the contempt in her voice, and the callousness of her words left him both angry and afraid.

  “I said, do you understand me, Mr. Winters?”

  “Yes, m-ma’am,” he finally stammered.

  “Good. From now on do not make any decisions without consulting with me first.” As she spoke, her anger slowly began to dissipate and the grieving widow returned. “Now, after I’ve buried my husband, I would like to meet with you to go over some changes to the designs. My secretary will contact you to let you know when.”

  “Ch-changes?” Benny sputtered. �
��What sort of . . .” As the words spilled from his lips, he imagined Samantha’s eyebrows shooting up and her temper rising. He stopped short of completing the question and simply added, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good, Mr. Winters,” she said. “I’m glad we have an understanding.”

  The construction went uninterrupted from that day forward for the next three months, and the world fell deeper in love with Samantha Cleaveland. Her face graced the covers of major newspapers and national magazines. The headline in the New York Times read, BRAVE WIDOW CONTINUES THE DREAM OF HER HUSBAND. The Huffington Post’s headline was, SAMANTHA CLEAVELAND, RELIGION’S JACKIE O. The front page of the London Times proclaimed, SAMANTHA CLEAVELAND, AMERICAN HEROINE.

  Images of the beautiful woman flashed nightly on every major TV network. In the wake of her husband’s death, she became one of the most beloved and photographed women in the country. The gleaming cathedral became a symbol of hope and fortitude for millions of people facing home foreclosures, the death of loved ones, and life-threatening illnesses.

  “If Samantha Cleaveland can survive tragedy, then so can we,” became the national mantra. After hearing of Samantha’s decision to continue the construction uninterrupted, many said through tears, “She is such a brave woman.”

  And now the sun-drenched cathedral was complete. Cantilevered pews spilled from the top of the cavernous stadium down to the pulpit, affording all in attendance unobstructed views of Samantha Cleaveland. The slanted and jutting cathedral walls were constructed of five hundred thousand rectangular panes of glass, which had been woven together by threads of steel, forming a patchwork quilt of California sunlight, powder puff clouds, and pristine blue sky. Two fifty-foot-high waterfalls, constructed of pure white marble imported from quarries in Italy, flanked the pulpit and released sheets of water that flowed almost silently into pools at their base. The behemoth liquid works of art had added an additional two million dollars to the final cost of construction.