The Priest's Graveyard

by Ted Dekker

  My head spun with a sudden surge of adrenaline, and I sat frozen for a moment. Then I dropped my feet to the ground and stood, dazed. What to do, what to do? But I knew what to do. I did it every time he came home.

  I suddenly forgot whether I’d finished preparing the food. I had to make sure the kitchen was clean, because if Lamont found a mess, even a small one, he would immediately clean it up on his own rather than ask me to do it. It was inconsiderate of me to leave such a mess, knowing how it bothered him. I certainly had all the time in the world to accommodate his need for cleanliness.

  I started toward the door, felt the cold marble floor under my feet, and jumped back onto the rug. I dropped to my knees and, using one of my slippers, wiped up the tracks of moisture my feet had left.

  The room hadn’t changed. The one armoire easily held all my clothes because I preferred pajamas most of the time. One nightstand, one dresser, one bed, one chair, and one bathroom.

  Naturally, I slept in Lamont’s bed when he was home, which was about half the time. Lamont was old-fashioned in that way and wanted to be sure I was fully respected in every way. We agreed that I should keep my own bedroom if it made me feel more comfortable.

  Sometimes I did sleep alone, even though we had been married. He called me his wife and I called him my husband. We had to have a ceremony, of course. Lamont did everything by the book. He bought me a white dress and he wore a black tuxedo. We lit candles and said our vows in the living room with the sea foaming outside the windows. It was perfect.

  I pulled on my white gloves as I hurried down the glass-walled hall. The chime was the part of the security system that alerted us to someone opening the outer gate. Of course, that “someone” was always Lamont, which meant I had about three minutes to clean up.

  What if it was someone else?

  The thought stopped me in the living room, and I considered the terrifying possibility that one day Lamont wouldn’t come home. My heart thudded at the prospect. It had become my greatest fear and I didn’t know why, because Lamont always, always came home.

  I noticed that all the amber and green lights on the music system were lit up but there was no music playing, which was sloppy, wasting all that electricity. I flew to the glass encasements and turned up the volume. Mozart’s strings filled the room, and I sighed. Two magazines I’d paged through earlier lay on the leather sofa. I scooped these up and set them square on the sofa table.

  I didn’t know what had gotten into me. Normally I cleaned up after myself as I went. It was just easier that way. But I’d left a trail of broken rules behind me today, including, I realized, a smudge on the white leather.

  I wasn’t going to make it! I still had to clean up the kitchen! So I spit on my finger, wiped the smudge clean with my saliva, then rubbed the leather dry with my sleeve.

  The first lock on the front door clicked and I hadn’t touched the kitchen. The second, the dead bolt, clunked open and I ran. I was the one who’d suggested he put locks on the outside of the doors so that I couldn’t mistakenly wander from the house if I ever was confused or forgetful. I still had those moments.

  Blood roared in my ears, something that happened whenever I exerted myself. Lamont said this was a side effect of my medications.

  I hit a chair as I rushed past the dining table. Panting now, I spun back to set it straight. The third and fourth locks opened. He was in a hurry tonight, opening them quickly.

  I slipped on the smooth marble floor as I hurried into the kitchen, but I caught myself on the counter. I could see it all then with one glance: the carrot neatly cut up on the cutting board, the sliced cucumber next to it laid out in a perfect row, the cubes of tofu stacked in a pyramid the way Lamont preferred. Not a peeling or a wasted drop of juice to be seen.

  But the lettuce…I’d left the full head on the counter and hadn’t yet shredded it. Worse, the plastic wrap it had come in was on the floor. This would give Lamont heart failure. Had I done this?

  I couldn’t remember touching the lettuce, much less unwrapping it. In fact, I had only a vague recollection of preparing any of what was now on the counter, though I always prepared food for Lamont.

  My memory still wasn’t what it should be. The heroin had affected my mind more than the doctor had initially thought, and I faced a long road back to full health. Thank goodness Lamont was patient with me.

  I had taken my first step in the direction of the lettuce mess when the door to my right opened. Lamont walked in, glanced at me, then closed the door behind him and engaged two of the locks.

  I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just stood there, feet planted in a stride.

  He turned, ran his hand back through his hair, and sighed, eyes settling on me. Something was concerning him, and I hoped it wasn’t the lettuce.

  “Hello, Renee.”

  “Hello, Lamont.”

  He looked like the same angel who’d swept in to rescue me a year earlier. That light blond hair, those soft brown eyes, his strong shaven jaw and large hands. He still favored black suits worn with tailored shirts, collar open.

  He smiled and crossed the kitchen. Then he took me in his arms and held me tightly. You see, this was why I loved Lamont so much. He was quirky with all of his laws, sure. But he kept me perfectly secure and held me close.

  “Hmm. You feel so good, darling.”

  I smiled and wrapped my arms around his midriff. I was still only a hundred pounds—​it was important that I not gain too much weight because of my medical condition—​and enfolded in Lamont’s muscular frame, I was like a twig in God’s fingers.

  “So do you.”

  Then he saw the lettuce wrapper and his body stilled. But he didn’t complain as he might have. He simply released me, walked to the plastic wrapper, picked it up, and dropped it in the garbage.

  “What do you say I cook us some meat tonight?” he asked.

  “Meat? I can’t eat meat.”

  “Once won’t hurt you.”

  “Are you sure?” It wasn’t like him to break rules. Had something happened?

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “I cut the cucumber and carrot, and the tofu—”

  “I need a steak and some wine,” he said. “And please, darling”—he faced me, looking worn and exhausted—“join me. Just this once.” A thin smile curved his lips.

  “Okay.”

  “You’ve taken your pills?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve cleansed your system?”

  “Yes. An hour ago.”

  “Then you should be fine.” He came over, lifted my hand, and gently brushed his thumb over the purple bruise where my knuckles had hit the door frame in my bedroom two days earlier. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  He kissed my injury. “Why don’t I finish up here while you make yourself presentable?”

  I felt like a schoolgirl being asked out on her first date. “I would like that, Lamont. Thank you.”

  He smiled. “Hurry back.”

  It took me half an hour to shower, dry and fix my hair the way he liked it, and slip into his favorite white dress. I was so excited not only to have him home, but to eat meat and drink wine. I wanted everything perfect. What did the doctor know anyway? I was so good most of the time. Lamont was right, a little meat wouldn’t hurt my digestive system.

  But the big surprise came when I returned to find that Lamont had set up the table on the deck overlooking the ocean. I stared, dumbfounded.

  He walked out of the kitchen holding two glasses of red wine. “What do you say? I thought a little air might do us good.”

  I rushed up to the window and peered outside. He’d placed two red candles on the white tablecloth and set a pink rose between two settings of our white china. I’d been on the deck with him many times, of course, but never to eat and certainly not to eat such an extravagant meal.

  This was the kind of man Lamont was, caring for me even if it meant bending all the rules. I was
what mattered to him.

  “It’s…Oh, Lamont! It’s perfect!”

  He chuckled, and I followed him out onto the cedar deck. The waves crashed a hundred yards down the beach. Sea breezes gently brushed my skin. The candle flames danced seductively against a black sky of bright stars.

  When I took my first bite of meat I was sure I was living in a dream. I’ll admit I was a bit dramatic about it all, but I was a simple girl easily impressed by simple pleasures.

  Lamont smiled and nodded, but he seemed distracted and I hoped I hadn’t done something to concern him.

  “Is anything wrong?” I asked.

  “A hard day.”

  “Sorry.” I ate another bite of meat, but now I couldn’t enjoy it as much. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Normally he would dismiss his troubles. He rarely discussed his work with me. I knew he was in some kind of partnership that funneled a lot of money among international organizations, and that the transactions were mostly related to investments and charities. I knew that he was a shrewd accountant who made millions for other people. And I knew that he worked with the Bourque Foundation, named after his partner, Jonathan Bourque. But that was all I knew.

  So I expected him to wave off my question, but he set his fork down and rested his elbows on the table.

  “I stumbled across some information today,” he said.

  “Really? Something bad?”

  He looked out at the ocean as if trying to decide whether to tell me.

  “I’ve learned that the man I work with is involved in some very disturbing business. Something I find appalling.”

  “Oh no. Will you stop him?”

  His eyes settled on me. “I wish I could. He knows that I know.”

  “He does?”

  Lamont leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. I’d never seen him so upset, and this frightened me.

  “Is there going to be a problem?” I asked.

  “He knows that I know and yes, that could be a problem. He’s a brutal man who would think nothing of cutting my feet out from under me. I wouldn’t put it past him to kill everyone who knows.”

  My tower of strength was crumbling before my eyes. I didn’t know what to think, much less say. I set my fork down.

  “Kill?”

  “What do you do? You build everything up around you to keep out the wolves, then one sneaks in and just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“it’s over.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “You see, this is where the law fails. I should know, right? Me and all my rules and laws.” He used his hands to make his points. “Don’t do this, don’t do that. Do it like this, do it like that. The law, the Ten Commandments, the police, me. And what’s it worth in the end? Nothing! A man like Bourque can run circles around the law. He can come in and snuff out someone like me with one pinch of his fingers.”

  “Please don’t say that!”

  “Sometimes I think the vigilante has it right. I’m tempted to reach out and teach Bourque a lesson myself.”

  “What vigilante?”

  “Some guy in the news. The point is, there comes a time when the law fails, and then you wish you could set things straight.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” I objected. “You’re just talking, right?”

  He looked at me, then nodded and offered an apologetic smile. “You’re right. I’m just blowing off steam.”

  Relieved, I tried to laugh.

  “You’re right,” he continued. “We have rules for a purpose. They keep us safe. Like religion, the law plays a vital role in people’s lives. And you, my reborn, are the greatest benefactor of that law.”

  I raised my glass and toasted the air. “Then to the law.”

  “To the law.”

  We drank.

  “But if the system ever fails you, Renee, then forget about the law and go after the pig with both guns blazing.”

  I stared.

  He flashed a grin, brown eyes bright beneath that halo of blond hair. “So to speak.”

  “I’ll fry Jonathan Bourque on a spit and bury his bones in the ocean,” I said.

  Lamont blinked at my boldness. “I don’t think you can fry on a spit. That would be roasting.”

  I lifted my glass. “To roasting,” I said.

  “To roasting.”

  He laughed, and we toasted.

  “Would you like to join me in our bed tonight?”

  Our bed. Not my bed or his bed. Our bed. Regardless of how I felt, there was only one polite response, particularly after such a wonderful treat.

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Wonderful. You should cleanse first.”

  “Yes.”

  Lamont sighed and stared out at the stars. “Such a beautiful night.”

  7

  TODAY DANNY WOULD kill Cain Kellerman, his twelfth offender, nine of whom had been snuffed out.

  The mounting death toll was starting to give Danny nightmares. This was his cross to bear. Like a father committed to disciplining his child, he did not relish the punishment itself, only the good that would come of it.

  Danny sat in his Chevy Malibu at the curb just outside his cul-de-sac home in Lakewood’s Brentwood Estates. His modest single-story brick house was one of a hundred built in the tract around five models, and it was a perfect fit for him in many ways.

  For starters, the neighborhood was serene and beautiful compared with the war-ravaged Bosnia he’d left when he was eighteen, three years after his mother and sisters were brutally murdered by the likes of Cain Kellerman. Every day he thanked God for the blessing of such a beautiful country as this. Truly, most Americans did not know how fortunate they were to live in such luxury, free of Kellerman, who would be dead by the end of the day.

  Danny studied the three-by-five photograph of the dark-haired, blue-eyed man wearing black-plastic-framed glasses and felt not a hint of pity.

  Kellerman’s sin was offing young prostitutes after using them up. He trolled the streets for his victims, took them to a hotel, had his way with them, killed them, and then disposed of their bodies in landfills.

  Danny first learned about Kellerman when he’d confronted his eleventh subject, Keith Hammond, about his nasty habit of pummeling his wife. Danny convinced Hammond that he would get a first-class ticket to hell if he ever again so much as frowned at a woman. So far the man had not relapsed.

  During the confrontation, Danny learned disturbing details about the attorney who’d defended Keith on a charge of spousal abuse. This lawyer, one Cain Kellerman, had threatened Keith’s wife with the lives of her children if they did not recant their stories of their father’s abuse. Naturally, they changed their stories, and Keith was acquitted.

  Danny had begun his investigation into Kellerman the very next day, and what he learned convinced him that the only hope for such a vile creature was surely a bullet to the head.

  He slipped the photograph into his bag and dropped the Chevy into gear, lost in the consideration of the facts. A loud thump from behind startled him.

  He twisted his neck and saw that he’d backed into another car. Ellen Bennett’s gray Lincoln crowded his own.

  He shoved his gearshift back into park and jumped out as the older woman pushed her door open. “Are you okay?” he asked. No damage to their bumpers that he could see. “I’m so sorry, how careless of me!”

  “It’s you, Danny!” Ellen stepped out of her car. “Dear me, I didn’t see you!”

  “No, it was me who didn’t see you.” He took her hand and guided her a few steps from the car. “The important question is, are you all right?”

  “Of course. It was hardly a tap.” The midday sun turned her white curls into a halo. She’d become a mother figure to him, which suited him well because he had no other family in the United States. It was good to have a neighbor to care for, even if that care amounted only to mowing the yard once a week and making the occasional repair around the house. Ellen’s husband had died four
years ago, at about the same time Danny moved into the neighborhood.

  She chuckled. “My, my, what a fright that was. You sure there’s no damage?” She eyed the kissing bumpers.

  “Maybe a scratch, but that’s it.”

  She looked him up and down. “You’re smashing today. Hal used to wear khaki slacks, too.” She reached for his hair and touched it gingerly. “Have I told you his hair was as dark as yours before it went gray?”

  “Yes, more than once.”

  “You’re not working today?”

  I have work to do that you’ll never know about.

  “I have an appointment,” Danny said. “Just an errand to help out a friend.”

  His name is Cain Kellerman and he is a viper.

  “Good for you. I have to make this up to you. Let me make you lunch.”

  “No, there’s no need—”

  “I insist! I practically demolished your car!”

  Danny hesitated only a moment. “Well, if you insist.” He offered her a wide smile and dipped his head. “I would love that. I could join you tomorrow.”

  Ellen looked back at the cars and shook her head. “My, my, my. I think I’m getting old.” Her eyes darted up to him. “Tomorrow? No, my dear, now! I put out a fresh jar of sun tea this morning, and I can make up some sandwiches in a jiffy. Have you eaten? It’s past noon.”

  “No, but I really should—”

  “Please, it would make me feel so much better.”

  Choice: A bite with Ellen, or directly to the scene to kill Cain Kellerman.

  Consider: Once Ellen got something in her head, it was easier to go with her than to change her.

  Consider: Danny’s plans could accommodate a quick lunch if it brought the woman peace of mind.

  Consider: He liked Ellen very much.

  “You talked me into it. Let me just pull my car into my drive.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Ten minutes later, he was seated at her kitchen table, marking the condensation on an ice-cold glass of tea with a lazy finger as she told him yet another story about her late husband, Hal, who had gone completely senile two years before his death.

  “You should have seen it, Danny.” She set down a plate bearing two club sandwiches made of American cheese, ham, and turkey. “He was out there in the backyard at midnight dressed in nothing but his pajama top and socks.”