by T. K. Chapin
Shaking my head, I said, "No."
"That's okay. Even a hotel nobody knows you're at will work.”
I shook my head again. "Won’t that raise suspicion if I just disappear? Now that I am aware of it, I will just take more precautions.”
“You’re right. Very well. Intel said you found some notes at Teresa’s house?"
“Yes, but they're gone now. Whoever showed up and killed my cat took the notes." Remembering I had sent them to Charles, I continued. "Wait. I took pictures on my digital camera. You could see them that way."
Her eyes peered over at my door. "Go get the camera."
I went back inside and grabbed it. As I walked back outside, I checked the camera and could find no pictures. It had been wiped clean. "I should've known they'd erase my camera."
She furrowed her eyebrows. "Dang. They're good. Tell me what the notes said, Ron."
"July 24th. I remember that. That's the Cresting. You were right about the Sandrosa women being the ones who do it."
"Okay. And the other note?"
My heart jumped into my throat. I suddenly felt hesitant to incriminate Teresa, but why? I wasn't sure, but I went with my gut feeling in the moment that told me to withhold for now. "I don't remember."
Detective Jackson looked at me as if she didn't believe a word I said. Could she tell I was lying?
"What?" I shrugged. "I don't remember."
"Okay, Ron. Don't call me or remove those bugs in your house. If they catch on, then we're all in trouble." She stepped closer and placed the button bug she had on me back onto my jacket, then turned and walked away, leaving into the darkness of the night.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
SITTING IN A HOTEL ROOM for days wasn't his idea of a good time, but the man was still getting what he wanted in the end—a lead on his sister. The woman had found his sister’s location, but she wanted the man to do some work for her before she would hand it over. What was once only a faded dream in the back of his mind was now real. Just a while longer, and he’d see his sister again.
Two knocks came on the hotel door, and the man stood up, picking up his 38 Special from the table and putting out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the TV. The two knocks were the sign, but the man couldn't help but be a little paranoid.
Stealing a glance through the peep hole, he saw her, his lead. Her head was wrapped in a sunflower patterned sheet-cloth, and she was wearing that pair of dark sunglasses. These two pieces of her outfit never changed when she came to visit at the hotel.
Undoing the locks, he let her in, moving out of the way so she could enter.
She hurried into the room through the smoke and cursed when she took her shades off and saw the pizza box on the bed. "I told you no one can know you're here. What were you confused about?"
"Sorry. I hate Ramen."
She sighed, eyes gliding over to the bed. "Sit. I have news."
He went over and sat down like the dog he was being treated like these days. He took his pack of smokes from the other side of the bed on the nightstand and lit one up as she spoke.
"It’s time for you to get to work."
"I'm free from this prison?"
"Yeah. You comfortable with killing without question?" She opened her purse and gave him a couple of hundred-dollar bills.
“I’ve killed more than I’d like, but yes, if it ultimately leads to my sister, I can do it.”
"Good. Try to fit into the shadows a little, would ya? Nobody can ID you. Otherwise, kill them.”
"When do I get to see my sister?"
"The location comes after your assignment is over." Standing up, she left without saying another word. The man didn't look forward to the work ahead of him, but this lead on his sister was the final step in his bloody journey to finding her and setting right what he had wronged all those years ago.
CHAPTER FIFTY
WHAT LITTLE SLEEP I FOUND that night was anything but restful. With the swirling thoughts of betrayal from Teresa and the mounting fear for my daughter's well-being, I had too much on my mind. Waking early from the little sleep I had captured, I took a much-needed trip out to see my father.
I stopped in at the gas station not far from the graveyard. I grabbed a small package of donuts to help tide my hunger over until later and a large, hot black coffee to wash down the sugary treats. Then, of course, a bouquet of flowers for his grave.
"That'll be $16.27," the man grumbled behind the cash register with a snarl. He didn't look like he wanted to be there at 6:30 in the morning. I could imagine not many people did. He appeared to be somewhere around my age, and I was suddenly moved with compassion.
"Hey, with Jesus, it can get better."
He looked at me with a tilt of his head like I had said something horrendous to him. "You don't know me, you don't know my life, and you don’t know what I've been through."
I nodded. "You're right, I don't, but I do know Jesus. He doesn't promise an easy life, but He promises to help us get through it." I slid my card through the reader to pay. The man didn't respond to me, just stared out at the gas pumps outside. On my way out to my car, I prayed for that man to find his way in life, to find God.
As I drove through the graveyard on my way to my dad's plot, I thought about my own troubles, my own heart pain. I needed Jesus desperately every single day. This storm I was coming through was no different. Milo was dead, my daughter was in trouble, Teresa wasn’t who I thought she was, and I was trying to be the savior of an entire community of women. Suddenly, my dad's coat felt a little heavier on my shoulders that morning.
Parking, I got out and saw his headstone just a few steps away. I began to walk to it, and it was as if I could hear his voice in my head. You should've done something when she came home preaching about Lighthouse. Should have stopped her. My eyes welled with tears as a sad truth surfaced to my heart and mind. I was too scared to lose Emily a second time, to stop her right when she mentioned the cult, but now, I’d quite possibly lost her forever.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
LATER THAT MORNING, BACK AT my house, Teresa walked into the kitchen holding a casserole dish covered with tin foil. Furrowing my eyebrows as I looked to the doorway she walked through, I wondered how she entered without even the sound of the door opening. She must have read my mind by reading my expression.
"You left the door open," she said, taking the dish over to the counter. Pulling off the tin-foil, she looked over at me. "How are you? I made your favorite breakfast casserole . . . that is, if you're feeling up to eating?"
My eyes looked at the glass dish, and it held a familiar lovely that would have smelled better if it weren’t laced with betrayal. There was a time I would have jumped up and grabbed a spoon along with Teresa and the dish and taken them all with me to my recliner, but not now. She was my enemy somehow, even though I didn’t know to what degree. Still, I couldn't show my distaste for her or I'd be possibly risking Emily's life.
I smiled at her as I realized she gave me an out, mentioning my illness I supposedly had yesterday when I abruptly left her house.
"Yeah, that smells great, but I'm still not feeling that well, honey."
She frowned and re-covered it with the tin foil. Crisis adverted. Now I need her out of my house.
After putting away the food, she came over to me at the kitchen table and sat down on my knee. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she looked longingly into my eyes. She knew something wasn’t right. I saw in her eyes. I felt queasy thinking about the sacrifices and death she was going to be a part of in mere days.
"Can we run away?" she finally asked.
Confusion overtook me. She wanted to run? Or did she know I knew and was sending me down a different trail? Tricking me, trying to manipulate me? Maybe this was part of the plan too? It would keep me away from the Cresting, that’s for sure.
"When?" I asked, trying to buy time to find an excuse.
"Tonight. Let's just go to Mexico, like we talked about. Remember? We'll just jump in m
y car and go south until we hit the border. We'll live on the beach and sip Mai Tais and forget about all the troubles here in Spokane."
My face grimaced, and she noticed.
"It's Emily, isn't it?" she asked, standing up from my lap. She walked slowly over to the counter and looked at the picture of Emily and me from Em's college graduation. "You love her a lot, don't you, Ron?"
"Of course, I do." My tone was almost defensive.
"I wonder what having a dad like you would've been like." Teresa walked back over to the table and sat down in a chair across the table from me. She leaned in, slumping her body and resting her chin against her arm. "Maybe I could've been someone great if my dad was part of my life."
"Hey, now. You have a great job doing real estate."
She laughed and sat up. "Sure. Getting yelled at about paint color is really great. The guy didn’t even ask if I wanted to be part of the family business. Jerk."
I wasn't sure how much she was involved with everything to do with Lighthouse, but I was moved with compassion for Teresa. She had suffered a strained relationship with her father. She wasn't just someone who could have betrayed me—she was someone without a good father, a daughter just like Emily. I couldn't help but feel a part of my heart break for her, even though she could possibly be involved with Henry and Lighthouse. Maybe this was God's way of showing me she somehow wasn't?
Reaching over, I grabbed her hand and gave a firm squeeze. Seeing the sadness in her eyes, I didn't feel sick to my stomach anymore. I felt like I did for the last year, madly in love.
"Listen to me. You're a beautiful woman, Teresa. No matter what, you have a choice to do what is right, to do what is noble. You were created before the foundations of the world and picked out by God Himself. You've sat by my side and listened to sermon after sermon over the last year. You know how valuable you are to God, how precious you are to Him."
She smiled. "You're right. I do. I really do know how much He loves me." Her face lit up and her warmth returned. "You always say the right thing right when I need it the most. I love it. I love you." Getting up, she came over and sat on my lap again, looking deep into my eyes. I forgot about everything for a moment.
Pushing up the brim of her cloche hat, I smiled and kissed her lips. "I love you too."
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
AS I STOOD AT THE sink the next morning running water from the faucet for coffee, I noticed my shop door was open. Not this again, I thought to myself, turning off the water. Grabbing my gun, I took off out the door in my blue- and white-striped bathrobe. I turned the corner and headed straight toward the shop with the utmost confidence, my finger on the trigger and the gun ready to fire in an instant. I didn't make it to the doorway when Charles suddenly came stumbling out with raised hands.
“Don’t shoot me!” he declared. Scruffy and dirt-riddled, his white beard looked as if someone had dragged his face through the mud and then hung him up by his toes to dry. Parts of his checkered button-up shirt were shredded on the arms as if he had fought some wild beast or gotten in a fight with a barbed wire fence on his way over.
Lowering my gun, I shook my head. "I almost shot you, Charles! What in the world are you doing? I tried calling you back yesterday and the line just rang forever."
He held out a hand and shook his head as he came closer, muttering something under his breath. Raising his eyes to meet mine, he said, "They got to me, Ron. They found me." He shook his head and glanced over my shoulder, toward the driveway, then he lunged forward, clinging onto my robe. "You gotta help me, Ron. Get me somewhere safe!"
"What happened?"
"Don't you get it? They—"
Charles's eyes rolled, and he fell forward into my arms, limp. Catching him, I yelled, "Charles!"
Then I saw the blood. My heart shuddered as my eyes carried across the surrounding area of my property, looking for who had shot him. There, in the distance, I saw a masked man, dressed in all black. He dipped to his knees and began dismantling his sniper rifle and the silencer tip. He moved swiftly and placed each piece into a black gym bag. I set Charles down near the front steps of my house and grabbed my gun from the ground where I had caught Charles in my arms, but it was too late.
The masked man was gone.
Leaning my gun against the railing on the porch, I sprinted inside to call 911. I had no dial tone—again. My heart pounded as my trembling hand set the phone back on the receiver.
"God help me!"
I went outside and found my neighbor, Mrs. Getty, standing over Charles's body with a horrific look on her face.
"Good. You're here. I need to use your phone, Mrs.—"
Fear lit in her eyes as she looked at me and spotted my rifle nearby on the porch.
"No, I didn't shoot him," I said, coming toward her.
She screamed and ran back toward her house, yelling, "Call the cops, Thomas! Call the cops! He shot a guy!"
Seeing a movement from Charles below my feet, I fell to my knees and to him. Touching two fingers to his neck, I felt a pulse. It was faint, weak, and fading quickly. Hearing sirens in the far-reaching distance, I knew he wouldn't make it. I held his hand in mine and got down close to his face, brushing his cheek lightly with a bloodied hand. "It's going to be okay, Charles. Today, you'll be in paradise."
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
THROWING HIS GYM BAG INTO the backseat, the man followed it into the car and shut the door behind him. The driver took off down the road, immediately fleeing the scene of the crime. Resting his head against the back of the seat, he peeled off the mask and let his breathing relax and calm down. Killing wasn't something he enjoyed doing, but it also wasn’t something he spent much time thinking about. Pulling out his cellphone, he texted the client, letting her know the one who had seen him had been eliminated.
The man had been over at the person's house looking for a certain item the client wanted when the unfortunate soul unexpectedly came home. There was an altercation, then a few fists flew, and ultimately, the owner of the home ripped off the mask of the man and then fled. With his identity at risk, the man was told to eliminate the guy who saw him.
All too easy for a killer, someone without a conscience, a soul, but unfortunately for the man, he had one. With each kill he made, he felt a part of him die with those he checked out early. His belief in God was nothing but a hollow and deceptive memory from a life he once knew. He had killed too many people in the search of his sister. God couldn't forgive him for all the death he had brought, and the man wouldn’t expect Him to either.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
SITTING IN THE BACK OF the ambulance an hour later, I felt numb all over, dead all over. My friend had died, and it was all because I’d involved him in this mess. The questions the police drilled me with were to be expected after the way Mrs. Getty acted earlier, not to mention their prior visit. I spilled the beans about everything I knew about Lighthouse. I even told them about my involvement with detective Gloria Jackson. One of the police, Officer Reynolds, appeared to be on my side. I could tell by the way he was acting. He even mentioned not caring for Henry after meeting him once during an investigation into those suicides.
"Hey . . ." Officer Reynolds said, popping his head around the open ambulance doors.
Raising my eyes, I looked at him.
"There's no record of a detective Gloria Jackson in our database."
I jumped up and hurried off the back of ambulance. "What are you talking about?" Shaking my head, I continued. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
"I checked several times over, Mr. Fields. I'm sorry."
The other police nearby snickered in my direction. My jaw clenched as I wondered who I had been meeting with if it wasn't a detective. Patting officer Reynolds’s shoulder, I said, "Thanks for checking anyway."
"You're welcome.”
The men who were snickering came over. “We're still looking for that shooter you mentioned. We'll let you know if we come up with anything."
I laugh
ed. “Comforting. Thanks."
As I walked toward my house, I thought of my dad and how it felt losing him so long ago that still felt like only yesterday. It hurt me deeply losing him to a house fire. I could still smell the smoke in the air and feel the soot in my hair. But unlike that day, today, I was the one who felt guilty, not Mom. Must have been how Mom felt leaving the oven on. Going inside, my chest felt heavy with grief and fault over my friend's death. I knew where I needed to go.
As I shut my truck door at the cemetery, I noticed two birds flying overhead. They were a set of blue jays, flying in perfect sync with one another. In a way, it was beautiful. In a way, it felt like God was right there with me as I made the familiar walk up to my father's grave. I looked at the stone with his name on it for a moment, then something different happened.
My eyes lifted.
They glided over Mom's headstone, just next to my dad’s. It was the first time I had been able to look at her grave with true sadness, with real grief. I began to cry. I had blamed her for his dying that night for so long. She was the one who had left the oven on. Guilt overran me as I recalled telling her that for months following his death. Maybe if I didn't make her feel so bad, she wouldn't have turned to the bottle. The heaviness grew in my chest. Maybe she'd still be alive now. The thought made me want to die.
Reaching down to my father’s grave, I picked up the flowers I had brought for him the other day and laid them on my mom's grave.
I sat down on my knees, tears running down my cheeks, and I prayed for forgiveness from God. I hadn't treated my mother right, both in my heart after she was gone and to her face when I still had her here. My realization of sin tossed me onto a ride I didn't want to go on. How could God forgive someone like me? I wondered. How could God give me grace when I deserve death? Moved within me, the Holy Spirit battled on my behalf, quieting the accusing thoughts and moving to comfort me in my distress. The Spirit reminded me of the truths of God that I knew, reminded me of the cross, of Jesus, of God's perfect and pure sacrifice He had made to forgive all of my sins. My heart swelled with pain over what I had done to my mom, but at that exact moment, I felt God's joy there too. In the stillness of the graveyard, I felt the presence of the Almighty, experienced the power of His true and unyielding grace.
