It was pitch black now, with a feeble source of light coming from the street lamps on the main road. That beam wasn’t nearly powerful enough to reach them, and faded into oblivion. The pastor was heading towards it, in the direction of the main road where both their cars were parked. Will and Zada held their breaths as he passed on the opposite side, but Pastor Keener made no indication he knew they were there.
As he stepped into the gleam from Main Street, a figure of night detached itself from the shadows and sprinted towards his back. He let out a yell, flailing about with his arms, as something shimmery and metallic slashed through the air.
“Hey!” Zada shouted, taking off at breakneck speed towards the scuffle. Will followed as quickly as he could, falling behind.
The figure popped to his feet, holding an arm up in the air, grasping a weapon. Zada closed the distance and prepared to tackle him, but the pastor gave a kick and brought him to the ground. There was a mess of bodies, as Zada lashed out with her forearm, but the masked man quickly retreated to the main road. As he turned to the side, they caught a glimpse of a mask that looked something like a sheep.
“Pastor!” Will finally caught up with the action and knelt down beside him. “Are you okay?”
Zada shot him a look, and then turned her own attention to the man lying on the ground.
“I’m fine. Just got me in the arm. It’s deep, but I’ll live.” He clutched his right forearm with a grimace. “What about you?” He turned to Zada.
“Well at least somebody asked,” she mumbled. “I’m fine. Didn’t get me.”
“If not for you, I’d be…” The pastor shuddered, and he started heaving deep breaths. “Oh God, oh God, I can’t… I would’ve been…”
“Pastor, are you okay?” Will placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You might wanna call Cyrus now,” Zada snapped.
WIll nodded and grabbed his phone. Dialing the numbers, he waited for two rings until the phone was answered by a weary-sounding Cyrus.
“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Will announced as he hung up a few minutes later. “Are you two sure you’re okay?”
“What were you doing here anyways?” Zada asked Pastor Keener, who was just getting over his panic attack. “That store is where we saw Dumpy buy some…” Her eyes flicked to Will, who motioned for her to go on. “We saw him buy some rope there, very soon before he died.”
“I found those receipts,” the pastor said, “and I thought I’d do some digging, try to see what this shop owner knew. Apparently, not much.” He shivered. “I still can’t believe… they were going after me… dear Lord, I never actually thought…”
“The shop owner didn’t know anything? About why Dumpy bought the rope?” Will pressed him. “I mean, he bought the rope just before somebody was tied up and killed.”
“He said it was probably some home improvement. I don’t know. Whatever the rope was bought for, I think the killer probably used it to tie up Dumpy in his house.”
Will ran a hand through his hair, the three of them sitting in the middle of Main Street’s sidewalk, bruised and bloodied. It was almost a comical scene.
“Maybe he’s killing people whenever they buy rope? And then he just uses it to kill ‘em?”
“That’s a stupid theory.” Zada glared at him. “Leave the thinking part to Cyrus.”
Will furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth to ask what the big deal was when the pastor spoke up.
“Cyrus did have a theory that I think sounded pretty reasonable. Just let him tell you when he comes here.”
“We need to keep an eye on you though, Pastor,” said Will. He felt pride, thinking that Cyrus would have told him to handle the situation exactly like this. Perhaps, he had learned a few things. Him and Cyrus weren’t that different, really. Just at differing stages of life
Zada tapped a finger on the rough pavement, breaking his imaginative thoughts. “Is there any way you can protect yourself? Carry a gun, or a knife?”
“I have a better idea,” the pastor mumbled.
< > < > < > < > < > < >
For nearly twenty years, Pastor Keener had been the sole commander of the pulpit. Week in and week out, rain or shine, health or sickness, he was always there, always delivering a message. So it was a shock to the senses for everybody involved when they walked into church and found a much younger, much more nervous man in his place.
Everybody took their seats respectfully, trying to contain the hushed murmurs and rumors that pestered in their heads. The biggest question: “Where is Pastor Keener?” The most important one: “Why?”
“Good morning… um… everybody.” The young man cleared his throat and tried to compose himself. “I… I’m here today to preach from… Wait, I mean-”
“Speak, boy!” roared an older man from the front row. “Where in the name of Jesus is our pastor?”
Cyrus was in the back row, keeping his lips firmly sealed, but couldn’t hold in a chuckle. His row seemed oddly empty. Both Will and Zada hadn’t shown up, and neither did their families. Probably figuring out the next steps, after the incident from Thursday. They’d already been informed of the announcement coming soon. Cyrus himself had delivered the message to them that morning, as the pastor’s white SUV drove by outside.
“Pastor Keener has served this ch- church faithfully and this c- congregation owes him time to heal and to- to think about-”
“Where is he?” another man shouted.
“Tell us this instant, and stop blubbering, blabbering!”
“Pastor Keener,” the young man rose his voice above the throng, “has taken leave for a few weeks while the situation is resolved here. He does not wish to be in danger, and so he has left town for some time, to protect himself-”
“What!”
“What is this? Why weren’t we told?”
“How could he! How could you!”
Everybody was on their feet at once, stomping and yelling. Only Cyrus remained seated. He cast a wary eye over the lot of them, lingering for a moment on the nervous, deathly pale interim pastor. With a sore effort, he pushed himself out of the seat and climbed onto it, rising a few feet above the crowd.
“Listen to me!” he yelled as loudly as possible. Most people fell silent. Everyone turned.
“What do you want?” somebody grumbled.
“I want you to understand the situation Pastor Keener is in. You all know what it’s like to be afraid, don’t you? The entire town has felt it for weeks, now. Why can’t he? He’s human, just like you, and he ran, just like you would’ve.”
“But he’s our leader!”
“Leader or not, he doesn’t deserve to be hunted.” Cyrus felt the anger seeping into his voice, his frustration at these people built up over many years. “You don’t deserve for him to risk his life. You may be his congregation, but you aren’t his boss. You don’t even know him, not on a personal level. The pastor can do what he wants. This is his choice.”
“When is he gonna be back?” shouted someone from the crowd, not quite as furious and slightly abated. “Soon?”
“He’ll come back when I catch whoever did this.” Cyrus glared at them all, locking eyes with most people in the room for a split-second as he talked. “The entire town is here in this room. Every possible suspect. I don’t believe that whoever’s killing these people is a stranger. He lives here. He sleeps here. He stands right here in this church daily, just as he is right now.
“One of you, out there, did this. And I promise, I’m going to catch you. I’m going to find you. I’m going to kill you. I don’t care about the consequences. Not the police. Not the townspeople. Me.”
Chapter 19
Therapeutic
Cyrus took a seat at the bar and tapped on the wooden counter. “Drink, please?”
The bartender finished serving his customer and moved over to stand in front of him. Wiping his hands on a rag, he pulled a glass off the shelf behind him. “What’s it be for ya?”
“Give me something strong so I can’t drive, but still can walk home.”
Raising an eyebrow, the haggard man grabbed a bottle from behind him, filled the drink. His eyes darted to the door as the bells chimed, and it swung inwards. “Looks like you may have a friend tonight, after all,” he chuckled, and winked at Cyrus.
“What?” He turned in that direction and saw Ann McBay strutting in his direction from outside.
She wore a low dress with barely any fabric below her waist. Clicking as she went, high heels reached up her calves and a dark red bag hung on her arm. Lipstick so dark it looked almost black and a wide, seductive smile completed her getup.
“Oh, hello Cyrus.” Ann took a seat beside him at the bar. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. Mind if I sit?”
“You already are.”
She grinned, showing teeth that were noticeably whiter than before. “I see you’ve already ordered yours. Let me pay for that, why don’t you?”
“I’d rather you not.” Cyrus took a sip and made no effort to appear friendly. “I didn't think you were a drinker.”
She clicked her nails at the bartender, who poured something unfamiliar into her cup. “I think we’re all drinkers right now,” she commented, swirling a fingernail around the edge of her glass. “You know, you’re pretty brave to call out the killer like that. I was… impressed.” She crossed her legs, making the fabric ride her thighs even higher.
Cyrus kept his eyes on her face. “Thanks.”
She bit her lip with a slight frown. “You don’t think very highly of yourself, do you?”
“Are you a therapist now or a librarian?” His face was expressionless. “Because either way I don’t need you.”
“Do you have to be so rude?”
“Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t be so rude.” He shook his head, looking over her dress. “You don’t understand. I’m not interested in you, or anybody else. I definitely don’t want somebody who dresses like that.”
“All men like this.” She raised an eyebrow. “It’s instincts.”
“Guess I’m made differently then, if that could even be true.” He took a deep draft from his alcohol. “I don’t come here to meet women. I come to remember one.”
“Ophelia?”
He turned back to face the bar, giving her the side of his stubbled face. “How do you know?”
“Word gets around.” She swiveled to face the same way, resting her elbows on the bar, neither of them glancing at the other. “I’m sorry. About her.”
“Me too.”
“I never heard exactly what happened. I know you guys moved away after… Sorry.”
“It’s fine. It happened. No use pretending.” Cyrus shrugged. He motioned for the bartender, who brought him another beer. “Keep ‘em coming.”
“It’s alright to be upset, you know. Most people don’t go through losing a wife. Or a kid. Especially so close together.”
“I deal with being upset by drinking.” He took a large swig of the fresh one in front of him. “And I don’t care what you think about it.”
“You’re never gonna forget the fire, or what happened after it. You can’t drown it with… this.” Her eyes glazed over with sadness, a far-off expression.
“You’re much more attractive when you aren’t trying to be. And I’m not trying to forget it.” He set down his drink. “Hopefully, one of these days, I’ll drink myself into a coma and never wake up. Just as soon as I catch this son of a bitch.”
She shrugged, and took a small sip of her own. “No need to curse. Then again, you’re a bit more rude when you drink. Not sure how that’s possible.”
“Used to be worse.” He tapped his fingers on the counter rapidly, wanting to jump up and run away, do something active, get the adrenaline out of his body. Keeping it inside felt just like the stinging from whiskey— terrible and wonderful at the same time. “I’m not as addicted a I used to be.”
“That’s what every addict says. Just wait until it hurts you, until you feel pain because of it. Then you’ll give it up. When you hit rock bottom.”
He glared at her. “I live on rock bottom. And trust me, it’s hurt me plenty times before.”
“Fine, then.” She propped an elbow on the table and supported her head with it, keeping one eye trained on him loosely. “You wanna tell me why you’re so shook up about this fire? Tons of people lost loved ones in it, but we’ve moved on.”
“I lost my child and my wife. How about that? Good enough reason?”
“Your wife died after, when you-”
“She died because he died.” He closed his eyes for a second, trying to steady his voice as it slurred. “Got that?”
“Sure.”
“When my son died in that fire —when my son burnt alive in that fire— she refused to believe it. She took this one doll, and turned it into him, in a way. It wasn’t the first time she’d done something like that. All she painted, after the fire, was pictures of that doll, and sunsets. It’s all she cared for anymore.” He shook his head, breathing heavily.
“I’m… sorry.”
“Everybody’s sorry, but they can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“Please stop cursing.”
“Why?” he barked. “Why should I? There’s no use to anything. Not really. I’m gonna catch this monster who ruined my life, and then I’m gonna die. That’s all I want. If I can kill him, I won’t have any other purpose.”
“Why are you so certain this guy is the same one who started that fire?”
He growled, clearly irritated by her constant questions. “He left a note.”
“And you’re saying there’s no chance he’s a copycat, just wanting your attention?”
“I can just tell, okay?” He clenched his fist on the countertop. “I know it’s him, or her, or whoever. It’s the same person. I thought I knew who it was, but now I’m back to square one. It doesn’t matter. Without a doubt, it’s the same psychopath.”
“Pareidolia,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“Seeing patterns and connections where none exist.” She shook her head. “It’s what you’re doing. I expected better.”
“Whatever. I’m sick of your librarian, vocabulary show.” Cyrus considered flipping her off, telling her to get away, that their conversation was over, but he resigned himself to a few more minutes. Maybe she’d let something slip that could be useful in his investigation.
“So let’s say it is the same guy, and you do end up killing him. What if you… get caught? Arrested? It’s not legal to go around killing people, no matter how guilty they are.”
He stood up. “I just told you, I have no meaning after that. No reason to live.” Cyrus grabbed the glass on the counter and took one last drink, before slamming it down. Enough was enough. She was too persistent to entertain any longer. “See you around, Ann McBay. Don’t come looking for me.”
She raised a hand to stop him, but lowered it slowly and watched as he left. With a downcast expression, she faced the bar and pulled down the hems of her skirt.
He swung the smudged door open and stepped outside, into the fading light of daytime. His car was only a short walk, about a block away. He shook his head, trying to vanquish any memory of the librarian, or what he’d told her. No matter how they came, memories hurt. Whether it was a thought, or an image, or an illusion.
There was a car parked in front of his, the lights shining directly in his eyes as he approached. In the driver’s seat was a young woman, the same face he’d seen a thousand times. Beside her, in the seat, was a little girl with her dark hair twisted into braids, with a large bow on the top of her head.
She grinned at him, but the woman beside her frowned. As he passed, the little girl rolled down her window and waved at him. “Hi, Cyrus.”
“Get out of my head,” he seethed, clenching his fists.
“Your head?” She chuckled. “You still think this is in your head, Cyrus?”
“Get out of my
head, Ruby! Get out!”
She lowered her eyebrows and a dark shadow sat on her face. “You don’t love me, Daddy. You don’t love me. You never did. But you’ll learn. You’ll appreciate me. What I could’ve been.”
“Get the hell out!”
He raced towards her, thrashing his arms and punching at the air, but fell flat on his face, the sidewalk scraping his nose. When he raised his head, the vehicle had sped away, leaving no trace it ever existed. Just like Ruby.
Chapter 20
Cyrus and the Mistake
*Years Ago*
“Can you bring me the dishes?” Ophelia asked, turning on the hot water and letting it fill up the sink. She grabbed a bottle of soap and unscrewed the lid, as it slid down the inside and into the scalding water. “Honey? Did you hear me?”
She turned around to find him still at the kitchen table. Cyrus was facing the backdoor, staring through the window. Completely dark, pitch black, there wasn’t a whole lot to see. The streetlight out front didn’t reach back here, and there was no source of light in their small backyard.
“What’d you say?” he mumbled.
She set down the dish rag and turned off the water. He didn’t make any movement like he’d noticed. Approaching him slowly, Ophelia leaned her chin against his shoulder, squatting down. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “It’s… nothing.”
“Just tell me, please.” She reached a hand around, rubbing his chest. “You were fine earlier. What happened?”
“I remembered.”
“What do you mean?” She stood up, reaching for the plates on the table. He didn’t stop her.
Cyrus blew a raspberry, leaning back in his chair. “You know what day it is?”
“Tuesday?”
“Well, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean that. Do you know what happened today? Years ago?”
Ophelia dropped the plates into the sink, rubbing the back of her head. “I… No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Ruby?”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “I totally forgot that was today.”
Until We Burn_A Psychological Thriller Page 11
