Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (146 page)

I threw a towel at him and he started laughing.

“All right, I’ll go with.”

“But seriously now,” he whispered, sounding serious. “I’m glad you stepped back from the ledge and evaded the evil clutches of that food monger, Miguel. He’s a fat influence.”

“A what?”

“Did I say
fat
? Sorry, I meant to say FAT!”

He began to have one of his wheezing fits.

“Look, I’m only going if you stop talking this very second.”

“Done,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

Then he pretended to zip his mouth, lock it, and put the key in the back pocket of my jeans.

“Stop touching my ass,” I said. “People will talk.”

“Let them, Abby Craig. Let them talk all they want.”

CHAPTER 24

My heart slams against the inside of my chest like a derailed train against an embankment.

The alley smells of gasoline and blood and death.

The driver stands there across the way, his features lost to the darkness.

Suddenly a light goes on in one of the windows somewhere above, casting a soft glow on the man.

I can’t see his face, but his right arm and chest are illuminated.

I squint hard, and make out something on his hand.

A tattoo.

But the light goes out, and the man is once again swallowed in darkness.

The fingers squeeze around my heart.

Like a noose.

CHAPTER 25

I shuffled down the hall and suddenly froze in mid-step. A large shadow was coming toward me from the direction of the kitchen. I sucked in a breath and held it before finally smiling, realizing that I knew that shadow and its accompanying odor. A small distillery was barreling down toward me.

David.

He stumbled into me, repeating the same line over and over again.

“What are you doing here?”

I guided him to his bed and within in a minute he was out cold.

The clock on the coffee maker read 5:13. I wasn’t going to call Ty or Miguel at that hour and David was in no state to be of any use, even if I could wake him. Which I doubted.

Besides, I was just going to go to the church and have a look around.

I packed my books, quickly threw an apple and a baggie full of chopped carrots into a sack, and drove through the empty, foggy streets. I parked across the way and waited. Even with street lights, it was hard to see through the dark and the thick mist, but that worked both ways.

It would be hard for someone to see me as well.

After a few minutes, Charlie Modine appeared next to me in the passenger’s seat. Between him and David, my heart was getting a real cardio workout this morning.

I knew that a ghost riding shotgun wasn’t exactly what Ty had in mind when he asked me not to chase down the killer by myself, but it would have to do for the moment.

“This is the place, right?” I said after I let out a long sigh. “You said a Catholic church. If not, there’s also St. Francis over on 27
^th
.”

 “No, this is the one. This is where he hangs out. And I think this is about the right time, too.”

I nodded.

St. Matthew’s was a few blocks east of the heart of downtown Bend. It had a brick exterior with stained glass windows on the side and two large wooden doors up at the front. There were about a dozen cement steps up, along with a metal railing.

“So what’s the plan?” Modine said.

“There is no plan. I just want to get a look at him.”

“Well, that’s a beginning.”

“So this guy comes here every day?”

“I can’t say for sure. It’s the only place I’ve seen him. Whenever I try to follow him, I lose him. You would think a ghost could keep up, and it’s not like he’s running away from me. Hell, he doesn’t even know I exist. It’s hard to explain. I just lose him. Every time. So I can’t tell you his name, where he lives or works, or anything else about him. Except he goes to church. And he killed my wife.”

We were quiet after that, the cold seeping in through the rolled-up windows and sucking away the last of the heat. Between my breath, the cigarette smoke, and the fog outside, I wasn’t sure what we were expecting to see. A half hour slid by and the sky began to lighten, but the streets were still mostly deserted.

“You bring the bagels?” Modine said.

“No,” I said. “I hate bagels.”

“Jesus, who hates bagels?”

“Me. They don’t have any taste. What’s the point?”

“That’s just because you’ve never had a real bagel. You can’t find them around here. This is like the wilderness. You gotta go to New York. I know a little place on Second Avenue. Man, I tell you what.”

He licked his lips as a brief smile formed on his mouth.

“We always had them on Sunday. The place was just down the street from our apartment. I’d get up early and bring them back along with some cream cheese. I’d stop and get the paper too and we’d have breakfast in bed all morning. Mister Waffles liked bagels, too. And she liked to knead the newspaper.”

“She?”

“Yeah, it turns out Mister Waffles was a she.” He sighed deeply, letting the air out from one corner of his mouth. “I miss Sundays. You got a guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it serious?”

I nodded.

An old priest wearing a long, black robe opened one of the large doors, pushing all his weight on it and almost tumbling down the stairs. He stood there, looking up at the sky. Modine rolled down the window and flicked out his cigarette angrily.

“How many little boys do you think that old bag of bones mol—” He pointed and lowered his voice. “Wait. Over there. The guy walking. That’s him. That’s the guy, Abby.”

I saw a lone figure coming down the sidewalk out of the fog, moving toward the church. As he approached the entrance, he stopped and looked across the street in the direction of the Jeep.

A moment later he climbed the stairs, passing by the ancient priest, and stepped inside.

CHAPTER 26

“You think he saw us?” I whispered.

“I seriously doubt that. You maybe. There don’t seem to be too many people who see
me
these days. Besides, the most he’d be able to make out from that distance was a boxy SUV in need of a paint job.”

“I’m going in to get a closer look.”

I unbuckled the belt, slid out, and crossed the street.

St. Matthew’s was the church of my childhood. I looked up at the large turrets and the cross barely visible through the lingering fog and fought off the memories as they crowded in all around. I needed to focus. I needed to stay sharp.

The priest said hello as I walked by. I remembered him. His name was Father Grady. He had been here forever. I wondered if he remembered me. It had been a long time.

“Sure is cold,” he said, staring at me and rubbing his face.

“Sure is,” I said over my shoulder.

More memories came back.

The smell of the place, the wood polish, the incense and the candles, the dead flowers. They triggered a wave of sadness that flooded through me like a river after a violent storm. I tried to push them all out of my head as I walked down the center aisle. I tried to just focus on the man up at the front lighting candles and staring at a statue of Jesus. I took a seat, dropping to my knees a moment later.

I used to pray like that. In this place, long ago. The prayers of a child. Unanswered and cast aside.

I wasn’t here for that today.

I had stopped praying in this church the same day my mother’s casket was carried out that door. A part of me was carried away, too. I had been here since for a wedding and two other funerals, but never to ask for help. Those days were gone.

I inhaled the stale air, trying to flush out the memory of that tear-stained day, the ghoulish makeup they had painted on her face, her mouth stiff and lifeless. It was like it wasn’t even her in the coffin on that chilly Wednesday morning.

I forced myself to get back on task. I watched the man. There was no one else around.

He finished lighting his candles and then backed up to a bench in the first row and sat down, bowing his head. I wondered who he was praying for. For the woman he killed or for himself?

After a few moments he stood up, knelt in the aisle as he crossed himself, and turned around. He began walking right toward me. He was wearing faded jeans and an old leather jacket over a Clash T-shirt. His hair was dark and he wore biker boots.

I pushed my hands together and lowered my head, all the while keeping my eyes up for as long as possible. I wanted to memorize his face in case I saw him again. I dropped my head even more as he came closer, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the hollow church.

And then I saw it. On his right hand. A tattoo.

The same exact tattoo I had seen in the vision a few hours ago. Between his knuckles and wrist, three symbols or letters, possibly from a language I didn’t recognize. A series of strange lines.

My mouth dropped open and I stared for a moment too long, my body jolting when I caught his dark eyes on mine. I tried to regain my composure and gave him a tight smile.

The moment seemed to last an eternity. I finally broke away and looked down.

I could hear his steps behind me as a series of shivers shot through me. I stayed there like that even after I heard the door open and close.

***

When I got up and stepped outside, he was gone. I let out a long breath and then saw that Charlie Modine was no longer in the Jeep. Maybe he had followed him.

I hadn’t noticed at first, but Father Grady was still out there.

“Miss,” he said as I started walking down the steps. “Excuse me, miss. Don’t I know you?”

I turned back around and looked up at him.

“Yes, Father. I wasn’t sure you would remember me. It’s been a while. Abby. Abby Craig.”

“Of course I remember you, dear girl. I thought you had moved away. It’s good to see you here again. We always find our way back home.”

He had presided over her funeral. For a long time after, I hated God and I hated him. He tried to explain why she had been taken away, but his words disappeared into the vast emptiness I felt.

“What are you doing out here in the cold?” I said. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Just a few more minutes,” he whispered. “I love the fog. It captures what it is to be human. There’s so much we can’t see. So much we don’t know. We hope and pray that something’s out there. And it is. His light and His love are there waiting for us. You must have faith through the fog, Abby.”

“C’mon, let’s go back in,” I said, grabbing his frail arm.

As I held the door open for him, he turned toward me and smiled. His face was crisscrossed with wrinkles, but what I noticed most were his eyes, kind and caring.

Somewhere beyond all the pain and the grief, I remembered those eyes. I always liked Father Grady. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t explain the unexplainable.

“How have you been getting along these days?” he asked.

“I’m doing fine. Listen, Father, I have to get…”

“Yes, of course. I understand. Stop by anytime. I’m always here.”

I smiled.

It didn’t surprise me that he was still here, even though I had read his obituary in the newspaper years earlier.

CHAPTER 27

All through my classes, I couldn’t get the killer out of my mind.

I couldn’t shake his eyes. There was a dead quality to them just like Modine had said, but they were different than Nathaniel Mortimer’s. They lacked all trace of remorse or guilt, but they were somehow different.

As troubled as I felt, there was something positive that I could take away from the encounter. Charlie Modine had been right. The killer was here in Bend, just like he said. The man inside the church had the same tattoo I had seen in my vision, in the alley next to the car that killed Sarah Modine. I couldn’t write this one off to the power of suggestion. Charlie Modine had never mentioned a tattoo.

It felt good to be able to finally believe him.

At the restaurant that afternoon I had supply room duty. It would be my job to bring ingredients out to the kitchen and fill out orders for next week. After that I would be washing pots and pans. It wasn’t glamorous, but it gave me time to think.

I looked over the list. They needed 50 lobster tails, 10 pounds of scallops, and some salmon. I grabbed a plastic crate and headed to the walk-in refrigerator first. I opened the door, a blast of cold air hitting me in the face. As the motor hummed and shook, spitting out tiny shards of ice, I got busy on the order. Then I heard something in the corner.

A moment later Charlie Modine stepped out from the shadows and the room began to fill with cigarette smoke.

I gave him a tired nod.

“What happened this morning?” he said. “I saw him come out of the church and I waited for you to follow, but you were nowhere.”

I put the crate up on the steel counter and walked over to him, making sure to keep my voice low in case anyone came in.

“He saw me,” I said. “He walked right past me. I couldn’t get up and follow him. It would have been too obvious.”

“You probably spooked him. That could have been our one and only chance. He might be long gone by now.”

Gray energy mixed with the smoke around him as he started pacing back and forth.

“Listen, you need to calm down, Charlie. I didn’t
spook
him. The last thing he was was scared. This is just the beginning. Next time I’ll wait across the street and follow him from there.”

“If there is a next time.” He stared at me for a long moment. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been after this guy for so long and now he’s finally within reach. He’s so close I can almost touch him. I just don’t want him to slip away.”

“I understand, but you’ve got to take a step back. Panicking isn’t going to help anything.”