Enter by the Narrow Gate

by David Carlson

  Coffman stopped in the doorway to the chapel room. The bunker was eerily quiet until Father Fortis risked another hop in his chair, throwing him forward at a dangerous angle. If his torso hadn’t landed on the edge of the altar top, he’d have fallen helplessly to the floor.

  “Can you get up?” Sera asked breathlessly.

  “You go ahead. I’ll find a way,” he replied. His clumsiness had sent the heavy golden cross atop the altar onto its side, and Father Fortis found the spine of it near his shackled hands. He grabbed onto it and turned it on its sturdy base for leverage. Pushing down on it with all his strength, he raised himself to a seated position.

  “You whore!” Coffman screamed from the doorway. “You touch her, and I’ll rip your head from your shoulders.”

  The anguish in the voice sent a chill down Father Fortis’s spine. He turned his head to see Coffman, mouth wide open in a scream, hobbling toward them, the detonator raised threateningly in his left hand. The other hand was empty and hung limp, blood flowing from the shoulder to the ground.

  Coffman is wounded. Father Fortis’s joy at the sight was swamped by another thought. Where was Worthy? Had he been shot?

  Coffman stopped five feet in front of the altar and stared at Sera. “Get away from her, you bitch.”

  “Come get me, you bastard,” she yelled.

  Coffman threw the detonator to the ground and charged the policewoman like a bull. His face was contorted with hate as he pulled the knife from the sheath.

  As Coffman flew by the altar, Father Fortis threw himself forward to trip him. The killer started to fall and reached out, catching Father Fortis by the shoulder. The two men fell together, Coffman landing on top of the priest.

  Father Fortis hadn’t let go of the cross as they tumbled to the floor, and he felt it catch hold of something as he ended up on his hands and knees, his forehead smashed to the floor. He hadn’t landed on Coffman, as had been the plan, yet he was still alive.

  That was when he heard the strange gurgling sound. He pushed against Coffman and slowly the man rolled to one side. The cross went with him.

  Father Fortis panted for air, still expecting the knife to come down between his shoulder blades and end his life. He made a feeble sign of the cross with his bound hands, trusting that God would understand.

  But the blow didn’t fall. Instead, he was being turned on his side and lowered gently to the ground. He looked across the floor and found Coffman’s eyes staring blankly back at him, the sharp arm of the cross protruding from where it had impaled his throat as the two tumbled to the floor. Blood spurted spasmodically from the man’s jugular vein and formed a widening pool.

  Behind him, Father Fortis heard Sera scream out Worthy’s name. He looked up to see his friend’s face smiling down on him.

  “Let’s get out of here, Nick,” were the last words he heard before passing out.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  For the next three days, Worthy was just another newspaper reader in New Mexico who drank his morning coffee over the story of the “Bunker Killer,” as Coffman was now called. The first day featured the dramatic account of Sera’s and Father Fortis’s survival as well as a sketchy profile of the man responsible for the ritual murders of Sister Anna and Victor. Buried in the last paragraph was a brief mention of the deaths of Father Bernard and Eladio. In a sidebar piece, Worthy’s own firefight with Coffman in the morada read like a scene out of a bad Western.

  By the second day, when Worthy was wading through the legal forms that marked the end of any case, the newspapers were digging deeper into the story. Millie Coffman, Inspector Choi, and Sergeant Rakich were introduced, though Ellie VanBruskman’s name was blessedly missing. Readers and viewers were also introduced to new terms—“apocalyptic” and “paranoia with religious ideation”—as well as the banter of religious studies experts, psychologists, and Internet scholars. All were trying to answer the central question—who was Porter Coffman, alias Phinehas Zealman?

  For those first few days, St. Mary’s provided little privacy for Worthy and Father Fortis. The monastery found itself again barraged with TV cameras and reporters as the monks processed to their prayers and prepared for Father Bernard’s funeral. An apocryphal story began to circulate of Father Bernard offering confession to both Coffman and Eladio before his execution. Another story described how Father Bernard had died making the sign of the cross with his own blood. On the day of the funeral, Abbot Timothy wisely barred the road to St. Mary’s.

  The third day brought Lieutenant Sera Lacey’s name and picture back onto the front pages. For courage and clear thinking under fire, she would receive a departmental citation. She’ll be offered a position in homicide, Worthy thought as he packed his bags. He hoped, however, that she would work with child protection services for a little while longer.

  Two days later, having said goodbye to Father Fortis at the monastery and after making a final road trip, Worthy showed up at Sera’s office. She was emptying her bookshelves into boxes.

  “So you’re getting a new job. I expected as much. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Chris.” She came around her desk and shook his outstretched hand. “They could be making a big mistake.”

  “No, they’re not. You’re very good.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “From you, that’s really something. I still can’t quite believe you came back for us. Which means I can’t quite believe I’m standing here.” She dropped her hand. “Any hints for a new detective?”

  “Maybe just one. Trust your hunches. It’s not always about logic.”

  She nodded. “I’ll remember that. I know it won’t be easy for you back in Detroit, your not finding Ellie, I mean. When do you leave?”

  “In a few minutes, after one last matter is settled.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s someone waiting outside. May I show her in?”

  Looking puzzled, Sera shrugged.

  Worthy opened the door for the newcomer, then closed it immediately behind her.

  “Sera,” Worthy whispered, “I’d like you to meet Ellie VanBruskman.”

  “What? No! Ellie?”

  Ellie stood nervously, not knowing what to do with her hands. In the end, she folded her arms across her chest.

  “But I thought you were—”

  “Dead,” Ellie finished the sentence.

  Sera threw her arms around the girl. Slowly, Ellie’s arms unfolded and dropped to her side. Sera began to sob and, after a few hesitations, Ellie tentatively hugged the policewoman back.

  “Oh, my God, my God. It’s a miracle,” Sera said, stepping back to look at Ellie.

  “No, it’s just me,” Ellie said, blushing.

  “But when?” Sera asked, looking at Worthy.

  “I found her downstate about a week ago. Ellie was the one who sent me up to Colorado, so she’s really the one who deserves the credit for saving your life.”

  “But where’s she been since then?”

  “I left her there,” Worthy said, looking at Ellie. “And that’s where she was yesterday when I showed up again.”

  “You’re going back to Detroit with Chris, then,” Sera said. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  A smile stole over Ellie’s face.

  “No, she’s not,” Worthy said. “We both think she should stay out here.”

  “But her parents—”

  Worthy interrupted her. “I’ll tell them what I need to tell them. That all the clues led us to Victor, but Victor’s tragic death ended the trail. In three months, Ellie becomes a legal adult. Until then, I need someone here in New Mexico who knows who and where she is. And Ellie needs someone to call in case of trouble. Am I asking too much of a new detective?”

  “For the rest of this week, I’m still in child protection. Ellie, you’ll be my last case. Okay?” She put her arms around the girl’s shoulders. “Where will you be?”

  “Over in Arizona, in Douglas, working with pregnant girls. I’ve put my number on this ca
rd.” She handed Sera a small, handwritten note. “You’ll see that my name is Maria. It really is, by the way. My mother—Ellen VanBruskman, I mean—changed it to Ellie to be like hers. But my real mother named me Maria.”

  “You sure this is okay, Sera?” Worthy asked. “She has her medication, though she hasn’t needed it.”

  “It’s better than okay, Chris. My hunch says it’s the right thing to do.”

  Worthy nodded. “Email me, both of you, okay?”

  Ellie approached Worthy shyly and hugged him. “I will, I promise. Don’t forget to tell Dr. Cartwright I’m okay. And try not to worry.”

  Worthy walked to the door.

  “Chris?” Sera called after him.

  “Yes?

  “Thanks for everything. And good luck with Allyson.”

  Ellie gave Worthy a puzzled look. “Allyson’s a real person?”

  “Sera will explain,” he said. He closed the door behind him. Yes, Allyson was real, somehow more real to him than she’d been for a long time. He walked to the car pondering a new thought. Ever since Susan had called three months ago to tell him their daughter was safe and had returned home, he’d been waiting for Allyson to tell him why she’d run away.

  He started the car and headed for the airport. He’d been asking a detective’s question, and it had been the wrong one. Like Ellie, Allyson might have had a hundred reasons for running away. The question that he’d failed to ask, the question he now saw was the only one that really mattered, was why Allyson had chosen to come home.

  That was a father’s question.

  * * *

  Photo by Leif Carlson

  David Carlson was born in the western suburbs of Chicago and grew up in parsonages in various cities of Illinois. His grade school years were spent in Springfield, Illinois, where the numerous Abraham Lincoln sites initiated his lifelong love of history. His childhood hope was to play professional baseball, a dream that died ignominiously one day in high school.

  He attended Wheaton College (Illinois) where he majored in political science and planned on going to law school. Not sure how to respond to the Vietnam War, he decided to attend seminary for a year to weigh his options. To his surprise, he fell in love with theological thinking—especially theological questioning—and his career plan shifted to college teaching in religious studies. He earned a doctorate at University of Aberdeen, Scotland, where he learned that research is a process of digging and then digging deeper. He believes the same process of digging and digging deeper has helped him in his nonfiction and mystery writing.

  Franklin College, a traditional liberal arts college in central Indiana, has been his home for the past thirty-eight years. David has been particularly attracted to the topics of faith development, Catholic-Orthodox relations, and Muslim-Christian dialogue. In the last thirteen years, however, religious terrorism has become his area of specialty. In 2007, he conducted interviews across the country in monasteries and convents about monastic responses to 9/11 and religious terrorism. The book based on that experience, Peace Be with You: Monastic Wisdom for a Terror-Filled World, was published in 2011 by Thomas Nelson and was selected as one of the Best Books of 2011 in the area of Spiritual Living by Library Journal. He has subsequently written a second book on religious terrorism, Countering Religious Extremism: The Healing Power of Spiritual Friendships, which will be published by New City Press in early 2017.

  Much of his time in the last three years has been spent giving talks as well as being interviewed on radio and TV about ISIS. Nevertheless, he is still able to spend summers in Wisconsin where he enjoys sailing, fishing, kayaking, and restoring an old log cabin.

  His wife, Kathy, is a retired English professor, an award-winning artist, and an excellent editor. Their two sons took parental advice to follow their passions. The older, Leif, is a photographer, and the younger, Marten, is a filmmaker.

  For more information, please visit:

  www.davidccarlson.org.