by D. C. Gomez
“Wait. I have something for you.” He pulled a rosary and a small bottle of water from his pocket.
“Were you expecting me?” How had he known I was coming today?
“I knew you would eventually come. It never hurts to be prepared.” He handed me the items and smiled. “They’re already blessed. You might not believe it yet, but there is a reason for you to be here. Don’t lose yourself trying to figure it out.”
“Thank you, Father.” I didn’t know what else to say. I tried to get up again, but he held my hand.
“How about a real confession now?”
I dropped my head in defeat. I had thought I was going to get out of this without too much soul-searching. I was so wrong.
It took me a while to get started, but once I did, I couldn’t stop. Father Francis listened without questions or judgment. Ten minutes later, I was finally out of the confessional. Confessions were painful, but I felt lighter after they were done. It was the first time I had spoken about the accident to another human being; talking to Death was not the same thing. The shame and horror of it had been destroying my soul. I felt better. A small peace was creeping inside of me.
The souls were gone; only a few people were sitting in pews at the front of the church. I walked over to one of the closest pews in the back and knelt for my penance. Father Francis had given me ten Hail Marys and told me to pray for the souls in purgatory. For the first time in my life, it actually made sense to do that.
Someone sat next to me. I felt her more than anything, since I had my head bowed down.
“Please help the lost people. What those people are doing is not right. Nobody deserves to be destroyed.” It was the voice of the lady in green at the confessional.
By the time I looked up, she was gone. Why couldn’t people just tell me what was going on? Maybe God could send me a text or an email. I didn’t take hints very well.
I took another deep breath and went back to praying; at least I could manage that much. My day was pretty packed, but I hadn’t been to Mass in a while. I decided to stay for the daily Mass. Unlike a weekend Mass, the daily Masses took only thirty minutes, but you still received communion. At the rate I was going, I would need all the divine help I could find.
Father Francis left the confessional and walked to the end of the aisle. For weekday Masses, he started his procession inside the sanctuary by the last rows of pews. The Mass had only seven people in attendance, and I was one of them. Father Francis walked slowly up to the front, singing a hymn. He smiled at me as he walked. I was sure by his look that he was praying for my soul.
Chapter 18
Daily Masses were probably my favorite. Maybe it was the small crowd or just the speed of Mass. Either way, I felt better. I didn’t have any clues besides knowing that Saint Edward’s wasn’t the entrance the witches were using, and I could see dead people. The last part I wouldn’t mind forgetting. I still had Bartholomew’s list, so I decided to check out a few more places. Downtown was not very big, but it was closer to start from Saint Edward’s than Reapers. Bartholomew had provided some suggestions. He recommended I start at Randy Sam’s. At this hour most of their clients would be out—typical shelter policy.
Randy Sam’s exterior looked like a metal warehouse. From Bartholomew’s info, I knew they housed about a hundred people. They took men and women but no children. The Salvation Army was the place for families with kids. I had taken for granted the number of homeless people each community truly had. The shelters were always located in some remote part of town. The themes across America appeared to be, We care for the afflicted just as long as they’re not next door to us.
The drive from Saint Edward’s to Randy Sam’s took less than four minutes. The downtown traffic at this hour consisted of people either heading to one of the hospitals or the court system. It was almost like New York City’s financial district at the southern tip of the island. On the weekend the place was a ghost town. Few shops were open at this time. It was a shame because the downtown was so quaint. I’d dreamed of living down there when I’d first arrived. I just couldn’t afford it.
According to Bartholomew’s notes, Randy Sam’s should have been deserted at this hour. He was sadly mistaken. The place was packed. I parked in their visitors’ lot, in front of the building. I had passed the building hundreds of times, but I had never been inside. I wasn’t sure why; when I’d first moved to town, I slept in the Whale. Maybe I was as elitist as those I criticized. But I would need to postpone that reflection for another time. It was Wednesday, and we were running out of time.
I locked Bumblebee and walked to the main entrance. A small reception area was set up outside the sleeping area. According to Bartholomew, a lot of the staff there were mainly unpaid volunteers. That was also the case with the outreach and most of the centers in town. A lot of people donated their time and money. Maybe I was a cynic.
A cute blonde in her late teens sat at the reception desk. She had curly hair, almost like Shirley Temple’s. She’d probably gotten teased a lot growing up. Nobody should be that cute at that age.
“Hi. How can I help out?” The blonde even had a childlike voice. That was a little freaky.
“Hi. I was looking for a friend of mine and was wondering if maybe you’ve seen him. I haven’t seen him in a few days.” That was partly true; I was still looking for Bob. Technically that was not a lie, unless you asked my godmother. Another reason I avoided lying was that my godmother was a walking lie detector. It was a waste of time lying to her.
“What’s your friend’s name?” The blonde pulled out a ledger with at least fifty names.
“Bob. I don’t know his last name.” I sounded so lame. As soon as I found Bob, this name thing was getting corrected.
“Bob? Not Robert? Just Bob? I don’t have any Bob on the records. Maybe if you had a last name.” I was sure she was trying to be helpful, but her tone infuriated me.
“Yeah, sorry, we just met. Would it be possible for me to look around?”
“Sorry, I can’t let you. Not our policy to let strangers walk around. We have to protect our clients’ privacy. Especially now.”
It had been worth a try, but I hadn’t thought she would agree.
“What do you mean?”
“The director has decided to let the clients stay in the center all day. It seems a couple of the regular clients have not returned, and some of the others are restless.” She looked over her shoulder, concerned. She looked as if something or someone was ready to jump at her.
“Have you seen anything strange around here?”
“That’s the thing. Nobody has seen anything. It’s been business as usual, so I have no idea what’s going on. But I’m only a volunteer. I’m a social-work student at A&M.” Only in the South did people volunteer that much personal information to total strangers.
“Thanks anyways. Do you mind if I just walk around outside? Maybe I’ll see my friend there.”
The blonde looked around, concerned, probably not sure if that was part of the policy. “OK, but please don’t look creepy. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Thanks. I won’t wander long.” For an unpaid volunteer, she was sure worried about getting fired.
I left the blonde, with her Shirley Temple haircut, at the desk and walked the perimeter of the building. The back of Randy Sam’s looked like a combination exercise yard and picnic area. Unfortunately, the chain-link fence around it gave it a prison look. I wasn’t sure whether they were trying to keep the clients in or the nuts out. Either way, it looked pretty intense. I made it to the end of the building, but nobody made eye contact with me. The clients knew people were being kidnapped, and they were not taking any chances.
“Hey, girlie, over here.” Across the street stood a brunette in her late twenties or maybe early thirties. It was hard to say; she looked as if she’d had a rough life.
She waved me over, trying to be discreet. She was standing by a tree, looking more suspicious than anything. I wasn�
�t sure if I should explain the concept of camouflage to her. What did I have to lose at this point in the day? I was batting zero on my investigation, so I crossed the street.
“Hi there. Can I help you?” What else was I supposed to say? What’s up, shady lady by the tree?
“I heard you. They took my boyfriend, so they probably took your friend, too. This place is haunted. I’m going to find him. He’s all I got. I’m probably next, and so are you for asking questions.” I thought I spoke fast, but this lady beat me. I wasn’t sure when she took a breath, but everything was coming out at once. She started crying out of the blue.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. Do you know who took your boyfriend?” I wanted to hug her, but I was afraid I would spook her even more.
“Those biker bitches. They started coming at night, offering food and shelter to anyone who would work for them. A few guys went, but they never came back. After that, nobody wanted to go, and people started going missing. My boyfriend followed them, looking for his friend, and he never came back.” The last sentence was hard to follow because she was crying so hard.
“Did he tell you where he was going?” Maybe she knew something more. I had heard this version before. Don’t ask questions was the theme.
“Not really. He just said to wait for him by the bridge for Mass.” The girl looked over her shoulder and panicked. “I have to go.”
The little blonde was standing by the side of the building looking at us. Great. Now she was going to report me for disturbing the guest.
“Wait, please. Let me give you my number. If you find anything out, please let me know. I want to help.” I scrambled through my pockets to find something to write on. I had a light denim jacket. In the pockets I found a stack of business cards. They were actually mine, which was weird. I glanced quickly at the number and handed one to the girl. She pocketed it and left without a word.
The blonde was still watching me, so I waved. She turned around and probably went back to her desk to report me. I was sure I was getting banned. Oh well, another dead end unless the little girl called me.
I glanced at the stack of business cards in my hand. Black paper with white letters, all in italics that simply said, Isis Black, Reapers Incorporated and my phone number. Three little lines, and I was official. When did that crazy cat have time to make me business cards? I wasn’t sure which one was sneakier, Constantine or Bartholomew.
I decided to head back to Bumblebee. If the tires on that baby got slashed, Constantine would have my hide. I was pretty sure he liked me, but I had a horrible feeling that he loved the car more. I tried to walk quickly back without looking too suspicious. It wasn’t as if I were talking to shady characters by street corners—that wasn’t suspicious at all. The front desk was empty, thank the Lord. I didn’t need Little Blondie to give me any more stares. I was feeling guilty already.
I pulled Bumblebee out of the parking lot and headed toward the library. I wasn’t planning to leave the car, in case any more drive-by slashers came my way. There was something off about Randy Sam’s, and I just wanted to watch. Of course, it wasn’t as if I were blending in, in a yellow Camaro.
I parked near the front of the library, close enough to see the shelter.
After an hour of watching, I was bored to death. I changed Constantine’s Sirius channels at least ten times. I played with every button in the car that I could find. My stomach grumbled. My supershake had worn off, and I was actually hungry. I blamed Constantine’s horrible exercise routine. I was not used to all this work.
My phone rang, and I almost jumped out of my skin. Nobody ever called me besides my godmother, but that was only on Sundays. I fumbled in my pockets, looking for the infernal device.
“Hello.” The caller ID read Reapers. I was nervous and wasn’t sure what to expect.
“Did you find your lunch?”
I shook my head. Constantine didn’t believe in introductions or preliminaries. “Hi, Constantine. Now, what are you talking about? What lunch?”
“Woman, did you not check the backseat? What kind of soldier are you? There could have been a bomb back there, and you would be gone.”
Why was he so dramatic? I leaned between the seats and spotted a little cooler behind the driver’s seat. It was at an odd angle, and I struggled to get it out. Of course, if I got out of the car and opened the back door, it would have been easy. That was too normal, so I struggled instead.
“OK, I got the cooler. What’s in it?”
“Just open the darn thing.” Constantine was not amused.
“After that whole speech about bombs, this could be a trick.” Constantine had a way of making me paranoid.
“Now you want to be careful. Just eat your lunch, and don’t die. Did you find anything?” Constantine waited patiently.
I opened the cooler and found an iced tea, still cold, and a tomato, cheese, and avocado sandwich on a gluten-free bun. I ripped the waxed paper off and took a bite.
“Found nothing good. Oh, wow, this is delicious.” I was so rude talking with my mouth full, but I couldn’t help it. I was starving.
“Yeah, yeah. Bartholomew made it for you before he went to bed. He said you probably would not have time to eat, with all the places on your list. He’s a good kid.” I had a feeling Constantine wasn’t so sure how good I was.
“I’ve got one more place to go before heading back. Do I need to pick up anything?” I could suck up to Constantine as well.
“Are you sucking up to me?”
“Me? Of course not.” Damn, he was good. So not fair.
“Right…just be careful, and don’t harm Bumblebee. Bartholomew is searching for empty lots where they could be hiding the people before the ceremony date.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
Just like that, he hung up. He didn’t say hello or goodbye. We really needed to work on his manners. What did he mean by hiding the people? They were not taking them to the other place right away? This was getting worse by the minute.
Bless Bartholomew; he was my hero. He had even given me an apple. I was planning to finish my lunch before I headed to the Friendship Center. The last thing I needed was to walk in there with my stomach grumbling. I needed info, not food.
Chapter 19
I walked over to the Friendship Center. The place was one block down from Randy Sam’s and across from the library. I knew very little about the center or their mission. According to Bartholomew’s handy little notes, they were more than just a soup kitchen. The center provided training for those who wanted to get back into the job market, as well as after-school programs. I realized I knew very little about Texarkana. The city had a lot of support for people in need, if you knew where to look. I guessed it was the same way in most major cities.
Unfortunately, by the time I got there, the center was closed. Maybe I should have checked them out sooner instead of spying on Randy Sam’s. If the blonde was coming out looking around, I didn’t need for her to call the cops. If people were missing, the last thing I needed was to get locked up for suspicious behavior. She did look more credible than I did. I was the one outside her business asking weird questions.
I crossed the Friendship Center off and decided to head to the Salvation Army.
I admitted to myself, all these places were pretty close to one another. All were within a five-minute drive or a ten- to fifteen-minute walk from the others—a good way to make resources easily available to the needy, or a good way to keep them all segregated to one location. OK, I had no idea where I stood on the matter of the homeless in America. I had a hard time understanding how the greatest nation in this world had this much poverty. I guessed I should add that subject to my list of reflections.
I had never been to the Salvation Army either. I was feeling like a bad member of society. I wasn’t volunteering or aiding people in any way. At the same time, when you were struggling from paycheck to paycheck, it was hard to look out for the needy. If I didn’t die in this case, maybe I could actually help so
mewhere.
The Salvation Army comprised two large buildings sitting at Fourth Street and Hazel. I was pretty sure I had passed it on my way to Randy Sam’s from Saint Ed’s. Maybe Constantine was right and I was losing my touch at paying attention to my surroundings. I had developed tunnel vision and was missing details. I had no idea where I was going, so I tried the first building with open doors. An older man sat behind the reception desk.
“Hi, Miss. How can I help you?” He had a friendly smile and a hint of a southern accent. Anytime I lived in a place for a while, I stopped hearing people’s accents. So his must have been really pronounced for me to notice.
“Good afternoon, sir. I was looking for my friend and wondered if you had seen him. His name is Bob, and he’s about six feet tall and maybe two hundred pounds.” Next time I was getting a picture of Bob. This was ridiculous.
“Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have any Bobs at this time. Weird, it’s such a common name. But things have been weird lately.” He stared at the door pensively. I looked over my shoulder, wondering what I was missing.
“Are you OK, sir?” Why beat around the bush?
“Texarkana is a midpoint. People pass through this town all the time. We normally get people with no place to stay who are heading west to Dallas, leaving Shreveport, or going in any other direction. Lately, nobody new has come in. It’s like people are staying away on purpose. You’re the first new person I’ve seen in two weeks.” He stared at me with deep-brown eyes. He looked worried and a bit scared.
“Has that ever happened before?”
“No. Some of our regulars have stopped coming. Even one of our volunteers quit. He said that something evil was around here.”
“That is really odd. Well I guess I will be leaving.” No reason to stay with the creepy old man at the Salvation Army. “Bye.” It was still the South; you had to be polite.
“Miss, you should check out the Church under the Bridge. They have Masses Saturdays at 9:00 a.m., rain or shine. If you don’t find your friend by then, maybe he goes there. A lot of the homeless take Mass there and have a warm breakfast.”