Broken is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  Broken

  Is the

  Grave

  Candle Sutton

  Text copyright © 2019 Candle Sutton

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, incidents, and locations are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to events, places, or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or other – without written permission from the author.

  Cover art courtesy of Stephanie Schneider, graphic designer.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Dedication and Acknowledgments

  A note from the author

  Excerpt from Empty is the Grave

  Prologue

  One

  Also available from Candle Sutton

  Prologue

  The grave beckoned.

  Death pounded the hard, unforgiving asphalt behind James. Labored breathing told him that his pursuer drew closer.

  He pushed his legs to pump faster.

  Loving Hands Mission was only a few blocks away. If he could get there, maybe he’d make it through another day.

  He had to make it another day, had to make things right.

  He skidded around a corner. His feet almost went out from under him.

  The second it took to regain his footing cost him. Dearly.

  Something crashed against his shoulders. Sharp pain zapped through his consciousness as he felt himself falling.

  A glimpse of a bat.

  Raising his arms, he shielded his head as the wood connected.

  He’d always known it would come to this. Yet somehow, he thought it would happen later, after he’d had a chance to make peace with Bethany. And his kids.

  The pain pulsed. Wave after wave through his broken body.

  Wood flashed across his vision as the bat swung toward him again.

  Another blow.

  Agony! A cry wrenched from his throat as he heard a bone snap.

  His arms couldn’t move, couldn’t ward off the blows that came one after the other.

  At least he’d left that package before they’d found him. It wouldn’t stop this, but it might bring justice.

  Crack!

  The pain was less intense. Justice would be too late to help him.

  Spots darkened the world in front of his eyes. The pain dulled as blackness rushed in.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  The bat clattered against metal as he tossed it into the nearest dumpster.

  Striding purposefully down the alley, he pulled off his gloves, turning them inside out in the process, and stuffed them in his pockets.

  His black pants and shoes hid the evidence of blood spatter that he knew existed.

  When he got home, he’d throw the clothes in the wash.

  And the shoes in the trash. Waste of good shoes, but they had too much evidence on them.

  So much risk for nothing.

  Sure, James was dead. As planned. But he’d given up nothing. The evidence in James’ possession was still missing.

  And he needed that evidence.

  He’d have to find out who the man had spent his time with. If he had any family.

  Someone out there had the evidence. All he had to do was find out who and then he could take care of them.

  Just like he’d taken care of James.

  One

  “Where you been, brother? I was worried about you.”

  Zeke dropped on the bench beside Reuben and held the man’s tired gaze. “No need to worry about me, man. God’s got me.”

  Rubbing a dirty hand over the stubble gracing his jawline, Reuben sighed. “Not safe on these streets. I worry ‘bout people who disappear.”

  It’d only been about a week, but Zeke didn’t point that out. Time passed differently for men like Reuben. “I’m sorry to have worried you. My sister was going through some stuff.”

  Reuben whipped his gaze up. “Didn’t know you got a sister.”

  “I do. Elly was…” He struggled for the right word. Sick? Sort of. Healing a nearly life-ending gunshot wound had taken a lot out of her. But it was her new status as one of the fallen ones that had been the hardest to handle. “Dealing with some things. It took a few days for her to get her head on right, if you know what I mean.”

  Reuben nodded, but Zeke knew the man didn’t have a clue.

  No one outside his family did.

  Not even Zander, who knew their secret and loved Elly, could grasp what she was going through. She was a shadow of the woman she’d once been, all because of the contamination of sin.

  Fallen.

  The word still rang in his mind, echoing in the voice of God.

  Enough. He turned his attention on Reuben. “How have you been?”

  Reuben shrugged. “You know. Same as always.”

  Same as always. Sleeping in alleys during the day, staying vigilant at night, visiting the Loving Hands Mission for meals.

  A man’s scream severed the silence between them.

  Zeke jerked his head around.

  That sounded bad. Where had it come from?

  Arise. God’s voice, clear and loving, whispered in his ear.

  He didn’t even realize he’d stood until Reuben’s bony hand gripped his arm. “Don’t, brother. Ain’t worth gettin’ involved.”

  How could he not help?

  Fear gleamed in Reuben’s dark eyes. Even though the man was only a few years older than Zeke, a tough life had aged him beyond his forty years. White peppered his black curls and lines marred his forehead. Bags sagged beneath his eyes, which looked more pronounced as they silently begged Zeke to stay.

  “Someone needs help. I have to try.”

  Reuben’s hand fell away. His lips pressed together, but he said nothing.

  Zeke placed his hand on Reuben’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s okay, man. God’s on my side. But maybe you could call the police and get them out here?”

  Reuben nodded, shuffling toward the Loving Hands building.

  Good. Now about that scream…

  Zeke looked to heaven. Which way, Lord?

  The alley.

  Zeke crossed the street and approached the alley God had indicated. Empty. He went down it anyway.

  At the back of the alley, it intersected another alley.

  Left.

  He turned left.

  And almost tripped over the body.

  Bile backed up his throat as he stared at the bloody mess in front of him.

  He forced it back and dropped to his knees beside the man. In spite of the swelling and blood, Zeke recognized him. James Summers.

  While not a regular at Loving Hands, the man had dropped in on more than one occasion.

  Blood matted James’ brown hair to his scalp. Both eyes were swollen, his lower lip was split, and several nasty looking gashes zig-zagged his face. Part of his skull looked misshapen, as though the bones had
shattered, but it was hard to tell beneath the hair and blood.

  Bones poked through the skin on James’ right arm and leg.

  No doubt there was a lot more damage where Zeke couldn’t see.

  Oh, Lord. He struggled to form a coherent prayer. Is he alive?

  No. The single word resounded in his eardrums.

  Zeke stared at James. The man’s chest was still, proving God’s message to be true.

  How could people do this to one another?

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  “Zeke?”

  Zeke jerked at the sound of Zander’s voice. He’d been so deep in prayer that he hadn’t even heard the unmarked car pull up.

  As Zander approached the bench, Morgan, Zander’s partner, crossed the street and headed for the alley.

  Trying to push all thoughts of battered bodies and blood from his mind, Zeke focused on Zander. “I wondered if you’d get called to this.”

  Zander dropped on the bench beside him. “You heard what happened?”

  “I found him.” Even as the images flooded him, his mind rebelled at them. “His name is James Summers.”

  Zander leaned in. “You know him?”

  “Not well. He’d only recently started coming around and even then, he was sporadic.”

  “You must’ve gotten to him too late to heal him.” Zander’s tone was low, not that anyone was around to hear.

  “Healing is Elly’s gift, not mine.” Thinking he and his siblings shared the same gifts was a common misconception among the people who learned the truth about them.

  Zander blinked. “So what’s yours?”

  “Teaching. And understanding languages I don’t know.” He studied Zander’s face. Pale, a thin sheen of sweat. Bags hung beneath eyes that looked sunken. His hands seemed somewhat twitchy, too. “How’s the battle going?”

  Zander whipped his head around, probably checking for listening ears, before narrowing his eyes on Zeke. “Fine. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring this up while I’m working.”

  Naturally.

  But Zander had chosen to come to him, Josiah, and Elly for help battling his alcoholism. He had a duty to ask and hold him accountable.

  Not to mention that Zander’s interest in his sister made Zander’s problems his concern. “I’m praying for you, man.”

  Zander released a measured breath. “Thanks. I didn’t know how much I relied on…” he looked around again, “…it, until I stopped. Sometimes it’s all I can think about.”

  “It’s only been two days. Give it time.”

  Zander pulled out a recorder, notepad, and pen. “So, about our vic.”

  Yes, that was the point, wasn’t it? “I didn’t know James well. Rumor had it that he’d just gotten out of prison, although he never talked about it.”

  Not surprising. Why would he want to advertise that fact?

  “I can look that up. Walk me through finding the body.”

  “I was sitting here, talking to one of the guys, and we heard him scream. I knew even before God told me that it was bad. It sounded awful.” The sound still echoed in his ears. “I headed for the sound and God showed me the way. He was dead when I got there.”

  “Did you see anyone else around?”

  The blood-streaked face haunted his memories. “No. Just James. I didn’t touch anything, not even him.”

  “That’s good. Did he ever mention any problems with anyone? Did you see anyone threatening him?”

  Zeke ran through the last few weeks. “Not that I noticed. He usually ate alone. I talked to him a few times and about all I can tell you is that he was very antagonistic toward the gospel.”

  Pain stabbed his heart. Had James changed at the end? Had he turned to God before his life bled out on the asphalt?

  He could only hope so.

  “What about friends? Who did he spend his time with?”

  “I didn’t…” Wait. What about that one guy who’d been talking to James just last week? “Now that I think about it, there was this one guy. He and James were talking and James didn’t look too happy to see him. I can’t say for certain that the man threatened him, but I wouldn’t call them friends.”

  In fact, they’d looked more like enemies. Both had been tense, the man had scowled, James had pulled back.

  “Don’t suppose you heard what they said?”

  Zeke shook his head. “I don’t eavesdrop.”

  “Maybe God can tell you?” Zander sounded like he was only half-kidding.

  “It doesn’t–”

  “Work that way. I know.” Zander sighed. “This guy, you know who he is?”

  “I’ve never seen him before. His jeans were new and his shirt clean. I don’t think he’s homeless.”

  “Maybe someone James knew from prison?”

  “Maybe.” Although if so, he’d done pretty well for himself since getting out. “He was a white guy, probably late twenties, tall, muscular, with a shaved head.”

  “How tall? Six foot?”

  “Probably close to it. Taller than us.” Zeke caught sight of Morgan crossing the street. “Maybe about Morgan’s height.”

  “What’s my height?” Morgan stopped a few feet away.

  “A possible suspect.” Zander glanced up from his notes. “Think you could describe him to a sketch artist?”

  “Sure.” The man’s image locked vividly in his mind. “He had a bit of a superior air to him, too. Like he thought he was better than James.”

  Not that such a thing was uncommon. In his experience, a lot of people thought they were better than the homeless.

  “The 911 call came in anonymously.” Morgan studied Zeke. “Did you call it in?”

  Zeke shook his head. “A friend of mine did. We both heard the scream and I had him call while I went to check it out.”

  With exaggerated movements, Morgan looked around. “And where is this friend?”

  “Knowing him, anywhere but here. He didn’t want to get involved.” Not to mention that Reuben had a problem with authority figures. Why, Zeke wasn’t sure, but Reuben avoided anyone in a formal position of authority. “But he didn’t see or hear anything other than what I told you.”

  “We still like to talk to everyone involved.” Zander leaned his elbow on the back of the bench. “Sometimes people know something they don’t realize.”

  “He normally comes around at meal time. I’ll talk to him.” It might not do any good, but he’d at least try.

  “Thanks. We appreciate it.” Zander rose from the bench. “Come on by the station when you get a chance and we’ll have you write up your statement and work on that sketch.”

  “Sure thing.” Maybe he could even convince Reuben to go with him. “Catch you later.”

  Zander fell into step beside Morgan as they crossed the street, headed back to the crime scene, no doubt.

  As they disappeared from sight, Zeke pushed himself up.

  He should get inside. Lunch prep would be in full swing and they could always use an extra set of hands.

  Hauling the door open, he stepped into the air conditioned interior.

  Aimee looked up from her seat at the reception desk.

  Crazy how much she looked like her dad. She had Mark’s square jawline, broad grin, and kind blue eyes. Plastic rimmed glasses slid down her nose and her cheeks had a robust rosy glow.

  “Hi, Zeke.” She stood, an envelope in her hand.

  “Hey, Aimee. How is everything?”

  “Good. We’ve missed you around here.”

  “Family stuff. You know how it is.”

  She winked. “Do I ever. Between Dad, Mom, and my sister, it’s a wonder I even have a life.”

  “You’ve got it easy. Being the baby and all.”

  She laughed. “Meg would tell you that, but don’t believe her. She thinks just because she’s the oldest, she gets to boss me around.”

  “Speaking of Meg, I should get in the kitchen and give her a hand.” Meg ran the kitchen, while Mark and Antonia, his wife, over
saw the clothing distribution and housing.

  “Probably. You know how she gets.” Aimee extended the paper. “But this was left for you.”

  Unusual. He approached the desk. “By whom?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t see. I went to the bathroom and when I came back, it was sitting right here.”

  Dirt smudged the envelope, which felt empty. His name was scrawled in barely legible writing across the front.

  He slid his finger beneath the flap, ripping the envelope where the glue refused to give.

  Inside, a piece of lined notebook paper was folded in thirds. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

  Zeke. His name, written in pencil, was scribbled above the top line. Beneath it, a few words jumbled together. South Bay Gym. Sixty-seven. Bethany will know.

  That was it? He turned the page over. Nothing on the back.

  Lord?

  James. God’s voice whispered the word into his ear.

  The note was from James? That answered one mystery, but what about the rest?

  God was strangely silent.

  Okay, well maybe God wanted him to follow up on this himself. He stuffed the note back in the envelope, folded both, and tucked them in his pocket.

  “Something good?” Aimee stared at him with open curiosity.

  “Cryptic.”

  Some things are not meant for everyone.

  God’s voice silenced his own.

  Even as Aimee hung on his word, waiting for him to continue, he knew he had to keep the contents of the letter close. He smiled at Aimee. “Thanks for hanging onto this for me.”

  Disappointment shafted across her face. “No problem.”

  He strode down the hallway and toward the kitchen, replaying the note in his mind.

  South Bay Gym should be easy enough to find. But what did sixty-seven mean? Who was Bethany and what would she know?

  After lunch, he’d head to the gym. Maybe all his questions would be answered there.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Bethany Summers wheeled the vacuum back to its designated spot and exited the janitor’s closet. She stretched out the kinks in her lower back.

  Ugh. That took a lot longer than it should have. If the mess was any indicator, last night’s gala had gone well.