“The mobile! I can hear the mobile over his crib.”
“Good. Listen to it.”
Kate hummed the melody. She tried to ignore the part of her mind that didn’t understand how she could—clear as day—hear a melody she hadn’t heard in decades. But the more she thought about it, the faster the notes faded, as though taken away from her.
“It’s gone.”
“That’s fine. Try to listen to other noises. Perhaps your father is watching a game in the distance. Or listening to the radio.”
“I hear the floor creaking.” Kate focused on its sounds, half expecting the cadence to follow what she normally heard in her dreams, but it wasn’t the repetitive cycle of creaks she’d associated with the rocking chair in her brother’s bedroom. No. The creaks were uneven. Associated with someone pacing the floor. They weren’t her footsteps. They weren’t coming from behind her or downstairs. The noises echoed from the back of the room, where the window overlooked the street. Then she heard her mom’s soft voice humming the melody of Bobby’s mobile.
“She’s holding him in her arms, pacing the floor next to the window.”
“Good. What else can you sense?”
“I’m not sure, but something feels off. I can sense her fear. Or maybe it’s my fear. I know what happens next.”
“Don’t read into what you’re feeling. Just let yourself experience it, without judgment.”
“No, no!” Kate shook her head. “Something’s off. Really off. I… I can’t…”
The therapist snapped her fingers and brought Kate to the here and now.
* * *
Kate inhaled, counting up to four, then pausing for two, and then counting back to four as she exhaled. She repeated the process several times, until she felt comfortable enough to open her eyes.
“Tell me. What was wrong?” the therapist asked, her inquisitive brown eyes staring at Kate.
At first unable to put words together to explain why it had felt wrong, Kate shook her head. She sat up and glanced at the therapist, then she moved her eyes to Luke, who’d attended the session in the room this time, sitting in a spare chair along the back wall.
“It was all wrong,” Kate said.
“Be more specific,” the therapist prompted.
“If there’s one thing I know it’s what happened that day. For decades, I’ve had recurring nightmares. I see myself talking to my mom that morning, before heading out of the house to play. She rocks Bobby to sleep. I know that moment like the back of my hand.”
“And?”
“And what I saw just now was all wrong!”
“Kate, you strike me as a smart person. There’s no way you wouldn’t be, considering your job. So what I’m about to say should, under no circumstances, be taken like a personal insult or anything like that.”
Kate tilted her head, her curiosity piqued by the teaser. “Go on.”
“You’re probably aware of it as a police officer. Memories are unreliable. Testimonies from visual witnesses can often be proven wrong.”
“Of course. The same event witnessed by ten people will result in ten slightly different stories. I know that. But I was there. I know what I saw.”
“Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. Are you a gambling woman, Kate?” she asked as she put down her pen.
“Can’t say that I am.”
“Well, I like to indulge every now and then. And I’d be willing to bet that your subconscious has been so traumatized by what you witnessed over twenty years ago that it has filled in some of the gaps or replaced some of the painful details with other real memories as a way to ease the pain.”
“What?”
“I’m saying that the recurring nightmare you’ve been having, the one where you see your mother rock your brother in her arms, could very well be a real memory—”
“It is a real memory!”
“Let me finish. A real memory, but from a different time. A different day. I’m sure you could have seen your mother rocking your brother to sleep several times before that fateful day. If you witnessed something odd that particular day, it’s very plausible that your subconscious could have kept those ‘real memories,’” she said with air quotes, “hidden from you. As protection to help you maintain your sanity. As a survival mechanism, if you wish.”
Kate looked at Luke who shrugged, appearing puzzled. She’d taken a few psychology classes over the years. The idea didn’t seem so far-fetched after all.
“Okay. Let’s assume I buy that theory. You’re telling me that, on that fateful morning, I saw my mother acting weird. She wasn’t rocking Bobby to sleep, she was pacing the floor, worried.”
“If that’s what you saw or felt just now, then yes.”
Kate looked down, staring mindlessly at the pattern in the carpet. “That could change everything.”
A bell rang behind the therapist, indicating the end of their session.
“Well, I think it means you’re making great progress. When do you want to meet next?”
“Hmm. It’s tough for me to say. I could get called in anytime. Weekends are probably easier. Do you have time tomorrow?”
“I can fit you in at four o’clock. Would that work?”
After looking at Luke, who was nodding, she confirmed the appointment.
“You’re doing great, Kate. But better come in prepared. We’ll revisit your most painful memory tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sunday, June 24th, 2018
Voicing a silent prayer to her—she’d been on his mind a lot lately—he lit a votive candle. Among all the mistakes she’d made, he knew for a fact that the worst had been suicide.
She’d led a short life. A soiled and spoiled life scattered with sins of every kind.
He could still vividly remember her kneeling in front of their guardian. She had on the mini-skirt and spaghetti-string tank top he hated. The man’s fingers were passed through her blonde hair as he moved her head back and forth. He could still hear the man’s groans. His head had been tilted toward the sky. The guardian and he had never made eye contact that day. He’d simply walked out. Quietly. Stealthily, like he loved doing. It was always the best way to obtain information.
He crossed himself and closed his eyes. The disgusting man got what had been coming to him. He’d seen to that. Too late, perhaps, but he’d righted that wrong. It had taken him a while to work up the strength and willpower to act on it. Not to mention create the plan.
No more would that man take advantage of underage girls like her.
It had been nothing but painful to watch his smart, independent sister turn into… a stupid whore, a party animal, a drug and alcohol addict… And someone who’d go as far as commit the worst sin of all.
Even after all of the counseling he’d given her.
After all of the conversations they’d had. Day and night, he had tried different approaches to make her see the light. To help her right her wrongs. To steer her toward God. To stop her sleeping around, to stop her drug and alcohol habits. He’d even visited her and her horrible boyfriend, showing up unexpectedly to help them. For years, he’d done that.
But it had all been pointless.
Perhaps some souls couldn’t be saved…
He reopened his eyes, as though a new surge of energy had come in from above.
He was in a position to save other young girls with potential. He could ensure they wouldn’t follow in his sister’s footsteps. He would not let them head down a path of sins that would lead them to their unredeemable downfalls. Not if he had a say or could act to save their souls while they were still pure enough.
He turned away from the rows of red votive candles and smiled at various members of the congregation who were slowly but surely dripping through the entrance and finding their seats for mass.
Perhaps it was their physical resemblance to his sister, but he spotted two young women he’d come to know better over the last few weeks. There was Amanda, who’d been gossiping a lot and exh
ibiting too much pride and greed for her own good. And there was also Jessica. She’d confessed to having done drugs and had sex out of marriage with someone inappropriate. With the confessions he’d heard, he had all of the puzzle pieces. It’d only taken him a week to figure out who the someone was: her dad’s best friend—a married man and well-respected member of the community.
Perhaps saving her was more urgent.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dressed in her Sunday best, Kate accompanied Luke’s mom to church. After days of endless interviews with neighbors, friends, and distant relatives, Kate and the rest of the detectives had yet to find a decent lead. But, after another sleepless night, she decided that following her gut and witnessing the fathers in their natural environment could spark a new idea.
Or perhaps enlighten her as to what the religious nature of the murder scene had been all about.
The drive over to St. Alban’s church was done over the incessant jabber of Mrs. O’Brien, who couldn’t get over her excitement at having Kate join her for mass. Nearly a year of begging had taken place, so Kate decided it was easier to let Mrs. O’Brien believe her offer had finally been accepted.
Mrs. O’Brien didn’t need to know the grisly details going around in Kate’s head. But then again, Kate didn’t want to set the wrong expectations. No way she was going to make a habit of this. So she settled for a politically correct statement that would not affect her ongoing investigation.
“Mrs. O’Brien, I’m really doing this for work, so please don’t expect me to join you every week.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get. Work or not. Maybe the words of the good Lord will reach your heart, and you’ll decide to come back for more.”
“Yeah,” Kate said as she parked her Subaru, forcing herself to keep the rest of her thoughts to herself. “Do you know Fathers Miller, Matthews, and Coffedy?”
“Father Coffedy’s been around for decades. Lovely man. Wonderful baritone voice.”
Kate thought back to her meeting with him, and she agreed. He did have a nice tone of voice. “What about Miller and Matthews?” Kate asked.
“Father Miller is a bit sterner. But his health has been declining a lot over the years. He rarely holds mass anymore. In fact, I haven’t seen him in months.”
“And Matthews?” she asked as they turned the corner, the church now appearing in the distance.
“Ah, swell young man. He’s new to town. Too bad we’re not going to mass at the cathedral in the South End. That’s where he is these days. I think you’d like him. He’s quite… hip.”
Kate stopped walking and grabbed Mrs. O’Brien by the elbow. “Would you mind if we headed over there instead?”
“What?” She blinked faster than normal.
“I’d like to attend Father Matthews’ mass.”
“Oh!” Her brows furrowed, then she looked at the watch on her wrist. “By the time we get there, mass will have already started…”
Kate stood firm. “I can leave you here, then come back and get you after. Or you can join me there.”
Mrs. O’Brien appeared to ponder her options. “As long as we’re hearing the words of the Lord, it doesn’t really matter where we go, I guess.”
“Wonderful, I appreciate it very much. Let’s go and see that swell young priest,” Kate said, partly mocking Mrs. O’Brien and partly excited.
What better way to find potential suspects than to go where they congregated?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Thank you for volunteering,” he said, his smile digging small dimples into his clean-shaven cheeks.
Too bad he’s off the market, Jessica Stephenson thought, appreciating his good looks. He stood out among the group of well-dressed parishioners chatting on the front steps of the cathedral.
“Where should we talk about what you’ll need me to do?” she asked.
He frowned for a second. “I’m afraid the office is busy at the moment. We can’t really discuss anything inside. There are always parishioners coming in to pray in silence. I wouldn’t dare invite you to my apartment. Some people could see it as inappropriate. What about your home?” he asked.
“Well…” Jessica thought about it for a second. She trusted the man. It wasn’t as though she was inviting a stranger into her home. He was a man of God, after all. “Yeah, let’s do that. Plus, I could show you some of the photos for the event I was telling you about. We’d do it differently, of course, but it would give you an idea of what I’m thinking.”
He smiled and nodded. “That’s a great idea! But then again, I wouldn’t want to disturb the rest of your family as we chit-chat and plan the event. You live with your father, right?”
“You have a great memory!” She stretched out her hand and patted him on the arm. “Do you know this much about every parishioner?”
“Not everyone, but I do my best to learn a little bit about those I meet. I think caring and getting to know people is the best way to be involved with the community. Don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely. My dad’s working for another”—she lifted her phone up to check the time—“five hours or so.”
“Okay. We shouldn’t need more than an hour or two max.”
“Do you want to start now?”
He bit his lips. “I do have to take care of something first, then I could meet you there in about an hour?”
“Sure.”
“What’s your address?”
Chapter Thirty
Jessica Stephenson was a heavier girl than he’d assumed. She was short and thin, but quite muscular, as he noticed when he began undressing her with his gloved hands.
With efficient moves, he took everything off except for her underwear. He had no desire to see or touch what hid beyond those thin layers of fabric. In fact, he never understood the so-called common but lowly desires men had toward women. Sure, some had beautiful facial features, but the rest? Good thing he’d chosen a path toward God.
Of course, he understood that all creatures, men and women included, had been shaped by God. They were beautiful in that sense, but that didn’t entice him in the least.
Whenever women approached him—and they did more often than he cared for—a single line had always sufficed to push them away: “My heart belongs to Him.”
As he slid the green nightgown he’d lifted from the church’s donation bin, he realized he could save the women that came onto him instead of turning them down.
Maybe…
He lifted her body so the fabric could slip underneath her, then let her be for now. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not with the dose of cleansing solution she’d just ingested. He had a few hours ahead of him to clean up.
He headed down the hall and back to the kitchen to drink the rest of his wine. He found the garbage underneath the sink and thought about dumping the two travel-sized bottles he’d brought with him. He’d learned one thing from Lori’s cleansing, the larger wine bottle wasn’t very discreet. Either getting there or back. But putting two travel-size bottles in his pants was much easier. He put them back in his pockets for now, not wanting their existence to clue anyone in.
The sinner’s father would be home shortly. He didn’t have as much leeway as he’d had with the last soul he’d saved. Time had been on his side then. But now, he had to hurry if he wanted to keep his freedom.
He could dump the small bottles into someone else’s garbage a few blocks away. Nobody would be the wiser for it.
But solving that one problem still left him with dishes to do. Opening the dishwasher, he noted it was nearly full. He popped in the two glasses, found the powder detergent under the sink, filled up the dispenser, and began the cycle with the hottest setting.
“Done,” he said aloud before grabbing a handful of paper towels and a bottle of window cleaner.
Revisiting the living room where they’d sat minutes earlier, he proceeded to wipe every surface he could have touched before donning his gloves. He walked back to the door and wiped the handle a
s well.
Satisfied he’d left no trace there, he headed back to the bedroom to continue his cleaning ritual.
There were no chairs in her bedroom, but he could bless her soul while standing. After retrieving from his pocket a small container he’d filled with his concoction of olive and essential oils he’d consecrated at his private altar, he traced a small cross over her forehead with his gloved finger.
“God, accept this child into Heaven. Let her sit next to you, in your Kingdom. Welcome her with open arms so she can join you and forever rest in peace. Forgive all of her sins for she has already confessed to them. With the following words, I shall cleanse and bless her soul and grant her direct passage to your Kingdom.”
He opened the Bible to the Second Epistle to the Corinthians and began reading aloud:
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, through the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
For as the sufferings of Christ abound to us, even so our comfort also abounds through Christ.
But if we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation.
If we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you the patient enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer.
Our hope for you is steadfast, knowing that, since you are partakers of the sufferings, so also are you of the comfort. For we don’t desire to have you uninformed that we were weighed down exceedingly, beyond our power, so much that we despaired even of life.
Yes, we ourselves have had the sentence of death within ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves, but in God who raises the dead, who delivered us out of so great a death, and does deliver; on whom we have set our hope that he will also still deliver us; you also helping together on our behalf by your supplication; that, for the gift given to us by means of many, thanks may be given by many persons on your behalf.
The Last Amen Page 11