Breathless by Kathryn J. Bain

machine.”
    â€œI’m on my way,” he said. “Until I get there, don’t answer the door or the phone.”
    A cold sweat came over her. How long had the caller been watching her? Lydia’s back pressed against the wall. Tears fell as she slid down the wall to the floor.
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9
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    Matthew waited until he got home to call Riley about Lydia’s radiator. The voicemail came on so he left a message. Within minutes the sheriff called back. There was only one explanation for the radiator—it had to be the person making the phone calls.
    As Matthew recalled the conversation with Lydia in the sandwich shop, and how well she seemed to read him, his stomach did another flop. How could she be so correct about something that he hadn’t even seen? He did act arrogant when he first arrived. He did all the things she had alleged. Her accusation of him acting as though he was a more devout Christian tore away at his nerves. That hadn’t been his intention, but it had been the outcome.
    How many other things had she’d picked up. Did she notice how on edge he became when talking about her brother? Matthew swallowed hard. He sat down in front of his laptop and ran an internet search on the name “Charlie Westerman.” Several news articles scrolled up. He read through each one. His own name wasn’t mentioned on any. They didn’t even indicate the DEA was involved. They just referred to Charlie’s death as an officer-involved shooting. Good. That left the field wide opened. It could have been anyone.
    He strolled over to the small bay window in his room. The darkened sky held a sprinkle of stars and a sliver of the moon. The light from the boarding house front porch cast a yellow glow around the yard.
    Matthew combed his fingers through his hair. Hollowness gathered inside his body. It was pointless to sleep. He would toss and turn, or worse, dream. It wasn’t until he saw Charlie’s picture on Lydia’s mantle that the nightmares returned. Matthew had almost erased it from his memory. Could that be why God brought him to this small town? Did he need to come to terms with what he’d done years ago in order to become the person God wanted?
    He plopped down on the sofa and flipped on the television. If he got lucky, he’d find something to take his mind off Charlie Westerman lying on that cold pavement. It didn’t work. He still smelled the stale beer and rotted pizza that permeated that hot Miami alleyway. And visions of large, handcuffed men leaning against cars marked with the agency’s emblem. A kid Charlie’s age shouldn't have been here, much less dead. He’d been too young to be involved in that particular drug sting. Matthew never did find out what he’d been doing in the alley with that gang of men.
    He flicked off the set, then pulled out his Bible. Matthew spent the remainder of the night reading, looking for some way to find peace about the shooting of an innocent young man.
    The next morning, James Newman, III sat in the reception area of the church when Matthew arrived. Beside him slouched a younger replica. His son Jimmy, Matthew assumed. Jimmy’s thin face held a few days’ growth of hair. His father probably came with him to ensure he kept his appointment. Unfortunately, force usually hurt more than helped in these types of situations.
    â€œMatthew, how are you today?” James rose and pointed toward the younger man. “This is my son, Jimmy.”
    The younger man’s drug addiction showed with his thin body and bad oral care. Most people didn’t realize how crack cocaine destroyed not only the inner body, but the outer as well. When most addicts died, they had lost the majority of their teeth, and their organs had begun to fail.
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you Jimmy.”
    Matthew extended his hand, but Jimmy only gave a slight nod as he sprawled slouched in the chair. His