Sanchez was capable of
laughing. I was familiar with the restricted ability. He cleared his throat and
his face fell back into the more comfortable seriousness I was accustomed to.
“As much as I hate to say this
because I don’t advocate taking the law into your hands at any point, I want to
tell you that you did a damn good job tracking down Holston Parker, and I’m
glad that the son of a bitch is dead,” Sanchez added.
“Me, too.” For the first time, I felt my face lighten and my lips part, curling into a
small smile I tried to press down. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t suppress
the relief I felt every time I thought of pulling the trigger.
“Well, I’m glad we can be on the
same page with at least something,” Sanchez said, returning his own thin-lipped
smile before tapping the paper in front of me that I hadn’t looked at yet.
A photocopied letter of the note
Sister Josephine received in the confessional sat in front of me. The words
were scribbled in small, cursive lettering.
Tread carefully, Sister
Josephine. Psalm 116:15 :Precious in the sight of the
LORD is the death of his saints.
The words were verbatim to Delaney’s
email. The letter was printed on a white piece of paper with a torn top. The
sides and bottom were straight and clearly intact.
Sanchez slid another photocopied
sheet next to the first one. It was another letter on the same type of paper
with a torn top, straight sides and bottom.
“This one was found taped near a
side entrance of the church. Sister Josephine’s bike was found on the grass
just ten feet away. Carol was on the other side of the building and never heard
a sound.”
The same handwriting was sprawled
across the note.
Tick-tock goes the clock. Matthew 7: 7-8: Ask, and it will
be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and
it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and
the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.
My eyes scanned through the letter,
reciting the verse from Matthew. “He’s looking for someone. Asking for
something, but what?”
Sanchez slid a third piece of paper
in the row, the final one glaring back at me in the same curved lettering.
I want Evie Parker. You have four days to bring her to me. Or else, tick-tock, you’ll never
find God’s flock.
My chest squeezed my lungs, the air
fighting to come in and out to sustain my life, but my body stopped and so did
the air as I read my name.
So here I was, Evie Parker, a girl that preferred to be unwanted, and I was being hunted. Both by Sanchez and a mysterious man who had taken Sister Josephine
as ransom.
“So that’s why you needed me. You
need me to be bait,” I accused, my eyes following Sanchez’s still outstretched
hand to his uniformed shirt; black, both crisp and clean. I wanted to grab a
fistful of the shirt and pull it toward me, yet I refrained, and instead,
watched him carefully.
“That’s not what I want and that’s
not why I need you -
”
Sanchez started.
“Bullshit and you know it,” I
called, slamming my finger into the sheet.
“I thought you could help?
”
Help. He thought I could help by
exchanging me for Sister Josephine. It was an easy transaction and an easy
decision. Nun for killer. Ask a hundred people and you
would hear the same response. Which would you save? The nun
every time.
“I’ll do it,” I replied. “Let’s do
the exchange. Tomorrow work well for you?”
“ Evie ,”
Sanchez yelled, slamming his open folder shut. “I’m not suggesting that at all.
I’m not giving you up to that bastard. I needed you to know that he’s after you
and that we are going to do everything we can to protect you and to get Sister
Josephine back.”
I bit the inside of my mouth down
hard, glaring back at the window where I hoped Delaney was still standing. I
wondered if she knew about the letter and about the psychopath trying to hunt
me down. To get to me, he killed Father Haskens and
took Sister Josephine. They
laughing. I was familiar with the restricted ability. He cleared his throat and
his face fell back into the more comfortable seriousness I was accustomed to.
“As much as I hate to say this
because I don’t advocate taking the law into your hands at any point, I want to
tell you that you did a damn good job tracking down Holston Parker, and I’m
glad that the son of a bitch is dead,” Sanchez added.
“Me, too.” For the first time, I felt my face lighten and my lips part, curling into a
small smile I tried to press down. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t suppress
the relief I felt every time I thought of pulling the trigger.
“Well, I’m glad we can be on the
same page with at least something,” Sanchez said, returning his own thin-lipped
smile before tapping the paper in front of me that I hadn’t looked at yet.
A photocopied letter of the note
Sister Josephine received in the confessional sat in front of me. The words
were scribbled in small, cursive lettering.
Tread carefully, Sister
Josephine. Psalm 116:15 :Precious in the sight of the
LORD is the death of his saints.
The words were verbatim to Delaney’s
email. The letter was printed on a white piece of paper with a torn top. The
sides and bottom were straight and clearly intact.
Sanchez slid another photocopied
sheet next to the first one. It was another letter on the same type of paper
with a torn top, straight sides and bottom.
“This one was found taped near a
side entrance of the church. Sister Josephine’s bike was found on the grass
just ten feet away. Carol was on the other side of the building and never heard
a sound.”
The same handwriting was sprawled
across the note.
Tick-tock goes the clock. Matthew 7: 7-8: Ask, and it will
be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and
it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and
the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.
My eyes scanned through the letter,
reciting the verse from Matthew. “He’s looking for someone. Asking for
something, but what?”
Sanchez slid a third piece of paper
in the row, the final one glaring back at me in the same curved lettering.
I want Evie Parker. You have four days to bring her to me. Or else, tick-tock, you’ll never
find God’s flock.
My chest squeezed my lungs, the air
fighting to come in and out to sustain my life, but my body stopped and so did
the air as I read my name.
So here I was, Evie Parker, a girl that preferred to be unwanted, and I was being hunted. Both by Sanchez and a mysterious man who had taken Sister Josephine
as ransom.
“So that’s why you needed me. You
need me to be bait,” I accused, my eyes following Sanchez’s still outstretched
hand to his uniformed shirt; black, both crisp and clean. I wanted to grab a
fistful of the shirt and pull it toward me, yet I refrained, and instead,
watched him carefully.
“That’s not what I want and that’s
not why I need you -
”
Sanchez started.
“Bullshit and you know it,” I
called, slamming my finger into the sheet.
“I thought you could help?
”
Help. He thought I could help by
exchanging me for Sister Josephine. It was an easy transaction and an easy
decision. Nun for killer. Ask a hundred people and you
would hear the same response. Which would you save? The nun
every time.
“I’ll do it,” I replied. “Let’s do
the exchange. Tomorrow work well for you?”
“ Evie ,”
Sanchez yelled, slamming his open folder shut. “I’m not suggesting that at all.
I’m not giving you up to that bastard. I needed you to know that he’s after you
and that we are going to do everything we can to protect you and to get Sister
Josephine back.”
I bit the inside of my mouth down
hard, glaring back at the window where I hoped Delaney was still standing. I
wondered if she knew about the letter and about the psychopath trying to hunt
me down. To get to me, he killed Father Haskens and
took Sister Josephine. They
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