“Does this guy think he’s punishing people for their sins or something?” Mitchell asks back at the office, where we are having a late lunch with Dad.
I unwrap my Italian hero from Matty’s Sub Shop and take a large bite as I contemplate Mitchell’s question. It feels right that this person connected to the church is trying to rid the world of what he deems to be the worst sinners. I slowly nod my head.
“One point for Junior,” Dad says, making me laugh and nearly choke on my food.
“Hey,” Mitchell whines. “I’m used to Piper taking jabs at me, but now you’re doing it, too?”
Dad winks at me as he bites into his roast beef and Swiss. Is he picking on Mitchell in an attempt to stop me from doing it? Beating me to the punch? I’m not really liking the role reversal where I feel the need to referee.
“How was Jez when you checked on her?” I ask Dad, trying to change the topic all together.
“Fine. She’s such a sweet dog. Not like Max. He can be such a terror.”
Max is the only dog I’ve encountered who isn’t happy with my abilities because I always know when he’s up to no good.
“I feel bad that I’m away so much. She must get so bored.”
“You can always drop her off at my place,” Dad says. “She might teach Max how to behave.”
“Or Max might ruin Jezebel,” Mitchell says.
“Not possible. Jez is a good girl.” I really lucked out with her. And I don’t sense that she misses her former owner either. She’s just as happy with me as I am with her.
Mitchell finishes his sub and balls up the paper it was wrapped in. “Alright, back to this case. We have three missing women, and Piper believes the next victim will be a man. So, do we check out the list of church members?”
Dad reaches for a piece of paper to the right of his laptop. “There’s no official list of members. But I did find programs from different performances the church has put on, so it lists quite a few people, especially those in the church choir.” He hands the paper to me.
I put my sandwich down, wipe my hands on a napkin, and take a deep breath before taking it from him. Then I close my eyes and focus on clearing my mind. Once I’m satisfied, I open my eyes and begin scanning the list. Usually a name jumps out at me. It either looks bold or bigger than the others, and that’s how I know it’s the one I’m looking for. But as I scan the list, nothing is sticking out to me. I slowly read each name in my head, hoping that will trigger something, but I’m left with one conclusion.
“The person we’re looking for isn’t on this.” I put the paper down. “I have to be missing something. We were at that church. I should have sensed something.”
Dad places his hand on my shoulder. “Pumpkin, we’ve talked about this. You can’t put so much pressure on yourself. Mitchell and I are working this case, too. It’s not all on you.”
Except Mitchell and Dad don’t have my abilities. They can only question people and look for clues. I have to see what they can’t. Otherwise, I’m not a help to them at all.
“Stop it,” Mitchell says, giving me a judgmental stare. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”
I pick up a pen on my desk and begin turning it end over end in my hand, mostly to avoid having to look at Mitchell.
“Let’s go back to the basics and look at our clues,” Dad says.
I don’t want to rehash what we already know. I want to have a vision. One that will actually lead me to the killer.
“Whoa.” I sit back in my desk chair and drop the pen.
“What is it?” Mitchell leans forward in the seat across from me. “Did you see something?”
“I just thought of the guy as a killer again, and the thought felt like a definite truth.”
“Are you saying Maggie and Carmen are dead?” Dad asks.
I let the question float around in my mind before answering. “Yes. And Sky, too. They’re all dead.” My breathing increases. These people are dead because I couldn’t solve this case in time. Every person I fail to save stays with me. I never forget them. I see their faces in my sleep. I’m thankful I’m not a medium, because I’d probably see their spirits around me all the time, angry with me for not saving them, asking me why I spent my time having family dinners when I should have been out searching for them. I push the chair away from my desk and stand up.
“I shouldn’t be sitting around. I need to get back to that church and figure out who is doing this. I can’t let him take anyone else. I can’t let anyone else die because of—”
Mitchell is around my desk with his hands gripping my arms before I can finish. He looks deep into my eyes. “None of this is because of you. Do you hear me?” His tone is forceful. “None of it. Without you, we wouldn’t know the killer was connected to the church. Without you, we wouldn’t have picked up on the forbidden fruit clues. Without you, we’d be sitting here twiddling our thumbs.”
“He’s right, pumpkin. We can’t save everyone. It’s the sad truth. We’re human. We do our best, but we lose a lot of good people in the process.” Dad’s on his feet now, too.
“I have to do something. I need to go to that church and sit in every pew if I have to until I get a read on this guy.” Since the next service isn’t until Sunday, this is my only option. I can’t sit around for days as the body count continues to pile up.
“Then let’s go,” Mitchell says.
Dad nods. “I’ll go with you.”
Pastor Evans is in a meeting when we arrive, so we head to the fellowship hall. The room is big with red carpeting and a high ceiling. Sitting in every pew is going to take a while, so I decide to get right to it and not waste any time. I choose the first one on my right. Dad and Mitchell walk up the aisle. I’m not sure what they’re looking for, but I understand neither wants to stand around with their hands in their pockets while I do my thing.
I give each spot a few seconds before sliding to the next. I make sure to touch everything with my right hand, which becomes unpleasant when I spot something on the seat that could either be a dried food particle or something a young kid dug out of their nose. I get as close to it as I dare but don’t touch it. Where is the cleaning crew?
It takes me two hours to touch everything in the room, and my fingertips feel numb from running my hand over all the surfaces. I open and close my fingers a few times to work out the kinks in my joints, and then I sigh so loudly both Dad and Mitchell look up at me.
“I don’t understand it. I know he’s part of this church, but I can’t sense him anywhere.”
Mitchell looks up at the podium. “What if you aren’t sensing him in the pews because he doesn’t sit there.”
Ding, ding, ding!
“He doesn’t,” I say.
“Wait.” Dad walks over to me. “Are you saying you think Pastor Evans is the killer?”
“Only one way to find out.” I step up to the podium and look out across the hall, imagining how Pastor Evans sees his constituents in this room at every service. Dad and Mitchell flank my sides.
“We’re right here,” Mitchell says, sensing my hesitation.
It’s not that I’m overly religious, but if the killer turns out to be the head of the church... What will that do to this town?
I slowly raise my right hand and place it on top of the podium.
Pastor Evans looks out at the crowd seated before him. “So many sins and they don’t even realize it. Or they don’t care. Why do they think coming here every Sunday makes up for how they live their lives the other six days of the week? Don’t they hear my sermons? Don’t they know God is always watching them? I don’t know how else to get through to them. As much as I hate to do this, it’s the only way.”
When the vision ends, I nearly fall over, but Mitchell is there to steady me on my feet.
“What is it? Did you see the killer?”
Goose bumps cover my arms and legs under my clothing, despite the heat being cranked in the church. “I heard his thoughts.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I was him in the vision.”
“The killer?” Mitchell asks.
It seemed that way, but I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want it to be true. Still, I know what I have to do. I have to confront Pastor Evans. I have to tell him about my psychic abilities and what I just saw. And then I need to read him, even if it’s by force.