Authors: Jevenna Willow
But he was right. She should’ve kept up
the lie until death took her from this world.
In that one single second, Sara knew she’d
lost everything deemed valuable to her by finally telling someone the truth. Never
again would she be such a fool.
“I guess I will gather my things then.
You won’t have to deal with this—or me—any longer.” She made to do just that
while barely able to hold herself upright on violently trembling limbs.
Christian moved forward, his hand snaked
out, and he stopped her exit, probably done before he lost the chance to say exactly
what was on his mind.
“No. You came here with nothing. You
will leave with nothing.”
Her eyes turned to his. Was this true?
He meant for her to leave with nothing?
“I want you out of my house within the
next ten seconds. I find that my hospitality has run dry. I don’t care where
you go. I don’t care where you land up. I don’t even care if you fall off the
face of the earth into the darkening pits of Hell. But I do want you out of my
sight within the next ten seconds. Is that understood?”
Sara yanked her arm free. “Understood
perfectly,
Reverend
Mohr. I wouldn’t want to outstay my welcome.”
She took a deep breath, gathered her
trembling body in the resemblance of holding it together, and with head held
high staggered from the room. She’d been hurt before. This wouldn’t be the last
time. But hurt this badly?
She would not allow Christian to see the
violent trembling barely contained as she walked to the front door without any
material possessions in hand. She wouldn’t let him see her tears as she turned
the cold handle, opening the wood. She couldn’t let him see the anguish in her
heart, as that heart was breaking in two and her feet crossed the threshold,
gaining access to an even colder, crueler world.
Sara Ruby closed Reverend Mohr’s front
door, walked off the front step of his home, and never looked back.
Chapter
Eighteen
“Reverend Mohr? Can you spare a moment
of your time?”
Christian glanced up from his work and
found Chief Berken standing before him. He stood, rounded his desk, and shook
the man’s hand.
“For you? Any moment you could ever
desire.”
The chief nodded but seemed lost in
thought. His hat was firmly grasped in his fingertips—nervous behavior, to a
certain degree.
Christian offered the chief a cup of coffee.
“No. I, well, what I have come to ask
you, Reverend Mohr . . . I might as well just come out and ask it.”
This confused Christian. Ceril Berken
only called him Reverend Mohr when something terrible was about to happen. He
offered the man a seat opposite his at the desk, instead of that coffee. Chief
Berken found the offer to rest more than generous. He slumped onto the plush
cushion as Christian again sat down in his chair.
“Well?” Christian started.
The chief looked him dead in the eyes.
“It’s about Sara Ruby.”
Though his heart felt a huge jolt,
Christian had to clear his throat. “What about her?”
“Any idea where she might be hiding, Reverend?”
Christian pushed from his desk. He had
to look away to be able to speak it. “Um, no. You’re more than aware I sent her
away five months ago. And more than aware I have no idea where she might be
living.”
In fact, he hadn’t seen Sara Ruby in five
agonizingly nightmarish months. He hadn’t heard about her, hadn’t been asked
about her until today, and hadn’t once spoken her name aloud. His conscience
however was an entirely different matter; screamed her name inside his head until
hoarse.
“Care to tell me why she hasn’t
contacted you?” Chief Berken prodded.
“No.” Christian told the man. “I do
not.”
The chief nodded. “Well, if that’s the
case—”
“What is this beating around the bush really
about, Chief?” Christian demanded.
Chief Berken cleared his throat. He
seemed uncomfortable seated in his chair, fidgeting about and swinging his hat
back and forth. “I got the strangest phone call this morning—a woman caller, it
was. She knew how to get past any caller ID we have in place, and she wouldn’t
give her name, but clearly told me she was responsible for Beale’s death, and
was going to turn herself in . . . yet not before she spoke to you.”
The chief waited for Christian’s
response to this.
Unfortunately, Christian had no
response. He was too numb to comprehend Sara wanting to turn herself in . . . after
all this time.
“This person, whoever it was . . . ,” he
asked.
“Is going to be in a whole hell of a lot
of trouble, Christian,” the chief told him.
“And if she doesn’t come forward?”
“We’ll find her. We have all our bases
covered.”
Christian nodded. He understood the chief
perfectly. Once Sara came back to Preacher’s Bend to talk to him, stepped foot
over county lines, she would be arrested for the demise of his wife before any
talk ever took place.
“And you think this caller was Sara
Ruby?” he questioned, making it sound implausible.
“It would make perfect sense to her
sudden disappearance out of your home.”
Christian had to hide his thoughts
toward this. He knew why she left. He’d kicked her out of his house and out his
life with nothing to her name. No clothes, no money, no home, and certainly no
future.
He’d gone with the chief to Sara’s
apartment about three weeks later. The place a crisp mess, he should have put
more thought to the consequences of not allowing Sara to take any clothes with
her. But he’d been angry beyond coherent thought.
When Berken and Christian stepped into
the charred remains of Sara’s life, the only visible item undamaged had been
the bowl he’d unwittingly given her. Covered in soot, it was still on the table
near her door.
He’d taken it. It was now inside his
home, locked away—until such a time he could actually face up to what he’d done.
Not only what he’d done to Sara, but what he did to his own conscience. She’d
needed forgiveness. He, in turn, showed her the fury of Hell.
“What do you really want me to say, Ceril?”
Chief Berken looked him dead to rites.
“Is there something you know, something about why Sara Ruby left town so
suddenly, that you and I haven’t discussed?”
Christian couldn’t quite muster up the
courage to glare at his friend.
“If there is, I wouldn’t be capable of
telling you, and you know this.”
“You’re not a priest, Reverend Mohr.
What is said to you has to be told to the authorities, unless of course married
to the woman, then it’s a whole other ball of wax that I don’t want to dip my
fingers into today.”
This made Christian as mad as ever could
be. “I may not be a priest, or married to Ms. Ruby, but I am still acting as an
agent of God. And as such, what any of my flock might tell me in the strictest
of confidence will not be told—even to you.”
“So what you’re saying is that it will
take a court order to open up your mouth and spill her whereabouts?”
Christian’s brows rose. “Seriously?”
Chief Berken pulled the sealed envelope
from his pocket. “Seriously . . . Reverend.”
He handed Christian the unopened letter.
Mohr yanked it from the man’s hands,
ripping open the envelope. He unfolded the paper, and glared at the chief once
he’d read the words through the blur of his fury.
“What the hell is the meaning of this?”
came out much too forcibly for real peace of mind.
“It is a court order to state we have
the right to search your home, and when we catch her, for you to tell us and a
judge what you might know about any evidence or confession to an open-case crime,
Reverend Mohr.”
Damnit!
Christian hated the fact Chief Berken
would not keep this visit cordial. “And if I know nothing?” he questioned
firmly.
The cocked left brow of Chief Berken’s
stated this as being a lie if ever heard.
Christian tossed the letter onto his
desk in disgust. “Why are you doing this, Ceril?” He had thought the chief as a
good friend—until now.
“She needs to go to jail, Mohr.”
“Why?” Christian probed, clenching his
jaw.
“You really need me to state the reason aloud?”
Christian nodded his head. “Yes. I
really need you to state the reason aloud.”
“She killed your wife. Isn’t that enough
of a reason to arrest her?”
“I forgave whoever killed Beale—a long
time ago. Why must it be brought up again? Besides, it was an accident; reckless
and thoughtless, but an accident nonetheless. You made out the accident report
yourself.”
“Thoughtless and reckless, yes, but for a
man still affected by it, and you still able to claim it as an accident upon
the strange disappearance of one Sara Ruby, I would then have to ask how you
know this as still to be fact.”
Christian stood and looked down at his
long-time friend judging both he and Sara falsely. Chief Berken was trying to
trip him up.
“I know this as fact by how it feels in
my heart. Had it not been an accident, I would’ve been the first one to push
for justice. I would have been the first in line demanding an arrest made.
However, because an accident, and because you of all people confirmed it on
written evidence, I have let it go.”
“Have you?” Berken asked. “It seems to
me you might not have let it go as you say.”
“Oh?”
“You’re hiding something, Christian. A
court order will tell me what that is.”
“Are you trying to say you were wrong?
You’d made out a false report?”
“Perhaps I am admitting to only being
wrong on judging our friendship,” the chief replied.
“All I’m hearing is that you think I
know who may have accidently killed my wife.” Christian had to check his fury
over his friendship being questioned. “My God, Ceril. Are you willing to ruin
our friendship over something that happened almost nine years ago?” he warned
the man.
“Are you?” the chief ruled harsher
still, standing up to face Christian across his desk.
“I guess I am.”
“Then I will see you in court once she
turns herself in. Or once we find her before that happens.”
“Well, then . . . I guess this is how it
will have to be,” Christian smarted.
Before the chief left the room he added,
“And don’t do anything stupid, Reverend.”
“Such as?” Christian asked, hating the
way he was taking his anger out on an innocent man who was only doing his job.
“Such as, warning the woman we’re close,
or marrying her so you can’t testify against her.”
“Bloody Hell, Chief! I would have to
know where she is . . . even to marry her.” Christian was losing his grip on
any checked fury.
“You’re in a Church, Reverend,” Berken
stated, as if Mohr unaware.
Christian slammed his fist onto his
desk, rattling a coffee cup half-filled and a jar of pens next to the cup. “I
know exactly where I am and exactly how I feel about this. And if you don’t
like my saying Bloody Hell while inside my own damn Church, then perhaps I
should not be here at all!”
“Jesus Christ, Mohr! I did not come here
today to fight with you. I came here to warn you of what is going to happen,
whether you want it to happen or not. One’s remorse and guilt has a way of
catching up with want and need, and sooner or later she is going to turn
herself in. And sooner or later justice will prevail.”
Christian made a hasty glance down at
the court order that covered his desk. “No. You came here to hand me a piece of
shit-scribed paper that says I am to confess aloud whatever a member of my
church states to me in the strictest confidence.”
“Yes, that too.”
“Fuck you, Ceril!” Again his fist hit
the desk. “Fuck you to Hell. Better still, fuck all of you. And since I can’t
seem to control my fury, or my tongue, I might as well tell everyone in this
fucking town that I know you’re having an affair and are about to leave your
wife to whomever cares listening to such a tale.”
The chief’s face paled, as did
Christian’s. Because, unfortunately, as these heated thoughts slipped out as spoken
venom Harriet Thorn stepped through his open door . . . and heard every single
one of them.
“Reverend Mohr and Chief Berken! What is
the ungodly meaning of such disrespect?” she demanded.
Christian’s fury, from that moment
forward, could not be contained. “Chief Berken handed me a court order to
tattle on one of my flock.” He even pointed a finger at his friend.
“And that gave you the right to attack
the man while inside a Church? The very house of God?” Mrs. Thorn asked, livid
and shaking.
Christian took a deep breath, tried to
calm down, but failed miserably to all intents and purposes that any calming down
was not going to happen in his immediate future.
“No. That gave me the right to quit!” he
told both.
“Quit?” both startled members of his church
blurted out. Their eyes had grown wide, as well.
“Yes. Quit! As of this moment, I am no
longer your Reverend.” He opened his desk, pulled out his Bible, and set his
hand atop the worn cover. “As God is my witness . . .” He paused, drawing
strength from what had always been his solid rock. “—I will not be coerced into
committing an even bigger sin than those already done, by forced into
confessing what I may or may not know of Beale’s death and/or to the accident
which caused it.”
When done, he grabbed his Bible and
walked out, leaving a stunned Chief and town matriarch to clean up the sudden
disaster left in their care.