Dennis continued coughing. The detective lit a cigarette and sent a few puffs his way, making Dennis gag.
“Tell me where Michael Stewart is and you can get all the water you want.”
He swallowed hard and managed to stop coughing. “He’s not in my church.”
“Where is he then?”
“I don’t know where he went after I left my office.”
The detective got up and left for a few minutes, returning with a bottle of water. He twisted the cap and took a big swig. “Cold and thirst quenching.” He shot Dennis another of his cynical smiles. “We can wrap this up real fast and you can have something to drink as well. Now, once more, where did he go after he left your office?”
Dennis licked his dry lips. “I have no idea.”
Another man dressed in a gray suit stuck his head in the door and knocked at the same time. “Excuse me, Detective, but there’s a rabbi here to see the pastor.”
He laughed. “When does the pope arrive?” The detective left the room and shut the door.
Dennis took advantage of his absence. He grabbed the top sheet of paper on top of the file and started reading. A moment later he slumped and covered his face. He wiped his eyes when Rabbi Stedman walked into the room.
“My friend,” the rabbi said. “Why did the police bring you here?”
“How is Michael?”
“He’s fine. But you need to tell him the truth.”
Dennis grimaced. “I have.”
“How did he handle it?”
“He has a lot more things to worry about than me.” He shook his head. “I will plead for God’s mercy.”
“I will plead with you too. But I’m here to help. I have a friend who is skilled in the area of law. He’s in the process of getting an explanation as to why you are here.”
Detective Brady returned, his lips set in a tight line. “You’re free to go, Dennis. If I do find out you’ve helped Michael Stewart in any way that has obstructed the investigation, I’ll bring you up on charges.”
“Have a wonderful holiday, detective,” said Dennis as he walked out into the hallway with Rabbi Stedman.
“Did they hurt you?” the rabbi asked.
“No.”
“Do they know?”
“Yes.”
“How did they find out?”
“I have an idea who told them.”
“Move forward, my friend.” The rabbi patted him on the shoulder. “Come. Let’s go back to the Temple.”
After a hot cup of tea, Michael lay on the couch, wrapping his body with the two black blankets. His curiosity regarding the door behind the bookcase had vanished for the moment, allowing him to sleep for an hour. Refreshed and alert, he paced around the room until heavy footsteps pounding the stairs alerted him to the doorway.
Dennis and the rabbi walked into the room.
Michael nodded toward Dennis. “Are you in trouble?”
Dennis waved him off and turned to the rabbi. “I can’t let you get involved with this now.”
“I can keep him safe if need be,” the rabbi said.
“We may need to open up our passageway in case they come into the church.”
The rabbi nodded. “I’ll prepare this area and make it accessible.”
“Wishing you a peaceful holiday,” the pastor said. “Thank you for your help today. Do you mind if we take the passageway now?”
“Go ahead.”
He led them several feet down another hall and pulled a lever, opening up a stairway leading further into the ground. The rabbi lit a candle and handed it to Pastor Dennis. “God speed.”
The doorway closed behind him as a rush of cold air brushed Michael’s face. The candle flickered several times as the pastor tried to steady it during the first few steps. “Stay close behind me.”
“What’s this used for?” Michael asked.
“It was first used to protect people from religious persecution as more and more immigrants made their way over from Europe. This even dates back to when the Pilgrims arrived. Then it was used in the 1960s to protect minorities against the Ku Klux Klan.”
“I didn’t know there were so many passageways in this town.”
“There’s more underneath the streets. Land owners don’t speak publicly about them, they’re afraid someone will try to use them for other reasons. So mum’s the word.”
They climbed several steps and entered inside the church near the front, not too far from where Dennis spoke at the podium. “Hold on,” the pastor said, investigating the area. “All clear. Let’s go.”
He directed Michael back to his office and quickly locked the door. “Stay quiet. Allison told me the police were already here looking for you.”
“Allison? What has she been talking to you about?”
Dennis furrowed his brow. “She’s a volunteer. We mainly talk about what things she can do to help around here.”
Michael rubbed the top of his head. “I don’t trust her.”
“I thought she was your friend.”
“My wife’s friend.” He skewered Dennis with a dirty look. “I seem to misjudge a lot of people who I thought were friends. Look, I can’t stay here all day.”
“I’ll lock up the church first. We have a candlelight service tomorrow for the children as we prepare for Christmas. The community is also putting on a play and they need to rehearse. Once I lock up, you’re on your own.”
“Should I stay in the basement? Is this where you believe the tunnel will open again?”
“I don’t have the answers. It could happen anywhere from what I’ve read.”
“How will we know where to be?”
“We won’t.”
Michael inhaled and glanced at his reflection in the glass mural located behind the pastor’s desk. He saw more strands of gray creeping out and a small bald spot in the middle of his head. His hair had thinned noticeably and he looked gaunt.
“When was the last time you ate?” Dennis asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. I’ll have Allison bring you something.”
“No. I don’t want her around me.”
The pastor shook his head, frustration clear in his expression. “She’s concerned about you. Whatever your differences are, put them aside now. I’ll leave you the key to my office in case you have to get back here for some reason.”
Dennis left, leaving Michael stranded on the mini-couch in the office. He read through the first part of the black book and struggled to understand the writing. A knock interrupted his concentration. “Who is it?”
“Allison.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Pastor said to bring you something.”
“You eat it. I’m busy here.”
She kicked open the door and brought in a plate piled with a hamburger, a baked potato and string beans. There was a biscuit, steaming hot and already buttered. She handed him a diet root beer.
“What happened to you?” he asked, watching her place the food down with one arm, her other in a sling.
“I don’t want your pity, Michael. Take the food and eat it. Choke on it for all I care.”
She slammed the door and left.
He locked it and pushed the food aside, plunging back into the book while her last phone message played in his mind, distracting his focus. He shook himself back to reading the book. An hour later he heard someone knocking on the door. “Michael, open up, it’s Allison. I’m leaving now so I’ll lock the church from the outside.”
He slid open three locks, noticing a tape recorder sitting in her brown bag. “Just so you know,” she said. “I am worried about my goddaughter. And yes, I do believe you did Vicki wrong when you left her.”
“She asked me to leave.”
“I don’t believe it. She loved you.”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
“I hope for God’s sake you didn’t hurt my goddaughter.”
“Get out or I’ll throw you out.”
“Sure, pick on a woman. You’re good at that.”
Michael sat down and tried to ignore her.
“I hope you find her…and then I hope you drop dead for what you did to Vicki.”
“You need help. You’re bipolar.”
She grinned, much like Judas smiled when Michael saw him after the betrayal. “If you need pillows and blankets they’re located in the secretary’s office in the cabinet to the left of the desk.”
She widened her smile much like Judas did before he hung himself and walked away.
The church lights were shut off and the sound of the doors closing rattled his insides. Michael raced to the basement and sat against the wall, praying for a miracle
.
The wind shook the upstairs windows, creating a wheezing sound.
Elizabeth, I hope you’re with Leah.
Michael occasionally slumped over at a sharp angle on the floor. His back tinged with pain, his neck was stiff, and his bones cracked as he stretched his arms toward the ceiling and moved his hips sideways. He pulled his shirt outside his sweats and zipped up his jacket, covering up a ketchup stain.
He stayed downstairs for most of the day as a group of people rehearsed their Christmas play. When they were done, Michael first listened at the stairway for a moment and fled to the top. The church, illuminated with lit candles, shone in holiness as the children’s smiling faces glowed from their lanterns.
The organ played softly the strains of Silent Night. Dennis was guiding his flock like a maestro in front of an orchestra, singing the lyrics. Michael stood to the side, embarrassed over his wretched appearance. As the song ended, the blare of sirens shook the atmosphere.
The pastor ignored the warning sounds and spoke about the community coming together to bring the spiritual aspect into celebrating Christmas.
“Christmas isn’t about how many expensive gifts we can get, or how many sparkly lights we can place on our trees. Christmas is about helping your neighbor, a friend or relative, and being there for someone when all seems lost and dark. Why not hold the door for the stranger coming out of a store all year long? Shouldn’t Christmas always be in our hearts in July as it is in December?”
His talk was inspiring, poignant and heartfelt. Before he could finish, the sermon was jarred by the opening and slamming of the back doors. Detective Brady and several officers huddled in the back and broke up into three groups, walking down the two sides and the middle aisle. The churchgoers whispered, their voices elevating as they pointed at the officers.
“Children, blow out your candles quickly,” Dennis implored.
The kids obliged, throwing the church into darkness. The crowd quieted as the Detective and the officers brandished bright flashlights, walking to the front.
Michael slipped into the first pew and sat.
“Detective, are you here for the service?” Dennis asked from the podium.
“Continue, Dennis.”
As the flashlights moved from side to side, Michael got up from his pew but tripped, falling into the aisle. Brady gestured to the officers to take him.
“No,” shouted Dennis.
Several people in the first few rows stood and surrounded Michael.
“Step away,” yelled the detective.
More churchgoers abandoned their seats and formed a tight circle around him.
“We’ll arrest all of you if we have to,” Brady said.
“Then you’ll need more cars to take us all away,” shouted Mrs. Farmer, hobbling up the aisle.
By now many had formed a deep wall of humanity protecting him. “Detective, we don’t have enough cars to bring everyone in,” said an officer.
“I know.”
“What would you like us to do?”
Frustrated, the detective made a call and a few minutes later signaled to his officers to go outside. The people clapped and cheered.
“My friends, Merry Christmas,” said Dennis.
Many of the churchgoers remained behind for several minutes, chatting with their friends and family. Michael slid behind a curtain, opened a door and took several steps down into the dark passageway. He could hear muffled voices seeping from above. When the sounds died down, the doors closed.
“You’re safe for now,” said Dennis, returning. “But we’ve got company outside.”
“What company?”
“Television stations.” He looked at Michael with determination. “You’ll need to stay here. I can give you sanctuary.”
“You can do that?”
“I can try.”
They took a quick glance out the window and saw the bright lights from the TV production trucks gleaming into the darkened skies over Northport, the humongous white satellite dishes on top giving it a surreal atmosphere.
“This is getting out of hand,” Dennis said.
“I don’t care. No one is stopping me from finding my daughter. No cop. No detective. No reporter. No one.”
“Your sister Connie called before looking for you. I told her to phone me before she comes over.”
Michael wanted to say thanks but he still wasn’t comfortable renewing a semblance of friendship with the pastor.
The gawkers multiplied by the hour, seeking a chance to wave or pose for the media. Local New York stations fed reports to their national affiliates. Michael, who had been granted religious sanctuary in the church, had his picture splattered across television screens and internet blogs. Even the cheesy entertainment shows started to air on-the-scene updates. Everyone now had a story about what they knew of Michael Stewart and his daughter.
Detective Brady held press conferences in the morning and evening, further feeding the TV audience’s appetite for an arrest.
Michael refused to meet with his brother-in-law, Kevin Holligan, despite Connie’s pleas.
Dennis brought Michael back to his office. “How are you holding up?”
Michael took a seat. “I’ve been better.”
Allison came into the office with her tape recorder. “Pastor, there’s a man named Hewitt Paul upstairs banging on the back door.”
“The former basketball player?” Michael asked.
“He said he’s the lead agent in the New York FBI office for missing persons. He’s demanding to speak to you now.”
“Let me check on this, Michael.” Dennis pulled open his desk drawer. He grabbed a set of keys and left the office.
Allison scowled at Michael. “Why don’t you tell me what really happened to Elizabeth?”
“Leave me alone,” he snapped.
‘You’ve got some nerve. I could –”
He shot back. “Yeah, I know. You’ve made it clear with your phone messages. I don’t care anymore. What happened between me and Vicki is none of your business.”
“She was my best friend. It is my business.”
“We’ve spoken about it, forgiven each other.”
“When was this? I spoke to her an hour before she was in the car accident. She still sounded distraught.”
Michael’s hands clenched and he tightened his lips for a few seconds. “We were having a good day. Until she got into the car with Sammie. You don’t know everything.”
“I know that my best friend was in pain. That I know for sure. And it sure didn’t sound like you guys had reconciled.”
Michael opened the door. “Here’s something for you and your stupid newspaper. I saw Vicki not too long ago. We spoke. We hugged. We told one another we love each other. We’ve forgiven each other. Go ahead and print it. Let’s see what your readers think about your reporting skills.”
“You’ve lost it. They’ll cart you off in a strait jacket in a New York second.” She laughed and turned her tape recorder on. “I have Michael Stewart with me. He’s accused of a crime regarding the disappearance of his daughter, Elizabeth.” She sneered. “Mr. Stewart has told me an interesting story about visiting his dead wife as his daughter has gone missing. Is he sane? Michael?”
She held the microphone in front of his face. “What happened to your daughter? Was she so oppressed at home that she had to run away? Does she know what kind of a dad she has? One that talks to dead people?”
Michael swung at the tape recorder, knocking it to the floor.
“You jerk,” Allison yelled as she struggled to pick it up with one arm. “You’re going to be sorry.”
Michael helped her up and put the recorder inside her bag. Then he escorted her out of the office.
Dennis returned, looking worried. He sat down, sipped from a coffee cup and took the black book from Michael. He began flipping through it.
“What did the FBI guy want?” Michael asked.
He looked up from the book. “He told me the FBI now has jurisdiction in this case. This Hewitt Paul fella is now leading the investigation.”
“So we don’t have to deal with Detective Brady anymore?”
“Let’s hope not.”
“You don’t think we’ve seen the last of him?”
“I don’t know.”
“But it’s good news that at least there’s someone else handling this, right?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They want to take you in as soon as possible. While the detective seems to enjoy the spotlight, holding press conferences, this Paul character is a no-nonsense guy. He doesn’t seem to care for the publicity.”
“I know he was a good basketball player but quit years ago,” Michael said. “I read some of the story when it happened.”
“He quit in the prime of his career because of what happened to his daughter. She was kidnapped for ransom and they never found her.”
Michael nodded, his memory refreshed by Dennis’ recollections. “It was so sad. I didn’t realize this was the work he was involved in now.” Michael paused. “Then I’m just going to have to tell him the truth.”
There was a long, awkward silence as the pastor nervously finished his coffee. “I’ve got to re-read this book again. Maybe I’m missing a hint of where you should be in this church.”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “If it means I have to risk everything then I’ll do it. She’s my life. I not only owe it to her, I owe it to Vicki.”
Dennis nodded. “They’ll use the circumstantial evidence angle. Because the case has gotten so much publicity it means more pressure on these guys to finger someone.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
Dennis looked down. “I’ve read up on some cases. I know all about the justice system.”
Michael shook his head. “I may not be able to hold off justice here.”
“You won’t be able to help your daughter from prison. You need to be here. I’m sure of it.”
Michael sighed. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“We’re all taking this journey with you in some way. Never feel you’re alone.” The pastor poured another cup of coffee. “There’s more. Your brother-in-law is outside with the FBI agent. He’s working with him. Maybe he can help you?”
“He won’t.”
“Why?”
Michael hesitated about discussing his feelings about Kevin with the pastor. He had admired Kevin when he first met him and developed a close friendship during his marriage to Vicki. After her accident their relationship deteriorated. Kevin blamed Michael for letting his wife drive that night.
“Do you want to talk about this, Michael?”
He shook his head. “Not with you.” He pointed to the book. “Let’s keep reading this.”
Dennis closed the book. “I think I should go speak to your brother-in-law.”
Michael held his hand up. “You’ll only make things worse. I don’t need anyone else involved.”
Dennis took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Michael, I know you’re still angry with me and now I can sense the anger you have toward your wife’s family. Forgive us. It will help you heal.”
“I can’t deal with all this forgiveness and healing talk,” he said. “You want to make it up to me? Then help me find my daughter.”
A knock on the door stopped their conversation and Allison walked in. “Connie’s outside asking to come in and see you, Michael.”
Dennis nodded to Allison. “Show her into my office.” He handed Allison the keys to open the door. “I’ll give you and Connie some privacy.” He clutched the old book to his chest. “I’ll be in the dining room if you need something.”
Allison left and Michael asked, “Do you think the FBI will recognize my sanctuary?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that law enforcement officials don’t want to barge into a church to arrest someone around the holidays with the eyes of the world on them. I’m sure their public relations department is advising them to tread carefully on this one.”
Dennis walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. A few minutes later, Connie came in, snowcap on her head, scarf around her neck, wearing blue gloves and a red coat. “It’s freezing out there,” she said. “Do you think we’ll get a white Christmas?”
“You’re not here to talk about the weather.” He squinted at her. “I told you I didn’t want to see Kevin. Why couldn’t you at least do one thing I asked you to do and tell him to stay home.”
Connie sat. “He can help.”
“I’ve got to go,” he said. He dialed the church phone.
“Where are you going?”
“I have an appointment.”
“What about Dad?”
Michael didn’t answer Connie. He finished his phone call and headed out of the office and down the passageway, hurrying to the Temple.