Hewitt stared at the ceiling, looking at more white paper boards with case information on them. He read and stared, never blinking.
Michael Stewart – middle-aged man. Devoted to his wife. Changes and becomes a recluse with his daughter after his wife dies. Closest friend is the pastor. Pastor is friends with him for su
s
picious reasons. Pastor has motivation to silence Michael. What is Michael’s motivation? Churchgoers saw him upset about daug
h
ter’s boyfriend. Motivation there. Michael is a Type-A control freak.
Hewitt sat up and pulled out the side drawer. He grabbed the black book he had taken from the pastor’s office, flipped it open and began to read.
Let me find the reference to the old man the pastor spoke about. Farmer. Where are you, Mr. Farmer?
He flipped through the pages and found it near the back of the book. Hewitt put his finger on the lines and read them over and over again. The passage described how George Farmer appeared from the basement one afternoon, bloodied. “My God, this can’t be real.”
Hewitt turned the pages in disbelief. “No. This can’t be true.” He put the book down at his side, his index finger holding his place, and took a deep breath.
It’s time I suspend reality and think like these fanatics do. I wonder if this Pastor Vincent is still alive.
He read another page.
I heard the terror in the mothers’ screams. I felt powerless, as I had no weapons. I finally got up enough courage to find a rock and throw it at a soldier. It hit him in the head. I raced and picked up the baby. A woman chased me.
I kept running. I stopped until I came upon this small town, unlike any I had seen before. They lived like the Amish. No cars. No electricity. Just candles. The woman who was chasing me caught up and started talking in a language I had never heard b
e
fore. She yanked the baby out of my arms and left.
I ran back to the field and tried to help as many mothers as I could. One soldier speared me. That’s why I have this wound. I know you’re thinking otherwise, but I would never hurt myself. I swear this is what happened.
Hewitt closed the book and put it back in the side drawer, went downstairs and grabbed his coat and keys. His phone buzzed, but he didn’t glance at it. Instead, he walked into the dark living room where his wife had spent her last days with him, sleeping alone. He touched the pillow before going outside to his car.
As he walked toward the car, he read the text and then replied with,
thanks.
Hewitt tucked his gun inside his holster and then flipped a switch on a small tape recorder and slid it in his front shirt pocket. After pulling on his coat, he buttoned it up to the top.
He heard the beep as the car door unlocked when he pressed the button on his key fob. He climbed in, buckled his seatbelt, turned the key in the ignition and backed out of his driveway. He arrived at the psych ward in no time.
“Good evening, miss,” he said, flashing his FBI identification. “I’m here to see a Pastor Vincent Hornichek.”
“This is outside our visiting hours, sir,” the nurse behind the desk said.
“It’s official business.” He walked past her.
“Don’t you need the room number?”
“I already have it.”
Hewitt strode by several doors. He came upon an open door at the end of the hallway and tapped on it. “Pastor Vincent? Pastor Vincent?”
The old man was talking.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Pastor. I didn’t realize you have company, but this should only take a few min … ” Hewitt stopped as he walked in. The pastor was talking to an empty chair. He looked at him.
“Are you Pastor Vincent?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
Hewitt pulled a chair beside the pastor’s bed and sat. “Vincent, I’m Special Agent Hewitt Paul from the FBI.”
“Hello, Hewitt Paul from the FBI. I’m Pastor Vincent from the CBI.”
“CBI?”
“Yes. Haven’t you heard of us?”
Hewitt shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Neither have I.”
Hewitt grinned. “Pastor, I need your help. Do you remember George Farmer? He attended your church.”
“Who is George Farmer?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“Why would you be asking me about someone I don’t know?”
“Then you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Great.
He leaned closer to the pastor. “Let me see if I can help you with your memory.”
“Fine with me,” he said.
“George Farmer attended the Lady by the Bay Church. You were the pastor when something strange happened to George. You wrote it in a black book. George told you this story. Do you remember this?”
“Lady by the Bay. Hmmm. It’s familiar. I believe I officiated at George and his wife’s wedding.”
“Good. Now could you tell me more about him?”
“Sure. He married the actress Sandra Bullock. Lovely ceremony. Too many cameras. I hate those flash cameras. She was a lovely person. Drop dead gorgeous but too much makeup. Lucky man that George. Lucky man.”
Hewitt rubbed his eyes. “I need a new life.”
“Do you think what I have here is a great life?”
Hewitt smiled. “No.”
“Did I help you?” he asked, smiling.
Hewitt stood. “You did. Is there anything I can do before I go?”
“Yes. I could use a glass of water.”
“You got it.”
Hewitt walked back to the front desk. “Pastor Vincent needs a cold glass of water. Where can I find one?”
The woman shook her head. “No. If he starts drinking water before he goes to sleep, we’ll be taking him to the bathroom all night.”
“Excuse me?”
“No water. It’s the rules.”
“Whose rules?” Hewitt asked.
“This is a psychiatric hospital, sir. He can have his water tomorrow morning.”
“Screw this,” said Hewitt, walking away. He went to a vending machine and put a couple of dollars in. Pressing a button, he scooped up a bottle of water and showed it to the woman. “He’s getting his water.”
“You can get him up then when he needs to go to the bathroom.”
Hewitt sped back to the desk. “You can get off your ass and help the man if he needs to go. Or one call to the
New York Times
and I can give them the inside scoop of what’s going on in here. Capiche?”
He didn’t give the nurse a chance to respond as he hurried back to the pastor’s room, uncapped the bottle and handed it to him. Pastor Vincent drank it like a man who had found a fresh spring in a dry desert.
Hewitt gave the pastor his business card. “If anyone gives you a hard time here, call me.” Hewitt pointed to Pastor Vincent’s phone at the side of the bed. “You know how to use it, right?”
“I sure can. But when I do, they tell me to stop and take it away from me. They tell me I’m bothering people with my calls late at night. But I get lonely.”
“Don’t worry about that. I know all about loneliness. You call me.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
“I’m fine.”
“Pastor, I’ll put your bottle here if you need it. If you need help with it, call a nurse. Okay?” He looked for space on top of the dresser. He pushed aside a little box, and a coin fell to the floor. He reached down and picked it up. “This is one odd coin you have here, Pastor.”
“Oh yeah. I’ve had that for a while. It was a gift.”
Hewitt held it up to the light. “Whoa. This is some coin. Who gave it to you?”
“Ah, a woman. Cecilia. Always attended church when I was there. She didn’t have much, but she was always a giving woman.”
“Cecilia?”
The pastor didn’t answer as he had fallen asleep. Hewitt pulled the sheet and blanket over him and left the room.
Cecilia Farmer. Wife of George.
His mind formulated questions he intended on asking.
Where did you get that coin? Did George talk about the importance of the coin? Did he talk about his travels and what he was doing? Did he drink a lot? No. I know I want to b
e
lieve that, but I need to suspend reality at least for a moment.
As he approached the front desk, he noticed a man with a long ponytail, wearing a black leather jacket, heading out the front door. He immediately recognized him.
“What’s Pastor Dennis doing here?” he asked the nurse.
“He was here to see a friend.”
“Who was he seeing?”
“I can’t disclose that information. You should know that. Do you have a warrant?”
Hewitt laughed. “I don’t need a warrant.” He grabbed the sign-in sheet and walked away.
Chained to a wall, Elizabeth struggled to breathe. The stench from the bowels of the Antonia Fortress snaked through her stomach. She recoiled in horror as she saw Leah. Her face was swollen while blood dripped from her nose, and her right eye was barely open from a harsh bruise.
My God. What do I do now? Get us the hell out of here! This is crazy. Someone help me. Now! Dad? Where are you? Why did you have to go back to this terrible place? I was happy with Mom. I was happy. At peace. I want to scream.
“Dad, did you read my note?” Elizabeth thrashed about, pulling and yanking on the chains. “Let me out of here,” she screamed. Her voice echoed down the dark corridor and elicited no response. She took several deep breaths and relaxed her arms.
Get a grip. I’m so mad at Dad. Why won’t he answer me?
“Leah, can you hear me?”
She mumbled a couple of words.
Elizabeth placed her hands on the ground and inched over to Leah on her backside. Leah held up her hands. Elizabeth swatted them away. “Knock it off. Do you think I want to be here? Yochanan told me how you needed help.”
Leah shook her head. “Yochanan is dead. You are dead.”
“Do I look dead?” Elizabeth slapped her on the cheek. “Did you feel that?”
Leah pulled away. Elizabeth slapped her on the other cheek. “Did you feel that?” Leah nodded. “Can a dead person do that?” Leah didn’t answer.
“Let us just say I took a momentary rest from this hellhole.”
They stayed silent for a few moments. “You spoke of Yochanan,” Leah said.
“Yes. I spoke to him. He told me that you were in danger and I needed to help you.”
“How did you speak to him?”
Elizabeth leaned back against the wall and turned sideways to face Leah. “I spoke to him when I was not here anymore. Or I think I did. I do not know. I am not sure of anything right now. Since I have been back, I think I am seeing and hearing people. People from the past. People who are not with us anymore. I can feel their worries and experience their loves.”
“You see him?” Leah asked.
Elizabeth nodded.
“Can you see him now?”
“Not right now. But I saw him after the Romans took us.”
“What did he say?”
Elizabeth hesitated and pulled on the chains again. “These clamps just will not budge. We have to get these off of us.”
Leah edged closer to her. “Tell me. What did Yochanan say?”
She took a deep breath and looked away. “He said he loved you.”
“Look at me,” Leah said.
Elizabeth turned to face her.
“I know he loved me. Did he say anything about what will happen before the next sunset?”
“Only God knows.”
“Then how did he know I was in trouble?”
“God shared it with him. He shared it with me. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion goes through God.”
“What does God look like?”
Elizabeth paused and looked away for a brief moment. She turned back to face Leah. “There’s no face on God. It’s a feeling. A feeling of joy and peace. A feeling when someone is kind to you. A feeling when someone tells you they love you. It sweeps over you like an ocean wave and fills you in a way I do not know how to describe.”
Leah touched her hand and took a deep breath. “What about Michael? Does your father know you left to see me?”
“He knows or I hope he knows.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did not tell him when I left.”
Leah tried to stand. “Why?”
“He did not want me going back to you.”
“You should have obeyed him.”
Elizabeth gave her a look. “Did you think I could stay in that grungy cave with him while your life was in danger? I could not walk away knowing you were in trouble.”
“Your father will be worried.”
“He is used to it. He should have been here by now. I am tired of this awful place. I was happy, you know. I was happy. I saw my mom.”
She stopped talking and glared as a guard walked by. “Hey, moron,” she said.
The guard turned toward her and gave a puzzled look. “What?”
“Moron. Do you know what it means?”
“No.”
“Let me tell you then. It means someone like you is given this job because you do not have the ability to think like your commanders. So they give men like you this job because all you can do is beat up defenseless women and children. That’s you – a moron. I bet you are the biggest moron in this prison.”
The guard opened the door and smacked Elizabeth. Her head bounced into the wall. She laughed and spit at the guard. Some of her blood splattered his face. “Wow, moron, you are so tough. Picking on a woman whose hands are chained to a wall.”
“Elizabeth, stop,” Leah pleaded.
“Go ahead, moron. Hit me again.” She spit again at him.
The guard raised his spear.
“Stop,” shouted a man behind him. “Titus, what are you doing?”
“This woman was being disrespectful, sir.”
“Now is not the time to administer punishment. She will have her time to answer for the crimes committed against the Roman Empire.”
Titus turned and walked away.
“Moron,” Elizabeth shouted.
A commotion distracted Titus and the other soldier. A group of soldiers bellowed and raised their weapons. They ran in different directions. “I wonder what is going on.” Elizabeth said, getting to her feet.
Leah pulled on her arm and shook her head. “Sit, we cannot do anything now.”
Elizabeth could see a group of Romans surrounding a man. His brown hair was streaked with gray, and through his torn clothing, she could see bruises covering his legs and arms. The soldiers opened the cell next to them and placed him in there. One soldier stood guard as the man got to his knees and closed his eyes. He started whispering.
After a few moments, the man groaned, obviously in pain, and sat back against the wall, keeping his eyes closed. Elizabeth struggled and settled down on the other side, near the man’s cell. “Sir, are you all right?”
The man shook his head and reached through the bars to touch her hand. He gestured to the ceiling and put his hands together. “My time is short here. Please pray for me.”