“Maybe...maybe you’re going about this all wrong,” I said.

“I’m all ears.”

“What if you’re reading the wrong book? It’s too late to stop the prophecy. What you’re looking for is a way to get Heaven on our side, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“You aren’t going to find answers about Heaven in a book about Hell.”

Jared eyes flitted about for a moment, considering my idea. He didn’t answer, but he acknowledged my words with a nod. I covered his hand with mine, and let him return to his thoughts.

We passed the rocky wall that welcomed us to Woonsocket, and then made our way to St. Ann’s. Yellow tape surrounded the church. The glass from the once exquisitely stained windows had been removed, and the holes that remained were covered with boards and plastic tarp.

Jared parked, and we climbed the steps. He tugged on one set of doors, but they were locked. He tried two others, but they were locked as well. The tarp blew in the summer breeze, flapping against the building. The town seemed otherwise quiet.

Jared turned and noticed a passerby. “Excuse me,” he said. “Is the church closed?”

The man shrugged. “Father Francis has kept it locked. He hadn’t been actin’ right since the explosion.” He walked away.

An explosion. Shax and his minions all but tore the church to shreds during our most recent showdown, and it left St. Ann’s looking like a war zone. Some construction had taken place, but Woonsocket was no longer the booming industrial hub it used to be. The community that had once pulled together to fund the extravagant adornments of their social center with paintings and stained glass was now preoccupied with a recession and modern priorities.

We walked to a side door, and Jared gave it a light tug. It caught again. “I don’t want to leave without speaking to him, and I don’t want to break in,” he said.

“Call him.”

Just as we stepped away, we heard a familiar voice.

“Wait!” Father Francis called, walking briskly from the back of the church. “I’m here, lad!” He slowed to a stop, trying to control his labored breath. “I’m sorry. I was in the back building, praying. It used to be the school, you know.” His face dropped. “I’m ashamed to say I feel safer there, now.”

Jared cupped the priest’s shoulder. “I understand, Father. Some things you can’t un-see.”

Father Francis nodded, and then gestured for us to follow him inside. We walked behind him, waiting patiently for him to climb the steps into the side door of St. Ann’s.

It was cold and drafty. The wooden pews and marble statues were covered with linens. An eerie feeling dwelled within the walls, and I could see why the priest didn’t want to be alone there.