I rooted around for the Pepto-Bismol, Roy’s painting never leaving my mind.

The key.

The key was in his head.

I was right. Roy was hiding something. Maybe he hadn’t realized he was hiding it. Now he knew.

Something had occurred to him while we were on the elevator—something that had made him react by clamping onto the wall.

Then the painting.

The key.

He wasn’t ready to talk about the key yet. That was obvious. But he had asked me to share with him the names of the therapists I’d found who practiced guided hypnosis.

He was ready to pursue something.

Maybe.

I had to go to work tomorrow. Would Roy be there? He didn’t always come into the office.

So I’d go to him. I set my alarm for an hour earlier.

Tomorrow morning, I was going to Roy’s.

I was going to help him find the key.

36

Roy

Elevator.

The elevator.

How had I forgotten so much?

How?

Easy. I’d forgotten because I’d had to live with what I’d seen. What I’d encountered. What I could never unsee.

Not unless I shoved it into a locked chest in the farthest part of my mind.

I’d done it.

All this time, I knew it was there, but I never allowed myself to see it. So many years had passed that I almost convinced myself it was my imagination. Just a horrible image that I’d once created.

After all, I was an artist.

A creator.

Creations weren’t always beautiful. Sometimes they were vicious. Sometimes they were ugly.

Sometimes they were from the depths of hell.

The elevator.

The goddamned elevator.

James.

James Earl Jones.

Reid’s contacts named James.

Named Jim.

Jim.

Father Jim.

Why did I abhor Father Jim? Father Jim wasn’t one of those pedophilic priests the church protected. Father Jim had never touched me or my brothers. Or my sister, as far as I knew.

He’d baptized all of us, given us our first communion.

In return, Derek Wolfe had kept his parish alive with massive donations.

Donations to a church, to the nearby convent, to their food pantry and their shelters.

Derek Wolfe, who hadn’t given two shits about the hungry and the homeless.

Why?

Why?

Why?

The key.

The key.

I had the key now.

All I had to do was insert it into the lock, turn it, and…

Find the truth.

The truth I’d been hiding.

The truth that had fucked with my mind for so damned long.

Was I ready?

Even if I was ready, would it help the current situation?

It might.

It might not.

But one thing was certain.

It could help me.

I could finally be free of what plagued me. What was always there, in the back of my brain, fucking with me.

Fear cloaked me.