“OK. Get hold of his dad. I think he still works nights over in Deerview…and find his mother.”

The deputy nodded and then left.

Duane turned his troubled face back to James.

“Suicide? Why?” James asked.

“I don’t know, Jimmy. I don’t know. It’s a mess in there. The boy was always working me over time. Drunk or drugs, who knows these days. Not the first call I’ve had about him. Out mouthing, showing off, doing stupid stuff.” Duane shrugged. “Like I said, not the same place it was when we were kids. Not by a long shot.” He heaved in a heavy breath and let it out. He turned to go back to the house, but then stopped. “Hey Jimmy, if you got one still left in you, say a prayer.” He turned and walked away.

Bad as he felt, the only prayer James had left in him was the accidental variety. He couldn’t pray for this kid, this town, Duane, or Travis. God simply wasn’t listening to James these days, no matter how grave the situation.

And James wasn’t partial to wasting his breath.

He stood in the frigid outdoors for only-God-knew how long, until he couldn’t feel the end of his nose or the lobes of his ears. Most of the activity had died down. Only on police cruiser remained and most of the crowd had dissipated. Those who were left had formed a tight group, and James could hear them praying to his absentee God. A part of him wanted to join them. A part of him wanted to scream at them so they’d know their pleas were falling on deaf ears. And a part of him cried at the loss of the One who held his heart for so long. Emptiness filled him, followed closely by the bitter, rancid taste of defeat, the soul-sucking silence that used to be filled with love and a passion for life. He couldn’t help anyone. He couldn’t even help himself. There were no words of comfort he could offer, not with that kid’s life snuffed out before the boy really had a chance to live. Who was he to offer platitudes and condolences? He was as drained as rain-parched earth, a desert where everything was withered and dead. That described his heart perfectly, despite its death throes of calling out to his silent God. Bitterness swallowed his anger. It was time to go.

He inched towards his truck but stopped when he reached the teenagers. Ian was among them now, but he just stared at James with contempt and then walked away. The others, somber and speechless eyed him back as if they expected he’d inflict pain or judgment.

He did neither.

6

James opened the door of the old, dilapidated church building and made his way towards the altar. Despite his bitter denial last night, he needed to clear his head. This was the only place he could sort out his thoughts without interruption. He needed to understand, to clarify, to home in on what was happening in this town, with Travis, with Ian and for that matter, with Ian’s friend who had ended his life last night. Drew Abbott. What made the boy give up on his life? What was hidden beneath such despair?