Amos studied the slim screen. It looked like the one he’d seen in Sister Coleen’s office at the Eden clinic. Was that really only four days ago? He wondered if Sister Coleen could access the Internet, up on the mountain. Edie had explained that the computers on the table were linked into a massive network of buried cables, so Amos wasn’t sure how it would work. Unless the satellite dish allowed them access.

My head hurts. “Okay. So how do you . . . find things?”

“Depends. What do you want to find?”

“How about a phone book?” he asked.

She chuckled. “Okay, so we’re back to that. Who or what are you looking for?”

Amos glanced at Abigail, but she didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them. “It’s a ‘who.’ Her name is Mercy Callahan.”

Edie frowned. “Huh. That name sounds familiar.” She typed Mercy’s name into Google and then sat back with an exhale. “Oh wow. That’s why her name sounded familiar. She’s been in the news. There was a CNN special interview just last week and she was mentioned. It was an intense report.” She cast a worried glance in Abigail’s direction. “Um, you should probably read it to yourself. You can’t watch videos without earphones and they don’t have those here. I don’t have any with me, either. Click that link for a summary of the program.”

“Link?”

Using the mouse, Edie moved the pointer to one of the lines of text. “These are links. Use the button on the mouse to click on it and it’ll open the article. Like this.” She clicked and moved to one side, tilting the screen so that he could read it.

Amos could feel the blood draining from his face. “Dear God,” he whispered. Mercy had been mentioned in a program about a serial killer?

“They caught him,” Edie murmured. “She got away. Only three women did. Most of his victims weren’t so lucky.”

His heart was racing, his hands shaking as he read the article. The man had truly been a serial killer, just like in the movies he’d seen as a teen. Horrified, he read about the man’s victims, their names accompanied by a brief description of who they’d been, along with photos of each woman and the souvenir the killer had kept of her.

So many women. So much death.

But no mention of his Mercy. He got to the bottom of the screen and turned to Edie, who was watching him with pity. “How do I read more?” he asked hoarsely.

“Just scroll down,” she said, showing him how.

“Thank you.” He kept reading, reaching for the mouse when he reached the bottom of the screen once again. He scrolled down and gasped.

Because there she was. In the middle of the page. Mercy. It’s her. She’s not dead.

Older, of course, but still recognizable as his Mercy. She was so thin, her beautiful green eyes dull and flat.

His vision blurring, Amos touched the screen, tracing the lines of her face.