Chapters (25)
Sandy broke into a full run, passing through the dark tunnel that ran beneath the bridge. There, she heard echoes from her past. Everything that had ever frightened her whispered from the damp stone walls: her mother’s cries in childbirth; the rage she’d seen in street fights; her childhood fear of the dark. She ran as the whispers grew louder, but the faster she tried to move, the slower she seemed to go. It was as if she was sinking into her long-forgotten fears, her life slowly ebbing as the symbols of death moved closer.
The vultures flapped their wings. The branches of the dead trees reached out. The door of the hearse creaked open. Sandy tried to scream, but the sound wouldn’t leave her throat. As she sank into the abyss of her fear, she reached out for a nearby bush and grasped at its branches. One of them snapped loudly in her grip, and her eyes suddenly flew open.
Sandy blinked twice, reorienting herself to reality. She didn’t have time to blink again, because she heard the sound of snapping branches once more. That sound wasn’t a dream. It was real, and it was right outside her house.
She scrambled across the bed and reached for the gun beneath her pillow. Chambering a round, she looked out the window. Her outdoor post lantern illuminated a figure in black moving quickly away from her front window. Sandy went to her closet and pulled on a robe, then bounded down the steps and out the front door. Frantically, she looked up and down her quiet street for signs of the would-be intruder.
A few minutes later, a voice called out from behind her. “Are you all right, Sandy?”
She wheeled around, startled, pointing the gun in his direction. When she realized it was one of her neighbors, she lowered the gun and sighed in relief.
“I guess you saw him, too,” her neighbor said.
“You mean the guy in the black suit?”
“Yeah, it looked like he dropped something in the bushes in front of your house. I just happened to be up watching TV and I heard something, so I came outside, but he was gone.”
Sandy held the gun down at her side. Then she went to the bushes and looked around. It took her a few minutes, but she finally found a white sheet of paper. She pulled down the sleeve of her robe, so as not to touch it with her bare hands. Then she picked it up and read it as her neighbor approached and looked over her shoulder.
“Tell Mann to check the confessions,” the note said. “The priest is the tip of the iceberg.”