“Good luck,” Nora said. “I’ll call you if I find anything.”

Cyrus left her in the house and headed out on foot. He walked slowly, carefully eying every house he passed. What was he looking for? Something told him he’d know it when he saw it. And something else told him he’d already seen it.

But what was it?

Butterflies. Butterfly poem. Butterfly dome. Butterfly sticker.

Maybe the woman Cyrus was doing kink with had a butterfly tattoo. He knew a whole lotta girls who had butterflies inked on their backs or ankles. He’d even picked one girl up at an Usher concert who had a butterfly tattoo on her upper chest so that the little butterfly’s head was at her throat, the wings on her cleavage.

Of course while he was remembering fucking the butterfly girl, Sister Margaret called him back.

“Sister,” he said. “Thanks for calling me. I know this is terrible to talk about, but I’d like to hear the recording of Father Ike’s message to you. Would you let me do that?”

She took a deep breath. “If you think it’ll help. Let me call you back on our landline, and I’ll play it over the phone. Would that work?”

“That would work fine. I’m out on the street, though. I’ll text you in a couple minutes and you can call me then.”

Cyrus jogged back to the house on Annunciation Street. This time he found Nora in the bedroom going through the dresser drawers.

“No luck,” she said. “And I turned this place upside-down. You?”

“Sister Margaret’s gonna let us listen to the message. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Cyrus sent the Sister a text. A few seconds later, his phone rang. Cyrus put it on speaker and set it on top of the dresser.

“Ready,” he told Sister Margaret.

“All right,” she said. Her voice was hollow. “I’ll push play and hold it up. Here we go.”

A beep, and then a male voice: “Maggie.”

Nora reached out and grabbed Cyrus by the forearm. He knew how she felt.

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do,” the voice said, “but I’d be sorrier if I didn’t do it. I can’t do this. Anyway. Forgive me. Pray for me, Margaret.”

It was one thing to hear the words repeated by Katherine, another thing to hear the words from Father Ike’s own mouth. His voice was surprisingly strong and steady, a man who had made a decision and there was no going back from it.

“That’s it,” Sister Margaret said. “Did you need to hear it again?”

“No,” Cyrus said. Nora still had him by the forearm. She looked paler than usual. “I got it. Thank you. I’m sorry to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. I was already upset. Goodnight.”

She hung up.

“Well?” Nora said. “That’s it then.”

Was it? Cyrus pulled his reporters’ notebook from his pocket and flipped back.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Cyrus read out loud. He looked up. “That’s what Katherine told me. But that’s not what Ike said. He said, ‘I can’t do this.’ Pause. ‘Anyway…’”