The Wife. BEVERLY BARTONЧитать онлайн книгу.
to Haven Home, you agreed that it was the best thing for me.”
“At the time, it was. But that was then and this is now. I’m completely well. I’m strong and healthy and totally competent.”
He stared at her, a look of uncertainty in his blue eyes.
Eyes identical to his father’s.
“I had a nervous breakdown. I chose to get the help I needed. I did that as much for you as for me. We had just lost Mark, lost your dad, and I knew you needed me. The only way I could be the mother you needed was to get well, completely well.”
“I know all that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you…Well, you totally lost it and spent a year in that place, and some people think you’re still…Gee, Mom, I don’t think you’re crazy or anything. It’s just that Granddad—”
“I understand.” Cathy steeled her nerves. Oh, she understood, all right. J.B. intended to retain legal custody of her son and would do whatever he thought necessary to keep a barrier between Seth and her. The old Cathy wouldn’t have fought back; she would have convinced herself that J.B. knew what was best. Well, that was the old Cathy. The new and improved Cathy would give her father-in-law the fight of his life. “But I’d still like for you to come by this weekend and see the house. And please, invite your grandparents to come with you.”
Seth’s face brightened. “Yeah, sure. That would be great. I know Granddad will eventually let me come over and spend the night.”
Cathy forced a smile and somehow managed to keep it in place for the next hour of Seth’s visit.
J.B. picked Seth up promptly at nine-thirty, but didn’t bother coming to the door. He honked the horn and waited outside. Seth kissed Cathy’s cheek and gave her a hug.
“Tonight was great,” he told her. “I’ll see you this weekend.”
She stood in the doorway and watched him get in the car with his grandfather. When J.B. glanced her way and nodded, she lifted her hand, waved and plastered an ear-to-ear grin across her face.
Just as the red taillights on J.B.’s Lincoln disappeared around the corner at the end of the block, Lorie came up beside Cathy.
“J.B.’s being a real bastard about Seth,” Lorie said.
“Yes, he is.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to call in the morning and make an appointment with Elliott Floyd. I believe it’s time I hired a lawyer.”
When Father Brian parked his Honda Civic, he noted that his was the only vehicle in the small paved lot adjacent to the park entrance. On several trips to Dunmore during the past couple of years, he had passed by Spring Creek Park, but he had never stopped and checked it out. The entrance was well lit, as the entire park seemed to be, with pole lights placed strategically throughout the acreage. After closing the car door, he took in a deep, steadying breath and instantly caught the scent of damp earth. He closed his eyes for a peaceful moment and inhaled that glorious smell left behind after a good, soaking rain.
He sighed, opened his eyes and checked his lighted digital wristwatch. Ten fifty-seven.
She should be here soon, if she showed up at all.
Please, God, let her come to me so that I can help her.
Although it was late May and the daytime temperatures ranged from the high seventies to the low eighties, the nights were still often quite chilly. Feeling the cool breeze whipping through the trees, he was glad he had worn his jacket.
The stone archway that led into the park appeared to be quite old. No doubt this park had been in existence for generations. Often parks were located near underground springs and other bodies of water, so he assumed Spring Creek Park was near Spring Creek. The sidewalk ended abruptly less than fifteen feet inside the park. Three dirt paths, leading in different directions, branched off from the sidewalk.
He paused, looked around, getting the lay of the land, so to speak, and felt an instant shiver of apprehension shoot through his body. Standing perfectly still, he listened to the quiet nighttime chorus of wind and nearby water and the gentle song of unseen creatures.
Suddenly the headlights of a passing car flashed across the park entrance and startled him. No reason to panic, he told himself. But what if the car had belonged to a policeman? What if he was questioned about what he was doing here, alone in the park, at this time of night? Why hadn’t he considered the possibility that someone might mistake him for one of those men who performed deviant sex acts in public places?
A flutter of noise erupted from a nearby tree, and two birds emerged from the thick foliage and sailed into the starless sky, their silhouettes spotlighted by the shadowed moonlight. The sound startled him, so much so that his heartbeat accelerated and his hands trembled. An anxious unease settled over him, accompanied by the thought that he shouldn’t be here.
He checked his watch again. Five after eleven. He would wait another ten minutes. Even though his gut instinct told him to leave now, his heartfelt concern for the person who had called him, begging for his help, overruled his common sense. Some poor, lost soul might take her own life tonight if he didn’t stay here and offer her hope for the future.
“Father Brian,” the voice called to him.
“Yes, I’m here.” His gaze circled the area around him, but he saw no one. “Where are you?”
Silence.
Had he imagined her calling his name? Had it simply been the wind?
“Please, show yourself. I’m Father Brian. I’m here to help you, my child.”
“Father Brian.” The eerily soft voice said his name again, and this time he noted from which direction it had come.
He followed the path that led past the small rose garden and two sets of concrete park benches. “Don’t be afraid.” He held out his hands in a gesture that he hoped indicated concern and caring. “Whatever is wrong in your life, God can help you. All things are possible through Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.”
A dark figure bolted from the unlit area of trees and tall shrubs and came at him so quickly that he didn’t have time to react before he felt a cool, foul-smelling liquid splatter over him from his face to his feet.
What had just happened?
Father Brian looked into the face of death, realizing too late that he had walked into a skillfully planned trap. He saw the tiny, yellow-orange flame at the tip of the Pocket Torch lighter half a second before she tossed it on him, setting him on fire.
She moved back, away from the flames, and stood there listening to the priest’s screams. She watched in utter silence, smiling. He would never again harm another child.
Vengeance is mine, thus sayeth the Lord. She was the Lord’s instrument of punishment. He had chosen her to rid the world of men such as Father Brian. Slowly, quietly, as silent as the grave, she turned and walked away.
Burn in hell for your sins, Father Brian! Burn in everlasting torment.
Tasha Phillips parked one of the two Spring Creek Missionary Baptist Church vans carrying the church’s preschoolers, and her husband, Dewan, pulled the second van up beside the first. Three SUVs followed, each carrying the same precious cargo. Every year on the final Tuesday prior to the Wednesday evening church services where the little ones participated in a graduation ceremony, the minister and his wife hosted a picnic at Spring Creek Park. As the director of the church’s preschool and day-care programs, Tasha took great pride in her accomplishments—not that they equaled Dewan’s, of course. Since they had come to Dunmore nearly ten years ago, the local church had