Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [139]
He had an idea. Forcing himself to breathe against the rising panic in his chest, he turned from the door and stumbled out into the street. A little old lady bundled up in a blue woolen coat was pushing a shopping cart loaded with groceries down the street.
“Excuse me!” He was afraid his voice came out too high, too urgent. Not wanting to alarm her, he kept his distance several feet away.
The woman looked up, startled, her body already tightening in response, her eyes apprehensive.
“Excuse me,” he repeated more softly, “do you know where the nearest Catholic church is?”
That seemed to relax her a bit, but her eyes were still wary. She wore garish blue eye shadow, and black mascara was caked thickly on her lashes, giving the impression of a wrinkled, wizened Kewpie doll. Then her face spread into a smile, and she lifted one gloved hand from the handle of her shopping cart and gestured north along the street.
“There’s one just four blocks up,” she said. Her voice was thin, like a shredded nylon cord. “I prefer St. Michael’s, of course,” she continued, her tone conspiratorial. “Father Paul is very young, you know, but he gives a wonderful sermon.”
But Lee was already running in the direction she had indicated.
“Thank you,” he called over his shoulder.
By the time he reached the church he was out of breath, more from fear than exertion.
The church was a heavy, neo-Gothic monstrosity, built during an era when labor was cheap and building materials plentiful. The main chapel loomed over the street, and various gray stone outbuildings sprawled from beneath its buttresses like chicks under the wings of a great stone brooding hen. A clunky sign, made out of the same gray masonry, sat on a little square of grass outside the church.
Welcome to St. Mary’s
Come Worship With Us
And Celebrate the Glory of God
Lee dashed up the shallow front steps, but the heavy wooden front doors were locked. He raced around to the side of the church, where a single door faced the side street. When he turned the brass handle, the latch clicked, and the door opened inward.
He pushed open the heavy oak door. It was dark and quiet inside, the only light coming from flickering votive candles along the far side of the chapel. A deep animal instinct warned Lee that he was in danger, but his feelings for Kathy propelled him forward.
He crept forward into the semidarkness of the chapel. The air was heavy with bayberry incense. He felt his breathing thicken, and tried to clear his throat without making any sound. He thought he heard a scurrying sound at the back of the church, and he froze, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.
He took a few steps toward the noise, and a strange sensation crept from his fingertips up his forearms, as if ants were running up his arms. He shivered and took a few steps toward the choir loft, the burnished mahogany pews glimmering in the dim light.
As he rounded the corner of the pews, he heard a rustling sound over his right shoulder. He wheeled toward it, but too late. A flash of light blinded him; then a heavy object crashed down on the back of his head. He felt himself falling, and then the blackness closed in around him, cradling him in its dark embrace.
He awoke with the feeling that he was floating above the ground, but as his body regained sensation he realized that he was tied to the heavy wooden cross above the altar. He struggled to move, but he was bound firmly. His arms ached, and his head throbbed. Kathy was stretched out over the altar,