Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

own hand that had pulled the trigger, but she had again watched through the eyes of the man the hand belonged to. And then, of course, there was the first nightmare: arms that were not hers carrying the little boy and leaving him in the woods, buried under a pile of leaves. The picture of Braden’s face—peaceful, as if asleep—was still an image that refused to fade, though it had been more than twenty-five years.

A daughter who sees with the eyes of evil. Her mother’s voice snapped her back to the present. She had nearly reached the end of Main Street when she came to a stop. Her eyes were fixed on the subdivision sign no more than four hundred yards up the road. A prickle began to climb her spine as a dark foreboding hung in the atmosphere and held her in place. She turned around to look back down Main Street. Everything was silent. Main Street was never what one would call bustling but at that moment, there wasn’t a soul to be seen, and not so much as a breath of wind broke the air. It was as if she were the only person in the world.

Maureen raced from the dead street toward the subdivision. When she passed the stone entry sign and turned down the first street, the silence that had followed her from Main Street was shattered. It was broken by the overlapping of dozens of voices singing a chorus of confusion. Maureen slowed her run as she approached the mass of people and vehicles. Her eyes moved from the county vans to the yellow police tape around the yard and to the white colonial home with the red door she had run past nearly every day for the past two weeks. The blue and red lights of the police cars were dancing on the side of the house. As Maureen continued to look on, her stomach dropped as another sight came into view.

From around the corner of the house came a stretcher with a black bag on it, pushed by two men in uniform. Maureen edged closer for a better look, while still keeping to the outer edge of the crowd. The officers loaded their cargo into the back of one of the vans as a young man in a jacket and tie came over from the house to speak to them. She watched as the man made a few gestures to the other two, who nodded back politely before closing the rear doors of the van and heading to the front seats. The man in the jacket and tie moved back toward the house, making a few notes in a small notebook he produced from his pocket. As he approached the front door of the house, his eyes raised to look out at the crowd. His gaze met her own.

Maureen broke eye contact within a second. Before she knew what she was doing, she began to back away. A cold sensation raised the hairs on her spine. The sickening suspicion that another of her nightmares had been brought to life struck her like a bolt of lightning. She had no choice; she was a slave to her feet and her instincts. She turned and ran.

Within moments, Maureen had left the subdivision and was racing back toward Main Street. All thought of completing her circuit was gone. The only thought in her mind was to head straight back to her apartment and take a pill to calm herself. Her eye contact with the man in the jacket replayed in her mind. His gaze held an intensity and determination that she was unfamiliar with in a man as young as he was. Did he see her turn and run the way she did? She had to admit, it was a mistake to have done so.

The sound of her feet moving from gravel to the pavement of Main Street hit her ears. The silence of the surrounding buildings made her footsteps echo all the louder. It drowned out all other ambient noise in her head and left her isolated from the world around her. Her eyes focused on nothing as she continued to run, trusting that her feet knew the way home.

Those feet brought her into a near collision, however, and a man’s abrupt shout shook her awake. She managed to stop herself and reach out and grab him just in time to prevent them both from falling to the ground. She steadied them both and took a step back, wiping the sweat out of her eyes and tightening her ponytail. The man came into focus. He was tall and slender with a close-cropped, white beard and balding head. What hair he had left matched the color of his beard. He held a large, black plastic bag in one hand and was checking around the sidewalk to make sure nothing had fallen out during their near collision. His black, short-sleeved shirt was buttoned around the neck with a white collar. A priest.

“Close one!” he exclaimed in a cheerful tone. “I’m sorry, I saw you coming down the street, but I thought you were far enough away for me to get the trash to the curb. You’re faster than I anticipated.” He smiled at her and tossed the bag into the garbage can.

“Yeah, well, sorry,” she answered stiffly. She hated talking to priests, even ones that seemed nice. “Um, I hope I didn’t hurt you or anything.”

“Oh no harm, no harm,” he sang out, laughing a little as he spoke.

“Well, that’s, uh . . . that’s good,” Maureen stammered. She began to edge around him to continue on her way home, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve seen you running past the church before,” he said as he nodded off to his right. She followed his silent direction and turned her head to face the red-brick building. Of course she had seen it several times before: St. Mary’s Catholic Church. There’s always a St. Mary’s, she