Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

nice respite from their usual booze-soaked leers, and Mr. Anderson would call her into the back room and inform her of her termination. That would be fine, as she decided she had enough money to move on after all. The only problem was, now she was being watched not only by the local police but by the FBI as well.

She had seen the way Agent Layton looked at her at the crime scene that morning when he and Detective Benitez were having their little private conversation. She had hoped that the detective wasn’t telling the agent about her latest nightmare and how it had predicted the discovery of the latest body, but she could tell by the man’s look and body language that her hope was futile. Now, the FBI didn’t just have a suspect but a freak on their hands. He must have sanctioned her release in order to bait her into something. What exactly, she didn’t know, but she was positive that trying to get out of town would be just the excuse they were looking for to arrest her again.

“I’m screwed either way,” she mumbled to her dim reflection in the front window. “They’re going to find out about the rest of it. I’ll be put away no matter what.”

The anxiety of her comeuppance being so close behind her was starting to make the walls close in. Maureen pulled herself away from the window and walked to her nightstand. She pulled out the brown bottle, took out a pill, bit it in half, and swallowed it. The dulling effects of the pill should be just enough to calm her, but she didn’t want to wait around in her apartment for them to take hold. She grabbed the flannel shirt off her bed and headed out into the deepening evening.

The breeze had freshened as the sun’s last rays were now fully below the horizon, but it still was a warm night, so Maureen tied her long-sleeved shirt around her waist as she walked. She had no clear picture of where she wanted to go. Perhaps it was simply a case of wanting to take in as much fresh air as possible before she was thrown back into that stale cell at the police station; the impending loss of her freedom had triggered a desire to be outdoors.

She made her way north toward Main Street. She thought about stopping into one of the bars for a drink and a bite to eat, but she cast that notion aside quickly. The gossip of the small town would almost assuredly destroy her anonymity, and she didn’t want to face the stares and whispers. Though, she admitted, she didn’t know for sure that her name and photo had been released to the papers and news stations. She didn’t have a TV at home nor did she read the paper, so much of her assumptions were completely created by her own imagination.

Doesn’t mean they’re not true, she thought sourly.

In truth, she would gladly get lost in a crowd if she didn’t have to be around people to do it. She’d spent so much time alone that she didn’t even think she still possessed the ability to hide among people. For years, she had believed that people could sense her scars, and the few that she had associated with over that time simply didn’t possess the empathy to care about her baggage. In most cases, those individuals were men who were only after one thing.

Without realizing it, her feet had brought her to the sidewalk in front of St. Mary’s. Maureen looked up at the red-brick building illuminated by lights in such a way that the church’s name, spelled out in black metal letters, was easy to read from the street. There was very little light coming from behind the stained glass windows, which rose up on either side of the church’s arched front door.

Maureen turned her head back down the street. Several groups of people were crisscrossing back and forth, some to cars, others ducking into bars. A large group of young men had clearly already begun their night’s frivolities, and were hooting as they walked in the opposite direction of where she now stood. She watched as they turned down a side street in the distance, clearly heading over to throw their money at Shelly and Angela. No one seemed to give her a second look.

A force drew her away from Main Street and up the stairs of the church. Maureen recalled her conversation with the priest on the sidewalk two days back. The door was never locked, he’d said. She eased herself up to it, laid a hand on the wrought iron handle, and drew in a breath. She had no idea what she would do once inside, but she thought that maybe she could find some solitude within, even if she didn’t find any spiritual fulfillment. She had long ago given up looking for anything of that sort in a building like this.

The door’s hinges creaked as she pulled it open. She was surprised at how much the sound actually startled her, and it forced her to walk in slowly and ease the door shut behind her. Something about crossing the threshold of a church made her feel like an intruder, and she did not want to draw any attention to herself. Maureen inhaled deeply and walked further inside, swinging her head from side to side, scanning for anyone else.

The church was elegantly appointed. As she moved through the front welcome area and into the nave itself, she could see that the pews, divided into two sections by a center aisle, were made of richly stained wood and each contained a kneeler, thickly cushioned with red velvet. Wouldn’t want to hurt their knees, she thought of the parishioners. Each side of the nave was adorned with a row of stained glass windows, much the same size and style as those at the front of the church. Maureen counted fourteen total,