Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

and I’m pretty sure if anyone were to call the city inspector, the whole place would end up condemned. It was a perfect place for me, though. I got a couple of evictions on my record along with the other stuff, and even though I was using a different name, it was nice not to risk anything. Anyway, one night I was asleep, and I had one of my nightmares. I saw a young, black kid tied to a chair, his face was covered in blood, and I felt the shock run through my hand and arm as whoever I was seeing through punched him. Then I saw the hands hold a pillow up to the kid’s head, press a gun to it, and pull the trigger. Poor kid’s brains were all over the wall behind him.

“I looked on as the killer stalked out of the apartment and walked through the halls. The conscious part of my brain, the part that was me, recognized the doors of the apartment building as the one I was living in. The guy was on the second floor. He walked up the back staircase one floor and went into apartment 309. That was across the hall from me. That’s when I woke up. I didn’t really think, I just grabbed my things, left the key to the apartment behind, and got out. I stopped off at a pay phone, called the cops, and left them the tip. Then I took the L to the bus station and got out of town.”

“And did they catch the man?”

“I don’t know. I made a clean break, and I wasn’t going to look back. I made the choice to get involved, but it cost me in the long run. That apartment may have been a stink hole, but I was making some of the best money I’d made in my life in the big city. Why does it matter anyway?”

“It might not,” he said quietly, “but I believe that God is calling you to something. And it may be, that He will continue to send you these dreams until you accept your role and use this power to help your fellow man.”

Maureen actually laughed at his assertion. She finished her drink and slammed her glass down on the table so hard that one of the ice cubes nearly jumped out.

“That’s a good one, Father,” she said. “What about that makes any sense?”

“Faith doesn’t always make sense,” he said, holding eye contact. “I don’t presume to understand the mysteries of God, but I do know it is important to answer when called. And I do believe the old proverb that He never sets anything before someone that they can’t handle. You’ve had something very great placed on your shoulders, so He must know that you can handle it. It’s a profound thing to be offered an opportunity to change lives. You shouldn’t take it lightly.”

“You think I’m some sort of saint?” she scoffed. “How would me catching this guy change anything?”

“It’ll give two grieving families closure. One can never discount how large of an impact a small thing can make. And perhaps more importantly, it just might change you. It just might be, that it’s here where you find a true path to tread and leave behind your years of wandering.”

“Well, I still think He could do better,” Maureen said. The scotch was beginning to go to her head, and she was getting tired and didn’t feel in the mood to fight his interpretation of her situation any further. “Maybe find someone who actually believes in Him.”

“He found Paul on the road to Damascus.” His smile returned. “Look at what that ‘non-believer’ accomplished.”

“Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?” she said, pushing herself up out of the chair. “Personally, no matter what happens here, I’m pretty sure my immediate future includes a nice stretch behind bars.”

“Saint Paul, again,” he answered, smiling wider.

“Whatever. Thank you for the meal, Father. It was delicious. Really. But if I’m going to go forth and conquer in the name of your God, I’m going to need some sleep first.”

“Are you going to call your detective friend to pick you up?”

“Yeah, I’ll call him from the street. Probably meet him up by Main Street.”

“I’d feel better if you’d wait here,” he said. “You’ve had quite a bit to drink.”

“I can handle my liquor, Father,” she scoffed.

Father Patrick looked intently at her. His stare made her feel like a child.

“Fine, I’ll wait on the stoop. Alone.”

Her answer seemed good enough for Father Patrick. He accompanied her to the door and opened it for her. Maureen stood on the front stoop, breathing in the night air. The smell of fresh-cut grass and the flowers in the gardens filled her nostrils, and she closed her eyes for a moment, briefly imagining an alternate life where she could actually live in a quiet neighborhood like this.

“Maureen.” Father Patrick’s voice made her turn around. “Thank you for allowing me to understand you. And I want you to remember that you don’t have to let your past define who you are.”

Maureen opened her mouth but found no words. She simply nodded at him as he closed the door. Then she turned away and sank down to sit on the cement, slipping her hand in her pocket to remove Manny’s phone. She found his work phone number in the contacts list and hit the dial button.

“Hey, it’s me,” she said after he’d answered. “You can pick me up. All right, bye.”

She continued to stare out into the night. Her eyelids felt heavy, and the world swayed on the edges of her vision. She couldn’t wait to lie down. Hopefully she’d managed to drink enough for her night’s sleep to be uninterrupted. What she had said to Father Patrick as they parted wasn’t entirely in jest. She wasn’t sure that bringing this child killer to justice would purge the nightmares from her life, but nothing else she’d ever done had worked either. So,