Page 14 of Dark Side of the Cloth

Dean stopped working and laughed hard, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, his stomach clenching with the sudden outburst. After a moment, his face grew serious. All humor erased as rage took its place.

“I’ve been to hell. I lived there, and I survived its fiery grasp. Do you know what I learned in hell? There are sinners everywhere, and they all need to be eradicated. If anyone here is doing God’s work, it’s me.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m sick?” A low whistle left his lips. “You fucking raped and killed children for your own perverse pleasure!” Dean’s voice boomed. The leather gloves creaked as he squeezed the wooden handle, his muscles flexing with the restraint not to swing the spade.

The man in the hole flinched as much as he could in the thick restraints, his face flushed with droplets of perspiration despite the cool temperature. Dean’s voice lowered. “Let me be very clear, Tim. If there were a God, I’d be one of his angels sent to rid the world of evil like you, for we are The Righteous.”

Dean stopped and sighed, letting go of the building rage. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I get back to the church to get some sleep. Sunday service is tomorrow, and I need to prepare, so I have to get you buried.” Dean shrugged. “Do you think you’ll suffocate before you’re crushed to death? It’s a tough call, but I guess you’ll find out,” Dean taunted, his lip curling up as Tim screamed for help.

It was almost comical. Almost.

Dean backed the Hummer into the garage and watched as the security door lowered and locked. Hitting the send button, he prepared himself to sell the story.

“Sheriff Daniels here.” A groggy voice answered the phone.

“Hi Sheriff, it’s Father O’Sullivan. I’m sorry to call so late.”

“No, that’s fine, Father. How can I help you?” Dean could hear the sheriff moving around and figured he was getting up from bed.

“My phone rang a short time ago from an anonymous caller. I tried to get him to tell me who he was, but he refused. Said he could only tell me what he knew if he stayed unknown, so I agreed. What he told me was very disturbing information. I just—Sheriff, I can’t even get the words out.”

“Take your time, Father. I will grab a pen.”

Dean took a ragged breath, his voice shaking just enough to really sell it.

“The caller said he had inadvertently come across a man that he had a very strong suspicion was who took the Adam’s girl. I wasn’t here when she was taken, but I’m sure the name must seem familiar for you?” Dean asked, knowing full well the sheriff would know. A missing child, presumed murdered, wasn’t something you’d forget.

“Yes, unfortunately, I remember all too well.”

“Well, he said that the man he suspected was an old friend of his that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. He stumbled across a shack of sorts on his property, and what he saw—he was too upset to explain, but he told me that he needed to tell someone.”

“Did this man give you a name?”

“Yes, a Timothy Baker. He mentioned a scrapyard. Does that make sense?”

“Son-of-a-bitch!”

Dean stared at his speaker in shock. He’d never heard the sheriff say a bad word the entire time he’d lived here.

“Yeah, I know the man. Listen, Father, I should go. Thank you for the information.”

“Sheriff, I think I should go with you. If this is as bad as this man acted, then this is a matter a priest should attend. I will stay out of the way.”

The sheriff was quiet a moment before answering. “Okay, I think that is a good idea. I’ll pick you up in twenty.” With that, the sheriff hung up.

Smiling, Dean got out of the Hummer and unlocked the heavy metal door that separated the garage from the nosey church-goers. He jogged up the stairs to his apartment and quickly got changed into his robes, dress pants, and best Sunday shoes before he made his way back downstairs to wait out in front of the church for the sheriff.

When the sheriff pulled up, he slipped into the warm car and looked over at the sheriff.

“Is it wrong of me, Father, not to want to find what we might tonight, and yet, also hope that we do?”

“Not at all, Sheriff Daniels, not at all.” The sheriff nodded, and they were off.

* * *

Dean had waited outside the scrapyard gates while the sheriff and his deputies inspected the place for Tim. They obviously were going to be disappointed not to find him, but a twitch of a smile ghosted Dean’s face as he remembered the screams and choking sounds distinctly before Tim died.