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He looked already dead.
Only the slight rise and fall of the sheet indicated his heart continued to beat.
Despite the ravages of disease that had no doubt altered his appearance, one thing was clear.
This was not a man he’d ever met.
“He’s asleep again.” Laura whispered the words over her shoulder before leaning closer to her father. “Dad. Agent Davis is here.”
When he didn’t respond, Marc’s pulse stuttered.
Was he too late?
“Dad.” Laura placed her hand on her father’s arm. Gave him a tiny nudge. “Dad, wake up.”
After a few seconds, Butler’s eyelids fluttered open. “Laura.”The corners of his mouth lifted a hair. “My sweet angel daughter.” He tried to lift his hand, but the effort appeared to be too much for him, and he let it drop back to the bed.
Laura took it and folded it in hers. “Dad, the ATF agent you wanted to talk to is here.” She angled sideways so her father could see him.
The older man shifted his focus, and a slight spark appeared in his dull irises. “You came.”
“Yes.” Marc moved closer to the bed. “The date and address you passed on were too compelling to ignore.”
“I hoped they would be.” The man’s voice was faint. As if speaking required him to dip deep into his waning reserves of energy. “Laura, would you raise the head of the bed?”
She did as he asked. “We’ll wait in the kitchen, Dad—but if you need anything, tell Agent Davis and he’ll come get us.”
“I’ll be fine for a few minutes.”
As she disappeared out the door, closing it with a quiet click behind her, the man motioned him over. “Sit. I know you had a long drive.”
Marc took the chair Butler’s wife had vacated and opened the leather notebook with the ATF logo on the front. The one he used for important meetings that required detailed note-taking.
Rather than waste the man’s precious time and energy on social niceties, he dived in. “You know about the fire that killed my parents.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been trying to find answers about it for years.”
“I had a feeling that might be the case, given your profession. And I’m the only one left who knows what happened that night. That’s why I couldn’t leave this world without talking to you.”
Marc tried to tamp down his frustration—and anger. “If you had information that could bring the person who set the fire to justice, why did you keep it secret all these years?”
The man locked on to his gaze. Moistened his parched lips. “Because I was a coward.” His emaciated fingers crumpled the sheet, but he never broke eye contact. “I started that fire, Agent Davis.”
As the man’s confession hung in the silent air between them, a roaring vortex swirled around Marc, sucking the oxygen from the room.
The most he’d hoped for from this trip was a new clue. A piece of information that would give him a lead to follow as he tried to identify the perpetrator.
Instead, he was face-to-face with the man who’d killed his parents and forever changed the landscape of his world.
Struggling to fill his depleted lungs, he shot to his feet. Dropped his notebook on the chair. Paced to the end of the bed. Turned his back on the man.
And found a crucifix in the center of his vision on the wall in front of him.
A symbol of sacrifice. Hope. Redemption. Love. Forgiveness.
A reminder of all the principles his faith taught.
