Michael relaxed in his favorite spot, an upholstered oversized lounge chair with a multitude of pillows. His slippered feet rested on the matching ottoman. His reading material included a new edition of “Gold! Gold! A Beginner’s Handbook”, “Panning for Gold,” and “Prospecting in the Napa Valley.” 

“Michael, come here.” Cynthia stood near the front window, hidden from view by the heavy drapes. Her curiosity was smitten.

”I just got comfortable.” He moaned and attempted to ignore her pleas. He turned the page of his current read. “Come have a glass of wine with me. The books you brought from the library are quite educational. Especially this one, which tells a story of a nearby mining vein discovered in 1850.”

“Michael, something’s going on at Liz’s place.” Cynthia hissed. She turned off the table lamp and pushed the brocade fabric open.

“Hey! I’m reading.” Cynthia’s nephew rolled his eyes and pushed himself from his comfortable spot. He stretched his legs.”It’s Friday night, Cynthia. People have visitors.” 

”I know that, but this is different.” Cynthia frowned and whispered, “Come see for yourself.”

Michael’s foot caught the leg of a footstool, putting him off balance. His hands flew upwards and out as he steadied himself. “Cynthia, turn the light on before I kill myself. And why are you whispering?”

“Quit your complaining and come here.” She moved from the window. “I think we can see better from the front porch.” She opened the screen door and stepped onto the veranda. The fragrant smell of roses filled the night air. The surrounding trees hid the dimly lit quarter moon. Michael reluctantly joined her.

“What’s so special?” He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness as he stared across the road at the gated entry into Liz’s property. “It’s pitch black. You must have cat eyes because I don’t see anything.” He shook his head and turned to leave. “I’m going back to my reading.”

“No! Watch!” She swatted his arm. “You need to learn to have patience.” An owl hooted from a nearby tree breaking the silence. “Don’t look at the house. Look down the road.”

“What am I watching? Can’t be star gazing; there are too many clouds.” Michael leaned against the railing and looked down the road at nothing.

“There!” Cynthia pointed down the road. “Do you see it?” Her voice was quivering.  “At the rise of the hill, the lights.”

“It’s a car... on the road.” Michael yawned with boredom. “Maybe you should retire to your bed, Auntie. Your imagination is a bit overworked, methinks.” He reached for the handle on the screen door, but Cynthia grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Look!”

He stared where her index finger pointed, but all he saw was a cloak of darkness. “I’m sorry. There isn’t anything there.”

Cynthia softly clapped her hands together, quivering with delight. “Precisely! The car lights disappeared.” Her entire body squirmed with excitement. “Wait! Wait! There!” Her fingers pointed as the shadow of a vehicle entered the McKinley property minus their headlights. “Now, tell me nothing’s going on, Michael.” Satisfaction glowed on her face.

They stood in the dark and watched the scene repeat itself several times. Except for the vehicles without lights and an occasional undistinguishable sound, they weren’t able to see anything else. 

“That’s strange, for sure.” Michael hugged Cynthia.  “I have to give it to you, Auntie. You don’t miss a thing.”

Cynthia’s mind was reeling with different scenarios, each one wilder than the last.  “ I’ll be paying Liz a neighborly visit tomorrow to see what I can learn. For now, pour me a glass of wine. I have a pie or two to bake.” 

************

Two flickering candles on the credenza provided a dimly lit glow to the stray streams of moonlight filtering through the trees. Jon sat slumped in his office chair, his head listed to one side. His fingers gripped a rosary as his lips moved soundlessly. 

An opened prescription bottle of Vicodin lay on its side on Jon’s desktop. Its contents, white oval pills, dotted the black writing pad. A half-empty bottle of burgundy wine and a silver goblet from the altar claimed residence beside the drugs. A Cobra .22 with mother of pearl handgrips and a box of bullets rounded out the display. 

A knock at the back door of the rectory jarred Jon from his stupor. His hand reached for the derringer, holding it in the palm of his hand. His glassy eyes stared at the iridescent pearl handle.

Knock! Knock! Knock! The repetition pounding urged Jon to answer, but his lifeless body remained in the chair.

“Father Jon. It’s Officer Johnson from the police department.”  He rapped on the door again.

“Father, it’s important that I talk to you. Are you there?”

Jon stood, slipped the pistol into his pocket, and shuffled to the back door. Sliding the bolt, so it unlocked, he cracked the door open. “Sorry, I must have been dozing. What was it you needed?”

“May I step inside?” The officer could see candlelight, but the rectory was still very dark. “Or maybe you could step outside for a moment?”

“Where’s your partner? You all by yourself?” Jon tried to decide if the officer was there to arrest him but doubted he’d do that alone.

“You mean, Patrick? He went across the street to O’Malleys. His stomach was grumbling, and they have awesome hamburgers. Jeez, Father Jon, I’ve never been sent to do this before, so I apologize for my stupidity.”

“What is it, my son? You can talk to me.” Jon reached out his hand and placed it on Officer Johnson’s shoulder. “The Lord will guide you.”

“It’s your sister, Father.” 

“Cassidy? She’s in the hospital after an unfortunate incident at the prison.”

“I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you, but she passed away, Father.”

Jon’s right hand grabbed the doorframe, and he slumped against it.  He gasped, “Oh, Cassidy.” He bit his bottom lip. Made the sign of the cross and murmured, “May she rest in peace.” 

“Are you okay, Father? Let me help you back inside.”

“No...no, I want to sit right here if you don’t mind.” He slid down till he reached the top stoop, cradling his head against the palms of his hands. “What happened? Do you know?”

“I’m sorry, Father. All I know is the FBI transferred her body to the coroner. It’s my understanding after the FBI completes their investigation,  they will release her body. I have a card.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a card with the FBI hotline number. “You can call that office with questions.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.” Jon shivered, even though it was a hot, humid night.

“If you don’t need anything else, Father, I guess I’ll go.” 

“Go, my son. The Lord is my Shepherd, and he will protect me. Thank you.” Jon watched Officer Johnson return to his patrol car before he expelled a sigh of relief. 

He remained sitting there for a few minutes and then went inside, locking the door. At his desk, he telephoned Mason, but reached only his voice mail. Jon left a message, “The police were here and confirmed Cassidy’s death.” He paused but had no idea what else to say.  He placed the phone in the cradle.

Jon removed the gun from his pocket and laid it on the desk. His fingers brushed across the pearl grip. He poured a glass of wine and drank a long swallow. He dropped several Vicodin into the palm of his hand and squeezed it tight. 

“Lord, what have I done?” The silence was deafening. He began to scream at the top of his lungs. It was a shrill, horrifying high-pitched shriek that slowly turned to a demonic, hysterical laugh. He was alone, except for wine, pills, and a gun.