hair. Cherry
the prostitute should have scratched him with her claws, making three perfectly
lined streaks down his face. Explaining that to the crowd at the gala would
have been an interesting blunder. Surely, his wife would be thrilled to know
about the woman giving him head in his office. The sound of a train horn
funneled through her open window, the long pulls drawing her back to the
conversation.
“Good,” he said as he
pushed himself from the frame and stepped back into the hall. “Your parents
have much to be proud of. I hope they can make it as well. Good night. Don’t
stay too late.”
“I won’t. Good night,”
Delaney recited as he disappeared from her door. His footsteps echoed until
they vanished just like the woman’s had minutes before. She threw her head
back, letting her hair fall along the backside of the chair. The moistened
strands at the nape of her neck tingled in the breeze from her window. Holston
Parker and President Givens were friends, but how close were they? I have to
get out of here. Leighton. Appleton. The knot in her stomach released as
she pulled her phone from her pocket. A missed call from Kandy with a K.
8
June 15 - 6:00 p.m.
The engine whirred to
a stop as Evie turned the key of the Ford Focus rental. She had flown into the
Milwaukee airport and driven the two hours north, not willing to risk flying
into Appleton with Holston Parker’s men on watch. He would be waiting for her to
return, to make a mistake, but she wouldn’t, not this time.
Her stiletto stepped
onto the curb, the car parked beneath the cool shade of a rustling oak tree
just a few blocks from her destination, her favorite childhood hideaway. It was
the only sanctuary that would give her peace - a sense of clarity - before she
continued on her journey.
Her blonde hair
swayed as she walked, moving back and forth like the pendulum of a clock
against the pink trench coat. Her time was dwindling. She needed to find the answers
to her questions before she killed him. She needed to get in and out. A fast
kill. A devastating slash before she vanished in the wind. She would finally
blow away like she had always dreamed.
Evie’s small frame
whisked along the sidewalk and through the alley until the steeple of St.
Mary’s became large in her view, raised high like an endless peak to the sky.
She grabbed the heavy metal handle, her hand not much bigger than it had been
as a child, and slipped into the dim glow of candlelight. The earthy smell of
incense wrapped around her as she moved along the wall toward the confessional.
She pulled her large sunglasses down, the coffee brown contacts shifting as she
scanned the empty church. Her knife, the first stop after securing the rental
car, was tucked inside the belt of her dress. She longed for the familiar grip
of her 9mm. Stealing a gun would be difficult but not impossible. Until then,
the knife would have to do.
The familiar pair of
angels looked down on her; she had missed the angels, their gold-tipped wings
and elongated arms of protection reaching out to her. She needed them more than
ever. She welcomed them back, feeling their strength run through her veins. She
stood before the confessional, one side exposing the familiar black pants and
black shoes of Father Haskens. She lifted the curtain of the other side and
slid onto the bench, her body erect against the back.
“Confess your sins,
young sheep of the Lord,” his voice began through the grated metal. St. Mary’s
was one of the few churches in the community that still held masked
confessional. She envisioned Father Haskens’s thinning, white hair and black,
horn-rimmed glasses on the other side, his jowls hanging close to his priest
collar. He hadn’t aged for twenty years, an undying man as though Jesus himself
refused to call him home; his time for helping his flock not yet expired.
“Father, I will sin,”
she began, her voice even.
“Young sheep, repent
in the Lord. If you have not sinned
the prostitute should have scratched him with her claws, making three perfectly
lined streaks down his face. Explaining that to the crowd at the gala would
have been an interesting blunder. Surely, his wife would be thrilled to know
about the woman giving him head in his office. The sound of a train horn
funneled through her open window, the long pulls drawing her back to the
conversation.
“Good,” he said as he
pushed himself from the frame and stepped back into the hall. “Your parents
have much to be proud of. I hope they can make it as well. Good night. Don’t
stay too late.”
“I won’t. Good night,”
Delaney recited as he disappeared from her door. His footsteps echoed until
they vanished just like the woman’s had minutes before. She threw her head
back, letting her hair fall along the backside of the chair. The moistened
strands at the nape of her neck tingled in the breeze from her window. Holston
Parker and President Givens were friends, but how close were they? I have to
get out of here. Leighton. Appleton. The knot in her stomach released as
she pulled her phone from her pocket. A missed call from Kandy with a K.
8
June 15 - 6:00 p.m.
The engine whirred to
a stop as Evie turned the key of the Ford Focus rental. She had flown into the
Milwaukee airport and driven the two hours north, not willing to risk flying
into Appleton with Holston Parker’s men on watch. He would be waiting for her to
return, to make a mistake, but she wouldn’t, not this time.
Her stiletto stepped
onto the curb, the car parked beneath the cool shade of a rustling oak tree
just a few blocks from her destination, her favorite childhood hideaway. It was
the only sanctuary that would give her peace - a sense of clarity - before she
continued on her journey.
Her blonde hair
swayed as she walked, moving back and forth like the pendulum of a clock
against the pink trench coat. Her time was dwindling. She needed to find the answers
to her questions before she killed him. She needed to get in and out. A fast
kill. A devastating slash before she vanished in the wind. She would finally
blow away like she had always dreamed.
Evie’s small frame
whisked along the sidewalk and through the alley until the steeple of St.
Mary’s became large in her view, raised high like an endless peak to the sky.
She grabbed the heavy metal handle, her hand not much bigger than it had been
as a child, and slipped into the dim glow of candlelight. The earthy smell of
incense wrapped around her as she moved along the wall toward the confessional.
She pulled her large sunglasses down, the coffee brown contacts shifting as she
scanned the empty church. Her knife, the first stop after securing the rental
car, was tucked inside the belt of her dress. She longed for the familiar grip
of her 9mm. Stealing a gun would be difficult but not impossible. Until then,
the knife would have to do.
The familiar pair of
angels looked down on her; she had missed the angels, their gold-tipped wings
and elongated arms of protection reaching out to her. She needed them more than
ever. She welcomed them back, feeling their strength run through her veins. She
stood before the confessional, one side exposing the familiar black pants and
black shoes of Father Haskens. She lifted the curtain of the other side and
slid onto the bench, her body erect against the back.
“Confess your sins,
young sheep of the Lord,” his voice began through the grated metal. St. Mary’s
was one of the few churches in the community that still held masked
confessional. She envisioned Father Haskens’s thinning, white hair and black,
horn-rimmed glasses on the other side, his jowls hanging close to his priest
collar. He hadn’t aged for twenty years, an undying man as though Jesus himself
refused to call him home; his time for helping his flock not yet expired.
“Father, I will sin,”
she began, her voice even.
“Young sheep, repent
in the Lord. If you have not sinned
Similar Books
