THE MONASTERY MURDERS

A SERIES

BOOK 1

SECRETS IN THE SHALLOWS

KAREN VANCE HAMMOND

& KIMBERLY BROUILLETTE

Copyright © 2013 by Karen Vance Hammond & Kimberly Brouillette. All Rights Reserved.

Hammond, Karen Vance; Brouillette, KimberlyISBN: 978-1-62951-422-2Secrets in the Shallows (The Monastery Murders – Book 1) – 2nd ed.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, except in the case of quotation for articles, reviews, or stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. For information regarding permission, contact:

Mysterium Publishing4033 Old Glory Drive Concord, NC 28025

www.mysteriumpublishing.com

Also available in E-book format for most tablets and electronic devices.Secrets in the Shallows is a fi ctional book that takes place in a fi ctional town. Any similarities with any specifi c people, locations, events or circumstances is purely coincidental and completely unintentional.

Cover Art by Kimberly Brouillette

Printed in the USA

“In each of us, two natures are at war –the good and the evil.

All our lives the fi ght goes on between them,and one of them must conquer.

But in our own hands lies the power to choose.What we want most to be, we are.”

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

For Rob, Meredith, Chris, Betty, Jeanette, Zerida & Ken

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Mysterium Publishing: Thank you for your faith in me and for giving The Monastery Murders Series a home.

To my co-author and editor, Kimberly Brouillette: Not only are you my friend, but you are the backbone of this project. Your collaboration on this novel, editing talents and abilities surpass anything I have ever seen. You have taught me the joy of writing. Working with you has been a blessing.

Author Chris Matheny: Thank you so much for your advice on many topics, as well as poetic contributions to The Monastery Murders Series. Your extensive knowledge was invaluable. We couldn’t have done such a great job without you.

ShadowBox Graphix: I love the amazing and dynamic cover design for The Monastery Murders: Secrets in the Shallows. It is fantastic!

There is no way I could have written this novel without the encouragement of my husband. Thank you, my darling. I love you.

My daughter, Meredith: The one who has supported me from day one. Ken Wigal: Thank for undying support and time you spent on this project

as well as Spanish translations.Peace River Ghost Trackers (SyFy™ Channel): Thank you for your

friendship, as well as reviewing the manuscript. Shawn Sibley with Look Law Firm: Your legal contribution to The

Monastery Murders Series is greatly appreciated.Terri Adams Jones: Thank you so much or your direction and advice with

law enforcement and FBI procedures.Marcia Treadway: You came in at the last hour and helped so much with

your fresh eyes. Thank you very much for your feedback.Jeanette Rosson Ramsey: Thank you so much for spending countless hours

listening to me read to you. I appreciate you so much.Thom and Lisa Graham, and Karen Bomensatt of the State of New Jersey:

The idea for the Monastery Murders came to life when you took me to the monastery and cathedral.

To my friends in the State of Maine, in which The Monastery Murders Series is depicted — I was once a Mainer and I will always be a Mainer!

Last, but not least, I want to thank Zerida Pepp, the author of Trackers, Cabs and Sleepers. I cannot count the hours you spent with me as I read the draft in the wee hours of the morning. I love you, my friend!”

Karen Vance Hammond

I am very thankful for the opportunity to work with Karen Vance Hammond. Over the past year and a half, Karen and I have successfully collaborated to produce our own masterpiece. It has been a great experience that I have enjoyed very much. Not only have I been able to delve deep into a great story and helped create a suspenseful mystery that I am proud of; but I have also met a great friend and writing partner.

Thank you, Karen, for asking me to be a part of this project. I look forward to what is in store for our future endeavors.

Not only did I meet a great friend in Karen, but I have had the support and help from my best friend and soulmate, Chris Matheny.

Thank you, Chris, for all of your support, great advice and inspiring suggestions. You have defi nitely contributed very much towards the success of Secrets in the Shallows; not to mention were very patient through the entire process. I love you very much.

Kimberly Brouillette

9

PROLOGUE

Dense fog blanketed the canopy of autumn trees arrayed in a myriad of yellows, oranges and reds. In the distance, ghostly wails from a foghorn resounded throughout the valley. Its melancholy sound sliced through the silent evening air as its vibrations crept up the lighthouse spiral staircase. In the lantern room at the top, the Fresnel stood sentinel, rotating endlessly, and casting its beam of light out onto the water. Anchored in the bay below, lobster boats gently rocked back and forth in the surf while the ominous storm clouds encroach upon them.

A large black crow landed on the shoulder of a marble statue of the blessed Mother Mary standing watch over the monastery lawn. Dangling from the sacred maternal hands, a long strand of rosary beads swung back and forth in the coming storm’s steady breeze. Loud cawing emanated from the black beak, as the bird spread its wings and fl apped them vigorously. The feathered hunter took only a moment to study its surroundings before fl ying away to fi nd safe haven from the storm.

Rumblings of thunder fi lled the air as several streaks of lightning clashed with the ocean in the distance. Light winds began to swell and howl while passing by the beautifully arched monastery windows. Raindrops steadily tapped on the colored panes of glass, echoing throughout the corridors as the storm began its decent upon the campus.

Suddenly, another loud booming noise erupted as the monastery door was thrust open by a nun frantically fl eeing from the entrance. Dressed in a dark burgundy habit, she ran down the front steps fl ailing her arms and screaming, “NO! Get away from me!”

Only seconds behind, a taller nun in a black habit clutching a short-handled battle ax with gloved hands while chasing after the escaping sister. The dark fi gure slipped on the wet grass while scurrying after the nun as she fl ed. Regaining her footing, the nun in black continued to pursue the fl eeing prey as rain began to come down in torrents.

The frantic one ran for her life into the woods as her screams for help disappeared into the wind like smoke on a winter gale. Her burgundy habit

10

fl ared out behind her as she tried to escape. Evergreen branches slapped her face and scratched her arms as she tried to elude her pursuer. The nun’s only goal was to fi nd a safe place to hide.

As the terrorized woman ran through the woods, a low-lying branch caught her headpiece, exposing her long, beautiful blonde hair now being drenched in rainwater. Looking back through the blinding sheets of rain, she was lost in a sea of branches and tree trunks. Turning to run again, she immediately slammed into her stalker. Tears burst from her blue eyes as a look of absolute terror and recognition came upon her.

“Please let me go! Why are you doing this?!” The ghastly nun peered into her eyes with disgust and grabbed her arm so

hard that she could feel the nails claw into her skin. Desperate to get away, the smaller nun tried to wrench her arm free, but could not escape from the dark nun’s grasp.

Immediately, the assailant ordered in a strong voice through gritted teeth, “On your knees, Sister.”

Panicking, the nun emphatically pleaded, “NO! Please don’t do this! What have I have done to deserve this?” Falling to her knees with her palms pressed together in front of her, she begged, “Please, don’t hurt me! You know I love you as if you were family.”

The dark nun mocked, “What have you done to deserve this?! You really don’t know?” Without hesitation, a gloved hand brutally slapped the nun’s cheek. “

Mud covered the side of her face as the nun fell. Her long blond hair splayed onto the wet ground. Frantically attempting to get up, the fi nal thing the frightened nun saw was a sharpened battle ax blade swinging toward her. The look of complete surprise was locked on her face as her head landed on the ground. Her wide-opened eyes blinked twice as her mouth voiced a silent protest. Her lifeless body slumped in the mud and landed beside it. Deep red blood spilled out from her severed neck into rain puddles all around her.

Deliberately, the murderer trudged through the mud to where the nun’s habit hung loosely on the branch of a gnarled old tree. Lifting it up in the rain, the killer inspected the headpiece for any tears before shoving it into a large pocket. Still holding the bloodied ax, the murderer turned to look at the victim one last time, then slipped silently through the trees and faded away into the shadows.

11

* * * *

Somewhere in the dark of night, restless eyes twitched erratically beneath their slumbering lids. An eerie moan slipped between the chapped lips of its confi nement. In the dreamer’s mind, a rising wail of anguish rose to join with a booming clap of thunder. Violently, the fi gure bolted from bed as a white fl ash of lightening drove the shadows from the room and momentarily blinded the once-sleeping eyes.

PART 1:

LIES BENEATH THE SURFACE

13

CHAPTER 1

Angry waves pounded Maine’s rocky coastline with a vengeance as the fi rst blizzard of autumn rolled in from the Atlantic. A howling gale ushered in dropping temperatures with the onslaught of nature’s fury. Out on the horizon, snow blew sideways from the billowing clouds as the storm headed directly towards the shore. Flashing rhythmically across the rough ocean water, a lighthouse beacon guided mariners to the harbor for safety.

Stalwart and steadfast, a statue of the Holy Mother braved the coming storm as she fervently guarded the St. Francis Monastery and Catholic School. In the garden, she stood and protected her charges from all who would seek to do them harm. Staring down at her hands, she offered eternal prayers while endlessly counting her rosary beads. Facing her from the other side of the garden, the Children of Fátima stood fi rmly on their stone foundation with drifts of snow continuing to cover them in the eerie night.

Within the forbidding darkness of the trees that surround the monastery, an even darker shadow lurked. The intimidating fi gure watched the back of the monastery, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Finally, a glimpse of his prey came in to view as Timothy Fields peered out of the back window; mesmerized by the dark clouds in the distance as the winds whistled outside. The eighteen-year-old boy’s tousled, dark brown hair was as unmistakable as his freckled cheeks.

Exhausted from waxing the rectory fl oors, Timmy wiped the sweat from his fl ushed face. The punishment was the result of breaking the dress code and not being smoothly shaven. Timmy was embarrassed to admit that he didn’t realize he needed to shave. It just hadn’t occurred to him. However, Mother Superior made sure that he would think about it from now on.

As Timmy recognized the all-too-familiar sign of the coming winter, he thought to himself, I’d better go home before that storm gets here. A loud, shrill voice cut through his reverie. “Timmy, are you done yet?”

The boy’s heart leapt into his throat as he spun around and nearly jumped out of his shoes. Timmy found himself standing nose to nose with Mother Superior Mary Ellen.

“Well, are you done or not? It’s getting a little late for you to walk home,

14

and this storm is coming in fast.”With his hands on his chest, he took a few deep breaths. “Yes, Mother. I’m

done. You frightened me. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”“Maybe next time you’ll learn to behave in the house of God and in this

school.”“Yes, Mother.” She briefl y touched the side of his fi ve-o’clock shadow. “It seems like

you’re all grown up now. It sometimes happens before you even know it’s upon you.”

The corners of his mouth lifted as Timmy tried to smile.Clutching her hands together, she sighed. “Remember, my son, there are

rules and regulations you must abide by. I expect you to honor those rules. Be an example to the younger ones. Okay? After graduation, you’re going to college. If you can’t follow the rules then it could lead you to ruin. Remember, everywhere you go, there are rules.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. It won’t happen again.” Chewing on a small portion of his lip, he stood there quietly, eagerly awaiting her approval.

The old nun stared at Timmy intently. “I inspected the fl oors and they looked pretty good.” Placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder, she gave him a slight smile. “You can go now, and please be careful. Do you want me to call your parents, and have them pick you up or let them know you’re on your way?”

Inserting an arm in his red jacket, he responded, “No, that’s okay. It’s not gonna’ take me long. Besides, the snow isn’t here yet. I’ll be home before it starts coming down.”

“Okay. Have a good Christmas, Timmy. May peace be with you.”“And to you too, Mother.” He smiled softly at her as she pivoted and

quickly walked through the doorway. Soon she had vanished from sight. Within seconds, he heard the front door close behind her.

Heading to the coat rack, Timmy grabbed his winter coat and put it on. As he reached to pick up his hat, he heard the front door open and then slam immediately.

Immediately, a gruff voice shattered the building’s peace and serenity. “Where is he?” Heavy footsteps in the other room approached Timmy as the familiar voice sought him out.

Making a beeline to the custodian’s closet, Timmy barricaded himself

15

inside. The odor of pine cleaner and bleach burned his nose and eyes as he opened the door a crack and peeked out. Then closed it again. He could feel his heart pounding as he locked the door from the inside. He squatted down in the corner behind the mop pail and wet fl oor signs.

Timmy silently cursed his luck as the increasingly agitated voice came closer and closer. Of all the people I would need to hide from as I try to go home.

The person he most dreaded in all the world was angry and looking for him. The barrel chest of the stalker heaved while calling out for him. “Come out, Timmy! I know you’re in here!”

Sweat beaded up on Timmy’s forehead as doors opened and slammed shut.Wearing a sinister grin on a corpulent face, the dark eyes darted in every

direction. “Come on out, Timmy! I’ve got a surprise for you.” The childish quip echoed down the hall.

Timmy’s body quivered and convulsed as the heavy footsteps vibrated the fl oor, causing one of the mops to topple over.

With a smirk, the stalker made a beeline for the closet, dressed in the familiar dark habit. A large, gloved hand attempted to turn the doorknob. Finding it locked, the threatening fi gure grunted, foregoing all pretense at kindliness.

“Open this door, Timmy! I know you’re in there. Open up!”Timmy buried his face between his knees as the assailant pounded on the

door. With one swift kick, the door fl ew open, exposing Timmy’s hiding place. “Well, look what we have here.”With his bright blue eyes wide with fear, Timmy pleaded, “No! Get away

from me! I didn’t see anything. I swear it!” With determination, the large nun grabbed him so violently that Timmy’s arms were nearly wrenched from their sockets.

“OUCH! No! Let me go! Let me go!” Timmy yelled in pain. Tears fl owed down his reddened cheeks.

“Come on!” the nun demanded.Timmy’s protests echoed off of the monastery’s old stone, as he was

dragged backwards down the stairs. The heel of his black uniform shoes hit every step with a loud thud. Timmy’s lanky legs relentlessly kicked and fl ailed as he fought feverishly to get away. He tried to stand up and run, but the furious nun grabbed him by his short, dark brown hair.

16

Timmy held onto the nun’s wrists and screamed in agony as blood began to seep from his scalp. “Someone, please help me! Mother Superior, come back! Help me!” Timmy’s screams were lost as they bled into the sound of the squealing rusted hinges opening against a gale force wind. “Please, let me go! I didn’t see anything. I swear it!”

The gruff nun barked back at him without any sense of feeling. “No, you didn’t see anything, you piece of fi lth, because dead men tell no tales. Do they?”

The sounds of the boy struggling were overcome by the storm as his pleas for help were lost in the incoming blizzard’s howling winds.

17

CHAPTER 2

“Where is he?!” a petite woman frightfully demanded as she sat at the kitchen table. Her bright blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen, evidence of the hours spent fearing for the safety of her son. Although well into her thirties, Margie Fields was still a handsome woman with her long dark hair pulled into a bun high up on her head.

All she could think about was that her son was somewhere in the raging storm; not safe and sound at home as he should be. Timmy should’ve been home a long time ago. I hope he is all right! How many people have died in the past few years in Maine’s blinding blizzards? I think there were thirteen; at least those are the ones I can think of right away. Too many have fallen in snow so deep that they couldn’t get out before freezing to death. I can’t lose faith yet. God, please help me stay strong!

The antique clock that adorned the wooden fi replace mantel chimed fi ve times. Timmy’s parents, Herbert and Margie stared at it and then at each other.

Pursing his lips, Herbert suggested, “Have you called the school, Sweetheart?” he asked with concern in his voice.

Herbert Fields, an older gentleman in his fi fties, tried to hide his growing fear of getting bad news. He could only try to remain strong for his wife.

“I’m doing that now, Herbert,” Margie replied. Silently saying a prayer, she dialed the numbers on the telephone, eager to hear of her son’s whereabouts.

Mother Superior Mary Ellen, Head Mistress of St. Francis Catholic School, sat at her wooden desk. A crucifi x hung directly on the wall behind her. She was working late, fi lling out paperwork and going through applications. With all of the crime and problems in the world, more and more families were seeking the protection and quality of private schools to educate their children.

With total dedication to the Catholic church, Mother Superior expected nothing but the best out of her students. She ran the school with a stern hand and strict discipline when needed. As she focused on an application, the phone interrupted her train of thought. She put her pen down on her desk and picked up the receiver, aware that her secretary had already gone for the day.

“Hello? St. Francis Catholic School ... This is Mother Superior Mary Ellen.”“Mother Superior, this is Margie Fields — Timmy’s mom.”

18

“Yes, Ma’am, how can I help you?” A soft quivering voice spoke. “Do you know if Timmy is still there, Mother

Superior? Timmy called before school was out and informed us that he had to stay late. It’s getting dark, and he hasn’t made it home yet. I am getting concerned since the weather is getting so bad.”

“Oh Margie, I spoke with him just as he was getting ready to leave well over an hour ago,” Mother Superior volunteered.

“Mother, I’m really getting worried. Would you mind having someone search around for him, just in case? It would help me feel a little better if I know where he is.” Margie jerked her head back from the receiver as she heard a loud popping noise in her ear. Suddenly, the telephone connection went dead.

Unaware that no one could hear her on the other end, Mother Superior continued to speak into the receiver. “Of course I will, Dear. I’ll have some of the sisters look around for Timmy. I’d have the custodian do it, but he’s on vacation. Try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll make it home safely.”

Bewildered by the silence, Margie hung up the phone, rubbed her forehead in desperation, and pulled the back the drape.

Herbert stood up from his plush, dark green lounge chair, placing his hands on his hips. His long legs made him tower above the petite woman he had been married to for twenty-three years.

“What did Mother Superior say?” “Well, Mother Superior spoke to him just before he left. I asked her to

search around for him, but I didn’t get an answer from her. I think she might have hung up on me.”

Puzzled, Herbert scratched his head and stared down at the fl oor. “That doesn’t sound like Mother Superior. She wouldn’t usually hang up like that. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. The weather is playing havoc with the phone lines.” He pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his watch just before sitting back down. Leaning back in his chair, the older man closed his eyes in despair.

I told that boy to come straight home. I hope he didn’t get lost in the blizzard, he thought to himself.

“You may be right, Herbert. I also called his girlfriend, Lisa, but she hasn’t heard from him either. She said that she will tell him to come home if he calls her. I’ve spoken to everyone I know. I just hope nothing has happened to him.”

19

Covering her mouth, water fi lled her blue eyes like a reservoir behind a dam. Unable to hold back any longer, a fl ood of tears fi nally gave way and cascaded down her cheeks uncontrollably. Panic stricken, she felt as if someone had reached in and pulled out her heart.

Herbert rose from his chair feeling as if his heart was in his throat. He was barely able to make his way over to his wife. Weakened by despair, his legs would hardly support him. Attempting to console her, he said, “Come here, Honeybun.”

As she approached, he put his arms around her rubbing the back of her head softly. “Shhh … It will be okay.” He continued to try to soothe her sorrow as he felt a heaviness begin to weigh on his own heart .

“Look at me, Margie,” Herbert said as he looked directly into her eyes. “It’ll be okay. I bet he’s on his way home right now. Everything will be just fi ne.” The words that he spoke were just as much an attempt to convince himself as it was to encourage her.

* * * *

After another hour of waiting, Herbert’s patience had fi nally faltered. Putting a cap on his head, he quickly buttoned his thick, brown corduroy coat, and headed to open the front door. Carefully walking out onto the icy stoop, he braced himself against the fi ercely blowing storm and stepped out on the lawn. Immediately, his feet sunk into the freshly fallen snow, which already measured up to his ankles.

Looking up at a tree that stood in front of his house, the tightness in his chest constricted even more. The massive Oak tree swayed as if it was a rag doll in the howling winds. A cracking sound boomed through the gales. Suddenly, a large branch fell from the tree and missing him by mere inches. He shivered as snow from the falling branch fell down the neck of his coat. Shielding his face from the blinding blizzard, he leaned into the wind heading toward the end of the driveway.

The ‘white out’ surrounded Herbert as he tried to formulate his plan to fi nd his son. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, although he knew it didn’t make sense. Through the thick streaks of fl akes that pounded all around him, faint high beams from what sounded like an SUV were coming slowly towards him.

20

Herbert walked out onto the paved road, now completely covered with inches of snow. Waving his hands high in the air, he desperately tried to grab the driver’s attention without being run over.

The black SUV came to a stop and the window rolled down. Herbert instantly recognized the driver’s face belonging to Jim Oats, a fellow lobster man and longtime friend of his. Jim became immediately concerned when he saw his friend.

Herbert leaned in and said, “Hey, Jim, I didn’t recognize your new car. Listen Jim, I have a problem.”

“I was just on my way home. What’s the problem and how can I help?” Jim said, alarmed by the look on his friend’s face.

“Jim, Timmy hasn’t come home from school, and Margie and I are getting worried. I know you pass by there. Did see him walking this way?”

“No, I didn’t, but I’ll certainly keep an eye out for him, Herbert. Did you call the monastery and the school?”

“Yes.” Removing his cigar from between his sun spotted lips, Jim scratched his

salt and pepper beard. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t waste any time standing here, Herbert. The National Weather Station predicts this will go on all freaking night; three inches an hour falling in the height of the storm compared to one inch an hour right now.”

“Yes, I think you’re right. I need to call the sheriff. I hope he is still in his offi ce.” Herbert said as he hiked his collar up against the driving snow and wind.

“Herbert, after I get this load of groceries home to the wife, I’ll help look if you still haven’t found him. I’ll call you in a few to make sure he hasn’t gotten home yet before I head back.”

“Sure thing. And if you see him…”“You bet, I’ll call you and bring him home myself if I see him. Now, go

make your calls, Herb. I’ll talk to you shortly.”Jim put the car in drive and proceeded down the road until he was out of

sight. Herbert walked back to the house, removed his coat along with his hat, and

shook off the snow. He entered the warm glow of the place he had called home for almost eighteen years and shivered from the cold. Placing his winter wear on the coat tree and headed toward the coffee pot.

21

Margie was on her phone talking to the neighbors. Sobbing, she put the phone back on the receiver, folded her arms, and asked, “Who were you talking to?”

“Jim Oats ... He drives by St. Francis on his way home every day. I asked him if he had seen Timmy. He didn’t, but he said that he will keep a watch out for him. If we don’t fi nd him soon, he’ll come help us look for him.”

Furrowing his brow, Herbert became even more determined. Cracks were beginning to show in his armor of stoic bravery. “This has gone on long enough. I’m calling Sheriff Johnson right now,” he said voice shaking ever so slightly.

With the word ‘sheriff’ lingering in the air, Margie could barely breathe. Panic stricken, she covered her mouth as tears continued to stream from her eyes.

22

CHAPTER 3

Sitting in his leather chair with his feet resting on the edge of his desk, Sheriff Johnson took a bite of his BLT while watching the developments of the storm on the big screen TV in the corner of his offi ce.

The receptionist’s voice blurted over the intercom, “Sheriff, there’s a call for you on line one. Whoever it is sounds pretty shook up.”

He wiped dripping mayonnaise from his chin with the back of his hand and replied, “Offay, ffank you.” Picking up the phone, he answered with a mouthful of sandwich, “FFeriffff Johnffon.”

“Sheriff, this is Herbert Fields.” Panic began to creep into his words as Herbert tried to speak calmly.

“Herff? Everything alright?” he said as he hurriedly choked down his food, “I am watching the developments of the storm on the TV. I can’t believe we’re getting one so early this year. Talk about global warming, my foot!” The sheriff used his pinky nail to pick at some bacon stuck between his teeth then he sucked it through and gave a small belch of satisfaction.

“Sheriff, listen, I hate to bother you, but Timmy hasn’t come home from school. I’m trying not to worry, but with this storm...”

In an instant, Sheriff Johnson removed his feet from his desk and sat up. “Okay, when was he supposed to come home, Herbert?”

“He called this afternoon and told Margie that he had to stay late.” Herbert put his hand against the wall and wiped his brow on his sleeve. “Now, maybe I’m just over reacting and jumping the gun, so to speak, but we’re really getting nervous.”

“Have you called some of his friends?” “Yes, we have called everyone we can think of.”Sheriff Johnson glanced at his watch, showing it was 5:15 P.M. “Well, like

you said Herbert, we don’t want to jump to conclusions that something has happened to him. He may have stopped somewhere on his way home.” The sheriff rose from his chair, and made his way to the closest window. “However, with this storm, I agree, I really don’t want to take any chances.” Twisting the rod, he opened the blinds, and watched the raging blizzard. “I’ll come out there in just a few minutes.”

23

“Well, I appreciate it, Sheriff. We’ll be waiting for you.”“Okay, see you in a bit.”Sheriff Johnson sat back down, propped his feet back on his desk, and

continued eating his BLT.Deputy Williams knocked on the half-cracked door. Sheriff Johnson waved

him into the room. The deputy walked in and asked, “Anything going on, Sheriff? Someone

stuck on the side of the road maybe?”Sheriff Johnson rolled his eyes. “Oh, no. Herbert and Margie Fields are

frantic again because their baby boy, who happens to be eighteen I might add, isn’t home yet. Remember the last time? We spent three hours searching for him, just to fi nd him asleep at Lisa’s house.” Smirking he said, “Timmy probably went over to a friend’s house, and just forgot to call home. However, I do know that some of the residents in the area have lost power, plus several telephone lines are down.” The sheriff took another bite of his delicious sandwich.

The deputy smiled at him. “Man, these parents wig out over anything.” Sheriff Johnson leaned back rocking in his brown leather chair and wiped

his mouth as he chewed. His words slurred as he chewed, “Wellf, we allf wantf fo knowf wheref four kidsf aref, esfpecfi allfy whenf fthere’s fweather likef fthisf.” Barely able to keep the food in his mouth, he fi nally swallowed it. Picking up his can of diet cola, he took a long drink then belched grotesquely. The sheriff looked over at his deputy and smiled with satisfaction.

The deputy laughed. “Man, where are your manners?Laughing, he replied, “I left them at home with the misses.” The sheriff

sat forward and glanced around habitually as if expecting his wife to jump out from the shadows and scold him for his lack of manners.

The sheriff smiled as he sat back again. “Back in my day, before the late show every night, a message came over the television. ‘Do you know where your children are?’”

“Yeah, I remember that vaguely.” “Well, that was probably before your time, Williams.” Sheriff Johnson stood to his feet, pulling his pants up over his bulging

waste line. “Well, I better not ignore this. I need to get out there before the roads are covered with snow that I can’t get through.” He placed his hat on top of his gray head. “Well, I’m off.”

24

“Want me to come with you, Sheriff?” “No, I’ll be back in a little while. This shouldn’t take too long.”

* * * *

Sheriff Johnson kicked the snow off his boots as he stepped onto Herbert and Margie Fields’ front porch. Before the sheriff could knock, Herbert opened the door.

“Come in, Sheriff,” Herbert greeted him, trying to hide his fears. Politely taking off his hat as he entered the foyer, the sheriff said, “Hello,

Herbert. Sorry, I was in the middle something important when you called, but I got here as quickly as I could,” the sheriff explained.

“Thank you so much, Sheriff.”“So, is Timmy still not home?” Margie walked into the living room holding the cordless phone. She looked

like a complete wreck. “Sheriff, so glad you’re here. We have been worried sick.”

Attempting to appear calm, Herbert smiled at her softly. “He should’ve been home hours ago.”

Sheriff Johnson took his pen and notepad out of his shirt pocket. “Did he say what time he would be home?”

“No. Only that he had to stay late and would be home right after he was done.”

“Earlier on the phone, you said that you had called the school already?”“Yes, I called.” Margie said as she wrung her hands tightly around the

phone receiver.Bewildered, Sheriff Johnson scratched his weathered forehead. “What did

they say?” “Mother Superior Mary Ellen believed he wasn’t there. She told me that

she spoke with him just as he was leaving, however, the phone went dead in the middle of the call. I think she hung up on me.”

“Mmmm … That’s strange, that doesn’t sound like Mother Superior. Some of the lines have gone down, so that may explain it.” After pausing to reorganize his thoughts, he asked, “Okay, so what was he wearing, Margie?” Sheriff clicked his pen and began to write on his pad.

“His uniform … white shirt, red jacket, slacks, black shoes and belt. He also had his heavy, black wool coat,” Margie said as she began to sob again.

25

Sheriff Johnson placed his pen and note pad back in his shirt pocket. “What we don’t want to do is panic, okay?” Raising his shoulders, he said, “Sometimes people will run off to someone’s house, or the library and just not be able to call home. He may even be taking shelter from the storm and might not be able to call. Nevertheless, there’s something you need to remember. I know he’s your child, but remember he’s an eighteen year old young man. Nevertheless, with what’s going on out there, I do understand your concern and we’ll do what we can.”

“Yes, but that’s not like, Timmy; teen or not. He always calls if he is going somewhere. Otherwise, he comes right home, Sheriff,” replied Herbert.

“Did he have his cell phone with him, Margie?” “No, he left it here.” “Okay, this is what I want you to do. We really can’t report this as a missing

person just yet. We usually need to wait twenty-four hours before we can do that, but with the weather, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Twenty-four hours? Sheriff, he could be buried in snow by then!” Margie exclaimed.

Raising his hands, he said, “Calm down, Margie. With the storm like it is right now, it’d be suicide to try to go out and search for him in the woods in the dark, but I will have the patrols keep an eye out. I’m sure he’ll show up.”

Sheriff glanced at Herbert. “I’m going to make a few phone calls and do some driving around between the school and here to see if I can track him down myself. I’ll call it in right away so the patrols will be aware of the situation. Wait here, and stay close to the phone. I’ll let you know what I fi nd out as soon as possible, alright? If Timmy calls or comes home, call me right away. But, let’s not push the panic button just yet. If he doesn’t turn up by the morning, then we’ll begin a full search for him at fi rst light.”

Margie’s eyes fi lled with tears as she held on to her husband’s large arm. “He’s not home now, and it’s going to storm all night … if he’s out there.”

“I’ll try to fi nd your boy, Herbert. I promise I’ll do my best.” Herbert pulled his wife in close and extended his hand. “Thanks, Sheriff.”Sheriff shook Herbert’s hand, then replaced his hat before heading out the

door.

* * * *

26

Early the next morning, the clock above the fi replace chimed six times while the pre-dawn light faintly illuminated the windows. Margie opened her eyes and stood up from her chair in which she had intermittently slept the night before. She walked to Timmy’s room and opened the door, hoping to fi nd him safe and sound in the bed. It was still empty.

Fear engulfed every fi ber of her being. She ran into the living room yelling, “He’s not here, Herbert. He never came home!”

Waking with a start, Herbert jumped up from the couch, and held his wife in his arms. Together, they wept.

Herbert shuffl ed over to pick up the phone as he said, “I’ll call the sheriff right away, my dear. He said that they would begin a search early this morning if Timmy didn’t come home.”

* * * *

Ice had already formed on the edges of the pond as the freezing temperatures held onto their grasp throughout the winter night. Like a sheer veil, a light fog had settled over the monastery pond, only allowing a hint of the early light to be seen. The peacefulness of the morning gave no evidence of the storm that had raged only an hour earlier. An eerie silence hung over the forest as bubbles began to trickle to the surface of the monastery pond. Timmy’s lifeless body rose from the depths and fl oated face down, turning lazy circles in the icy-cold water.