41. Chapter 40
Chapter 40
Keaton
“C’mon, man, can’t you drive faster?” I gripped the steering wheel of my Ram 1500 TRX tighter, the only way to stop myself from honking at the beat-up Taurus in front of me. Technically, he was driving fast enough. Just not fast enough for me.
I’d spent another sleepless night on the couch, checking on Layne regularly. Still no improvement. What if her health was going to stay in this state? What if she had to stay in a darkened room for the rest of her life, in excruciating pain and not able to do anything or have anyone around?
The jungle framing the road grew thicker the farther up the mountain I drove. Whoever was in that Taurus seemed to take each sharp turn slower than the last. Or maybe it was just my patience running out.
After what felt like forever, we left the jungle behind and arrived at the summit. Saint James Cathedral towered into the blue sky, and though the midday sun blasted down on us, the air was much cooler up here. The view was incredible as always—a sea of green stretching all the way to the ocean. Glam City’s distinctive skyline in the distance. The sharp but lush mountains rising behind Saint James.
I climbed out of my TRX and jogged to the cathedral. Not thinking twice, I burst through the door. Several heads of people sitting in the pews swiveled in my direction. They had Mass in the middle of the week? What was this, Midday Mass?
Standing behind the pulpit, the priest continued—wait. I gaped. Kingsley. My brother preached?
Stunned, I slid in one of the pews all the way at the back.
“In 1 Timothy 1:15-16 Paul says: Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his immense patience as an example for those who would believe in him and receive eternal life. ”
I stared at the altar draped in white linen, the centerpiece of the sanctuary. A heavy weight pressed down on my shoulders as if God himself pinned me down with His hand. The worst of sinners. That was me. In my selfishness, I had used people to reach my goals and women for pleasure. Wherever this revelation came from, I saw now how ruthless I’d been.
A gnawing emptiness dug into my chest, my soul reaching for the words my brother had just spoken. Not sure what that Paul guy had done, but if he had received mercy, could I, too? I’d made a lot of mistakes. Maybe too many.
I tried to focus on the rest of Kingsley’s sermon but was stuck on that question. When Mass finally ended, he walked down the long aisle toward the main door. His gaze skipped to me for a moment, and he frowned but kept going.
I got up and jogged after him, which drew even more attention from the other Mass goers. I didn’t give a squat. I had to talk to my brother. “Kingsley!”
He stopped outside the door and turned around. People came streaming out of the cathedral, dodging us. “Are you okay? Did something happen to Wentworth?”
Nothing was okay, me being in a house of worship to talk to my monk brother of my own accord proof of that.
“Everyone’s fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t true. Layne was miserable. I was miserable because she was miserable and there was nothing I could do about it.
“Can this wait fifteen minutes? I have to farewell the parishioners.”
It couldn’t, but since I had no other choice, I grunted an agreement. An eternity later, everyone had left and Kingsley came over to where I was lingering in the shade of a Banyan tree.
“Let’s head to the rectory.” Once there—beyond the thick stone walls—he led me into a spartan study with low ceilings and walls lined with shelves sagging under the weight of thick books. He pointed at two worn armchairs facing each other by the window, and we took a seat. “What’s up?”
I bounced my leg up and down, my eyes fixed on the crucified Jesus hanging on the wall behind my brother. Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst.
I shook the verse off. “Why do people say God is good if He doesn’t care what happens to his ‘children?’”
Kingsley propped his elbows on his thighs, folded his hands, and leaned in. “Is this about your wife?”
“Yes, it’s about Layne.” I spat a curse. “She’s so devoted to God, but He continues to torture her. There’s nothing that can help her. Nothing!” My throat burned, and I swallowed hard. “Talked with Dwight, but he can’t do anything either. What do I do, Kingsley?”
A knock came at the door, and some guy in a black skirt poked his head inside. “Is everything all right, Brother Samuel?”
Kingsley nodded. “Thank you, Father Cruz. This is my brother, Keaton.”
Gaze flicking to me, the guy smiled unexpectedly warm. As if he knew who I was. “Welcome, Keaton. It’s good to have you here.” With that, he left us to it and closed the door behind him.
“Do you pray for her?” Kingsley asked, drawing my attention back to him.
I cocked an eyebrow. “You know who you’re talking to? I don’t pray, man.”
“Why not?”
“Why—” I curled my hand into a fist, then released it again. “Do you really think God listens to a self-absorbed bas—”
“Watch your language, please.”
“—like me?”
“Not so self-absorbed if you pray for her, are you?” Kingsley’s green eyes radiated a wisdom I’d never seen before. “God listens to you, Keaton. He might not answer your prayers the way you want, but He hears you.”
I sniffed. Didn’t know about that.
“How’s Layne dealing with all this?”
“Says it brings her closer to God. Smiles and cracks jokes. But she also admitted that it’s hard, and she’d rather she were dead.” That fist in my chest returned. Her words put into perspective just how bad off she was.
“The thing is”—Kingsley rose and grabbed a black leather Bible from one of the shelves—“that God’s ways don’t make sense to you as a non-Christian. Sometimes they don’t even make sense to us.” He sat back down and carefully turned a few pages, then ran his finger over the passages. Stopped. Turned the Bible so I could see it. “1 Peter 1:6-7. In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. ”
I stared at the words, trying to make sense of them. They didn’t. It was like I couldn’t think straight.
“Suffering is part of being a Christian,” Kingsley continued. “Gold is refined by fire, our faith by trials. From the sound of it, Layne understands that and has peace about it.”
Maybe she did. But how? How could she have one foot in the grave and be at peace?
“Hey, Keaton.”
I lifted my gaze from the Bible to my brother. Had he said something?
“She’ll be fine, okay? Her faith is strong, and so is she. Be there for her. Pray for her.”
Leaning back in the chair, I dug my fingers into the armrests. “Yeah.” I took Kingsley in—the black habit, the serenity he exuded. “You really belong here, don’t you?”
“I’d like to think so. The brothers and fathers here . . .” Avoiding my gaze, he closed the Bible and set it on the windowsill. “They’re family.”
I got that. Our family didn’t deserve that title. Tatum had started his own right after high school. Kimball had found it in her friendships, Wentworth in the Army, and Kingsley apparently here. And me? I had avoided any deeper connection like the plague.
Until Layne. What if we stayed together after the year was over?
“Since when do you preach?” I asked, not wanting to deal with that question right now. “You looked good up there.”
“Couple of months. Preparation for when things get real next year.”
Pride swelled my chest. My brother was going to be a priest, and that at twenty-seven. Maybe it wasn’t that much of a shame after all that he wasted his good looks.
“You got any more questions?” Kingsley asked.
“Nah.” I stood, and he rose, too. Leaning over, I gripped the back of my brother’s neck and brought our foreheads together. “I’m proud of you, champ.”
Kingsley said nothing, but when I let him go, his eyes glistened. And I knew why. Nobody had ever said that to him.
Smiling, I slapped his shoulder, then headed for the door.
“Keaton.”
I gripped the handle and turned.
Kingsley still stood by the chairs, Bible in hand. “I’ve been praying for you for years, and I’ll keep praying until you receive Jesus as your Savior.”
Two months ago, I would’ve ribbed him for it. Now I just nodded. “Appreciate it.”
“I want you to have my Bible.” He cut the space between us and extended it to me.
“Thanks.” I took it, more out of respect than anything else. “Hey, what did Paul do? Why did he see himself as the worst of sinners?”
Kingsley roughed a hand over his beard. “Before his salvation, he persecuted Christians. Caused a lot of suffering with his violence. His transformation shows how great God’s mercy is.” His expression softened. “We’re all sinners and in need of the Lord’s grace. Jesus Christ died for each and every one of us. All we can do is receive His gift. Repent and leave our old ways behind.”
Kingsley’s words trailed me back to my TRX, where I sat and stared out the windshield at the green mountains behind the cathedral. Maybe he was right, and I should give prayer a try. And he’d said the same thing as Layne—that no one was too far gone. I wanted to believe that. And even if it didn’t save me, at least I would hit my knees for my sweet Layne.
My phone chimed.
I unearthed it. Just because you haven’t heard from me in a while doesn’t mean I’m not watching you. I see you’re starting to care about your wife. Better keep an eye on her.
Gritting my teeth, I screenshotted the message and sent it to Bancroft. The DRPD still had no lead. Ian hadn’t raised any flags. Neither did I get anywhere with the information I had collected myself. None of the people with a motive fully matched the Psycho’s MO. He was good at this game, I had to give him that.
I pulled up the camera feeds of my property, but they didn’t show anything unusual. The motion sensors hadn’t been activated either. I glanced back at the monastery. Kingsley knew that I’d started caring about Layne—a lot—but no way would he send me threats like that.
Right?
Then again, most people at work knew that I cared about Layne. Me staying home several days gave that one away.
It could be literally anyone I knew.