Chapter Fourteen #2
She observed us, expecting a reaction. But we were too shocked to offer her one that would be acceptable or appropriate in this situation.
"Well, thank you kindly for your time," Mitchell said, edging away. "We’ll go check out the church now."
Disappointed, she returned to tending the roses.
As soon as we walked a few yards away, June jokingly slapped Mitchell’s arm. "Why’d you ask her about anything strange? She’s clearly crazy herself."
"I didn’t know that!"
"You love ‘em crazy," June said, turning to Nick and me with a sly grin. "You should’ve seen his ex."
"Oh, shut up," Mitchell grumbled, but he said it playfully, swatting his sister away with a slight chuckle.
"I hope there’s a second exit. I don’t feel like talking to her again," June added.
Mitchell held the door for us, and we entered the elegant mid-size church. Inside was a haven of cream-colored walls and stunning stained-glass windows that filtered sunlight into kaleidoscopic patterns.
June scowled, slowly making her way through rows of polished wooden pews. "Ugh, I hate churches."
The scent of old hymnals, worn wood polish, stale air and aged carpet tickled my nose.
I tried to recall the last time I’d been to church.
Maybe when Grandma was still alive. I wasn’t raised religiously, but my Dad’s mom regularly attended church and sometimes took me along.
The Reverend was a kind and friendly man.
After the service, we would often stay and chat with him and the other ladies.
They would give me candy and tell me what a good kid I was.
I wouldn’t have minded going, and had even entertained the idea of joining the choir, but my mother forbade it.
Her rationale was that I was too young to be indoctrinated into religion.
I sensed that her genuine concern was that I might find a sense of belonging there, one that didn’t revolve around her.
The church was empty. No trace of the little boy, either.
"Hello? Anyone here?" June’s voice echoed through the vast hall.
Mitchell hushed her to keep quiet, but it was too late. From the hallway to the left of the altar, a figure emerged. The black suit and white collar he wore identified him unmistakably as the Reverend.
He clasped his hands. "How may I be of assistance to you?"
"Hey, sorry to interrupt. Can we ask you a few questions, if that’s alright?" Mitchell approached the stairs, looking back at us as if seeking confirmation that he should retake the lead. Or perhaps he was trying to show us he was keeping his cool after what had happened at the cemetery.
"I’m Reverend Carver," he introduced himself with a slight, somewhat condescending nod. Then he steepled his fingers briefly. "What brings you to our community?"
"We’d like to ask a few questions about the town."
"Oh?" Reverend Carver replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What seems to be of interest to you?"
"We’re just trying to see if there’s anything... unusual going on around here."
Reverend Carver pondered this, then shook his head. "I’m not aware of anything specific. Perhaps you could share some examples of what you’re looking for?"
"Anything ritualistic? People gone missing? I’m not sure… Fights? Maiming?" Mitchell offered.
"Maiming? There’s certainly no shortage of that."
"Oh, really?" June’s sarcasm was as thick as the holy air.
"Addiction’s a terrible thing," the Reverend nodded. "It’s been a problem in our community for a long time, causing folks to do things they wouldn’t normally do."
"Like what?" June asked.
"Take, for instance, a husband who, under the influence, raises a hand to his wife. Or young men fighting in alleyways. Black Water, I’m afraid, is not immune to these problems. But we’re working tirelessly to address them."
"Yeah, but do you have anything else?" Mitch probed.
"Such as?"
June inserted herself abruptly. "Like, satanists? Or cults? Witches?"
Reverend Carver’s gaze snapped to June’s T-shirt, lingering on the image of a cat paired with a cheerful slogan, "Sometimes dead is better". His expression turned tense. "No, nothing of that nature. May I ask what prompted your question?"
Mitchell said, "We’re just looking for some people."
We promptly produced our phones, displaying photos of Amanda—of course, she was first—and Lucas. The Reverend examined them without touching either one, then shook his head.
"So, nothing of that sort?" Mitchell asked again, his voice devoid of hope.
June threw a glance at Nick and added, "Or maybe unusual murders?"
"I’m not sure what you’re getting at," Reverend Carver said with a stern expression, "but Black Water’s a good town with good people. I don’t appreciate any implication otherwise."
Mitchell cleared his throat. "Just one more thing. Did you happen to see a little boy come in?"
The Reverend shook his head curtly. "No, I didn’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve parish business to attend to."
We didn’t get a chance to say another word.
It was just another dead end, unless we wanted to sit in the parking lot and wait for the little boy to eventually show up.
However, that, combined with our pursuit of him around town, could result in the police being called on us.
And after what had happened at the cemetery, we couldn’t brush off another incident as a misunderstanding.
What surprised me was that Nick, who had just finished reprimanding Mitchell, now let him take the lead.
He actually seemed to trust him not to lose control again.
For once, I wished Nick would step up, but he kept deferring to Mitch.
I couldn’t understand why. Maybe he didn’t want to spark more conflict with Mitch.
The Reverend’s demeanor was curt and cold, like someone who would quietly sweep scandals under the rug and smile benignly for the cameras. He was eager to get rid of us, the outsiders with too many questions. He and his answers were as welcoming as a brick wall.
With no new leads at the church, we had no choice but to move on. I was still hopeful of catching up with Duane.