Chapter 25
June
It had been a beautiful, sunny day when I’d walked into Loretta Evers’s house—but by the time I left, it was dark, gloomy, and above all, wet.
And not in a fun way.
The weather made it hard to get all the donations the ladies had collected for the church inside—particularly alone—but I wasn’t going to interrupt Silas’s afternoon with his brother just because I thought it would take a couple extra trips in and out of the church in the rain.
I could handle soggy sneakers and socks; after all, I had a hot bath with the man I loved to look forward to on the other side of it.
The church—which we’d decided to start calling the All Souls Fellowship, already beginning the work of rechristening it—was quiet and serene on rainy days.
We hadn’t had too many of them through the hot Georgia summer, but they were coming more often now that fall was on its way…
and there was something magic about it. I shouldered the double doors open and carried a box of new and improved hymnals through into the sanctuary, the stained glass painting the whole room in moving streams of color.
No one here…just me and God.
The box was heavier than it looked, as boxes full of books so often are.
I set it down gently on the front pew, then took a minute to breathe, looking around.
This place…we’d already done so much to change it, to transform it into a home for the strange, wonderful people of Willow Grove.
I didn’t expect everyone to start showing up for Sunday services or anything, but we were getting close—
My breath caught in the middle of a thought.
I frowned, tuning into the creeping sensation crawling up my spine. The church was safe…I knew it was safe. But something was off.
Very, very off.
I straightened up, pushing damp hair off my forehead, just…listening. The rain was loud enough that I couldn’t hear much beyond the patter on the windows, the occasional rumble of distant thunder. I slowly turned my head to the left, then to the right, sweeping my gaze over the sanctuary.
No…something was definitely wrong.
We hadn’t heard a peep from Abel Trent and his goons since they’d shown up here for our potluck, but that didn’t mean they were gone.
We were still getting regular updates from the local sheriff—they were looking into it, keeping an eye on them.
Silas was more concerned than I was, but I was fully convinced we had an angel on our side, so I’d stopped worrying for the most part.
And speaking of which…
I saw a glimpse of white, fingertips curling around the threshold to the hallway that would take me to the parsonage.
I froze.
“Silas?” I called out—the only other person who had a key, outside of the church ladies…but I’d just left them. “That you? Miss Evers…?”
No answer.
I swallowed hard. Up until now, that flash of white had set me at ease—my angel, with her long brown hair and white dress, glowing, watching over me. She was there in my worst time of need, both times I’d been in danger, and she’d been looking on when I’d confronted Abel.
But if that was her…why was she here now?
And was she still so comforting now that I knew she was less of an angel and more of a ghost?
The silence pressed in, heavy with a near-tangible weight.
I set toward the parsonage hallway, taking slow steps, wondering if I was making a mistake…
if I should just turn right back around and go through the double doors, to my waiting car.
I reached into my pocket to grab my keys, nesting them between my knuckles like claws.
I never thought I’d have to do this here, of all places—but I guess I should’ve remembered that small towns had their own kinds of danger.
The hallway stretched ahead of me, dark and quiet and still. I took one step forward, then another. A faint creak echoed beneath my sneakers, rainwater squelching with every move. It would have been funny if I wasn’t suddenly petrified…but as it was, I didn’t have the luxury of laughing.
It felt like the church was holding its breath.
Or maybe that was just me.
The door to the parsonage was cracked open, just as Silas had left it when he’d emptied it out to move his meager collection of furniture over to 222 Main.
The place was empty now, nothing but a spare room for church storage.
I glanced up at the hexafoil carved into the threshold overhead as I carefully pushed the door open, reaching up to clutch the matching wooden amulet around my neck—
And I took a sudden, sharp gasp as I stepped inside, eyes wide.
She was standing in the window, looking out toward the gravel lot behind the church. Her back was to me…but she was unmistakeable. Silas had shown me pictures after we’d shared our stories of the angel, and this…
…this was Amelia Trent.
I swallowed hard, frozen in place. Amelia didn’t move. Her hair hung down her back, long and unbound, incredibly straight…rippling like it caught a breeze that didn’t exist. The white dress she wore, always unclear before, made sense now.
It was her wedding gown…the same one that Willow had worn down the aisle last year.
The same one that Silas had kept for over a decade.
This wasn’t a monster, nor was it an angel. She was a woman. A woman who’d loved the same man I’d fallen so hard for. A woman who’d suffered. A woman who’d died.
And for some reason, she was standing in front of me.
“Amelia?” I said, voice quiet and breathless.
She turned her head just slightly, her face now visible in profile. She was pale, gaunt, one hand splayed wide against the window. Outside, lightning cracked low on the horizon, illuminating the window just enough for me to see the outline of that hand, as real as any living person.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, slowly crossing the room. “What are you—”
That’s when I heard the noise out in the sanctuary: a door creaking open and thudding shut again.
Amelia’s eyes found mine, terrifyingly blind with a shroud of death…and then they darted toward the door out to the gravel lot.
“Go,” she rasped, and it was like that voice filled me with the heavenly strength I needed to run.
My feet moved before my mind caught up, the keys still clenched in my fist as I bolted for the door.
It was deadbolted and chained from the inside, and I couldn’t work fast enough to get them undone…
but then glowing, skeletal hands seemed to find mine, helping me stay steady, unlocking the door.
I flung the door open and staggered out into the pouring rain, lightning flashing again in the early dusk light. Nobody out here. I was safe.
But when I looked back at the window, Amelia was still there—watching.
And there was someone behind her.
I had two options: I could run around the church to the front lot to get my car, or I could cut through the woods back home.
I would be drenched when I got there…but it was a short walk with a clear path, and I was fast. If I went around front, there was a good chance whoever was inside would meet me there, do whatever they’d planned, but if I went through the woods…
The angel—Amelia—raised her finger to point toward the tree line.
And the decision was made for me.
I bolted.
The grass was slick, the mud even worse, but adrenaline gave me wings. My sneakers were already ruined; my socks had been soaked since I stepped inside the sanctuary. Now, water sloshed in my shoes with every stride as I tore through the lot, my breath fogging in the air.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to.
I could feel something behind me…not close yet, but not far enough to make me feel safe.
The woods loomed ahead, shadowy and wet, birdsong sounding somewhere ahead.
I ducked beneath the first branch, my hand slapping against the pine bark as I pushed forward—but I got stuck in the mud, my foot suddenly sliding out of my shoe.
Damn it.
I kicked off my other heavy shoe, then I started sprinting barefoot through the rain. And as my feet hit the pine needle-covered trail, I felt it.
Not wind, not water, not the soft clay beneath the gravel. Just…presence.
Like I wasn’t alone. Like someone was watching my back.
The lightning seemed to flicker just where I needed it to see the way in the dying light, the trees opening to me.
The rain lessened, the wind was at my back.
It felt like the strange energy that had put me on the road to Willow Grove.
It felt like Amelia. It felt like God. It felt like the magnetism of 222 Main, pulling me home.
Just ahead was a faint glow, a glimmer that looked like moonlight but definitely wasn’t. It moved ahead, fairy lights in the trees, a thousand fireflies in the branches and leaves. I ran, sprinted, got closer and closer…
…then I stumbled as I broke through the other side of the woods.
Right outside our house.
I squinted in the sudden glare of headlights as a truck turned into the driveway in front of me: Silas’s truck, I realized as it slammed to a stop, the door swinging open. Silas was out of the cab before the engine had rumbled to a stop, feet slapping on the wet gravel.
“June!” he shouted, his voice rough and panicked and so full of love it frightened me. “What the hell—?”
I didn’t answer—just flung myself into his arms.
He caught me despite the fact that I was drenched, his strong arms coming around me, lifting me up.
I wrapped both legs around him without intending to, teeth chattering from the cold or the adrenaline or both, and he just stood there in the rain and held me, smoothing my hair back and pressing anxious kisses to my temple.
“Jesus, baby,” he whispered. “What happened?”
“There was someone in the church,” I gasped. “I think—I think it was Abel. I saw Amelia, she helped me get out and I ran…”
Silas’s breath stuttered against my ear, not saying anything as he got to work—moving, getting me the hell out of the rain, away from the danger.
He carried me like I weighed nothing, stomping up the steps and through the front door, then kicking it shut behind us with one booted foot.
He set me down only to slide the deadbolt into place, then the chain—then he was scooping me up again despite my protests, carrying me down the hall.
“Runnin’ you a bath and you’re tellin’ me everything,” he said before setting me down to sit on the closed toilet, kneeling and brushing my hair back from my face. “Jesus, June…I can’t—”
“I’m okay,” I tried to assure him—but my teeth were chattering, my voice strangled, and I felt like it only made the whole situation worse.
“You’re not okay,” he snapped, though I knew none of that tension was directed at me. “I’m…I’m gonna fucking kill him—”
“Silas, I need to get warm first, then we can talk about our murder plans,” I interrupted. “Please.”
Silas let out a ragged breath, exhaling long and low like he was releasing some of the rage. But when he looked back at me, I could still see it in his eyes: the anger.
We would have to do something about Abel; we both knew that.
But it could wait until after I was dry.