Beverly Barton: Silent Killer

“Hello, Mother. Nice to see you, too.”

Elaine Nelson was a petite brunette who had allowed her hair to go salt-and-pepper in her late forties. Neat and attractive, she always looked her best.

“Do not be sarcastic with me, Catherine Amelia. I have your best interests at heart, as I always have.” Elaine frowned, deepening the soft age lines around her eyes and mouth. “People asked about you. You were expected. If you have any hopes of returning to your old life, you have to prove to everyone that you aren’t a raving lunatic just because you spent a year in that awful place.” The last half of her sentence came out in a soft, embarrassed whisper.

Cathy knew her mother was ashamed of the fact that she had checked herself into Haven Home, horribly ashamed that the good people of Dunmore knew Mark Cantrell’s widow had suffered a nervous breakdown. Nothing was more important to Elaine Nelson than keeping up appearances. The motto by which she lived was What will people think?

“I will probably be at church next Sunday.” Cathy looked directly at her mother, a sympathetic smile on her lips but solid-steel determination in her heart. Her mother had bullied her for the last time. “But if or when I go to church, it will be my decision, not yours.” She slipped her hand around and behind her mother and reached for the storm-door handle.

Elaine clutched Cathy’s shoulder, but before she could utter another chastising word, the door opened and Seth looked outside at the two of them.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, his azure-blue eyes searching her face for a truthful answer.

“Everything is fine,” Cathy lied. “Grandmother was just welcoming me home.”

The tension in her son’s handsome face relaxed, and he smiled as he held open the door. Cathy paused when she entered the house and hesitantly lifted her hand to caress Seth’s face. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“I’m glad you’re okay now,” he said. She heard the unasked question: You are all right now, aren’t you, Mom? “Nana and Granddad thought you’d be at church this morning. I looked for you.”

More than anything, Cathy wanted to wrap her arms around Seth and hug him. He might be six feet tall and have to shave every day, but he was still her baby. Her heart ached with love for him.

“I wasn’t quite ready to see everyone at church. Maybe next Sunday.”

“Or you could try Wednesday night services,” Seth suggested. “Fewer people.”

How very wise her almost sixteen-year-old son was. “You’re right. I think Wednesday night would be a better time.”

Only after Seth reached down and took her hand did she realize how truly nervous she was. Undoubtedly her astute son had realized she was trembling ever so slightly and wanted to give her his support. He led her into the living room, where J.B. and Mona stood side by side in front of the fireplace, and by the expressions on their faces she could tell that they were as uncertain about this first meeting as she was. Her plump, blond mother-in-law could be extremely attractive if she wore a little makeup, dressed in something other than polyester and didn’t wear her hair in a neat little bun at the nape of her neck. On the other hand, J.B. was a good-looking silver-haired man who dressed fit to kill; he was a strutting peacock, the exact opposite of his brown-hen wife.

Cathy caught a glimpse of her mother as Elaine eased up alongside her.

“Cathy overslept this morning,” Elaine said. “The trip from Birmingham -”

“I didn’t oversleep,” Cathy corrected. “I’m sorry if I disappointed all of you by not showing up for church this morning, but the truth is that I simply wasn’t ready to see anyone other than Lorie and the four of you.”

Mona looked pleadingly at her husband.

J.B. cleared his throat and then said, “There’s always next Sunday.”

“Of course there is.” Mona rushed toward Cathy, opened her arms and hugged her. When she released Cathy, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “It is so good to have you home where you belong. We’ve missed you, each of us, but Seth most of all.”

Cathy breathed a tentative sigh of relief. Maybe Lorie was wrong. Maybe everything was going to be all right. Maybe her in-laws understood that Seth belonged with her.

I hate him. He is such a fake, pretending to be a man of God, acting the part of a priest. Father Brian is young and handsome and charming-and a pedophile. At these interfaith Sunday afternoon socials, I’ve noticed how friendly he is with all the children, but especially the boys. Those poor babies being molested by that monster. It is up to me to put a stop to his evil.

He thinks no one suspects, that because none of the children have told anyone about what he’s doing, he is safe. He’s not safe. Not from me. I am God’s instrument of punishment. I have been appointed to be judge, jury and executioner. It is my duty to seek out and destroy evil, the kind of evil that hides behind a priest’s robes, a minister’s white collar and a preacher’s holier-than-thou façade.

No one understands why Mark Cantrell and Charles Randolph had to be punished. Mark Cantrell. Good Saint Mark. No one knew about his secret sin. But I knew. I saw him with that woman-a woman who was not his wife-stroking her, caressing her. He knew I saw him, and he even tried to explain, but I didn’t believe his lies. He claimed he was merely comforting her when she fell apart in his arms because she had miscarried for the third time in less than two years. And Charles Randolph had stolen money from his church, but instead of being sent to prison, he was going to be allowed to resign from the ministry and simply repay what he had taken. Couldn’t they see that he deserved God’s wrath?

Mark Cantrell had been a liar. A fornicator. A sinner. Charles Randolph had been a liar and a thief. A sinner. And Father Brian is pure evil, a monster disguised as a kind and caring priest.

You’re next. I’m coming for you. Soon.

“And I will punish the world for their evil, and the wicked for their iniquity.” Isaiah 13:11.

God’s wrath will rain down on you, Father Brian, and you will burn in Hell’s fire.

Meaningful conversation at the dinner table had been nonexistent. Idle chitchat was minimal, even though Mona had done her best to keep the mood light and cheerful. Despite her best efforts to defuse the tension in the room, Mona had received little cooperation from J.B. and Elaine. Seth had commented a couple of times in response to questions Cathy had asked him, but he was a bright boy and quickly realized the less said the better. In this household, everyone had learned to take their cues from J.B. And Cathy’s father-in-law was not in a talkative mood this Sunday.

When Cathy offered to help clear away the table and clean up in the kitchen, Mona smiled and said, “Don’t bother, dear. Elaine will help me. I know you want to spend some time with Seth.” Mona glanced at J.B., silently pleading with him.

A tiny frisson of foreboding jangled along Cathy’s nerve endings. Reading between the lines of her mother-in-law’s statement, she wondered if this had been Mona’s subtle way of saying You can visit him here, but J.B. will not allow you to take him away from us.

“Thank you,” Cathy replied, her voice strong and even, not indicating the unease she felt. “Seth, why don’t you and I take a walk? It’s a lovely afternoon.”

Seth stopped midstride on his way out of the dining room and glanced back at his grandfather, obviously seeking permission. Damn it, I’m your mother, she wanted to scream. You don’t have to ask him if you can take a walk with me.

J.B. nodded. “Don’t be long. Remember you need to go over your song a few times before tonight’s services.”