Alex Kava - A Perfect Evil

She snatched a blouse from the pile and thrust her arms into it, then realized it was inside out. She whipped it off and tried again.

Nick glanced over his shoulder, but snapped back to his same position. “Jesus, Maggie, you should know by now that I’m the wrong one to say that to. I’ve been trying for days now to find one little thing about you that doesn’t turn me on.”

She heard the smile in his voice. Her fingers stopped at the buttons, a slight tremor making it difficult to continue as the heat crawled down her body. She stared at the back of him and wondered how in the world Nick Morrelli could make her feel so sensuous, so alive without even looking at her.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean to barge in on you,” he said, “but there’s a slight problem with bringing in Father Keller for questioning.”

“I know, I know. We don’t have enough evidence.”

“No, that’s not it.” Another glance to see if it was safe. Maggie had her trousers halfway up, but he turned again to the door. She smiled at his caution. After all, he had already seen her in much less. She remembered the football jersey and his soft, comfortable robe.

“If it’s not evidence, what’s the problem?” she asked.

“I just called the rectory and talked to the cook. Father Keller is gone and so is Ray Howard.”

As soon as they got off the elevator Timmy noticed the sign that read Restricted Area-Hospital Personnel Only. Father Keller didn’t seem to notice the sign. He walked down the hallway without even hesitating, as if he had been down here many times before.

Timmy tried to keep up, although his ankle still hurt. It almost hurt more after the doctor wrapped it in all that elastic stuff, so tight Timmy was sure it was adding more bruises.

Father Keller glanced down at him, only now noticing the limp.

“What happened to your leg?”

“I guess I sprained my ankle last night in the woods.”

Timmy didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to remember. Every time he remembered, that terrible knot returned inside his stomach. Without much prompting, he knew the shivers would start again.

“You’ve been through quite a lot, huh?” The priest stopped, patted Timmy on the head. “You want to talk about it?”

“No, not really,” Timmy said without looking up. Instead, he stared at his own brand-new Nikes. Air Nikes, the cool expensive kind. Uncle Nick had given them to him this morning.

Father Keller didn’t insist, didn’t ask more questions like the rest of the adults. Timmy was getting tired of all the questions. Everybody-Deputy Hal, the reporters, the doctor, Uncle Nick, Grandpa-everybody wanted to know about the little room, the stranger, his escape. He just didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Father Keller pushed open a door and flipped a light switch. The huge room grew bright as the lights flickered on, one at a time.

“Wow, this does look like on The X-Files,” Timmy said, running his fingers over the spotless counters, stainless steel just like the table in the center of the room. His eyes jumped around the assortment of odd equipment and tools neatly placed on trays. Then he noticed the drawers, lined up side by side in the opposite wall. “Is that…” He pointed. “Is that where they keep the dead people?”

“Yes, it is,” Father Keller said, but he seemed distracted. He carefully placed the duffel bag on the metal table.

“Is Father Francis in one of the drawers?” Timmy whispered, then felt stupid. After all, nobody could hear them. “Yes, unless they have already picked up his body.”

“Picked up?”

“”The mortuary may have already picked up Father Francis and taken him to the airport.“

“The airport?” Timmy was confused. He’d never heard of dead bodies traveling on planes.

“Yes, remember I told you I was taking Father Francis to his burial place?”

“Oh, okay.” Timmy scanned the countertops again, this time paying more attention. He came in for a closer look, tempted to touch but keeping his hands at his sides. Some of the tools were sharp, some long and narrow with teeth. One of them looked like a miniature chain saw. He’d never seen such odd tools before. He tried to imagine what each one did.

“I heard your father is back in town,” Father Keller said, standing stiff and still next to the table.

“Yeah, I’m hoping he’ll stay,” Timmy said with only half a glance at the priest. There were too many interesting vials, test tubes, even a microscope. Maybe he would ask for a microscope for his birthday.

“Really? You’d like your father to stay?”

“Yeah, I guess I would.”

“Wasn’t he mean to you?” Timmy looked at Father Keller. The question surprised him, and he wondered what Father Keller meant, but the priest unzipped the duffel bag and was immediately preoccupied by its contents.

“How do you mean?” Timmy finally asked.

“Didn’t he hurt you?” Father Keller said without looking up. “Didn’t he do unpleasant things to you?”

Timmy wasn’t sure what unpleasant things were. He knew he wore that scrunched look on his face that automatically happened when he was confused. He could hear his mom saying, “Don’t look at me like that, or your face will stick that way.” He tried to wipe it away before Father Keller noticed, but the priest was busy digging in the bag.

“My dad was mostly nice to me. Sometimes I guess he yelled.”

“What about your bruises?”

Timmy felt his face grow warm with embarrassment. But, thankfully, Father Keller still didn’t look up. “I guess I just bruise easily. Most of ‘em are from soccer.” Soccer and Chad Calloway.

“Then why did your mom make him go away?” Father Keller’s voice surprised Timmy. Suddenly, it was low with a hint of anger while his eyes stayed focused inside the bag.

Timmy didn’t want to make Father Keller mad. He heard the clink of metal and wondered what kind of tools Father Keller had in the bag.

“I don’t know for sure why my mom made him leave. I think it had something to do with a slutty, big-breasted receptionist,” Timmy said, trying to use the exact words he had overheard his mom use.

This time Father Keller did look up at him, only the piercing blue eyes sent a shiver through Timmy. Usually, Father Keller’s eyes were kind and warm. But now…those eyes…no, it couldn’t be. Timmy’s stomach churned. He felt sick, tasted the sourness backing up into his mouth. He resisted the urge to throw up. The shivers started in his fingertips. One slid down his back. He felt dizzy.

“Timmy, are you okay?” Father Keller asked, and suddenly his cold eyes wanned with concern. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

The panic settled, sliding back down Timmy’s throat and resting like a lump in his stomach. He never left Father Keller’s eyes, mesmerized by the drastic change in them. Or had he imagined it all?

“Timmy,” Father Keller said softly. “Do you think your mom and dad will get back together? Do you think you can be a real family again?”

Timmy swallowed hard, making sure the icky taste and feeling were gone for good. His stomach still ached. Maybe it was eating the candy bar on an empty stomach.

“I hope so,” he answered. “I miss my dad. We used to go camping sometimes. Just the two of us. He’d let me bait my own hook. We’d talk and stuff. It was pretty cool. Except my dad’s an awful cook.”

Father Keller smiled at him now as he zipped up the duffel bag without ever taking anything out.

“Here you two are,” Grandpa Morrelli said, swinging open the door to the morgue and startling both Timmy and Father Keller. “Nurse Richards thought she saw the elevator go down here. What are you two up to?”