Alex Kava - A Necessary Evil

Right now he didn't want to think about any of that. He just wanted to enjoy watching Timmy and Gibson gawk at everything in the hotel as if they were traveling through some futuristic world. They had stopped at Target on the way with the intention of buying Gibson a change of clothes, especially after the kid visibly cringed at the thought of stopping at his own house. Although they had bought pretty much only the basics, their miniature shopping spree ended up being a lot of fun. He hadn't laughed that hard in a very long time. Of course, it wasn't anything quite as elaborate as Jill and her friends would consider, but the boys seemed pleased and insisted on keeping their new shades on even as they walked the lobby and hallways of the hotel.

"Can we go to Ted and Wally's for ice cream later?" Timmy wanted to know.

"I think we'd better stay in tonight and stick to room service," Nick told him. "I don't think your new friend would think to look here or in the Old Market for you, but let's not take any chances, okay?"

But Gibson and Timmy were smiling at each other about the room service and already forgetting about their fear of Brother Sebastian. Nick was glad he could make them feel safe, but in the back of his mind he kept remembering what Tony had said about Brother Sebastian, that the man would do anything for Archbishop Armstrong. Already the guy had ransacked Monsignor O'Sullivan's office, roughed up Gibson in the school hallway and lied to the boy's mother, making up a story about him selling drugs. Nick was beginning to wonder what else Brother Sebastian was capable of. Did it include murder?

Timmy and Gibson weren't telling him everything either. First Tony and now these two. They knew something but remained tight-lipped every time he asked. He'd ply them with junk food and try again later. His first priority tonight was to keep them safe from the archbishop's henchman, as Christine had called him.

Nick was so focused on looking for Brother Sebastian that he didn't notice another tall man watching from one of the sofas in the hotel lobby;

The Embassy Suites

Omaha, Nebraska

Father Michael Keller could feel the digitalis starting to work. He knew it was probably only his imagination. There was no guarantee that the antidote would help, let alone work this quickly. But the cold sweats had stopped. His stomach had settled down and despite being empty it no longer churned. However, he wasn't too sure if his eyesight had returned to normal.

He sat in the hotel lobby enjoying the piped-in music _ a commercial attempt at Pachelbel's Canon in D Minor __ and taking in all the sights outside: tourists in the Old Market strolling up and down the cobblestones, cars and buses and even Olley the Trolley zooming along. He watched it all, enjoying what in his previous life had annoyed and irritated him. His eyesight seemed fine until he saw a man and two teenage boys come through the revolving hotel door, then he wondered if he was seeing things again.

Was he mistaken or did he know the man? He couldn't place him. More importantly, the boy in the bright orange T-shirt and baggie cargo shorts looked very familiar. It was possible that they had been parishioners when he was at Saint Margaret's in Platte City,

He pretended not to watch as he sipped another glorious cup of hot tea. This place was like a dream __ paradise on earth. He wished he could stay forever, but now that he had handed over everything to Maggie O'Dell and Detective Pakula his mission would soon come to an end.

On the long flight here he had reaffirmed his decisions. He wasn't going back. He'd get on the flight just as he had promised Agent O'Dell. But there was no reason to punish himself any longer. With everything he had given them, surely they would find The Sin Eater. It was only a matter of time. And in the meantime he needed to find somewhere else safe. Why not a small rural parish where no one knew him? Maybe someplace outside of Chicago.

He'd tell them the archdiocese had sent him, just as he had each time in the past four years. It might take months, maybe even a year, before anyone would find out differently. And if they did, he'd simply pick up and go somewhere else. There was no reason it couldn't work just as well here.

But there was one thing that still bothered him. Maggie O'Dell's question nagged at him. "Why do you suppose you're on this list, Father Keller?"

Until she had asked that simple question he had believed he could stay and be safe and free. But that one single question made him realize that there could still be someone else out there other than Agent O'Dell and The Sin Eater who could hurt him, who could continue to make his life miserable if he didn't stop them.

He was distracted again and heard the man with the boys speaking to the desk clerk. He couldn't make out the words.

He listened. Still no recognition.

The man toned and pointed out something to the boys and called out to the one in the orange T-shirt. He called him Timmy, and then it all came back to him as if it had happened only yesterday. He remembered and immediately he knew that must have been how he had gotten on the list. His one regret was the one little boy he hadn't been able to save. Timmy Hamilton had submitted his name to The Sin Eater.

Washington, D. C.

Gwen tried to calm him but he went from babbling like a small boy to a raging anger that she had never seen James Campion exhibit. Over and over he told her he had broken the rules. She had no idea what rules he was talking about.

"The rules of the game," he screamed at her. "The Sin Eater must have put some sort of spell on me. Is that possible?" he wanted to know.

She had finally gotten him to sit on the sofa, though his hands and arms still flayed about. Nothing in her past experience with him would indicate a violent manner and yet she found herself checking the door, making sure she had an escape route if it became necessary. AH of their previous sessions had been more than civil. He'd always been polite, gracious and respectful. She couldn't remember him raising his voice even when confessing the most heinous of events from his childhood

His childhood.

Why had it taken this long to hit her?

James Campion had been abused and raped by a parish priest, a man he deeply respected and trusted. Had James ever spoken of him by name?

Now her mind raced, trying to pull pieces of information from his file by memory. Where? Why couldn't she remember where he had grown up? Not here. She was certain of that. Boston? Was it Boston? Or was she simply being paranoid again, conveniently pushing puzzle pieces into empty slots?

"James, slow down. Tell me about the game. You haven't mentioned it before." She spoke softly, the same tone that had worked for so many past sessions. "You must tell me about the game before I can help you. Do you understand?"

He nodded and she tried to hold eye contact. If she could get him to remember how comfortable, how safe he had felt here before _ safe enough to confess things he hadn't shared with anyone __ perhaps she could get him to tell her what had happened. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his hands in his lap, wringing the hem of his shirt. His fists balled up, the skin turning white. Suddenly she wondered if maybe she didn't want to know what had happened, what he had done.

"It helped for a little while," he said, his voice calm despite the violent wringing of his shirt. She could hear him ripping it now. She held his gaze, resisting the urge to look down. "You helped for a while. You really did. But you made me talk about it too much. It wouldn't go away when you made me talk about it. Instead it just brought out more anger. And then the game wasn't enough. Our sessions weren't enough. You __ " He lifted a hand away from his shirt to point a ringer at her. "You weren't enough."