“That would be justice,” I say. “The best kind for his type.”
“I want his victims to know they got justice,” she says quietly. “I want to give them closure.”
She’s the one who needs closure too. Badly. I can tell from the shakiness in her voice and the way her eyes are suddenly just soft. So I’ll shut up now and let her take the lead, do this the way she needs to.
“OK,” I tell her and look back at the church. “Just tell me what you need.”
I don’t think I’ve ever said that to a woman before, unless maybe to my mother once or twice. And I certainly never meant it quite as much as I did just now.
“What I need is to find enough dirt on this guy to make him turn himself in,” she says, reaching into the camera bag at her feet and pulling out a camera that looks a lot like a phone.
She points it at the church and takes a few snaps.
“What kind of zoom do you have on that thing?” I ask, looking over her shoulder at the photos she just took, which are clearer and more in focus than any phone could ever take, even from all the way up close.
“It’s some new surveillance gadget,” she says. “Skye gave me a whole bag full of them. We just need to get close enough to plant them.”
I could ask what the point of all that is, if she knows he’s guilty. But I’ve already done that over and over and she’s not budging. I’ll keep working on it. By the end of this week she’ll see it my way and then this nightmare of hers will be over for good.
Two pickup trucks pull into the parking lot in front of the church—one white, one silver. The door of the church opens and a man in black slacks and a black shirt with a white collar comes out, greeting the two women who exit the trucks.
The very air in the car seems to congeal into a hard, suffocating mass as Alice spots the man. Her face grows even paler, the redness around her eyes more pronounced as he watches the guy chat with the women. They’re all smiling widely.
He’s a fit guy in, I’d say, his early forties, with thick, dark hair and a body that looks like he works on keeping in shape. He lifts weights for sure, and probably jogs to keep that slim. I don’t think I’ve ever disliked a person more on first sight.
Alice’s hands are shaking as she lifts her camera to snap a few photos.
The silence in the car is absolute. I don’t know what to say. And I don’t think she can speak at all.
The priest stays outside while the women go into the day care to collect their children. He’s gazing up at the sky like he’s wondering if it’s gonna rain soon.
It will rain down on him soon. Just not in the way he expects.
The two women come out with their daughters in tow. The adults continue their jovial conversations, the priest smiling as widely as before. And even if I didn’t know anything about the guy, I’d think something was wrong with him by the way the two little girls are shying away from him, hiding behind their mothers as they discuss whatever the fuck they’re discussing. How young does he like them?
I glance at Alice, trying not to picture her as one of those scared little girls, but it’s impossible. The only reason I’m not getting out of this car, walking over there and putting a bullet between the priest’s eyes is because I don’t want to further traumatize any little girls—the two out there and the one sitting inside the mind of the woman next to me.
The moms finally leave and the priest goes back into the church.
“Let’s get some lunch now,” I say and start the engine. “We have a lot of planning to do.”
I take Alice’s silence as agreement and drive off without waiting for her to say anything. She probably can’t.
But that’s all right, because I’m here with her and I can do all the talking—and killing—for the both of us. And gladly.
I’ve never seen Alice smile as widely as that priest was smiling before. I don’t think she ever smiles like that. But I mean to make sure that changes before we leave this place.
Because I’m sure she has a very beautiful smile. And I want to see it.
9
Alice
After all these years, I didn’t expect to have such a strong physical and mental reaction to seeing Father Gael. My throat closed up and my whole body froze, and yet my hands were shaking uncontrollably as I took pictures of him. They’re all blurry despite how accurate the camera is.
I still feel like I’m shaking as I sit across from Nico at a shabby diner near the motel, looking down at the burger and huge side of fries in front of me. I’m hungry. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat again.
He also looks like he’s not enjoying his meal very much. And the expression on his face as he looks at me is growing more and more concerned by the second. I can’t have that. I can’t fall apart now. Those girls need me. I need to pull it together.
