- STEVEN -

It had been three days since we'd found Glenn Clather dead and brutalized in EdgeWay's usher room. And in those three days, I'd only managed about six hours of sleep. The slightest floorboard creak, the most mundane of pitter-patter, the dripping of a faucet—anything at all—and I was awake; I was checking the hallway, glancing over my shoulder, listening for footsteps. I must have tried the locks and deadbolts over twenty times since Friday, and I still couldn't sleep.

When Monday finally arrived and my alarm clock signaled the start of a new day, I was actually relieved to be heading to school. Even though the cops were still combing through both EdgeWay's church and the adjoining academy, Principal Turner had sent out an e-mail saying they were allowing students to come through a back entrance to the main building so classes could continue.

I was about to head out to EdgeWay, grabbing an apple for breakfast and sending Grace a quick text message, when my mom rushed downstairs and hurried through the kitchen.

"Steven, put that phone away and go to school," she chided as she walked past me on her way out the door, carrying a lunchbox as she strode. "Your father forgot his lunch again; and with all the police swarming the church, it'll be a nightmare if he tries to get into traffic and order take-out again."

A nightmare, huh? I sighed at the irony. I'd been having lots of those lately.

"Love you too, Mom," was my snide reply.

She shot me a glare as she sped out the door.

Mom's uptight, as usual, I texted Grace, waited for her reply.

Do you think she knows?

She hasn't said anything if she does.

Steven, i'm scared. i can't believe i let you talk me into going to that school.

babe, relax. nothing to be scared of. we pulled a prank, it's not like we killed that guy.

U really think the cops are gonna see it that way?

They're not gonna find out unless one of us squeals. get a grip and just don't act suspicious.

get a grip? what's THAT supposed to mean?

It means you're freaking out way too much. th cops are all over that school, and if they see ANYTHING that looks out of the ordinary, they're gonna start asking questions.

No response. She was probably having one of her mini panic attacks, running her trembling hands nervously through her hair. Honestly, I couldn't stand Grace sometimes.

After a few more minutes of her silence, I clicked my phone off and skulked out to the garage, getting in my car and pulling out of the driveway.

It was going to be a long day.

****

When I made it to EdgeWay, I somehow managed to weave through the obstacle course of police vehicles strewn throughout the parking lot and found a space. I parallel-parked between two cop cars and headed inside.

I was just sliding into my seat in first-period English when the teacher, Mrs. Elton, said I was wanted in my dad's office.

I sighed and got right back up to leave, heading out the school building and up the street to the church, opting to walk rather than drive so as to not sacrifice my parking space to whatever late-comer could find it.

The pathway to Dear Old Dad's was littered with black-and-white cars, motorcycles, and mopeds.

Sheesh, I thought to myself, one guy dies, and the entire police force wants in on the investigation. You'd think this Glenn Clather dude was the pope or something.

When I walked into his office, my dad was sorting some papers in one of the gray filing cabinets situated along the wall.

"Knock, knock," I spoke up. "Heard you wanted to see me?"

He turned to face me, his eyes sullen and grave. "Yes. Yes, I did."

I shoved my hands in my pockets. "Come on, Dad. What'd I do this time?"

He sighed. "Steven, I was hoping you could tell me." He walked over to his desk and held up the shiny silver key I'd used on Friday to escape the usher's room. "Care to explain to me how this got in my office?"

I shrugged. "Dad, that's your key. Isn't it supposed to be in your office?"

"No, Steven. This is the key I keep in the usher's chamber. Someone used it to sneak through the passageway that leads to this room."

"And what, you think that someone was me?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You and your mother are the only ones who know about this key."

"Well, have you asked Mom—?"

"Yes!" he screamed. "And now I'm asking you!"

"Look, Dad..."

"Someone has been murdered, Steven," he growled. "And if you know anything about it, you need to tell me!"

"I—I don't," I finally lied. "I wasn't here on Friday, I didn't steal your key, and I don't know anything about what happened to that guy."

My dad wasn't buying it.

"Dad, I was with Dylan all night—I swear it. Just ask Mom. She saw us leave for the movies right after school."

He sighed, shutting his eyes. "Very well, Steven. I suppose your story checks out."

"'Checks out?' Dad, I'm not a criminal! I'm your son, and I wouldn't lie to you."

He leaned forward in his desk chair, picked up his coffee, and looked me right in the eyes. "Steven, I've said all I'm going to say. If you're so comfortable swearing that you weren't here on Friday, then I believe you." He took a sip from the cylindrical mug in his hand. "You're free to go—unless, of course, you'd like a police escort back to class."

I turned, my hands still stuffed in my pockets, and plodded out the door. As I was leaving, a tall dark-skinned woman strode gently past me, smiling as she watched me walk down the hallway.

I stopped in my tracks and turned to watch her go inside my dad's office, disappearing behind the smoothed-wood doorframe surrounding the entrance.

"Good morning, Marcus," she greeted him. "I hope this isn't a bad time."

I heard my dad spit out his coffee. "Charity!?" he screamed. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"I've come to give my condolences," she replied, her voice meek and kind. "And to make a donation to EdgeWay."

"A donation? You really expect me to believe that?"

"Well, whether or not you believe it, it's true."

"Charity, just stop it. You and I both know you want to see this church burn."

"Marcus, that is not true. I wish nothing of the sort upon you or this church, nor have I ever."

"Then why are you here?"

"As I said, I've come to give." She paused. "God sent me here, Marcus. He still sees good in you, and He knows this church could use the support."

"We don't need your money, Charity. Finances are the least of our worries."

"Oh, really?" she countered. "Is that why you've had to raise the price of tuition at the Academy twice in the past three years? And what about your Youth and Young-Adult Leaders Program, the event you've postponed six times since its approval last spring?"

My dad was silent for a moment. "How did you know about—?"

"I told you, Marcus: God sent me here. And I know that EdgeWay is having monetary troubles, no matter how much you and your treasurer try to cover it up."

He sighed. "Fine, Charity. What do you want?"

"I want to give my gift and be on my way." She paused. "I would also like to apply for church membership, if you all will have me."

"You?" he laughed. "You want to join EdgeWay Church of Christ?"

She was silent.

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't buy it," Dad said.

"Then I suppose all that's left for me to do is pray," she replied, exhaling wistfully. "And I do hope you'll consider praying as well, Marcus."

I heard the crumpling of paper and figured she was fishing through her purse, perhaps looking for a checkbook. Faintly, I could make out the sound of a pen scribbling, then the tearing of a perforated slip.

"Here," she spoke smoothly. "As promised, this check is for the church."

My dad was silent; not a single thank you escaped his lips.

Charity headed out of his office moments later. I hid quickly behind a tall brick column that flanked one of the prayer rooms, then poked my head around the corner and watched as she eased open the double doors at the end of the hallway, the morning breeze sweeping through her hair like seawater through the sand.

****

The rest of the school day felt like an alternate reality. Students and teachers alike seemed interested only in staying out of each other's way. The halls were silent as we all shuffled through, keeping our heads down and our mouths shut. There were no whimsically frantic girls texting away on smartphones, no bubbling laughter bouncing off the walls; the death of Glenn Clather had sucked the life out of the entire school.

Dylan and I spent much of lunchtime comforting Grace, who looked just a few subtle shivers away from a nervous breakdown. I tried kissing her on the cheek, but that just made her shake even more. And every time I hugged her, she pulled away, shielding her shoulders with her thin pink jacket.

"I—I can't do this," she finally announced. She stood up from the table and grabbed her lunch tray, preparing to toss it. "I think I should go see the nurse or...or something." She held a palm to her forehead. "I just...I'm not feeling good."

"Oh, okay," I replied. "Want me to walk you there?"

She shook her head. "No, it's...I'll be fine."

Ouch. My gaze fell to the floor. "Well, I hope you feel better."

She walked away without acknowledging me as I added weakly, "I love you, Grace."

I shut my eyes.

"Wow," Dylan muttered as I hung my head. "Seems like she's taking it really hard." He shifted slightly in his chair. "Did she know Glenn?"

I shrugged. "She never mentioned him if she did."

"I guess the whole thing must be really freaking her out."

I exhaled hard, pain bellowing from my lungs. "Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with her. It's not like it was—" I gulped, felt my voice fall. "Not like it was her fault or anything."

Dylan leaned over and slid his arm around my shoulder. "Give it time, man. I'm sure she's just trying to cope in her own way."

I stared back at him, regret stinging into my eyes.

"I'm sorry, bud." He pulled me in tight, sighing as he met my gaze. "This really sucks."

What sucks? I thought to myself. The fact that my girlfriend's shutting me out because it's my fault we found that body in the first place? Or the fact that I'm lying to everyone, including my best friend, to cover my tracks? I exhaled, allowed my eyes to dart away; I couldn't stand to look at Dylan any longer.

School ended after two more class periods, and I headed to one of the side-office buildings along the way to the main church area. I examined the backdoor to ensure it was locked, then pulled the curtains over the building's one and only window.

Doing a three-sixty sweep, I checked one more time to make sure no one was watching, then I grabbed my laptop from my backpack and opened it quickly, typing in the only website that I knew could help me destress—FilmSire.com.

The moment the page finished loading, the most recent video I'd been watching opened up right where I'd left off: a tall and skinny blond woman was bending forward, her breasts bare and her lips puckered at the screen. She twirled a few strands of her hair together, then rolled flat onto her back and began to spread her legs wide.

I felt myself breathing heavier, sweating. My body began to stiffen, the hairs on my arms and legs standing up. I leaned in closer for a better view, angling my computer upward and flooding my eyes with the blue-eyed beauty curving every inch of her ravishing figure at the center of my screen.

Eeeek....

I bolted upright at the ominous creak as it sounded from the floorboards.

Instinct kicking in, I swiftly exed out my browser and shut the laptop, then whirled around and froze the moment my eyes found the source of the noise—a woman...and not just any woman.

Tall but unimposing, she stared down at me where I sat, her ebony skin rendering her almost invisible in the dark room.

She moved to the wall mere feet from me, then flicked on the light switch, raining down brightness upon the two of us.

"Ch-Charity?" My voice was weak and unsure. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you...well, more accurately, Grace was looking for you."

I slid my laptop back inside my bookbag. "Why?"

"Because she cares about you, Steven."

I gulped. "How do you know my name?"

"I've known your father for a long time," she answered evenly. "But that's beside the point. Grace needs you, and she needs you desperately."

"Yeah, well, tell that to her," I mused, head held down as I hesitantly stood to my feet. "She's barely even said two words to me all day."

"And this is how you react? Turning to pornography?"

My eyes darted away. "Look, you don't understand."

"Steven, I just saw her crying in the bathroom back at the school building. She may be upset, but there's no question that she could use some comforting right now." She sighed, more than a hint of pleading in her voice. "Go to her, Steven. Please."

"I can't, okay? She's mad at me—don't you get that!?"

"So you choose instead to hide in a side-office and stare at naked women? Do you really think that's respectful of your relationship with her?"

My brief flash of genuine regret morphed quickly into anger. "Look, lady, mind your own business! You have no idea all the crap me and Grace have been through, and you couldn't even begin to understand my life. So why don't you just go crawl in a corner somewhere and read the Gospel of John!"

Rage boiling, I picked up my bookbag in one swoop and slung it over my shoulder, storming out of the room and slamming it shut behind me.

I could feel my cheeks burning, my face a bright and blazing red as I stormed down the hallway and slammed through the double doors leading outside to the porchway. I stepped onto the street paved in black asphalt, crossing it as I headed to the building that housed my dad's office, hoping he'd be out praying in the Chapel so I could swipe a key to a more secure hiding spot—one where Charity's prying eyes couldn't follow.

I sneaked inside through the back, stalking quietly up the hallway and peeking inside the tiny glass window situated on his office door. Seeing no one, I inched the door open and tiptoed inside.

I opened his top desk drawer first, combing through the collection of church bulletins and sermon notes scattered within. Pages upon pages littered the bottom of the drawer, disheveled and outdated, some going as far back as the early '90s.

Searching for a few more moments, I finally shut the top drawer and opted to move on to the cupboards above his desk. I reached to open the first, but then footsteps started echoing through the hallway outside the office.

Crap! I hurried to the closet to hide, shutting myself under the wood's subtle creak.

The footsteps grew louder, high-heels clacking on ceramic tiles followed by softer thuds—the hard-bottom shoes of a man.

"It was on the coffee table, Marcus. I swear it."

I recognized the voice instantly.

Mom?

The footsteps grew louder still. Through the crack in the closet door, I saw my mother holding a file as she and Dad walked into his office.

"I have no idea how," Mom continued. "But when I made it back home, it was just sitting there, waiting for me to find it."

My dad was trembling. "This isn't possible," he growled. "Evelyn, this isn't possible!"

"Marcus," my mom's voice was frantic, "we have to do something. Whoever put this file on our coffee table must have broken in while I was out. And if they were bold enough to leave it behind, they must have copies of it somewhere else."

A file? I puzzled. Why're they freaking out over some stupid file?

"This isn't happening." My dad began shaking. "This can't be happening!" Tremors shivered through his voice. "She disappeared twelve years ago!"

"No, Marcus. She didn't disappear." My mom moved closer to my dad and opened the file folder, pointing to the middle of the first page. "She died, plain and simple, and you know that."

I squinted my eyes, trying my hardest to make out the words printed in tiny ink strokes on the bottom of the file. Slowly, I began to discern each individual letter, spelling out a name I'd never seen before, a name of which my parents were so inexplicably terrified...a name I would soon come to never, ever forget.

Lane Martin.