The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,25

“What’s the point?” he said.

Father Michael looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“What was the point of giving Joseph a vision, of making him responsible?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“If God could do that, then why not just keep the train from derailing in the first place? Why not just make it easy?

Father Michael smiled crookedly, looking away. “It’s not our purpose to question God,” he said. “Perhaps it was a test.”

“A test? For who?”

“For Joseph.”

Joel glanced at the others, and his gaze fell on the young blonde girl. She was talking animatedly to Deb, holding a cookie in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other. “Who’s the kid?” he asked.

Father Michael smiled. “That’s Dana West,” he said. “She’s only been aware of her gift a couple of years, but Deb says she’s exceptionally strong.”

“How old is she?”

“Older than she looks. Twenty-one.” Father Michael pointed to a nondescript couple sitting nearby. “That’s her parents there. Frank and Bonnie.”

“So they…?”

“Yes. The whole family.”

Joel looked at the three of them, incredulous. “This kind of thing tends to run in families, doesn’t it?”

“So I’ve been told. It sometimes skips a generation or two, but it’s not rare that parents and children share it.” Father Michael took a sip from his foam cup. “They live in your neck of the woods, by the way.”

“Cedar Hill?”

“Yep. Dana attends the college there.”

Joel glanced around and caught a red-bearded guy looking at him. The other man quickly turned his attention to the floor. Something about him gave Joel the creeps.

Father Michael followed Joel’s line of vision. “Barry’s had a very troubled life. Tried to commit suicide. Bounced around from job to job, city to city. This is the first place he’s ever felt comfortable with himself and his ability.” He looked at Joel. “I hope you’ll feel comfortable here, too, Joel.”

* * *

A little while later, the group gathered the folding metal chairs into a circle, and they all sat facing the center. Deb led the group as they discussed the various events of their lives the past month. Most talked of their feelings of self-doubt and guilt, of their loathing for their abilities. Some, he was surprised to discover, regularly used drugs in an effort to deaden their feelings, to “desensitize” themselves. A few, including Barry, spoke of past suicide attempts. All, however, seemed open and honest; no one appeared to be lying or secretive. Joel had never been to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, but this is how imagined one would be.

Finally, Deb turned to him. “So, Joel, what do you think? Are we all crazy?”

Everyone laughed, and Joel smiled. “You’re all nuts,” he said, and they laughed louder.

* * *

6:45 PM

Halloran sat in his office, sipping stale black coffee from a foam cup, letting his thoughts drift in the quiet. There had been no sign of Carmelita Santos.

A massive search party organized of people from the neighborhood, the police, and other volunteers had meticulously combed through the park and surrounding streets, looking everywhere. They searched behind every building, in every ravine, under every bush. Nothing. Carmelita had vanished without a trace. Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, a canine unit was brought in from Springfield; that, too, failed to turn up any clues.

Mr. and Mrs. Santos were nearly incapacitated with grief and worry. Now, more than yesterday, they eyed Halloran and Chapman with suspicion, as if the police were somehow to blame for their daughter’s disappearance. It was understandable, but these days Halloran found it harder not to take such things personally.

Chapman stuck his head in the door. “Hey.”

Halloran sat up. “Hey yourself. Come on in.”

Chapman flopped his lanky frame into one of the chairs opposite Halloran. “Don’t guess there’s anything new.”

Halloran shook his head. He held up his cup. “Want some coffee? I think it’s only about eight hours old.”

Chapman gave a strained laugh. “No, thanks.” He rubbed his eyes. “Long day.”

“No kidding.”

He looked at Halloran. “You think these two cases are related? Sarah Jo and Carmelita?”

Halloran took a swig of coffee. “I’d bet money on it. Same circumstances. Both girls about the same age.”

Chapman licked his lips. “I think we’ve got a serial offender.”

Halloran nodded grimly. “I agree.”

“What do you think our chances are of finding the Santos girl alive?”

Halloran stared at the wall. He drained his cup and plopped it onto the desk. “Between you and me, almost none.”

* * *

10:47 PM

Wade lay beside Marla, listening to her steady breathing and staring up into the nothingness of the dark room.