a call in to Job and Family Services for her file. I’ll update as soon as I have it.”
“Great. Listen, they can be slow. While you’re waiting, will you check and see if her father or uncle, maybe a brother, or her ex-husband, are missing or haven’t been seen in a while? And if so, let’s be proactive and see if we can get dental records.”
“To match against John Doe with the brand?”
“Exactly.”
“On it. I do have something concrete, though,” Jennifer said, picking up a small binder next to her on the table. “I finally got the complete list of residents from the halfway house.”
“Took them long enough.”
“Well, in their defense, it is pretty extensive as it goes back five years. And it seems like they’re extremely short-staffed. And they reminded me repeatedly that they could have required us to get a warrant.” She nodded at the binder. “I looked through it but nothing jumped out at me.” She handed it over to Reed. “Maybe it’ll be useful at some point.”
Reed nodded, taking it from her outstretched hand. “We’ll look through it too. For now, let’s keep reading those comics. Maybe we can get a handle on where this might be leading.” Although they didn’t yet have the final three books. He’d gone online and ordered them—for a king’s ransom nonetheless—from some guy on a comic book forum.
They returned to their work stations and Ransom sat down, put his feet up on his desk, and started reading the edition of Tribulation Reed had finished with right before the meeting in the incident room. Reed decided he needed a short break from demons and hellfire and instead flipped open the binder he’d tossed on his desk.
“Man, you want to know something funny? I could almost believe this is true. Maybe comic book dude was right and what we consider reality is nothing more than an idea.”
Reed glanced at the copy of Tribulation Ransom tapped on, raising one brow. “Uh-oh.”
Ransom chuckled. “No, seriously. Think about it. For some people, this, right here”—he gestured his finger downward and then circled it around, indicating Earth—“is hell. Consider some of the cases we’ve seen, the lives people lead. You think they’re afraid of lakes of fire and brimstone? Nah, for some that probably sounds like a tropical vacation.”
Reed ran his teeth over his bottom lip. He thought about the sanitation worker he’d interviewed in his home, Milo Ortiz. He thought about what he’d experienced—offered up as sexual gratification to child predators by his own mother. The flashbacks he must experience . . . the grief he must feel at being betrayed that way . . . the internal battle he must wage. He thought of Liza, of Josie, of a hundred victims he’d interviewed, listening to the trauma they’d survived, sometimes just barely. How could a person be afraid of hell, when hell was all around you?
For that matter, hell was all around every one of them, wasn’t it? Because, in actuality, it was never more than one phone call, one accident, one tragedy away.
“And others,” Ransom said, “experience heaven, right here. And I’m not talking about Hollywood celebrities or members of the royal family. I’m talking about the average Joe who was born into a loving family, who has enough food to eat and a safe place to call home. A little Netflix and chill on a Saturday night. I’m talking about—”
“You and me,” Reed said.
Ransom paused. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m talking about you and me.”
“We’re not blind though,” Ransom went on. “We see hell. We see how close it really is. We see suffering. It’s why we do what we do. But there are people who don’t fucking see. They turn the other way or use those weaker than them for profit. Man, think of the evil motherfuckers we’ve come across.”
Reed could think of several right off the top of his head. He scratched his jaw. “Yeah, so it’s a good concept. And any good concept has an element of truth to it. Relatability. But anything good can be twisted.”
“You’re right.” Ransom tilted his head. “You know, speaking of twisted, I’ve been thinking about that whole liminal space deal.” He paused for a moment. “You know the way the descriptions of those places make us feel universally?”
Reed nodded, listening, almost transfixed. Ransom used one hand to indicate his midsection. “That squeezing beneath your ribs. The full-body chills. You know what all those sensations come down to? Being alone. Being left behind somewhere we