The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,229

a front for Trinity’s parents.

We split up to search the house. Apollo found a door we assume leads to the basement, but it has a keypad. That combination should be the same one for the safe we can’t find. But Trinity never gave us the code. Apollo’s gone to look around the house and see if there’s another way inside the basement—maybe through a hurricane door or something. Cass and Zach went upstairs.

I said I’d search the study. But there’s nothing in here. I crack open one more bible, but it hits the floor a second later when I hear a rip from upstairs.

Apollo must have just come back inside already—he and Cass are in the main bedroom when I arrive.

We watch, silent, as Zach digs his fingers into the edge of the carpet and yanks up another strip, baring the hardwood floor beneath.

“Hey, Zach?” Cass asks quietly. “Whatcha doing over there, buddy?”

Zach spins around in a crouch, staring at us with a lowered head. Eyes bright, wide. “You don’t smell that?” he spits out. He waves a hand. “It’s all over this fucking place.”

I step forward, sweeping out and arm and using it to herd Cass and Apollo behind me, out of the way. “Smell what?” I ask.

Zach rushes to his feet. He charges toward me, and I almost back up when I see the ferocity on his face. But then he goes right past us, shoves a hand into a closet that’s standing open, and drags out a sweater.

He brings it to me, shoves it under my nose. “This,” he hisses.

I turn my head away, but he follows with the sweater until I take a reluctant sniff at the fabric.

When I snatch it from him and take another whiff, his shoulders sag. “It’s him.”

Zach’s eyes slide past me, fix on Apollo, then Cass. “Our Ghost lives here.”

The sound of ripping carpet fills the room. Cass joined Zach on the floor, and they’ve almost torn up everything. Apollo is by the closet, dragging everything out into a pile on the floor.

Zach has them believing they’ll find another safe or something in here.

I’m sure someone with as many secrets as Keith Malone had tons of hidey holes…but even if they do find another secret place, I’m sure it will be empty.

I go through the nightstands. There’s nothing of interest in there—bible, tissues, lip balm, lotion. A half-eaten candy bar still in its wrapper on what I assume is Monica’s side, judging from the feminine scented lotions and creams, but it’s turned white from age.

I almost don’t pick up her bible. None of the ones I’ve found have proved useful yet—why would anything be different up here?

But just like some people can’t walk past a rose bush without smelling the blooms…

The instant I lift Monica’s bible out of the drawer, I know it’s not like the others. For one, it’s been read before. There are faint fingerprints on the cover, as if she handled it after putting on lotion or cuticle oil. When I turn the bible so the spine rests in my palm and focus on the gold-trimmed pages, there’s a narrow section that’s been rubbed off from use.

Behind me, Zach and Cass start discussing which side of the room they’ll start tearing up the floorboards on.

I open the front cover. There’s a short message in an elegant script.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

John 1:5

Dear Monica,

Let this book be your light.

Love,

Gabe.

I let the bible fall open in my hands, hoping it will land where the spine was most often opened.

New Testament. The book of Mark.

No notes, no dog ears.

I start paging.

I reach the end of Mark. The faster I thumb through those near-transparent pages, the tighter my chest grows.

Then I skim ahead.

Luke.

The forty-second book of the bible.

I page furiously until I reach chapter eleven.

It starts a quarter of the way down the left page, in the first column.

Our father’s prayer.

It’s been underlined several times.

The word “forgiveness” was circled so hard it tore through the paper.

I snap the book closed. Turn.

My brothers are facing me. Zach is frowning, and as soon as his eyes dart down to the bible, he walks up to me.

“Luke eleven,” I tell him, slamming the book into his chest.

And then I’m bolting out the room, down the stairs, through the passage.

4-2-1-1

The basement door unlocks. I shove it open, take a step.

But then the smell hits me.

I freeze.

I’m still standing there at the threshold, staring into a black void, when