in.
'Twins acting as a killing team?' I mutter. 'How does that work?'
'He'll be the one in charge,' Kirby says. 'Look at her. She's weak around the eyes.' Her voice is filled with contempt. 'I ran into a brother/sister killing team once down in--well, somewhere else. Killing just seemed to run in the family. Even the dad was a good hitter. Kind of cute too.'
I glance at her. She grins.
'I can take a hint. I'll talk to Callie later. Have fun with Dick and Jane.'
I murmur something in reply as she leaves.
Weak, huh? I consider her act as Andrea, her commitment to that persona, and have to disagree with Kirby's assessment. I wonder, were the scars on her arm fake? Or had she cut herself sometime in the past, so that she could play the part of a failed suicide to perfection?
The probable answer is as disturbing as everything else about these two.
'Let's find them, Alan.'
Coming up on the end of you, Preacher. You and your sister may have shared everything, but you'll die apart. I'll make sure of that.
'GOT A PRINT SCANNED IN and on its way to me via e-mail,' Callie says. 'Give me a sec to match it up with our Mr. Murphy and we'll have all the confirmation we need.'
'Alan, where are we on possible current locations for these two?'
'Still working on it.'
The door to the office swings open and James walks in with Jezebel. Both have grim expressions on their faces.
'We have a new message from the Preacher. I only watched the beginning of it, but he's showing his face and congratulating us on figuring out who he is.'
'Shit,' Alan and I say in unison, looking at each other.
'He had eyes on the Redeemer somehow,' I say. 'He knew there's only one reason we'd show up there, and he knows they left the thumbprint there.'
'Think he'll run?' Alan asks.
'I don't know. I think he wants to be caught, but now that it's come down to it . . .' I shrug. 'They could be having a change of heart. Let's see the clip, James.'
He sits down and we all crowd around the monitor to watch, with the exception of Callie.
There's no lettering at the beginning of this clip, no fancy editing. He's communicating to us in as close to real time as this medium allows. The other difference is that we can now see his face. I examine him and see that Michael Murphy is a man at peace. He's certain. He is doing what he was meant to do and doesn't go to bed at night worrying about whether he's on the side of right or wrong. He's calm, composed, happy. His voice is almost friendly.
'It's come to my attention that those in law enforcement responsible for tracking me down have finally found out who I am. I can't tell you how happy this makes me. My sister and I have been building to this moment for twenty years. Twenty years of hiding, twenty years of planning, twenty years of sacrifice.
'Many will ask: why? If you had something to say, why not just say it? I think the answer to that question is self-evident. Look around you at society today. We live in a world where, more and more, the idea of the soul is scoffed at if it's even thought of at all. Mankind revels in the flesh, and the flesh, I am afraid, only believes what it can see.
'Talk to the flesh of truth and it will sniff and say: 'Truth? What truth? I don't see truth. I see sex. I see drugs. I see sensation.'
'I knew if we were going to prove our point and bring people back to God, that we would have to show them. They would have to see with the eyes, hear with the ears. Only then would they be able to know with the heart.
'And it's working, praise God. The impact of the opus is already being felt. Discussions have opened around the world.' He picks up a paper from the table and reads. ' 'The Preacher has opened my eyes again to the idea that I could get rid of that space I put between me and God, the space made up of the lies I've been unwilling to let go of. I listened to what he had to say and I walked to my local church and gave my first confession in ten years.' '
'Disgusting,' Callie says, curling her lip in scorn. 'Did you also confess to agreeing with a murderer?'
Discomfort wiggles inside me. I too had been driven to the confessional by the Preacher. I'll make up for it by catching him.
'That is one of many. Not all agree with me, of course, but the point is--they are talking about it. They are discussing the subject of truth, lie, sin, God, confession, and salvation. The flame has been lit again, praise God. Attempts to block my message are a hopeless activity in today's world. Copies of this and all of my other videos have been put on CD and are being mailed worldwide to media outlets, authors, religious scholars, and skeptics. The message can be slowed; it can't be stopped.'
'He's right about that,' James says.
'I feel certain that my sister and I will be captured soon.'
'He's right about that too,' I growl.
'We welcome this. It's the next step on the path we've chosen. It is time that we preach in person, that we be available for discussions, questions, and interviews. Before that happens, I thought it was important to show that we are able to practice what we preach. Come here, Frances.'
Frances, who I met as Andrea, steps into the camera lens. She too looks peaceful. Almost radiant. They are more attractive together than apart, light and mirrors reflecting back at each other. She smiles down at her brother, and turns to the camera. He continues speaking.
'Frances and I were born as twins. We were born healthy and have lived healthy, which, as you will come to understand, was God's first gift to us. It could have been much, much different. We lived a difficult life, and it was not without sin or lies. We strayed from God's path on more than one occasion. It's time for us to do what we asked others to do: it's time for our confession.'
'This I want to hear,' Alan murmurs.
'Our father,' he says, 'was a Catholic priest.'
THE SINS
of
MICHAEL
and FRANCES MURPHY
38
MICHAEL CROUCHED DOWN BEHIND THE CURTAIN AND CARE- fully, oh so carefully, put his ear to the wall of the confessional booth. Mrs. Stevens was in there, she of the blonde hair and the large bosoms. Mrs. Stevens specialized in sins of lust, which made for exciting listening indeed.
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth a little. It took a moment, but the voices began to filter through the wood.
'I can't seem to stop touching myself, Father.'
A pause. Michael could imagine the priest covering a sigh.
'And where do you touch yourself, my child?'
A sharp breath, indrawn.
She likes this question, Michael thinks.
'Between my legs, Father. Under the panties, and inside the lips of my pussy.'
Michael's mouth dropped open farther. What kind of harlot uses the word
