Sarah walked over and picked one of the tubes up, running her thumb over the corked top. It was cold, nearly freezing.
“But this is your most important weapon.” The priest reached deep within the drawer and removed a bible that he placed next to Sarah’s hands. “Nothing causes the devil to sweat more than the words written on those pages.”
The bible was small, only about the size of Sarah’s hand. The cover was leather, and she ran her fingertips over the little bumps along the front, then traced the gold lettering.
“Satan’s connection with this world is strongest at the witching hour,” the priest said.
“When is that?” Sarah asked, rotating the tube of holy water between her fingers.
“It starts at 3am.
The priest grabbed her arm, and she looked up. “Whatever you’re facing, even if it feels like you’re alone, I promise you one thing. You won’t be.”
Sarah nodded, gathered up her things, and left without a word. Outside, she kept looking back at the church, waiting for the priest to run outside and join her, or for her to run back and tell him thank you for listening, thank you for giving her what she needed, and telling her what she needed to hear.
If by some miracle she actually made it out of this alive, then she would go back to that church and thank him properly. She nodded, liking the idea of returning as a triumphant hero and handing the bible back over to him, smiling.
Sarah held onto that moment and savored the future. It was the same thing she used to do when she was little. She would see some great thing in the distance and focus on that until whatever bad shit she was going through had ended.
It was a method she used throughout her entire life, looking ahead for tomorrow and a new day. But as often as she used it growing up, by the time she reached adulthood, there wasn’t much left for her to look forward to on the horizon, so she filled her days with things to make her forget.
Booze, drugs, cigarettes, sex, anything to up those endorphins and push down the bad thoughts. But now all of those bad thoughts had come to a head, and Sarah had to focus on today. Because if she couldn’t do that, then there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.
82
An officer descended the grand staircase, and Iris watched him give a light shake of his head to the troopers that occupied the foyer. When he made it to the bottom, he followed up his glance with a few whispers and they then stepped outside into the cold morning.
The doors had remained open, and from her spot in the foyer, Iris could still see the police vehicles down below, but what had occupied most of her attention was the decay in her own home. She’d always been able to look past it, but now she found her eyes lingering on the blemishes.
One of the tiles in the foyer was chipped, exposing a black mark against the brilliant white of the marble flooring. A strip of wallpaper had curled and broken free from the wall to her left along the corner. Her eyes traveled over the room, finding stains, holes, and decay everywhere, hidden amongst the grandeur of the home.
And her critical eye bled from the house and to herself.
The stitching at the end of the sleeve on her nightgown had come loose, dangling freely from the rest of the cuff. The nail polish of her left hand had chipped, exposing the age and frailty that lay beneath.
Spots and wrinkles crawled over her body. She had never been so aware of her own age as she did in that moment. And she didn’t just feel it in her body, it was her mind as well. The years had battered her memory.
The curse, the witch, her devotion in trying to free her family of the wretched damnation that her husband’s ancestor had led them toward, it had consumed her life. It was all she could focus on for the past thirty years.
Thirty years gone in the blink of an eye.
“Mrs. Bell?”
Iris looked up from the floor and into the gaze of the young highway trooper taking her statement. She frowned, wondering how long she’d been dazed and how long he’d been repeating the same question. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, when was the last time you saw Dell Parker?” the trooper replied.
“Oh, um, he came yesterday morning to speak with our groundskeeper, Dennis.” Iris cleared her throat and shifted her weight on her feet. “After he looked around, he left and took Dennis with him, and said that he wanted to ask him some more questions. I thought he’d be back by now, but he never returned.”
“And can you tell me what Pat Landon was doing here?” The trooper pointed across the foyer where Pat was being interviewed by another trooper.
“Dennis usually comes in for a drink, but he didn’t last night, so Pat came up to ask what was wrong.” Iris recited the words like she was reading them from a script.
The witch had transformed back into Pat to confuse the trooper who Dell had said was shot. Finding him healthy and at the house punched a big hole in Dell’s story. And with no evidence of any wrongdoing, the troopers had nothing on them but what Dell had reported. And Dell was nowhere to be found.
“We’re going to head to Redford and speak with Dennis about Dell’s investigation,” the trooper said, jotting down notes as he spoke. “Which means that he’ll most likely be in our custody for some amount of time. Does he have any family we can notify?”
“No,” Iris answered. “We’re Dennis’s family.”
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bell.”
Iris watched the trooper return
