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She dug deeper into the drawer, pulling out a small black Bible. It read “1969.”

  “Is this my Bible?” she whispered. She fingered through several pages and then looked at the inscription on the inside of the back cover. “The day me and Con became friends. April, 1969.”

  “I can’t believe he’s had it all these years.” She looked at the mirror above the dresser. “Where are you, bro?”

  She sat in silence for a few more moments until her cell phone rang. She dropped the letter on top of the dresser and ran downstairs to the kitchen. She grabbed it off the counter. “It’s me,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Who’s me?”

  “Who do you think? Susan.”

  “Tell me you have news. Did they find Michael? Elizabeth?”

  “No. But we have to do something. Any thoughts?”

  “Well, what can we do? The FBI is looking for them. If anyone can find them, they can.”

  “Can’t sit around. I have to do something. Pastor Dennis called me and asked if we can meet him in his office.”

  Connie hesitated. “Church makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Are you coming or not? He said to come as soon as possible.”

  Connie paced the hallway.

  “Hello?” Susan said. “Are you still there?”

  “I’m here. I’m here. See you over there soon.”

  Chapter 3

  Special Agent Hewitt Paul showed his ID and was waved to the stairwell by the policeman sitting behind the front desk. “Second floor. Room two thirteen. She’s a wreck today,” he said to Hewitt. “Not sure which planet she’s orbiting around now.”

  Hewitt gave him a military salute. The hallway was short and with only two rooms opening off the corridor. Stupid hicks. All about appearances, I guess.

  Allison twitched several times as she sat on a bench in her four-by-six cell. Hewitt put his hand under her chin and pulled out a sheet of paper from his front pocket. “Are you being treated all right here?”

  She nodded and brushed some hair out of her eyes.

  “I understand you fired your attorney.”

  She nodded and stretched out on the bench. “When do I get my meal?”

  “I’ll ask when I go back downstairs.”

  “I hope it’s something more than bread and water.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be something more nutritious.”

  She sat up again and folded her hands. “I don’t want meat. I’m becoming a vegetarian. I don’t believe in eating animals.”

  “But you do believe in shooting innocent human beings?”

  “Michael Stewart is innocent?”

  Hewitt sat down next to her. “Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Even me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do I get out of this pigeon hole?”

  “By cooperating with me.”

  Allison frowned and turned sideways, away from him. “Is Pastor Dennis feeling better?”

  “He’s fine. The wound is healing.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Why were you trying to kill Michael Stewart?”

  “Why do you keep asking this?”

  “I’ll keep asking until I get an honest answer.”

  “Or the answer you want?”

  “Well?”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill him. I was just trying to hurt him.”

  Hewitt glared. “Look at me.”

  Allison turned and faced him.

  “I need the honest truth. This is important. The pastor has decided not to press charges. The Suffolk DA is willing to give you time in a comfy mental hospital. You do enough time and show you’re stable, you can have your freedom eventually.”

  She nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

  “Good. I only have one interest right now – finding Michael and Elizabeth Stewart.”

  “You still don’t know where he is?”

  “He disappeared within seconds of you shooting him. You were one of the last people to talk to him about the case.”

  “I did speak to him about his daughter but I don’t know where he might have gone.” She shook her head. “But I’d bet Susan and Connie know. Those two tramps are up to something. Susan came running down from Massachusetts to be with Michael when his daughter went missing and has been hanging around since. Connie, well, she’s just a nosy, miserable person. She’s been around a lot lately. Strange. The relationship between her and Michael has been cold for a long time.” She looked up at Hewitt. “Go ask Susan and Connie; those two hags would know where he’s gone.”

  “The report says you gave a statement that you decided to take a shot at Michael Stewart because he humiliated and embarrassed you. How?”

  Allison hesitated and looked away. “You have the report.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  “He lied to me in our interview.”

  “You shoot at every person who doesn’t tell you the truth in an interview? And how do you know he was lying?”

  Allison stood and walked to the metal cell door. She tried to stick her finger through the tiny keyhole. “Of course not, but his story was so bizarre. He said he traveled to Jerusalem.”

  “So?”

  She turned around. “At the time of Christ? Come on.”

  “Go on.” This woman has lost her mind. How am I going to get any kind of useful information out of her? What will the boss think if I utilize her as a source? They’ll run me straight to Bellevue along with this nut job.

  “Michael said he found a tunnel in the church.”

  Oh, yeah, she’s crazy. Wonderful. This is hitting a dead end.

  “He said he witnessed Jesus’ death after falling in love with a woman. He said he knows Elizabeth is back there, trapped.”

  “You printed the interview?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? I quoted him. I did my job as a reporter.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is another newspaper, our competitor, asked for a response from Michael and he said his quotes were taken out of context. He said he was a believer and nothing more than that.”

  This lady needs to take a long rest inside a small room. “Why would you print that story? Michael is obviously a wacko. Didn’t you realize the ramifications of publishing a story from a religious nut?” Hewitt asked.

  “I do now.”

  “Didn’t you realize what the response would be? Did you have any other motivation?”

  She leaned back against the wall. “Sure, I wanted to embarrass him. Hurt him as much as I could.” She sighed. “Instead, I was humiliated. People laughed at me. Do you know how much I was mocked online? Readers called for my job. I was trending on Twitter.” She paused and let out a big sigh. “They called my editor. The publisher called me into his office and berated me. He asked if I was crazy and wanted me to take a drug test.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I couldn’t. Not then. I wasn’t having one of my best weeks.”

  Hewitt shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps Michael was playing a joke? You did say in your statement you’ve known him for a while. Were you friends? What sort of relationship did you have?”

  “We’re not friends. I was a friend of his wife, Vicki. He treated her horribly, always stressing her out with his dream of being a bestselling author. The guy can’t write. I know what good writing is. And the poor woman never got a break financially. She worked her butt off. While she was paying the bills, he was home sitting around with a career that was going nowhere. I can’t tell you how many nights I spent on the phone with Vicki, consoling her. I heard her anxiety every night. I felt her stress.” She clenched her hands. “He made me so mad.”

  “Why did you think it was any of your business to get so bent out of shape over their marriage problem
s?”

  Allison sneered. “It’s what friends do. Don’t you have any friends you would lay your life on the line for?”

  “I’m asking the questions here. You haven’t told me anything that can help me find Michael and his daughter. I’ll ask you again – besides this hate you have for the man, do you have any solid leads I can follow? Are there any people I can contact besides the two you mentioned before?”

  “I told you I have no idea where they went.” Allison paused. “Does that mean I’m stuck here for a while?”

  “I hope you find a good attorney. You’ll likely land in a psych ward for a bit. But I don’t see you there for a long time. Go make a new life for yourself when you’re released.”

  She grabbed onto his jacket. “So I should pretend I’m crazy so later on I can get out?”

  “Do what you want. You can rot in here for all I care. I need to find the Stewarts one way or another. And you’re not the way for me. I have my boss up my rear and the media making jokes about how a middle-aged man eluded the country’s top law enforcement agency. I’m not in a sweet mood today. Good luck to you. You’ll need it.”

  “Can you get me into a place where I won’t have to watch my back? I’d rather spend my time with a bed and TV, away from this place. This town is full of crazies. Wackos. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

  She tugged harder on his dark blue suit, pulling a button loose.

  Hewitt yanked her arms away. “You need to get yourself some help.”

  “You haven’t lived here like I have,” Allison said. “The pastor and Michael. They know something. I saw them locking the door to his office many times. When I tried to listen, they would stop talking.”

  “Step away from me and keep your hands to yourself,” he said. “Maybe your information can make more sense. Whose office are we talking about?”

  “The pastor’s.”

  “What were they doing in there?”

  “They were reading this black book.”

  He took a few steps toward the door. “The Bible? No surprise … ”

  “No. Not the Bible. The book of miracles.”

  He waved his arms in the air and walked out. Book of miracles. What a waste of time. This woman is not only insane, she’s delusional.

  Chapter 4

  First-century Jerusalem

  The smell of death intoxicated Titus. He raged around the top of the impressive structure, strutting in his shiny armor like he was Caesar in his chariot. He bellowed out orders to the soldiers below who were dragging a lifeless body inside the Antonia Fortress. “Hang him upside down,” he said, slamming his spear to the ground.

  Nearby, another man was welcomed with Roman force. The sound of his head striking the ground echoed across the courtyard. A group of soldiers roared in delight as Titus broke up the group. “Why is he up here?” He raised his spear toward the fallen man’s head.

  “We thought he was important enough to bring him to you, sir,” said one of the soldiers.

  “Who is he?”

  “Another follower of that preacher.”

  “What preacher?”

  “The man who was once said to have come back from the dead,” the soldier said.

  “Those are lies spread by religious zealouts. No man can survive being nailed to wood,” Titus mocked. “Do not deceive me. Send him where we are keeping the others. Make sure the one who writes sees his bloody head.” He kicked the man in his ribs, eliciting a faint groan from the victim.

  The thirst for beating and maiming another prisoner only invigorated Titus more while the heavy heat suppressed his Roman comrades. Many were taking an early morning break from the strenuous activity.

  Titus clamored for more action as he gained the steps leading back inside. He scraped the walls with his spear, echoing its chilly tone through the downstairs chambers of the fortress.

  “Myah, who is next?” he asked, slapping the soldier in the side of his helmet with a sword.

  “Sir, we have our friend back.”

  Titus sneered. “Barabbas?”

  Myah grinned. “He awaits your presence.”

  “Where?”

  “In the deepest dungeon.”

  “Good.” Titus grabbed a nearby spear, scraping its edge against the bloodstained, concrete wall, sending hot flickers showering around them. He made his way down several flights of charred stairs, each step slower so as to relish the mental images he could conjure up in his devious mind.

  “I know it is you, Titus,” shouted a faint voice. “You do not scare me.”

  The sound of Barabbas’ voice, courageous indeed, enraged Titus. “I will torture you and let your filthy, beastly blood spill one drop at a time until your pain avenges every Roman you have killed.”

  Barabbas stood tall, taking a few steps toward Titus and then backing away just as quickly. He dodged side to side near the bars, daring a response.

  Titus tantalized his prisoner with the tip of his weapon, pricking him just below his eyelid. “An eye for an eye,” Titus said. “Is that not what you believe?”

  Barabbas pushed away the spear, giving a disgusted look. “You can never avenge the cowards I slaughtered.”

  Titus adjusted his shield.

  “I have killed far more of your filthy pigs than you have of my brothers.” Titus jabbed at Barabbas’ neck, creating a gash as a short spell of blood sprinkled the grimy floor. Another droplet of blood slithered down the side of his neck to his bare shoulder.

  Barabbas picked it off before it could fall, looked at it and sucked it dry. “I am stronger than a thousand Romans.”

  Titus poked several times through the metal opening of the door as Barabbas continued to evade the weapon, using the far ends of the prison room to his advantage. “Stay still, coward.”

  Barabbas growled as if mocking Titus. “Coward? It is you who fears me, Roman. You hide behind your armor and weapons and a metal door.” He moved side to side, never allowing Titus a clear shot. “Come and get me, Roman. You are strong with your spear and weak with just your hands.”

  Titus pinned Barabbas in the corner, poking his spear into his rib cage. Barabbas winced. Titus pressed harder, trying to penetrate bone. “How do you feel now, murderer?”

  “Ready as always for you, Roman, weapon or not. My brothers stand ready to fight you.” He let out a loud gasp, as if struggling to breathe. “We are ready to kill more of you, until the last soldier leaves.”

  “You will die before we leave.”

  “Kill me.” Barabbas extended his arms. “You martyred the preacher. Martyr me. Kill me like you killed the preacher.”

  “You filthy pig.” Titus spat. “The preacher was a peaceful man while slime like you lives.”

  “You gave him Roman justice.”

  “He gave his life so yours was spared. Now that was an injustice.”

  Barabbas leaned over, gasping, holding his side. “You should know about injustice, Roman. The smell of your blood pollutes this prison.”

  Titus clipped him again in his side, drawing another round of blood. A few droplets raced down the side of Barabbas’ leg, too quick for him to stop them from reaching the floor. Barabbas growled and grabbed the end of the spear in a furious rage.

  “Titus,” said Clavius, another Roman soldier, as he bounded down the final steps of the dungeon. “We have some terrible news. Come.”

  “Help me,” Titus said.

  “As you wish, sir.” Clavius jerked the spear away from Barabbas and smacked him in the side of the head. He watched the prisoner fall to the floor as he handed the spear back to Titus.

  “It takes two Romans with weapons to stop me,” Barabbas said.

  Titus thrust his spear one more time, shearing the outside of Barabbas’ ear. “Silence, you fool. The next spear that comes your way will take your tongue.”

  Barabbas groaned.

  “Not so courageous now, are you
?” Titus asked.

  “Sir, we need to go,” said Clavius.

  “I am going.” He walked toward the stairs. “Do not kill Barabbas. He is mine to avenge.”

  They climbed a few steps when Titus turned around. “What could be more important than butchering the murderer?”

  Clavius stepped forward. “I have dreadful news, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “Marcus has been found.”

  “My brother?”

  Clavius nodded.

  Titus grabbed his arm. “Where? How is he?”

  “He was found washed ashore.”

  “Alive?”

  Clavius’ head dropped and he let his spear hit the ground, its noise charring the darkness of Titus’ heart.

  “I will take vengeance on those who have done this to my blood.”

  “I think we should take this up with the governor, sir,” Clavius said.

  “I do not need a politician to tell me what to do.”

  “Sir, do you think it is wise not to consult with the governor? This is an extreme matter for the empire.”

  Titus grabbed his throat, bending his neck back and pushing him to his knees. “Listen and do not misunderstand my words. No one kills my brother without vengeance. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart. Do you understand?”

  He gagged as Titus released his grip. Clavius nodded.

  Titus leaned down to him still gathering his breath. “No one needs to know about this. Understand?”

  Clavius nodded again. Titus grabbed his spear. “I will need this. Call upon Aegidius.”

  “What do you want with him? I will need permission from the commander to speak to him.”

  Titus placed his spear under his neck, lifting Clavius up with it. He trembled and backed into the wall.

  “There is no need to carry this word to the commander. Go. You have your instructions. Tell Aegidius to meet me outside the gate.”

  Titus pulled out several pieces of money. “Make sure he knows there is a lot of silver for him waiting outside. The trip will be short.”

  “Sir … sir … where should I say you have gone?”

  “Tell whoever needs to know I am visiting a Jewish widow and need to give her a proper Roman greeting.”