Mary Margaret had never been terribly religious. As she entered her teens she found many more exciting things to do than going to church four nights a week and spending weekends in revivals. She fell into a group of misfits who got her drinking, then using drugs. Ultimately, she began having sex with the boys in the group. Atlanta provided many excitements for a rebellious teenage girl, but she soon grew bored of her life and wanted to strike out on her own. With one hundred dollars in her pocket, she left town.
She made her way across the country, hitching rides with strangers, working for cash in small-town cafés, trading herself if she got too low on cash to purchase drugs. She made calls home to her parents, but they were so upset with her that they wouldn’t talk to her. She wasn’t happy living on the edge. She was lonely, run-down, and a little sick of herself and her behavior. She began having thoughts of returning home. And then it had all caught up with her.
Somewhere in the backwoods of Colorado, she’d hitched a ride with the wrong man. He’d beaten her and raped her, then dumped her in a campground. A church group on a day hike found her bloodied and bruised, but alive. They’d taken her to the nearest hospital, a small community endeavor run by the Catholic Church.
It was the words of succor from the nuns that had brought her back to life a changed woman. One of the nuns told her of a college in Nashville, Aquinas College. It was a perfect place for her to start over. The nuns allowed her to live with them for a time, helped her study for and acquire her GED. They celebrated her triumph when she was offered a small scholarship to Aquinas. With their meager savings, they got her on a plane to Nashville and paid her first year’s rent on a small apartment across the street from the school. This setup made it simple for her to walk to class and placate her caffeine addiction at the local Starbucks. She took jobs on campus to pay the rent and worked as hard as she could to begin a new life. Her faith in her rediscovered religion had become the cornerstone to a whole new world.
When she’d finished her confession, Father Xavier found he had even more respect for his young friend. He convinced her it was time to let her parents know where she was. They didn’t welcome her back with open arms, but their relationship began to mend. She had been to Atlanta a few times to visit, and was calling dutifully once a week.
She was healing.
As the wind lashed her face and the rain plastered her hair to her skull, she ran across the parking lot and was almost hit when a car screeched around the corner and pulled up beside her. The passenger door swung open, and she was overcome with relief. She knew this car, and the man driving it. How had she gotten so lucky that he was driving by as she was struggling to get out of the storm? It must have been divine intervention. All she saw was shelter and, hopefully, a ride to St. Catherine’s. He was yelling at her to hurry up and get in, and with a quick prayer to Mary to keep her safe, she did.
Fighting with the door, she finally managed to slam it behind her. She was soaked to the bone, shaking with fear and cold. For a brief moment, silhouetted against the storm, he was hidden in shadows, his hair standing on end, his eyes blank, ghastly holes in his face.
Then the light went on in the car, he gave her a huge smile, and she saw he was just the ordinary, handsome man she knew. She laughed at herself; it was just the storm spooking her.
“Thanks so much. I almost blew away there.”
“I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the Word of God, and for the testimony which they held.”
“Pardon me?”
Mary Margaret’s internal alarm bells went off, but before she could do anything, she heard the locks on the doors snap closed. The man said nothing more, just smiled and put the car into gear.
38
The storm worsened, and conversation drifted off, the detectives lost in their own thoughts about the case or the storm or what to have for dinner. Taylor sat on the floor under a small stack of blankets, feeling incredibly foolish. She’d been through many storms before, but this one had a different feeling about it: a malevolent, evil oppression. She shook her head, trying to get the feeling of doom out of her mind. How silly was she? Thirty-four years old and afraid of a little storm.
Thunder shook the building, and they heard a rushing noise like a freight train getting ready to ram through the walls. There were a few nervous laughs from the darkness, but everyone was listening to the rushing wind intently.
Baldwin reached over and touched her shoulder to get her attention over the noise of the storm. “Were you here the last time the tornadoes came through downtown?”
His voice gave her a little comfort. Strange, it seemed to be hours since their spat on the stairwell. But Taylor was used to that. She didn’t lose her temper often, but when she did, she did it thoroughly and without thought. Once it was over, it was over. She did feel a little embarrassed by her outburst, but she was too worried about the storm to deal with it at the moment. Besides, she thought, fear makes strange bedfellows. She blushed in the dark at the fleeting image that came with the thought, cleared her throat, and replied to Baldwin’s innocuous question.