Broken Angels

67

Roland wrestled with the devil. And while it was a daily occurrence for a man of faith such as himself, today the devil had him in a headlock.

He had looked at all the photos at the police station, hoping for a sign. He had seen so much evil in those eyes, so many blackened souls. All of them spoke to him of their deeds. None had spoken of Charlotte.

But it could not be coincidence. Charlotte had been found on the bank of the Wissahickon, posed as if she had been some doll in a story.

And now the river killings.

Roland knew that the police would eventually catch up with Charles and him. He had been blessed all these years, blessed with his stealth, his righteous heart, his endurance.

He would receive a sign. He was sure of it.

The good Lord knew that time was of the essence.

"I've never been able to go back down there."

Elijah Paulson was telling the harrowing tale of the time he had been assaulted while walking home from the Reading Terminal Market.

"Maybe one day, with the Lord's blessing, I will be able to. But not now," Elijah Paulson said. "Not for a good long while."

This day the victim's group had only four participants. Sadie Pierce, as always. Old Elijah Paulson. A young woman named Bess Schrantz, a North Philly waitress whose sister had been brutally assaulted. And Sean. He sat outside the group, as he often did, listening. But this day there seemed to be something churning beneath his surface.

When Elijah Paulson sat down, Roland turned to Sean. Perhaps at last this was the day that Sean was ready to tell his story. A hush fell upon the room. Roland nodded. After a minute or so of fidgeting, Sean stood, began.

"My father left us when I was small. When I was growing up it was just my mother, my sister, and myself. My mother worked at a mill. We didn't have a lot, but we got by. We had each other."

The members of the group nodded. No one here was well off.

"One summer day we went to this small amusement park. My sister loved to feed the pigeons and the squirrels. She loved the water, the trees. She was gentle that way."

As Roland listened, he could not bring himself to look at Charles.

"That afternoon she wandered off, and we couldn't find her," Sean continued. "We looked everywhere. Then it got dark. Later that night they found her in the woods. She… she had been killed."

A murmur skirted the room. Words of sympathy, sorrow. Roland found that his hands were trembling. Sean's story was nearly his own.

"When did this happen, Brother Sean?" Roland asked.

After taking a moment to compose himself, Sean said, "This was in 1995."

Twenty minutes later the meeting wrapped with a prayer and a blessing. The faithful filed out.

"Bless you," Roland said to all of them at the door. "See you on Sunday." The last person through was Sean. "Do you have a few moments, Brother Sean?"

"Sure, Pastor."

Roland closed the door, stood in front of the young man. A few long moments later, he asked, "Do you know what an important day this has been for you?"

Sean nodded. It was clear that his emotions were not far from the surface. Roland took Sean in an embrace. Sean sobbed softly. When the tears ran their course, they broke the embrace. Charles crossed the room, handed Sean a box of tissues, retreated.

"Can you tell me more about what happened?" Roland asked.

Sean bowed his head for the moment. When he looked up, he glanced around the room and leaned forward, as if to share a secret. "We always knew who did it, but they never could find any evidence. The police, I mean."

"I see."

"Well, it was the sheriff 's office that did the investigating. They said they never found enough evidence to arrest anyone."

"Where are you from exactly?"

"It was near a little village called Odense."

"Odense?" Roland asked. "Like the town in Denmark?"

Sean shrugged.

"Does this person still live there?" Roland asked. "The person you suspected?"

"Oh, yes," Sean said. "I can give you the address. Or I can even show you, if you like."

"That would be good," Roland said.

Sean looked at his watch. "I have to work today," he said. "But I can go tomorrow."

Roland glanced at Charles. Charles left the room. "That will be fine."

Roland walked Sean toward the door, his arm around the young man's shoulders.

"Did I do the right thing in telling you, Pastor?" Sean asked.

"Oh my, yes," Roland said, opening the door. "It was the right thing to do." He held the young man in another deep embrace. He found that Sean was shaking. "I'll take care of everything."

"Okay," Sean said. "Tomorrow then?"

"Yes," Roland replied. "Tomorrow."