Dead Run

CHAPTER 59

Wednesday, November 21

9:50 p.m.

Mark battled his way up Duval Street. A downed tree three blocks back had forced him to abandon his car and make his way to Liz’s on foot.

The rain blinded him. The wind made forward progress nearly impossible. He prayed. For the Lord’s help. His guidance and strength.

His friends were in great danger. He had to warn them.

Rachel was alive.

He had left Liz’s that day after Lieutenant Lopez’s visit and gone to the hospital. He had seen what the police had been up to. They needed a murderer. Who better than a monster? Who better to single out as a mad killer than a modern-day Quasimodo? The public would buy it without a murmur. They would whisper, “Yes, it makes sense. Just look at him.”

Stephen was a good, gentle creature. One incapable of cruelty. Mark had not been about to sit back and allow his friend to be framed.

He had posed as an orderly to get past the police guard. Pastor Tim had been there, praying over Stephen. He had been white as a sheet. The pastor had recognized Mark immediately and caught his hand. “We have to get him away from here,” he had whispered. “They mean him harm.”

And Mark’s suspicions of the man had melted away.

The pastor had told him what he had learned in the past hours: that Rachel was alive. The night she had disappeared, Stephen had seen a woman on the church grounds-the woman from the boutique across the street. He had seen Pastor Howard crash into a tree and had seen the woman and others pull her from her car after it crashed.

He had been frightened. Pastor Rachel had warned him of the evil ones. She had warned him to stay away from them. She had given him the package for her sister, but he had forgotten how she’d said to get it to her.

From photos, Stephen had recognized Liz, but when he had approached her at the church, he had been chased away by the evil woman. So he had left the envelope for Pastor Tim to find. Stephen had figured that he would know what to do with it.

Together, Mark and the pastor had prayed. And planned. Pastor Tim had friends in Miami. One, a doctor and fellow pastor, would care for Stephen. Mark would stay with Stephen while Tim did a little snooping.

Then, when the guard had gone for coffee, they had unplugged Stephen and stolen him away.

A gust of wind knocked Mark back. He dug in and clawed his way forward.

But he hadn’t stayed in Miami. When he’d seen that Stephen was safe, he had returned to Key West. He’d felt strongly that the Lord wanted him here, right this moment, in the midst of the storm. From the beginning, he’d believed the Lord had called him to Key West. He’d thought Tara had been the reason, but he had been wrong.

This was it. He was here to do battle for God. Against evil. Against those who would seduce and contaminate girls like Tara, those who would murder and expect to get away with it by framing the innocent. He didn’t think of himself as heroic, just obedient. He hadn’t a clue how he would help, what might be expected of him. But he wasn’t afraid. It came down to a matter of what was worth living for-and what was worth dying for.

Mark reached Liz’s storefront first. He peered in the darkened window-nothing looked out of order. Just to be certain, he tried the door. And found it locked.

Mark tipped his head back. The blinds on Liz’s apartment windows were drawn, closed tight. He made his way to her door. He tried the knob and twisted. The door blew open, slamming against the side wall.

Trembling, he ducked inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

He called for her, once. Then again.

She didn’t respond and he jogged up the stairs. Nothing appeared out of order in her living room. A quick search revealed the same in the rest of the rooms.

She wasn’t here. And judging by the presence of her toothbrush and other toiletries in the bathroom, she hadn’t left the island.

Please, Lord, let me not be too late.

Mark made his way back out into the storm. The rain had temporarily slowed to a drizzle. Taking advantage of that, he sprinted toward the Hideaway. Rick had boarded over the windows; both the front and service doors were locked.

Mark pounded and called for the man. After several moments had passed, growing desperate, he turned-and saw Liz’s car. A white Ford Taurus with a Missouri tag. It sat slightly left of the center of Duval Street, driver-side door open. Mark’s knees went weak with dread.

He closed his eyes and forced a deep breath into his lungs. When he expelled the breath, he expelled the fear with it. Darting into the street, he closed the distance to the car. The keys were in the ignition, her cell phone on the center console.

This was bad, very bad. Mark straightened and scanned the area. Boarded-up stores, all dark. A few automobiles, all empty. Paradise Christian, also dark.

He snatched up the cell phone and pressed the power button. The display came to life, the greenish glow the most welcoming he had ever known. Until it displayed the no service message.

With a sound of frustration, he tossed it onto the seat. The rain began again, with a vengeance. Thunder rumbled. Lord, help me. I can’t do this on my own. What now?

And then, he had his answer. Mark turned and stared at the church’s darkened facade.

This was where the Lord wanted him to be.

Grabbing both Liz’s keys and car phone, he slammed the door and battled his way to the church’s front doors.

He found them unlocked and slipped inside. Obviously the power had been out some time; the interior of the church was humid and warm. Other than the sound of the rain, the church was silent.

“Liz?” he called. “It’s Mark. Are you here?”

He made his way to the sanctuary. The flame from the eternal candle cast a soft circle of light. He called out for Liz again, then Pastor Tim. His words echoed back at him, bouncing off the wooden pews, the crucifix of Christ. The large stained-glass window behind the altar alternately brightened and darkened with the flashes of lightning outside. He lifted his face. The choir loft was located above him to the right. And, like the rest of the church, was dark. Empty.

Liz wasn’t here.

He didn’t know why he was so certain of that but he was. He took a candle from the altar, lit it and continued his search, first through the rest of the sanctuary, then of the other rooms. The nursery and fellowship hall. The Sunday-school classrooms. The office.

He found all empty. He reached the pastor’s study. The door was open. He stepped inside. And found Pastor Tim sprawled on the floor in front of his desk, the front of his light-colored shirt marred by an ominous, dark stain.

Mark gasped and rushed to his friend’s side.