Amid the Shadows (13 page)

25

Chaplain
Wilcox looked out the window as the 737 banked and began its decent into
Washington D.C.
 
A sickening feeling
welled up inside him when he saw the smoke visible, even from twelve thousand
feet up.
 
The sun was rising in the east
and casting an eerie shadow across most of the city.
 
Only as they dropped further could he begin
to see the site clearly.

Within
just minutes of each other, another two cathedrals had been attacked in the
middle of the night, and like Saint Patrick’s, they had been utterly destroyed.
 
The first target was the Washington National
Cathedral in Washington D.C., one of the largest and most historic cathedrals
in the world and a national icon that had hosted many U.S. memorial services.

The
second collapse was the Old Saint Mary’s Church in Philadelphia, the second
oldest Roman Catholic church in the city.
 
It was founded in 1763 and had a particularly significant history as a
frequent meeting place of the Continental Congress.

Both
attacks, just days after Saint Patrick’s, had instantly set off a panic among
the public that was already spreading across the nation as people woke up to
the horrifying news.
 
Fortunately, the
loss of life was again small, but even the dozen or so casualties were enough for
the media to latch onto.
 
The news channels
were quickly billing this as an attack against Christianity.
 
A generalization that the chaplain feared may
be too narrow and premature.

With
the panic spreading quickly, Wilcox was one of a dozen chaplains asked to help
assist in trying to bring any comfort possible to the scene and to the
community.

As
the plane continued its decent, the chaplain thought about Cheryl Roberts.
 
She had not returned his phone calls, and he
was beginning to grow concerned.
 
It was
not like her.
 
He hoped he would have a
message waiting on his cell phone when he reached the ground.

There was no message waiting,
but Wilcox was quickly distracted when he and four other chaplains were whisked
away upon landing.
 
Their first stop was
an early morning mass at a nearby church where several public figures were
giving speeches, including the vice president.
 
This was the first time he had welcomed having politicians at the scene
in a long time.
 
The public desperately
needed to be calmed.

When they arrived at the
nearby Saint John’s Church in Lafayette Square, it was a little after 9:00 am,
and the place was already a zoo.
 
Located
across from the White House, both H and 16
^th
streets were completely
blocked off.
 
Over a hundred police
officers tried to keep the crowd orderly with barricades while dozens of
television reporters and their crews were already set up and broadcasting.

The chaplains were quickly
ushered out of their van and into the church’s side entrance where a sizable
group of parishioners had already gathered and were overflowing through the
double doors in front.
 
Many of those
inside were sitting in the benches, crying and holding each other while pastors
moved through the large crowd hugging and consoling as many as they could
reach.
 
Chaplain Wilcox jumped right in.

Hours later, reinforcements
arrived and gave some pastors a chance to take a break.
 
Several, including Wilcox, volunteered to go
to the National Cathedral to look for anyone else.

When he arrived though,
Chaplain Wilcox was dumbfounded.
 
He
climbed out of the van and stood staring at the site from a distance,
thunderstruck.
 
If he thought Saint
Patrick’s was horrible, then the National Cathedral was beyond words.
 
In New York, the damage to Saint Patrick’s
was truly terrible, but here the damage was
total
.
 
It was gone, the entire cathedral was simply
gone, leveled completely to the ground.

Everything was smoldering and
a thick cloud enveloped everything and everyone within a two block radius.
 
Everyone except the search and rescue teams
met and operated out of a large plumbing and parts warehouse four blocks away.

Wilcox sat and held
parishioners who had come to see for themselves.
 
Most broke down immediately into tears.
 
He held their hands and prayed, quoting many
verses in the bible explaining that God was still watching over them.
 
More than anything else, Wilcox sat and
listened.

Eventually, he was able to
visit what was left of the Cathedral itself.
 
The smoke rose into the air in giant thick columns, then slowly widening
and spreading out overhead.
 
Unlike Saint
Patrick’s, where some of the walls had remained standing, nothing at the
National Cathedral was still vertical.
 
Considered to be the national house of prayer for all people, nothing
was left standing at all.
 
Both the
famous Gloria in Excelsis Tower and Pilgrim Observation Gallery were reduced to
mere rubble.
 

Wilcox thought about the
enormity of the National Cathedral and guessed that it must have taken three or
four times the explosive power of Saint Patricks’ to do that.
 
The nauseating feeling in his stomach
suddenly grew worse as he realized that the attacks were much more powerful
this time which meant the possibility that this was
escalating
.

He slowly walked around the
perimeter, unable to believe the destruction, even after Saint Patrick’s.
 
As he walked around the outside, he watched
the rescue crews slowly and methodically turn over pieces of wreckage.
 
It was then that he noticed something.
 
Not far from where he stood, near the remains
of the altars, was a man who looked oddly familiar.

Wilcox had a keen memory for
faces, but it was not triggered by the man’s middle eastern look or his bald
head.
 
It was what he was doing.

The chaplain looked around
and spotted a man behind him that appeared to be one of the crew’s supervisors.
 
He walked over to the man and introduced
himself.

“What can I do for you,
Chaplain?”
 
The man was polite but curt.

The chaplain pointed back the
way he came.
 
“That man over there, near
the back.
 
Do you know who he is?”

The man glanced up briefly
and squinted his eyes.
 
“Uh…no,”
 
he said, looking back down at his
clipboard.
 
“Some special investigator I
think.”

The chaplain nodded, still
watching the man.
 
“Did you catch his
name?”

The supervisor stopped for a
moment and raised an eyebrow.
 
“Mmm…I
think his ID said Bases or something.
 
I
can’t remember exactly.”

The chaplain nodded
again.
 
“Did he say what he was looking
for?”

“Nope.”
 

The supervisor was clearly
busy.
 
The chaplain thanked him and
walked back toward the wreckage, watching the man.
 
He was sure it was him.
 
He had seen him at the wreckage of Saint
Patrick’s a few days ago.
 
He remembered
the face, but what really seemed curious was why both times he’d seen the man
digging in the same area of the church’s remains.

26

The sound of running water
woke Christine.
 
She slowly opened her
eyes, squinting at the ray of sunshine peeking through the dark curtains.
 
Sarah was asleep on top of her again with her
tiny hand laying across the bottom of Christine’s face.
 
She slowly removed Sarah’s hand, trying not
to wake her, and set it softly on her own tiny stomach.

Ever so gently, Christine
rolled off the couch and onto a knee, standing up and stretching.
 
She followed the noise into the kitchen where
she found Avery washing out a dishcloth.
 

He spoke quietly over his
shoulder.
 
“Sorry, I was hoping that
wouldn’t wake you.”

“That’s okay,” she said with
a yawn.
 
“What time is it?” she asked,
peering around the two darkened rooms.

“A little past two.”

“Wow.” She couldn’t remember
what time she had fallen asleep, but she sure didn’t think she would sleep that
long.

“How’s Glen?” she asked.

Avery smiled.
 
“He’s better.
 
Still needs more rest though.”
 
He
turned off the water and hung the cloth over the faucet.
 
“Would you like some tea?”

“I would love some,” she
said.
 
She eyed the smaller kitchen
window and walked over to it, pulling back the curtain a little.
 
She looked outside at the dense wall of giant
pine and cedar trees.
 
Outside and
directly beneath the window was a large wooden deck with two chairs and a small
table.
 
On the other side of the table
was a large pile of firewood.
 
Christine
let the curtain fall back over the exposed window and looked closer around the
dimly lit kitchen.
 
The place looked
rugged and void of any frills, highlighted by the wire rack on the counter with
dishes drip drying.
 
To the right was an
old gas stove, and next to that was a refrigerator that looked even older.
 
It reminded her of the small, rounded looking
fridge her grandmother once had.

In front of her and next to
the window was a small wooden table with four matching chairs.
 
She quietly pulled one out and sat down with
a creak.

She watched Avery pour the
water into a tea cup and wondered where he had gotten the hot water.
 
She didn’t remember hearing the whistle of a
teapot, and there was certainly no microwave.
 
She could not have been that tired.

He walked across the small
room and put her tea down in front of her.
 
Avery then sat in the chair next to her and took a sip from his own cup.

“So,” Christine started,
curling her fingers through the handle.
 
“What exactly is going on here?
 
Why is everyone after us?”

Avery put his cup down.
 
“They’re not after you.
 
They’re after Sarah.”

Deep down Christine knew
that.
 
“She’s six-years-old, what could
they want with her?”

Avery looked at her
curiously.
 
“You tell me.”

“I-I don’t know,” she said
looking baffled.

Avery watched her with a
dubious look.
 
“I see.”

Just then Sarah appeared near
the open doorway.
 
Christine waved her
over.
 
“Hi Sarah.
 
Come on in.”
 

Sarah walked quietly over and
sat down in the chair next to Christine.
 

“Sarah, this is Mr. Avery. He
helped us last night.”

Sarah smiled shyly and gave
him a polite wave.

He grinned, revealing deep
dimples in his old cheeks.
 
“Did you get
a good night’s sleep Sarah?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Would you like something to
eat?” he asked.
 

Sarah glanced at Christine
and then back to Avery.
 
“Yes, please.”

Avery rose and opened the
refrigerator, withdrawing a bowl of fruit.
 
“Here you go.”
 
He placed it on
the table in front of her.

Sarah grabbed some grapes and
started popping them into her mouth while she looked around the room curiously.

They both watched her eat for
a minute before Avery spoke again.
 
“Sarah, I was just about to tell Christine that you are both safe
here.
 
We’re here to help you.
 
So don’t you worry, okay?”

“Okay,” Sarah replied again
politely as she reached for more grapes.

Christine smiled, marveling
at Sarah.
 
She had such good manners,
better than she’d seen in a child for a long time.

Avery turned to
Christine.
 
“Can I get you something?”

She shook her head.
 
“No, thank you, I’ll just nibble on some of
this fruit.”

“Okay then.
 
Let me check on Glen again.”
 
With that Avery left the kitchen and strode
down the hallway toward the back of the cabin.

Christine remained still,
surprised at how happy she was just watching Sarah eat.
 
After a few moments, she broke the
silence.
 
“Is Avery a nice man?”

“Mmm hmm.”
 
Sarah said with a quick bob of her head.
 
“Very nice.”

Christine nodded with relief.
 
She decided to change the subject.
 
“Sarah, are you missing school this week?”

“Yeah,” Sarah replied. “My
mommy took me out of school.
 
She said
we’ll have to do a lot of homework to catch up.”

“I see.”
 
Christine put her cup down and leaned toward
her a little.
 
“Sarah, did your mommy
tell you why she was taking you out of school?”

Sarah took a break from
chewing.
 
“Because of the bad men.”

“What bad men?”

Sarah looked at her
innocently.
 
“The bad men that tried to
get into our house.”

Christine tried to suppress
her look of surprise.
 
“They came to your
house?”

“Yes.
 
Just like they came to the hotel and the hide
house.”

“The hide house?” asked
Christine.
 
“Oh, you mean the place we
were hiding at, the
safe
house?”

“Yeah,” she said.
 
“But the bad men keep coming.”

Christine sighed.
 
“I know honey.”
 
She patted Sarah’s hand and was struck by how
natural it felt.
 
“But I think we’re safe
now.”

She wanted to get back off
the subject.
 
“So, do you have a lot of
friends in school?”

“Yes,” Sarah said, picking the
last grape off a small bunch.
 
“Muna is
my best friend.
 
She’s black.”

Christine’s eyes grew
wide.
 
“What?
 
She’s black?”

“Yeah, her mommy and daddy
are black too.
 
They’re from South
Africa.”

Christine laughed a little in
relief.
 
“Oh, you mean black.
 
As in, their skin is black.
 
I though you meant…oh never mind.”

Sarah looked curiously at
Christine.
 
“Do you think I’ll be able to
go back to school soon?”

Christine felt her heart
sadden but forced a smile.
 
“I sure hope
so.”

Together they finished the fruit
in the bowl, and Sarah put it carefully into the sink.
 
They went into the living room and opened the
curtains a little, allowing more sun in.
 
Together they folded the two blankets and stacked them neatly on the end
of the couch.

Christine looked at Sarah’s
clothes and then her own.
 
“I guess we’re
both dressed already.”

Sarah giggled and nodded.

They found the remote control
to a small television in the corner of the living room.
 
Christine managed to turn it on and flipped
through a few channels with some reception before stopping on a relatively
clear cartoon show which Sarah was very excited about.
 
She quickly dropped down and sat on the
floor.

Christine stood back and
grinned again at the thought of Sarah being able to be a kid, if only for the moment.
 
Christine absently brushed a strand of hair
out of her face and realized how dirty her hair felt.
 
She needed to freshen up.

She peered curiously down the
hallway.
 
There was a light under one of
the doors which she assumed was the room that Glen Smith was resting in.
 
It was across from the bathroom she had used
in the middle of the night.
 
Quietly, she
stepped inside and closed the door, this time noticing behind it a tub and
shower.
 
She was surprised at how clean
it was.
 

Christine turned on the
light, and stared into the large mirror above the sink.
 
She looked terrible and needed a shower
badly.
 
She turned on the sink faucet and
pooled some water in her hands, rinsing her face off several times.
 
She then took the band out of her thick,
dark, red hair and let it fall forward.
 
There was no brush, so she did her best by running her fingers through
it and pulling it tight into a ponytail, doubling up the band to secure it.

She already felt better, but
this wasn’t the time for a complete overhaul.
 
She reached for the door but stopped when she looked at the mirrored
medicine cabinet on the side wall.
 
She
looked around instinctively and then reached for the cabinet door, gently
tugging it open and waiting for a loud squeak that never came.
 
Curious, she looked inside to find it almost
empty.
 
Only the bottom shelf had
anything on it: a razor with blades, a few sticks of deodorant, and some
aspirin.
 
Strangely disappointed, she
began to shut it when a noise outside in the hallway made her jump.
 
It sounded like the other door had been
opened abruptly.
 
She quickly closed the
cabinet and double-checked herself in the mirror.
 
She then casually turned the door knob and
pulled the door open.

She saw that the other door
was cracked open.
 
She looked up and down
the hall curiously.
 
Avery must have
already reached the kitchen.

Christine quietly stepped
across the hall and positioned herself in front of the small opening in the
second door.
 
She leaned in and put one
eye close enough to look through.

She gasped!
 
Inside, she could see the figure of Glen
Smith, and he was standing up.
 
Christine
slipped and pitched forward, accidentally pushing the door open, and realized
she had been helped by Avery who had silently appeared behind her in the
hall.
 
She abruptly stumbled into the
room to find Smith standing in front of a mirror, wearing a long sleeve shirt
which was unbuttoned down the middle.
 

If Christine had been
startled at seeing Smith on his own two feet, what she saw when he whirled
around truly frightened her.
 
The skin on
his side looked smooth and showed no sign of injury, much less a bullet hole.

“Oh my god!” Christine cried,
trying to back up.
 
“How? How?” She
bumped into Avery who was still behind her.
 

Avery put his hands slowly on
her shoulders.
 
“Easy, Christine,” he
said in a calm voice.
 
“Take it easy
now.”

Christine was petrified.
 
She kept staring at Smith and slowly tried to
back up and around Avery.
 
“My god,
w-what
are
you?”
 
She turned and
realized that Avery was between her and the door.
 
It didn’t look like he had any intention of
letting her out.

Avery spoke again.
 
“Easy.
 
It’s not what it looks like.”

“No?!” Christine shot
back.
 
“Well, it looks like he was shot
and bleeding to death last night, and now it looks like he’s pretty…
unshot
!”