Banana Split (28 page)

The chapel was empty, and Sadie hurried down the aisle and onto the stage, her eyes trained on the cross on the wall. She scanned the area as she got closer, looking for the note in case Charlie had just dropped it. When she was about a foot or so away from the wall, she stopped and leaned forward, staring at the very bottom of the cross, where the edge of the black wood met up with the stark white walls. She reached forward and felt with her fingers the slot she wasn’t sure her eyes were really seeing. It was the same width as the cross and therefore perfectly hidden beneath it. Her fingers probed the smooth edges of the cut in the wall, and she wondered what it was for. She knelt in front of it and tried to look into the opening, but it was too dark on the other side. What was it here for? Where did it go?

She stood up and stared at the wall itself. What was behind it? She’d been in Pastor Darryl’s office, but that was to the right side of the chapel, not the back. There must be a room behind this wall. She hurried back down the aisle and exited the doors into the white marble foyer. The hallway that ran parallel to the chapel ended at a door, and Sadie felt her heart rate increasing. Pastor Darryl’s office didn’t have a door at the back of it, so this must be the way in. It was the only explanation she could think of—that the paper Charlie had put into the slot went into this room somehow.

There was a light switch to the right of the door, and Sadie flipped it, watching the gap beneath the door illuminate, proving the switch controlled the light within the room. She reached for the doorknob, hoping against hope that it would be unlocked, then frowned when the knob didn’t turn in her hand. But the knob had a keyhole. Probably a basic five tumbler residential lock that would keep most people out. Sadie, however, was not most people and simple interior door locks were her specialty. She’d picked her own at home a hundred times during her training, which was self-taught, mostly, with some help from YouTube.

If only she’d brought her pick set. A paper clip or a bobby pin could torque the plug, and another one could push on the pins until they reached the shear line. But she didn’t have a paper clip or a bobby pin. She’d need to find something else.

She looked around and listened to the silence of the church. Would someone find her trying to break into this room? Was it fair to put her curiosity ahead of her responsibility to call Mr. Olie about Charlie, or her need to get Pete’s advice, or tell Gayle where she was? But she didn’t know if she’d get this opportunity again. Certainly she wasn’t the only one who knew about the slot and this room. If she didn’t get to it first, she might never know what it was Charlie had put in there.

She hurried to the kitchen and began going through drawers, keeping an open mind as she looked for the tools she’d need to get past the lock. Her search yielded a wire whisk and an ice pick. The ice pick could brace the plug, and if she could detach the wires of the whisk, they could possibly fit into the lock and push up against the pins. Whether it would be strong enough to lift the pins up to the shear line, she couldn’t be certain, but it was worth a try, and she didn’t have any other ideas. Pete had once called this type of improvising “a kitchen hack.” She’d never actually done it and was a little excited by the prospect.

She hated breaking a perfectly sound cooking utensil, but she had thrown out enough whisks in her day to know how easily the wires were to pull out of the casing. She wrapped her hand in the skirt of her muumuu for friction purposes; all it took was a good yank to pull out one of the wires. She followed the wire to the other end, yanked, and it too came right out. She did it again, so that she had two curved wires for her purposes, just in case.

She put the now-disabled whisk back in the drawer, making a note to replace it as soon as she could, then she opened the door slowly and peeked down the hall toward Pastor Darryl’s office. She couldn’t tell if he was still in there, so she hurried back to the locked door on the opposite side of the church while straightening out the wires and holding the ice pick under her arm.

When she arrived at the locked door, she flipped on the light switch to ensure the interior would be illuminated once she got in. She squinted at the keyhole before holding the wires in her teeth so she could manipulate the ice pick. She wanted to hold the plug still, but with enough tension so she could turn it. Once she felt she had sufficient tension, she removed one of the wires from her teeth and slid it into the lock with her free hand, twisting the pick and prodding with the wire until she felt the first pin shift, then, nearly a minute later, the second.

While she’d watched videos of people who could pick a lock in fifteen seconds or less—there were actually competitions held all over the world—she always took a long time. But she was patient, and after two full minutes of shifting and pushing, sweat trickling down her back from the constant pressure she had to keep on the plug, she finally felt the plug shift. She quickly turned the knob and pulled the door open. She was in—but she only allowed herself to enjoy the triumph for a moment. There was work to do.

The narrow room was storage of some kind, stacked to the ceiling with cardboard and Rubbermaid boxes. Thick black marker labeled the boxes with notes like The Creation and Nativity. The boxes were stacked along the walls, allowing a walkway between them that turned to the right about six feet in.

Sadie put her tools on the floor and closed the door most of the way behind her. She didn’t want it gaping open in case someone came by, but she didn’t like the idea of closing herself in either. She moved forward and was instantly confronted with thick musty heat; this room wasn’t well ventilated.

At the bend at the back of the narrow room, Sadie leaned forward to peer around the corner. There were more boxes and an artificial Christmas tree—did they do Christmas trees on the islands? The room was only about six feet wide and darker in the back. If there was a light fixture for this area, the bulb had either burnt out or there was another switch Sadie couldn’t find. She
could
see, however, thanks to a very small ray of light toward the end of the back corridor that she followed as though it were the northern star. Her skin prickled with sweat. Possibly from her growing anticipation as well as the heat, she couldn’t be sure.

As she continued forward from the bend in the room, five feet, then ten, the stacks of boxes became shorter—less convenient to get out of the room, she assumed—until she reached the last ten feet of the room. It was empty except for a blue Rubbermaid tub with no lid pushed up against the wall beneath the narrow cut that let in the tiny slice of light.

Sadie felt her excitement rise as she reached the box and looked inside it, counting at least a dozen notes scattered along the bottom of the plastic bin. A few were sealed inside of envelopes, but the rest were folded-over papers. Sadie knelt next to the box, wondering what the notes were for. She reached in for a paper that was on top of the rest; maybe that meant it was the most recent. She unfolded the plain white paper but had to lean over the box and hold the note next to the light to see what it said. As soon as she opened it, she knew it was an adult’s handwriting—not Charlie’s—but she read it anyway.

Please bless that my sister’s psoriasis might be healed.

Your child,

D. Halakimaki Koto

Sadie refolded the letter and put it on the floor beside her. Was this some kind of prayer box? She’d known people to write out their prayers and bury them or burn them, and she’d read a book where people stuck the papers into a wall in their garden, kind of like the Wailing Wall. The next note, also written by an adult, had a much more disturbing prayer.

Please bless him to know how much I love him and that leaving his wife is not a sin when she’s already been untrue to their vows. I feel that you’ve led me to him. Help him see that.

In faith,

ACR

It took some . . . gumption to pray for something like that. Sadie set the note with the first one, feeling guilty for reading people’s prayers that were certainly meant to be private. She wondered what happened to the notes once they came through the wall. Did Pastor Darryl read them?

She reached in again and, this time, looked for the clues that might point out Charlie’s note to her. One note wasn’t folded perfectly, and it was written on the same newsprint paper as the list he’d left at Sadie’s house. A bead of sweat began trailing down the side of her face, and she wiped it away before reaching into the tub for the note.

She unfolded it and had to squint due to the fact that it was written in pencil, like the list of questions.

Dear God,

Mom says you can help make stuff come tru. Help me find my mom and make her not to do drugs.

Charlie Pouhu

Sadie’s breath caught, and she read it again, holding back the emotion that was close to the surface. While there was nothing earth-shattering in the note, there was a quality of desperation that worried Sadie. Charlie was reaching out to anyone he thought could possibly help him. What if he decided no one would? Would he take it on his own shoulders to find a woman who couldn’t be found?

After reading the prayer the second time, she folded it back up, then folded it one more time and tucked it into the only pocket she had—her bra. It was trashy, she knew that, but she needed to keep it safe. It was time to call Mr. Olie, but as she turned, she saw the prayers she’d left out of the box. She picked them up and threw them back in the bin. After cleaning up her mess, she hurried toward the door, hoping she wouldn’t end up having to leave another message for Mr. Olie. She should have asked him for his direct number last night.

She was almost to the bend in the room when the room went black. She stumbled to a stop in the near-darkness, blinking quickly before rushing toward the doorway.

She was just turning the corner when the door shut, quick and quiet—but not slammed. Sadie hesitated for a millisecond, then hurried forward and grabbed the doorknob, which didn’t move in her hand.

Chapter 31

Sadie shook the doorknob as though that would work before remembering that there was a thumb lock on the inside. She turned the lock before twisting the handle and pushing, but something was obstructing the door. Another bead of sweat trailed down the side of her head, and she told herself to think reasonably even as panic started setting in. Who would barricade her in? Why? How would she get out? What if she
couldn’t
get out? What if there were rats in here? Or cockroaches? How long would the oxygen last? Her heart rate increased, and her sweat glands kicked into hyperdrive. Before she knew it, she was banging on the door.

“Let me out!” she yelled, smacking the door with the palms of her hands. “Please, let me out!”

The voice in her head told her that whoever locked her in wasn’t about to let her out just because she asked, but the rest of her was in a full-on panic that kept her screaming and banging, pleading to be let out, rattling the door in hopes that whatever was in the way of the door would move. Getting out was the only thing she could think about. Maybe Pastor Darryl would hear her—he had to hear her, didn’t he? He’d said he had an appointment, but maybe he hadn’t left yet.

She kept yelling and pounding, then felt her way back to the wall with the prayer slot and banged and yelled there. No one came. She started crying, begging for someone to please let her out. The palms of her hands stung and her fingertips tingled. She felt lightheaded. Still she didn’t stop. The only relief she could imagine was getting out of the room, and the only way to get out was to get the attention of someone capable. She was not capable.

She went back to the door—the only exit—and pounded on the wood in vain. She was entirely helpless. The feeling wrapped her up tight until she was gasping for air, her pleas just above a whisper. Her arms ached, and she fell against a wall of boxes as she lost her balance. The boxes teetered, and she tried to look up at them in the darkness but then had to grab onto them for stability when the blackness spun around her. The boxes steadied, and she lowered herself to the floor with her hands over her head, her chest heaving as she tried to draw a breath.