Secrets in the Shallows (Book 1: The Monastery Murders) (38 page)

“Oh come on, moose! Get the hell out of the way, why don’t ya’!”

At that moment, a loud crack resounded through the woods as a nearby tree snapped. The heavy snow had become too much of a burden for the large branch; and the splitting wood could be heard echoing throughout the valley. The perfectly timed thunderous sound startled the moose, which quickly turned around and headed in the opposite direction. The sheriff could hear the heavy hooves on the asphalt as the mother and her calf walked to the edge of the road. Together, they disappeared between the heavily wooded evergreen trees covered in snow.

Once Sheriff Johnson felt it was safe to cautiously proceed, he put his cruiser back into
drive
and continued down the highway. He especially watched out for any more animals that could cross his path.

* * * *

The heavy wooden door closed behind Deputy Williams as he entered the monastery. He had gotten there a little early and the forensics team had not arrived yet. Recalling the years he had spent on campus throughout his school years, he began to look around as he headed through the foyer. With every step he made on the cold stone floor, the resounding echoes filled the hallway.

The rumblings of thunder from the storm vibrated throughout the building, while strong winds were heard rushing through the bell tower. Outside, an unusual clashing of winter pressure fronts was providing a natural light show as the snow turned into a cold rain. Turning on the lights, he gazed all around and lifted his eyes up toward the large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

Williams thought to himself,
Wow! There’s been a lot of thunder this week.
Turning his attention to the intricate hand-carved designs in the ceilings and walls, he thought,
I wonder how many days of work, it took to take a piece of wood and make it look that amazing.
This place is definitely better than the ones I’m stuck at usually.

He wondered the age of the
poor man’s
rug, with white and black diamond shapes covering the floor. Little did he know that the same style of floor covering had been used in most cathedrals and structures as far back as the eighteen-hundreds. to either side of the doorway Looking towards the main cathedral entrance, he saw another set of rustically ornate, wooden doors. On both sides of the doorway, small tables held bowls of holy water for ceremonial washing.

The deputy reverently walked over towards one of the large bowls filled with sanctified water. With the tips of his fingers, he touched the surface of the water and made the sign of the cross, starting at his forehead. Moving his hand down to touch his stomach, he then reached to his left chest and finished his sign of the cross on his right side.

Reaching the arched doors of the sanctuary, he gently pushed the massive doors open. Dark shadows played and danced along the tiles of the ancient stone floor, as the weathered slab of wood swung silently on well-greased hinges. The deputy’s gaze was instantly drawn to the riot of colors cast on the floor. The faint light beautifully refracted through the broken glass of the stained glass windows. At the far wall, he focused on the huge wooden crucifix that hung above the main altar of the sanctuary. At Christ’s feet, small red candles burned in homage to him.

In the stained glass windows on both sides of the cross, two figures looked at the other. Mary, the mother of Christ, gazed lovingly at Jesus from the left side. Halos hovered over their heads as they reached out towards one another. Suddenly, lightning struck loudly and the lights flickered.

Treading softly up the center aisle, his heavy footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet. A deep boom resounded throughout the empty sanctuary. Stopping suddenly, he turned around in time to witness the door shutter as it closed.

At the rear of the sanctuary, two golden angels peered down at him from the railing of the balcony. He could almost hear the young tenor voices singing in unison as their beautiful hymns emanated out, while they praised God above the audience arena.

As Deputy Williams pivoted and walked toward the front, he let his hand drift over the top of each pew. The handcrafted, red wood pews had been placed in the monastery during construction over a hundred years earlier. Even the prayer books and hymnals that lined the back of the pews were decades old. Many parishioners had used them for generations as they said their prayers on the kneelers. Looking to the back of the room, he could see the intimidating confession booths waiting for those who sought forgiveness of sins.
I’ve made a lot of confessions in there,
he chuckled to himself.

The rainbow of lights began to dim and fade, giving a sinister feel to the already cold and eerie atmosphere that made the deputy’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. His breathing waned as he had the distinct sensation of someone staring at the back of his head.

An intense flash blazed throughout the room as a bolt of lightning hit near the monastery, causing the lights to flicker. Williams was startled as the deafening sounds rolled through the immense building.
Get a grip, Williams,
he thought. He stopped for a moment and turned around to find a shadowed nun standing at the closed wooden entrance.

Recalling old horror movies of his youth, fear overwhelmed the deputy for a moment. Instinctively, he stepped back in recoil, and tripped over the end of a pew. He looked back at the door just as the nun vanished before his eyes. Trying to determine where the nun had gone, Williams shot his gaze in all directions and placed his right hand over his pistol. Unfastening the strap, he was ready to defend himself if necessary.

Making his way towards the front, Deputy Williams slowly walked up some steps leading to a short marble table. On each end, candlesticks adorned with crowns of small flames stood diligently against the encroaching shadows. In the center, a small tray was gently draped with a white linen cloth.

Lifting the hem of the fabric, Williams revealed an ornamental wine goblet with small flower motifs and etched vines, which stood on a matching golden plate. Removing the cloth, he closely examined the delicate engravings as he set the goblet and cloth to the side. Picking the plate up, he was mesmerized by the intricate designs. The polish was so shiny that he could see his reflection on the finish.

In the reflection, Williams saw the nun staring back at him. He froze for a second, unsure of what to do, but still keenly aware of his surroundings. Focusing on the plate, he watched as the nun vanished once more. Turning around quickly, he saw nothing but empty space.
Who is that?

Out of the shadows, a creaking noise caught his attention. Stopping dead in his tracks, he listened for where it came from. Pulling out his pistol and holding it in front of him, he cautiously began to walk down the steps, heading towards the sound.

Upon hearing another creak, Williams looked around and whispered to himself,
“Is there someone here, or am I going crazy?”

His heart raced as he proceeded over to the small shrine of candles that normally flickered with soft bursts of light onto the walls. Almost daily, parishioners would light the candle to honor God with prayers in remembrance of loved ones.

As a chill seemed to pass right through his body, the hair on his arms stood up on end. Looking around to make sure nothing surprised him; he took a match and lit one of the candles.

“For Timmy Fields and Tom Green,”
he whispered.

As the flame suddenly went out, Williams felt another chill run through his body. Turning around immediately, he found a nun with long, wavy blonde hair staring back at him. Clothed in a white apron with a black dress, she wore no habit.

The ghostly nun looked at him and asked, “What about me? My soul needs prayer too. My life was taken from me.”

Lightning flashed outside again, filling the room with a loud clash that vibrated throughout the monastery. Rolling thunder rumbled throughout the building as the spirit suddenly disappeared. Lights flickered from the chandelier as it swayed from side to side. There was no wind and no draft, yet the chandelier continued to swing.

Deputy Williams quickly prayed that he wouldn’t see her again. He flinched as he felt a touch on his left shoulder.

“Get away from me!” he shouted as he stepped back.

“Christopher...” the voice whispered again. “Christopher, I am not going to hurt you. I am here to warn you. Please listen to me.”

“Warn me about what?” he asked, still holding his gun ready to shoot.

“Christopher, the murderer is going to strike again if not stopped. The murderer is not finished,” the voice warned faintly.

“You aren’t real!” the deputy shouted. He flinched again, as he felt another touch on his shoulder.

“God, make her go away!”

Deputy Williams turned around to scan the room again. Right in front him, the nun stood solemnly quiet.

“All right, Christopher. I’ll leave you alone,” the nun said as she turned and walked toward the altar, vanishing right before his eyes.

Williams took deep, rapid breaths, trying to gain his composure as he whispered, “All right, everything is going to be all right. Williams, get a grip!”

Finally, he began to feel warm for the first time since entering the cathedral. He scanned around the room to see if the nun had returned. As he did, he noticed the winding steps led down to a dark stairwell. Shining his flashlight in the darkness below, he mustered the courage to continue.

I’m going down there,
he thought to himself.

Placing his hand on the rail, Deputy Williams walked down the winding marble staircase. Crypts lined the walls, reminding him of his ghostly encounter. Picking up his flashlight, he turned it on so he could read the names.

“
Father Phil Monger, Father John Reed, and Father Lewis Winston.”

Slowly walking further down the staircase, he reached a smaller crypt. Written in the marble stone was the name,
Sister Mary Ann
. Thunder rolled through the building and the lights flickered.

Williams backed up as he heard a faint whisper near him,
“You know the murderer, Christopher. Remember! Remember!”

The deputy stood motionless as he heard another noise. Looking around once more, he turned sharply to the right and headed back upstairs. As he reached the landing, he bolted towards the sanctuary doors.

* * * *

Inside a warm dwelling, a man tossed two more logs inside the wood burning stove and shut the cast iron door. The orange and red flames danced behind the glass. Turning around Tom Green, Sr. hurried back to his seat at the kitchen table. Wearing a dark plaid button-down shirt and blue jeans, Tom picked up his hand of cards and said, “Sweetie, it’s your turn.”

With her red polished and manicured nails resting on top of the deck, Helen picked up the top card and frowned.

Tom grinned, “Not what you wanted ... eh?”

Frowning, she said, “Maybe, it’s your turn.”

Tom placed his cards face down. Crow’s feet tightened around his eyes as he smiled and said, “Full house.”

Helen slapped her cards down on the kitchen table. “You rascal! That is the fifth time you have beat me this week.”

The doorbell interrupted their game. Tom stood up and looked at Helen. “I guess that must be Sheriff Johnson that the lady called about.”

Tom hurriedly walked over to the door and pressed his eye against the peephole. Sheriff Johnson’s image magnified and he looked back at his wife.

“You’re right, dear. It is Sheriff Johnson.”

Tom opened the front door and said, “Hello, Sheriff. I heard you might be coming by. What brings you here?’”

Sheriff Johnson removed his hat as he stood on the stoop. “May I have a word with you and Helen, Tom?”

Tom pushed open the screen door, allowing the sheriff to walk through. Shivering, he said, “Sure, come on inside. It’s freezing out there.”

Helen stood with her arms at her side. “Can I make you some hot coffee? I have cream in the refrigerator, if you like.”

Sheriff Johnson glanced at her, “No thanks, Helen. Can we sit down, please?”

Tom walked in the living room, gesturing for Sheriff Johnson to take a seat on the sofa. As Tom sat on his recliner

“I take it this is not a social call?”

The sheriff sighed, “No, Tom, it’s not.”

Helen sat down in the adjacent chair, crossing her legs. “What is this about, Sheriff?”

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just come right out and say it. I assume you know about Timmy Fields?”

Helen shifted her seated position in her chair. With her fingers, she curled her long dark hair back away from her face. With a long pause, she replied, “Yes, we know. What does this have to do with us?”

“Tom and Helen, we had divers go in to the pond searching for more evidence. At the bottom of the pond, they found Tom’s backpack.”

Tom, Sr. sat on the sofa stone-faced. “What did you say?” he asked, just barely louder than a whisper.

Sheriff Johnson lowered his head and then looked up at Tom. “The divers found it in the same area as they found evidence for the current murder case.” Clearing his throat slightly, he lowered his voice respectfully, “It was also in the same vicinity as where Tom’s body was found.”