The Lord Is My Shepherd (31 page)

An impromptu stage had been set up, and Jeremiah helped her to her seat. On the far side of the stage a trio of officers escorted Oliver to his chair before disappearing into the woodwork. It was important that the police be present but practically invisible.

Jeremiah wrapped his hand around hers and leaned close to her. “I have to be honest, this is going to be dangerous,” he said. “We're risking our lives.”

She threw her arm around him and hugged him hard. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, looking startled.

“For telling the truth. I know we could die. It's just so nice to hear someone else admit it. Usually people try to tell me I worry too much. This … this is better.”

“You just needed the danger to be acknowledged?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to your sister, Cindy?”

“It's not important,” she said, shaking her head.

“All evidence to the contrary. Come on, who can you tell if not your rabbi?” he said, voice teasing.

“Oh, you're my rabbi now. Here I thought you were my husband.”

“I suppose you'd like an explanation about that?”

“Oh, no, it's so much preferable to have you and Mark teasing me and the hospital staff calling me Mrs. Silverman.”

He chuckled.

“You see, there you go again!”

“You're right, I'm sorry. When we arrived at the emergency room, they wouldn't let me in unless I was blood family. I couldn't risk leaving you alone with the killer on the
loose after he had already made an attempt on your life. So there you have it.”

“Wow, somehow the truth is more boring than I anticipated.”

He shrugged, and then his expression turned serious. “What happened to your sister?”

“She died when I was a kid. It was terrible, and stupid, and didn't have to happen. Maybe someday I'll tell you the whole story, but that's all I've got right now for my husband and my rabbi.”

He smiled at her, and it was tinged with sadness. “ 'From childhood's hour I have not been / As others were; I have not seen / As others saw; I could not bring / My passions from a common spring. / From the same source I have not taken / My sorrow; I could not awaken / My heart to joy at the same tone / And all I loved, I loved alone,' “ he quoted.

“That's from one of Edgar Allan Poe's poems.”

“Yes.”

“I thought those poetry books didn't belong to you,” she accused.

He shrugged. “I said I didn't own them. I never said I didn't read them.”

She shook her head in amazement. “I read that poem a lot when I was a kid.”

“I'm not surprised.”

“I am. You're just full of surprises.”

The lights flared on in the hall, and Cindy took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

People poured in quietly and sat in the rows of folding chairs that had been set up. Cindy found she couldn't look at them. She knew friends and fellow church members were in
the group, and she felt that looking at them would somehow make everything that much more frightening.

The police had debated about warning people so that they might want to stay home, but the enormous task of reaching everyone and the certainty that if they tried the killer would also hear had eventually meant that they said nothing.

Jeremiah had told her that since the truth about the serial killer was out, the people attending the vigil should already be aware of at least a modicum of danger, but it didn't make her feel any better.

The room filled up quickly, a hush on the crowd. Jeremiah stood up, and all eyes focused on him.

“Welcome friends and neighbors. We are here tonight to reflect on the lives of those we have lost and to pray for the family and friends who must carry on despite this great loss. I am pleased to welcome members of First Shepherd here. I only wish that it could have been under happier circumstances.

“First, let us bow our heads in a moment of silent prayer.”

Cindy didn't bow her head or close her eyes, though she prayed. She could see Oliver's eyes glinting in the dim light that filled the hall. Jeremiah's head moved slowly from side to side.

She didn't realize that she held her breath until Jeremiah spoke again. “We have with us tonight two survivors from yesterday morning's crucifixion,” he said, turning to indicate first Cindy, then Oliver. “Join me in a moment of silent prayer for them.”

Now.
He's going to come after us now
, Cindy thought, her heart pounding out of control.

The silence stretched on, and there was a roaring in her ears. Her breath quickened, and she could feel panic rising up in her.

“They have asked if they could say a few words,” Jeremiah said. His voice was so loud that she jumped. “Oliver?”

Jeremiah sat down, and Oliver stood up. He shook from head to toe, and his face seemed ash white. “My name is Oliver. I was the one on the middle cross yesterday. I just wanted to say I'm not Christ. In fact, I can't think of anyone more un-Christlike than me. I'd just like to say I'm—”

The power went out, plunging the entire room into darkness. A murmur of concern rose from the crowd, and Cindy lunged to her feet, wincing as pain shot through her broken foot and up her leg. She heard a thud from the other side of the stage.

Jeremiah pulled a flashlight from his pocket and trained it on the space where Oliver had been standing. He was gone. Jeremiah ran forward, and Cindy worked her crutches to thump right behind him.

They heard a muffled grunt behind the stage. Jeremiah turned and his flashlight played over the body of Paul, who lay unmoving on the floor.

Cindy screamed. Jeremiah paused to scoop up Paul's gun, and Cindy saw him tuck it into the back of his waistband before heading out the back door.

She followed, too terrified to be left alone. She hit the crash door and was outside in a moment. The cold night air hit her face full-on.

She glanced around. There were a few lights on outside, but they were weak and far between. “Oliver!” she shouted,
praying he could hear her and make some sound that would help them find him.

She stopped and realized she couldn't see anyone. She fought the urge to turn around and head back into the hall. She could hear shouting from inside, though, and realized the police had their hands full maintaining crowd control.

She heard a noise like a whimper to her left. She took a few steps, trying to let her eyes adjust to the dark. “Oliver?”

Where was he? Where was Jeremiah, or Mark? Where was Karl? Her heart pounded faster and faster. She shuffled a few more steps.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind, and an iron arm wrapped around her neck. The tip of a knife pressed against her throat. She twisted and kicked, her crutches flailing uselessly before clattering to the ground, but he was too strong. She tried to drive her elbow into his stomach, but he twisted in such a way that her blows only glanced off of him.

I'm going to die! I'm going to die! I don't want to die!

She tried to stomp on his insole but failed. In response he tightened his grip, cutting off her air supply. Fresh panic surged through her, and she struggled harder, even though she could feel the knife cutting into her neck.

He laughed in her ear. “Sad little Cindy. So afraid, so alone. No one can save you.”

She looked around wildly, and then saw a grim-faced Mark standing nearby. He had drawn his gun. She tried to fight loose, terrified that Mark would shoot her accidentally.

She looked up again, and her eyes found Jeremiah. He stood a few feet away from Mark, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his whole body still.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mark slowly lowering his gun. She kept her eyes focused on Jeremiah, though. If anyone could save her, it was him. It had always been him. Gently, he smiled at her.

Then his hand moved so fast she couldn't see what he had done. She heard a gunshot, and Karl fell straight to the ground, the knife he held falling with him. She jumped toward Jeremiah who stood with empty hands. He reached for her and she fell into his arms.

As Jeremiah held her up, she turned and saw Karl on the ground, a gaping hole where his left eye had been. Mark snatched up his gun from the ground and moved toward the killer.

Jeremiah tried to turn her head away, but she needed to look. She needed to see his other eye, so very dead, before she could completely relax.

“It's over. He's dead,” Jeremiah whispered.

She shuddered in relief and turned back to look at Jeremiah. His eyes were cold and hard, but he smiled at her—the same smile he had given her just before he shot Karl.

“I thought you said you were excused from military service in Israel,” Cindy said.

“I said it was possible to be excused from service. I never said I didn't serve.”

“Thank God for that,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed.

It was over, truly over. Other officers arrived and swarmed around Mark and the body. They left Jeremiah and her alone, though. She saw Paul stagger out of the hall, rubbing the back of his head.

Lights flooded on around the area. She jumped and screamed as her eyes met Oliver's. He was dead, hanging from a rope tied around a tree limb.

They all stared in horror. “Karl's last victim,” Cindy said quietly.

Paul shook his head. “When the lights went out, Oliver rushed me and knocked me out.”

“Do you think he killed himself?” Jeremiah asked quietly.

Cindy looked at the slack face. “I don't know whose hand was on the rope, but I think it's safe to say that he did this to himself.”

Jeremiah kept his arms around her, and she put hers around him before leaning her head against his chest. She thought she might cry, but she didn't. The relief was too great, too complete, and there had been enough tears shed.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him.

“There's been something I've wanted to say to you all week.”

“What is it?”

“Happy Easter, Cindy.”

She smiled. “Happy Passover, Jeremiah.”

S
EVERAL HOURS LATER, JEREMIAH AND CINDY STOOD QUIETLY AND watched the sun rise. She hadn't watched the sun rise on Easter Sunday since she was a little girl. It was magnificent, and she could feel the warmth as though it were the love of God, wrapping her in His arms, comforting her.

Jeremiah put an arm around her back, and she leaned her head briefly on his shoulder. They had made it; they had survived.

“I couldn't have done this without you,” she said quietly.

“I think you could have, but I'm glad you didn't have to.”

“Can you imagine? Last Sunday we didn't know each other at all.”

“It does seem strange,” he admitted.

“You know what else?”

“What?”

“Today, right now, I feel safe. Completely safe.”

He smiled at her. “Glad I could be part of that moment.”

Mark walked up and watched the sun rise with them. “It's a good day.”

“Yes, it is,” Cindy agreed.

“There are some reporters here who'd like to talk with you. Do you want me to chase them off?”

“No, I'll talk to them now. Might as well get it over with.”

“You want me to go hide some chocolate bunnies for you for afterward?” Jeremiah teased.

Cindy punched him lightly in the arm. “You aren't going anywhere. But you totally owe me chocolate bunnies later.”

Jeremiah looked uncomfortable as the reporters approached. As they answered questions he did his best to downplay his role in the events. She gave the reporters the information they wanted and was glad when they left.

As she looked at Jeremiah she thought about the smile he had given her right before he had killed Karl. She wondered how he was dealing with that, but didn't want to ask. She figured if he wanted to talk about it he would. She was just grateful he'd had the skill and the resolve to save her life.

“Can I buy you breakfast?” she asked.

“I thought I was buying you chocolate bunnies?”

“Don't be silly. That's not breakfast, that's dessert.”

“Okay, you twisted my arm.”

Her foot still hurt but she would live. She walked slowly out to the car on her crutches, and he stayed next to her, a hand on her back as though ready to spring into action if she should need him. It was nice.

In the parking lot they again ran into Mark who gave Jeremiah a thoughtful look.

“Do you need anything else from us?” Cindy asked.

“No, we're good to go,” Mark said. “The two of you okay?”

“Yes,” Jeremiah said.

“Good call about the prayer vigil,” Mark told her.

“Thanks.”

“You've got an eye for this sort of thing.”

Cindy blushed. “Call it persistence fueled by motivated self-interest.”

“Whatever it was, thank you. And don't ever do it again.”

“Don't worry, I won't,” she laughed. “Care to join us for breakfast?”

“No. Soon as I'm finished here I'm headed home to my wife.”

“Happy Easter, Detective.”

“You, too, Cindy.”

After breakfast she helped Jeremiah retrieve his car at the park. He followed her to her house, made sure she was comfortable on the couch with her leg up, and finally said good-bye. She was sad to see him go, but it was nice to be home and to feel completely safe there.