 
### The Sons of Man

### A Sonya Neslund mystery

### by

### Laura A. Ellison

Copyright 2015 Laura A. Ellison

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

### Part I

### Post-Trauma

### Chapter One

The Greyhound bus station in St. Louis was big enough to hide in. Annie wanted a cup of coffee, the journey on the bus from Seattle exhausting.

She carried an overnight bag over her shoulder and a pre-paid cell phone she bought with cash. Her escape had not been well-planned, but her instincts were right; Timothy was following her. She had cashed in her ticket to New Orleans, where she had friends, for a ticket to Marine, Michigan at the last minute. However, she would have to wait a few hours to board the Chicago bus.

Annie wasn't sure if she was trembling from the cold or fear. She had never travelled alone; always in the company of family or friends. She had spent one year at Washington State University when she met Timothy. He brought her into the church, his perfect Mankind bride. Timothy was ten years older, a Marine who had served in Kuwait. The whole family had loved her. Annette Union had been the daughter of alcoholics, her father a reclusive Vietnam vet. She had worked at a Wal-Green's to pay for her own school clothes and had to take the bus all through high school in Marine, a scholarship taking her to Washington. Two years later, she was living in a seven-bedroom home in Seattle, worth millions. The Church of Mankind enjoyed its tax-free status and Annie enjoyed being the daughter-in-law of the late prophet, Marshall Union. When he died, the delicate foundation of The Church started to crumble.

Annie slid into a booth, pulling the scarf away from her lips and chin. She sipped the hot coffee, the cup reassuring between her hands. She had dressed warm, more covered than she needed to be; the wool coat buttoned up tight, the knitted cap with a flap that covered her forehead, obscuring part of her face. She was far enough away from the Pacific Northwest to be unrecognizable. Her bag stayed at her side. She carried a few hundred dollars and a pre-paid debit card, also loaded from cash. She had stolen the money from the tithe at the Seattle church. The cash was kept in a bag in the safe downstairs. She had been one of the few who knew the combination. She felt guilty, but there was no other way out. Timothy would never give her money, she always had to ask. She was not allowed to work, devoting her time to The Mission.

Annie had been a believer in Jesus and his miracles since a child, when her grandmother would take her to a Baptist church in Marine. While in college, she was lonely on campus in a strange town. The Church of Mankind had easily reeled her in. The Church's belief system compelled her, touched her so deep, that she couldn't see The Church as a cult.

Brainwashing. Expensive course work. Ponzi schemes. Lies. Children were adopted from other countries, then abused and treated like slaves. Members suffered physical and psychological punishment. Families separated, taken for their savings. They sold their homes to go on Church missions around the world, coming home broke and disillusioned. If these people complained, they were locked up in a trailer in the woods near Spokane, on property owned by The Church. Forced to fast and pray. Freezing in that trailer and sweltering in the summer. Annie's best friend died out there two weeks ago, and that was the incentive to make Annie start putting together a plan for escape.

She closed her eyes for a moment, looking forward to sleeping on the bus, in the dark, on the road.

Timothy knew she had been unhappy for the last four years, ever since the prophet had died. Marshall Union had died an alcoholic recluse, living in an R/V with his daughter Frieda and her husband. Annie had never been fond of Henry Lang, who seemed more interested in the prophet's wealth than The Mission. Frieda was a cold woman who had too much control over her father. Annie knew Frieda wanted control of The Church, willing to deceive Timothy to do it.

Somehow, neither Frieda nor Timothy ended up as the head of The Church. Marshall appointed a trusted adviser named Lance Hawkins and his wife Sophia. After Marshall's death, Frieda and Timothy became allies in a lawsuit against The Church. In the meantime, Hawkins started insisting on more strict rules and punishments. Annie could tolerate it all, devoted to the beliefs and mission of The Church of Mankind, until her friend June died of a so-called cerebral hemorrhage at The Sweat Lodge, the name for the trailer with no heat or A/C or water. June had died of malnutrition and dehydration, on her knees praying to the wood-carving of Jesus Christ in the living room of The Sweat Lodge. Once Annie's devotion had been worn away, she no longer saw anything holy in The Church of Mankind, only man.

She bided her time at the station, deciding to have a sandwich with more coffee. She read a magazine until the time came to wait in line at the gate for the Chicago bus.

She was exiting the Burger King, the hat pulled down, the scarf back over her chin and lips. Her bag was hanging from her right shoulder. She found the gate, a line already forming.

She looked around, not thinking she would see a familiar face, but there he was; Timothy, his dark eyes searching for her, a young man at his side. She recognized Bob's son, who was no longer in The Church. Timothy was also out, the lawsuit separating him from what he considered his birthright.

Annie put her head down, wishing the line would move faster. Out of the corner of her eye, just yards away, Timothy was gesturing to Bob's son, his movements jerky and impatient. Timothy was not an alcoholic like his father, but he could be controlling and manic, the mood-swings pulling him in different directions. He had not threatened to kill her, but she could not end up like June and the other members buried on that property. Frieda's stepson had told her about the graves he found, but she had refused to believe him then. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Annie tried to control her trembling. By the time she gave the bus driver her ticket, she was near tears, swallowing the lump in her throat. She boarded the bus, grateful Timothy had not seen her. She locked the bathroom door behind her, bursting into tears.

*****

"Hey, Princess! How's the weather in the Caribbean?" Bobby asked.

"It's wonderful," Piper said. "I'm sorry you guys aren't here, but Mom wanted her Mommy and me time. But she's waiting on e-mails and texts, so she's still working."

Sonya Neslund and Bobby Chambers, at their respective laptops, took in the Skype image of their friend Piper Jones, wearing a tank top and shorts, in the cabin she was sharing with her mother Robin aboard the Royal Caribbean cruise ship.

"Bring back lots of pictures," Bobby said.

Sonya took in Bobby on the little screen in the corner. His blond bangs were swept to the side, his blue eyes with their impish twinkle. He had some acne on his chin, but covered the break-out with a little makeup. He was wearing a multi-colored sweater in red, blue, and yellow.

Sonya soon realized that Bobby and Piper could see her on their screens. Sonya, usually not self-conscious, smoothed down her orange-red hair and blue sweatshirt. The fifteen year old wore no makeup, and neither was Piper; her skin tan, thick blonde hair past her shoulders. Piper was a beautiful girl, big smile, high cheekbones. Sonya could admit she was a bit envious, but Piper's warmth and generous nature made everyone like her.

"How's your dad and Uncle Bill?" Piper asked.

"Oh, they're fine," Sonya said. "They plowed out the neighbors' driveways. Uncle Bill always used to do that."

"Do you think you'll get snow days?"

"I hope so," Bobby said. "It's four below out there."

"It's eight-six above here."

"Show off."

"I miss you both. I'm a little bored, but the ship is docking at St. Croix tomorrow."

"You don't talk to anyone?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. There's some kids on the ship; they're okay, but I'm just enjoying the sun. Mom can't quit talking about her new clients, The Church of Mankind."

"The crazy church," Bobby said.

"Freedom of religion," Piper chided. "The First Amendment..."

"Yeah, yeah. But you have to wonder how a church can believe in reincarnation and The Second Coming, but still find time to hate gays."

"A confusing mix," Sonya said.

"Mom supports gay rights," Piper said. "So she's not so sure about these people, but Mom says she's going to ask for a higher fee. They just don't want any harassment in Marine."

"They're going to get it, anyway," Bobby said. "But don't think it will be about The Church being anti-gay."

"About _what_ , then?" Sonya asked.

"They're just weird. They sue people for disagreeing with them, people die or disappear."

"Mom says they have too much money, being tax-exempt," Piper said. "They're too powerful, and they're opening more churches across the country."

"Even in crappy towns like Marine," Bobby said.

"What are you going to do at home?" Piper asked.

"I have a paper to write."

"Nothing for me," Sonya said. "I already wrote mine."

"I did before I left."

Bobby sighed. "I hate you both. Why do I have to care about the Puritans so much? They would have hanged _me_ with the witches."

Sonya Neslund's life, like that of her friends, had taken on some dull aspects since her young neighbor, Kyle Stone, had been revealed as The Ravisher just four months ago. His attacks had been a unique kind of evil for Marine, the small port city of three hundred thousand, who had never dealt with a psychotic slasher. His three victims were all classmates of Sonya's from East Marine High School and Sonya would have been the last.

Kyle's father Wayne Stone had been a member of The Blue Diamonds, a motorcycle club and a powerful influence in Marine in the 1970s and '80s, their presence still felt in spite of law enforcement shutting down their illegal activity, including drug trafficking and prostitution. A serial killer had also been in their midst, the bodies of several teen girls and young women found in the lake over a period of four years. Jimmy Hepler, another Diamond, was assumed to be the killer of these women, along with Wayne Stone. Jimmy had also kidnapped and raped a woman named Angela Kent, whose daughter Justine had been Piper's best friend, now a patient at Haven Rest, a private psychiatric hospital for young people in Marine. Justine had known Kyle Stone was The Ravisher, stringing them all along, sending a deranged trans girl named Brandon Romeo, masquerading as a young lesbian named Ariel, to rape Piper. Bobby managed to save Piper, and Sonya escaped Kyle, who was now paralyzed, a bullet put in his spine by an undercover cop, the shooting taking place in Sonya's backyard. Kyle was now in jail, awaiting his trial. His mother moved away with her other sons and the news trucks and reporters went away.

Sonya wanted to feel as if she had not been seriously affected, but she couldn't lie to herself. The nightmares of her mother's long battle with cancer were replaced by Kyle Stone in his ski mask; holding the knife, the cold, sharp tip grazing her cheek and chin. She would wake up, sweating and shaking. She would burst into tears at odd moments, such as when watching TV at home or sitting in class. Her father Aron wondered if she had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but Sonya would laugh, refusing to see a therapist.

"Besides", she had said, "who can afford to see a shrink around here?"

Piper had admitted that she felt the same way. She was more careful speaking to strangers and social networking, which was how Piper had met Brandon Romeo in the first place.

"Sometimes I feel sad for no reason," she said.

Sonya and her friends had gone through the Holidays enjoying the busyness and festivities. Christmas Day was quiet for Sonya, her first without her mother, but Piper threw a New Year's Eve party at her house for half of their class. Chaperoned by Robin, the teens rang in the New Year with sparkling apple juice and pizza. They returned to school the same week, then Piper departed for her cruise. A raging snowstorm hit days later, Sonya and Bobby snowed in.

"They give names to the big snow storms now," Sonya's Uncle Bill Neslund had said. "This one was named Bernice. I knew a Bernice; she was a red-head. No! She was black..."

Bill had Alzheimer's disease, early onset. At sixty-two years old, he had been forced into early retirement as a maintenance man at Marine's paper mill; his days spent doing what he could around the house. With help from his younger brother Aron, Bill could still shop and go to doctor's appointments. However, his days of small-game hunting were over. This time of the year, he would be ice fishing. The lack of outdoor activity made him restless and anxious.

Sonya, sitting at her futon in her tiny attic bedroom, shut her laptop. Bobby had also been down, but was better at hiding his real feelings than Sonya or Piper. Sonya caught the smell of beef and onions cooking. Aron was going to make his famous beef stew; both Neslund brothers divorced men for years before Aron moved into Bill's house to help care for his big brother.

She heard a knock at the attic door. "Hey, Sonya! Help me peel these potatoes!"

She came downstairs to find Bill in front of the TV with Helga, the Boxer white with brown markings, her underbite giving her a falsely vicious look. Bill had recently received a haircut, his thick head of curly white hair more tame. His features were broad, his eyes a pale blue. He wore a flannel shirt over a T, along with gray sweatpants and slippers. Aron was at the kitchen counter, wearing a navy blue fleece shirt and jeans. He had not shaved, his stubble a mixture of gray and auburn, like the hair on his head. His features were similar to Bill's, but his eyes were green, a trait he shared with Sonya. Both men were of considerable height and charm, making them two of the most attractive older men in the area. Women still flirted with Bill, not knowing early-onset Alzheimer's ran in the family.

Aron handed Sonya a paring knife. "Bill can't help. He wore his back out from shoveling snow."

"I had to," Bill said. "You'd never get to it."

"I like to wait a day or two. Let it pile up. It's not stopping, anyway."

"I'm not shoveling tomorrow. Get the snow-blower out."

"It doesn't work." Aron pared the carrots, the peel landing in the garbage pail. "Probably needs a new starter."

Sonya grabbed a potato from the counter. "Do you think I'll get a snow day tomorrow?"

"Probably. I wish I could go on a Caribbean cruise..."

"They're docking at St. Croix."

"Aw, man."

"What's a polar vortex?" Bill asked.

"Beats me," Aron said.

"The Weather Channel says it's colder here than in Antarctica. That's what killed the dinosaurs, you know."

"Another snow day, more laundry," Bobby said.

He eased the basket full of towels out of the doorway, heading for the laundry room at the end of the hall.

Bobby's days consisted of school, homework, and housework. His mother Delia worked full-time, frequently overtime, on first shift as a supervisor at Forge Plastics. Bobby's older brother Rick had found his own place, convincing their mother he was taking his medication every day. Rick was bi-polar and prone to violence. Bobby was glad to see him gone, no longer a target for Rick's rage and abuse. The last time, Rick had broken two of Bobby's fingers. Friends had bailed him out of jail and he managed to stay away since.

Bobby never gave off the impression he was lonely, busying himself with friends and schoolwork. His grades were good; he liked to write and was enjoying his Spanish class, developing an interest in foreign languages. He covered his insecurities as an openly gay high school freshman by making jokes and using his wit as a weapon. However, Piper tried to keep her attraction to girls quiet. She had told Bobby more than once that he was the brave one, but being brave could be exhausting when the harassment and insults were daily. A pregnant student recently dropped out because the name-calling and put-downs were making her ill. A line divided the kids in the school district; conventional and unconventional. Acceptance was key; get good grades and agree with everyone else. For a kid like Bobby or Sonya, going to school at East Marine resembled a prison sentence. In the public school structure, every minute felt almost meaningless without the presence of friends.

Bobby didn't notice the two men easing a battered recliner through the back door until he almost bumped into them. He slid against the wall, basket over his head, until the men passed by. Bobby saw the truck with boxes and furniture through the door. He thought new tenants moving in so soon after a winter storm was unusual; however, he didn't give it too much thought as he started a load of towels in the laundry room. Since Rick moved out, at least he no longer had to wash his brother's clothes.

"Hi. Um...do you know if the building manager's around?"

Bobby turned to see one of the new tenants; a young man with light brown hair, wearing a red puffer coat, his head covered with a knitted gray cap. His cheeks and nose were flushed from the cold, heavy black gloves covered his hands.

He looked familiar to Bobby for some reason. "Mr. Fuller might not be here today. The weather..."

"Oh, right. Well, maybe we'll catch him tomorrow."

"Be careful. It's not salted out there."

"I noticed."

"The heat's on, at least," Bobby said.

"You like living here?"

"It's okay. We've been here for three years."

"My name's Archie."

"I'm Bobby. I live just down the hall with my mom."

Bobby noticed that Archie's eyes were blue, his nose straight and long, his lips and chin small. He could have been the same age or a few years older than Bobby. Bangs covered his forehead, underneath the cap.

"You go to school?" Bobby asked.

"Not anymore."

"Hey, Arch!"

The boy almost jumped. "Oh! Hey, I gotta go. Talk to you later."

### Chapter Two

Waylon had regretted not going to Florida for the winter. His father Donut, the president of the Marine chapter of The Blue Diamonds MC, was dying from leukemia. Waylon, his girlfriend and baby girl waiting for him in Tampa, knew his father had only weeks to live. Waylon spent his days helping his mother Carrie look after Donut, the weather making it impossible to ride his Harley.

"If you're so bored," Donut said, "why don't you take out my old snowmobile? Check to see if it still works."

Donut had been a big, broad-shouldered man, now wizened from illness; his long gray beard was growing back after many rounds of chemotherapy. His Blue Diamond leather vest, with all of its patches, hung on a kitchen chair, his vintage Harley-Davidson motorcycle in the garage.

Waylon had to admit that there were days when he couldn't look at his father, who was wrapped in a crocheted afghan while napping on the couch. Waylon was raised within The Blue Diamond culture of no guts, no glory, so it was one thing for a brother to die on his bike, another to die a little bit every day, a disease eating a man up from the inside. The suffering was unmanly, not in keeping with an outlaw.

Waylon stared at The Blue Diamond tapestry on the wall. He wanted to send his fist through the grinning skull.

"Get out of the house, Waylon," his father said. "Your mother'll be back from Bingo in a few hours. Go check the snowmobile for me."

Waylon chuckled and rose from the recliner. "Can I bring you a beer or anything before I go?"

"Bring me my bong. And my lighter."

Waylon left his father to his natural medicine and went to the garage. He had bundled up in a black insulated jacket and ski mask with thick gloves.

Donut and Carrie's house was located in East Marine, a few miles from Bill Neslund's place, a stretch of power lines separating them. Waylon pushed the snowmobile, a Yamaha, out of the garage to the snowy dirt driveway. He turned the key and the snowmobile started. Plenty of gas. He decided to take it for a ride.

He turned the lights on and rode up beside busy Farm Road in the dark, keeping away from traffic. He cut through a wooded area off Garland Road to the power lines.

The headlights did not reveal much except the drifting snow. Another heavy storm was expected. Waylon decided to go deeper into the field.

Waylon was never one for wearing a helmet and it would be hard to say if a 'brain-bucket' would have saved his life. The bullet hit the left side of his head, above the ear, creating a spray of blood, bone and tissue against the snow. The shot was perfect, taking Waylon right out of the seat to the ground. The snowmobile came to a stop, engine still running.

He would be found hours later, covered in a foot of snow.

*****

Sonya could see the flashing lights through the attic window. She had already heard Helga's high pitched howl accompanying the sirens. When she came downstairs, she saw Helga, Bill, and Aron standing at the sliding glass doors in the dining area next to the small kitchen.

"Somebody probably got frostbite," Bill said.

"Or hypothermia," Aron said.

Sonya, through the blowing snow, the back light on, could make out two fire trucks, an ambulance, and two police cars in the distant power lines. Soon, a plain car arrived, along with a police van.

"That's too many cops for frostbite," Aron said. "Somebody died out there."

"How can you be so sure?" Sonya asked.

"That plain car is Ben Garcia's old Chevy. He only works in Homicide."

Detective Ben Garcia of the Marine Police Department thought Winter Storm Bernice had taken him back in time; however, instead of a Blue Diamond getting shot off his Harley, Waylon Jennings Johnson was sprawled face down, covered in snow, surrounded by bloody slush.

His parents had grown worried when he didn't return. Carrie, in spite of Donut's objections, called the police. The officer at the scene had assumed Waylon hadn't gone far on the snowmobile, with the temperature dropping and visibility getting worse. The officer didn't have to search far, coming upon the Yamaha, engine still running, tiny frozen drops of blood on the dashboard and seat. Waylon was on the ground, several feet away.

The scene was secured, Waylon's body taken away to the morgue. Several more officers, along with Garcia, searched the surrounding power lines for evidence. The weather was not on their side, and Garcia, overweight underneath his heavy coat, berated himself for not exercising more as he trudged through the knee-high snow. His hands were freezing underneath his gloves and his face was starting to feel numb, his nose running. However, his patient nature won out, and he kept going, gripping a lantern.

One bullet in the head could be random, he thought, but why out here? The shooter would have to be an excellent marksman because snow had been coming down all day.

"Hey, Garcia! Check out this tree!"

Garcia almost stumbled. He flashed his lantern at the old oak tree, pockmarked with bullet holes. "Target practice."

The young officer, the one who found Waylon, pointed to the ground. "Shell casings! Forensics hasn't left yet."

"Go get 'em." Garcia tightened the thick winter cap around his head. He was going to be here for a while. He only hoped his car wouldn't need to be towed out of the power lines.

Garcia was working all night, writing his report and waiting on Forensics and the Medical Examiner. He also had to deliver the bad news to Donut and Carrie. Waylon had been their only child, and Garcia knew, just by looking at James 'Donut' Johnson, that The Blue Diamond leader didn't have long. Waylon had stayed in Marine for the winter to help look after his father, something any good son would do.

God forgives, outlaws don't, Garcia thought. But if Waylon's death is connected to the Diamonds and their criminal enterprises, which now only consist of small-time prostitution and drugs, who would have wanted him dead? He was the chapter president's son, well-liked by his brothers. And anyone could have been target practicing out in the power lines. Those casings could have been there for months.

Garcia was saving his completed report on his PC to send to Captain Schultz when he saw Cal Whistler, the former crime reporter for the Marine Press, walking towards his desk. Garcia looked at his watch. Six o'clock already.

"Good morning, Ben," Cal said.

"What brings you so early?"

Cal pulled the winter cap off his balding head, unzipping his wool coat. "I heard about the nasty homicide that happened a few blocks from my stepdaughter's home."

"How is Sonya?"

"She's good. However, the whole neighborhood is wondering why someone was murdered in the power lines. Then I get a call from one of my old sources, who told me the victim was Waylon Johnson."

Cal may have no longer worked for The Press, but Garcia heard he was putting together a book about The Blue Diamonds. Cal had covered The Diamonds for The Press for almost twenty years, making several friends in the club.

"And who would want Waylon dead?" Cal asked.

Garcia sighed. "He spent two years in jail. After that, he was never arrested again. Of course, that doesn't mean he still wasn't running girls and drugs. His old lady in Florida used to dance at Diamond Girls, their strip club downtown."

"True. Waylon was never really a one-percenter. They're all fat and lazy now."

"But less psycho as well."

Garcia and Cal enjoyed a friendly rapport, but Cal knew when Garcia wanted to keep the details of an investigation close to his chest. Garcia's dark, steady gaze could be intimidating, but he was also a calm, gentle man who was counting the days until retirement.

"This is going to sound crazy," Cal said, "but I don't think Waylon's death had anything to do The Diamonds. It feels...too random. My source feels the same way. Also, Donut has already chosen a new chapter president. Waylon had turned it down and the job was passed on to Nacho Clifton."

"Nacho's in Florida right now."

"He's coming up for the funeral. My source says there's going to be a real turn-out for Waylon. Out of respect to Donut."

"A biker funeral. Oh, joy."

"Maybe we'll have another storm. They can't ride their bikes in a blizzard."

"Why Nacho? I thought he got religion."

"Not _him_ , but his old lady Nicole started going to The Church of Mankind here and in Tampa. Said it helped her sober up."

"You're kidding me? Well, that might not be such a bad thing. Diamonds coming to Jesus..."

"A few of their old ladies, at least."

"Those boys must be mellowing with age. Letting their women go to church..."

"Be prepared to hear a lot from Donut and Carrie."

"I almost feel bad for them, losing Waylon, with Donut so ill. But I also remember every dead girl found in the lake, and the Diamonds had to know it was one of their own. Angela Kent. Kyle Stone–"

Cal almost shuddered. "Forget about them. But you know the old saying,'Our chickens always come home to roost.'"

"And Marine has its share of chickens."

"Here's another chicken; I'm trying to get an interview with the pastor at The Church of Mankind here in Marine. His name is Matthew Hawkins. His father is the leader of The Church. Matthew is considered the heir apparent."

"I have to admit, I don't know a lot about The Church and its politics."

"Been around since the 1950s. Started out on the West Coast. Beliefs are Judeo-Christian, emphasis on The New Testament, with New Age thrown in. Known to be anti-gay and anti-war, but not anti-military. Believe in past lives and karma. I haven't had a chance to read much of the literature, but the founder, Marshall Union, wrote many books. He died four years ago."

"If you get your interview, get back to me."

"Certainly, Ben. Be happy to. I might get invited to Waylon's funeral."

"If you do, let me know how that goes."

"I've got an agent interested in my book."

"About The Diamonds?"

"Uh-huh. I sent her an outline and she's enthusiastic. I had to tell her that I've only written the first two chapters. But she told me to send what I have. I need to get started on the rest."

"Are you covering all of The Diamonds' history?"

"Mostly their Marine chapter because that's what I know," Cal said.

"Are your sources going to help with the book?" Garcia asked.

"Maybe. I was hoping I could get Donut to talk, but I think I'll leave him alone."

"When could you ever get Donut to talk to you?"

"Never. Not even T. Hanson. My sources are on the lower tier, happy for a few dollars to feed their drug habits. Different priorities nowadays."

"Got hooked on their own supply."

"There won't be any Diamonds around here in another ten years. They'll simply die off and there'll be nothing left but stories."

Bobby heard the knock at his door that evening. His mother was in the shower, tired after a long day at work. She and Bobby already had dinner, Bobby at his laptop on the couch.

He opened the door and found Archie standing there.

"Hi. You busy?" Archie asked.

"No."

"You want to come over?"

Bobby left his mother a short note and followed Archie to his apartment. He caught the smell of cooking. "What did you have for dinner?"

"Frozen pot pies and mac and cheese."

"Oh, my God! We had the same thing."

"Mac and cheese in the red box?"

"The best."

"You want a soda?" Archie asked. "We got Seven-Up and Pepsi."

Bobby took a Pepsi and sat with Archie at the small kitchen table. "Where's your dad?"

"Colin's not my dad. He's out."

"How old are you, Archie?"

"Seventeen."

"Do you think you'll go back to school?" Bobby asked.

"Maybe alternative. My last school was bad. Bullying."

Bobby shrugged. "I've been bullied all through school. Well, less with high school. But bullying isn't always physical abuse. It's rudeness. Dirty looks. I get so sick of it..."

"You don't mind me asking–"

"I'm gay."

"So am I, Bobby."

"I thought so."

Archie grinned. "You did?"

"Just kidding. I wasn't really sure. My gaydar is currently covered in ice and snow."

"Do you think we're the only gays in Marine?" Archie asked.

"My best friend Piper thinks she might be gay. And, as far as I know, that's it. I'd like more gay friends, but not too many kids my age are 'out.' They wait 'til later."

"After high school."

"Is it any easier after that?"

"When I was a little kid," Archie said, "my family was really into church. When I started thinking that I was gay, I panicked, because I knew my church would not accept me. I was told that being gay was wrong. There was a camp where the gay kids were sent to get straight."

"God hates fags, right?"

"I don't think God hates anyone. But some people use religion as an excuse to hate."

"Why? How come it never stops?"

"Because people are afraid. Fear makes people really crazy."

"But they make _us_ afraid, so we're the ones who have to drop out of school, quit jobs, or move away."

"Do you hate yourself for being gay?" Archie asked.

"I hate myself for hating myself for being gay. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it sort of does. It's hard to like or accept yourself when you get hate back. I don't like feeling lonely. I'm glad I met you, Bobby."

"Thanks. I'm glad to have met you, too."

"What is your friend Piper like?"

"She is very pretty and smart. Both of her parents are attorneys. She's on a Caribbean cruise right now."

"I wish I was her."

"So do I. She can hide behind being pretty and popular. No one thinks that Piper is really a lesbian, except me and our other friend Sonya. Maybe her mother. But Piper never gets insulted or bullied. She's like a cute poodle. You ever seen that movie Clueless? Piper is like Shar. Everyone loves her. And she is a nice girl."

"She has to be a little arrogant, though."

"Sometimes." Bobby chuckled. "But she can't help it! She's a force of nature. But she'd give me the designer blouse off her back."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Just my older brother Rick. He moved out."

"I'm sort of an only child."

"Where are you from?"

"Oregon."

"What town?"

"Eugene."

"You won't like it here."

"Probably not. Colin and I won't be here for a long time."

"If Colin isn't your dad–"

"He's more like an uncle. We're not...anything else."

"Oh, I didn't mean–"

"It's okay. I know it's unconventional, but there's nothing wrong going on. I can't live with my parents and Colin offered to help. He's known my family for years."

"Does he have a job yet?"

"He gets a check every month. Some kind of trust fund. I'd like to find a job."

"Me, too. I help some of the old ladies around here with their shopping and cleaning. They trust me. I'm that nice gay boy who lives with his mother."

Archie smiled. "I know that kid. He's okay. You want to watch a movie? I finally got everything hooked up."

Bobby looked around, noticing there were still boxes unpacked, but two chairs and the TV were set up in the living area. The apartment was a replica of his own, and Bobby knew the two bedrooms could hold only a bed and dresser, the rest squeezed in corners. "Sure. What movies do you like?"

"Anything with Channing Tatum."

"Magic Mike, it is."

"Or Chris Hemsworth."

"Channing and Chris need to be in a movie together."

"Magic Joe."

"Dear Magic John."

"Thor will have to choose between Channing and that guy from Law and Order: SVU."

"Do you have popcorn? If not, I can get some from my place."

Delia was asleep in bed when Bobby returned. The time was after nine and he still needed to get started on his history paper.

The Puritans had left England for America because they wanted to be free to practice their religion, he thought. The First Amendment hadn't been written yet. I could write about how the Puritans lived the First Amendment before it existed, not necessarily how oppressive any one religious group is. Of course, most of them hate gays, but I'll try to stay away from that subject. Maybe I can use quotes from the First Amendment. I mean, it's not a personal statement, just a paper. But if it was personal, I'd probably enjoy writing it more.

He pulled out his laptop, putting together his notes. The essay only had to be three pages long typewritten. Bobby managed to put together a rough first paragraph, stating his thesis.

He tried not to let his mind wander to Archie. He didn't want to kiss Archie, but he liked having a friend who understood. There was something familiar about him; the way he smiled, used his hands.

"Finally getting to that paper?"

Bobby turned around. Delia was standing there in her robe and pajamas. "Yeah. I'm on a roll, Mom."

"Good. Who's Archie?"

"A new tenant. He's seventeen. We were just hanging out."

"Good. You need more friends, baby."

"He's gay, too."

She turned, heading back to bed. "Even better. Good night."

"Good night, Mom."

### Chapter Three

"Mom, are you going with me?" Piper asked.

Robin, an older, plumper version of her tall, blonde daughter, was standing in her black one-piece, checking her iPhone. "Where's your laptop?"

"Mom, you're not supposed to be working."

"It's just a report I'm expecting."

"Can't that wait? I want to get off the ship. It's beautiful out there."

Robin sighed. She turned off her phone. "Sorry. I don't know why I took The Church on as a client. They won't last six months in Marine. I mean, they moved into the old Unitarian church, which had been empty for decades because the Unitarians were pushed out of town."

"The Unitarians couldn't have been as weird," Piper said.

"I know as little about Unitarianism as I do The Church of Mankind." Robin put her phone in her bag, slipping her feet into her sandals. "Cute bikini, Piper, but cover up."

"Yeah, yeah." Piper put on a big red T-shirt, covering the white crocheted bikini, striking against her tan skin. Robin couldn't help but notice the stares her fifteen year old daughter had received from males of all ages on the ship. Robin planned on keeping Piper unaware of her effect on men for as long as possible.

"Do you think The Church of Mankind is evil?" Piper asked.

Robin opened the door, ready to leave the cabin. "Evil can be found anywhere. And it runs on fear. The Church is powerful enough to scare people-and I've said Marine is full of ignorant people-but it's the people who have to decide whether to fill that church, to become the new congregation. The beliefs of The Church are a bit radical, especially by Marine standards. They believe, for instance, that the second coming of Christ will be someone who has strong past-life memories of being Jesus. This new Jesus could be male or female, white or black or any other race. It doesn't matter to The Church of Mankind, because they believe the body is just a bag for the soul, something to be used as a tool while alive."

"Where did you learn all that?" Piper asked.

"Wikipedia. Now let's go. All of this religious talk is making me thirsty. I want something fruity with rum in it."

Aron saw the remains of their mailbox across the tundra-like front yard before he discovered yesterday's mail in the snow.

Last night's snowstorm had knocked out the power for miles. Sonya had another snow day. They were all starting to get cabin fever. Bill was depressed and irritable, typical of Alzheimer's, but the antidepressant made him sleepy enough to take naps. Aron didn't like to see his usually upbeat brother so sluggish, and hoped the weather would calm down enough to take Bill out more often, if only a trip to the grocery store.

Aron was sure the neighbors had already stocked up on milk, bread, and toilet paper. However, Aron would have to plow out the driveway again before going anywhere.

The power went out early this morning, which also meant no water. Helga, tired of the cold temperatures, had relieved herself on the living room carpet. Bill had wanted to help with the clean-up, but kept forgetting the lack of electricity and water.

"This sucks," Bill said.

He returned to bed, still in his pajamas, thick white hair sticking up. The attic had become too cold, so Sonya crawled into Bill's big bed. Helga soon joined them after eating her breakfast. Aron found them all snuggled in the blankets. Aron was happy to leave them there, his patchwork family. He covered up in a wool blanket, wearing a sweater and fleece pants, and fell asleep in Bill's chair.

Later, they ate cereal, potato chips, and peanut butter on bread, the dishes piled in the sink.

"Too bad we don't have a generator," Sonya said.

"Never bought one," Bill said.

They all dressed warm and Sonya tried to play cards with Bill while Aron read a book. Bill ended up winning at Kings-in-the-corner and three-card. Aron appreciated Sonya keeping Bill occupied, a sign of her becoming more mature, adjusting to her life with her father and uncle.

Sonya had spent most of her life living with her mother Carolyn and her stepfather Cal. When Carolyn died from lung cancer last spring, she and Cal were so far in debt, Cal had to sell their house. Cal went to a one-bedroom apartment and Sonya came to live with Aron and Bill. Aron had spent years living in Falls River, a bigger city forty miles away, working as a loan officer at a bank. Bill had worked at Marine Paper Products for decades in maintenance, but his worsening symptoms had forced him into retirement. His house was paid off, but he could no longer live alone. By this time, Aron had lost his job, the bank closing. Aron gave up his apartment in Falls River, and came to live with Bill in Marine. Months later, Sonya moved in, grief-stricken and angry at Cal.

Sonya had never been close to her father, and had been somehow misled into thinking Bill was her biological father. Bill and Carolyn had a brief fling, but Aron had forgiven his wife, if not his brother. Bill had been separated from Sue, his second wife. Carolyn, after several miscarriages, became pregnant for Sonya.

Aron had never wanted Sonya to know any of it, but she learned somehow. He didn't know she had learned through Sue, who had been Carolyn's best friend.

Aron fitted the mailbox back together, knowing the plow-driver from the county road commission was the culprit. Aron then retrieved the wet mail.

He was walking towards the house, stepping carefully through the knee-high snow, when he heard Sonya calling from the side door.

"Dad! The power's back on!"

Aron sighed in relief. With power, he could cook and clean. Bill needed a shower, and he still needed to clean the stain on the carpet.

The TV was on when he entered, just in time for the six o'clock news. Bill was at his chair, Sonya at the couch.

"Tonight's leading story is the pursuit of a killer. Today, authorities in Marine County have determined that the weapon used to kill Waylon Jennings Johnson, son of Blue Diamonds Marine chapter president James 'Donut' Johnson, was a military-style rifle. The rounds discovered near the site were ammunition typically used in rifles like a Bushmaster. This could mean that Johnson's killer had a military background..."

"I think it was random," Sonya said. "If someone wanted Waylon dead, why do it in the power lines in bad weather?"

"And _who_ would follow him into the power lines when the ambulance and police cars could barely get in and out through the snow?" Aron asked.

"I can tell you this much," Bill said, "Donut won't let himself die until he finds out. And when he does, he'll have his brothers take care of it. The Diamonds don't wait for nobody, especially the cops."

### Chapter Four

Sonya, when she recalled the events leading up to the second shooting, would have told anyone that the day was only about dealing with the weather.

Aron had given Sonya a ride to East Marine High School, a sprawling building constructed in the 1960s. The temperature was still freezing, and many parents had the same idea as Aron, vehicles parked around the buses, the students making a beeline for the school.

The area was not known for crime, the school boasting a few security guards and metal detectors.

A tenth grader named Danny Brooks was dropped off by his mother a few minutes after Sonya. Aron had already left the parking lot, but Danny's mother was stuck between two other vehicles at the curb in front of the school.

Danny was wearing a heavy puffer coat, a Michigan State University dark green knitted cap on his head. His backpack was heavy on his back, booted feet clomping up the shoveled walkway to the front doors. There were other students in front and behind him.

Sonya found Bobby in the cafeteria. She had just unzipped her coat when she heard two shots. A piercing scream followed and the alarms went off. A crowd rushed to the windows. In minutes, Mr. Yakes, Sonya's math teacher, and Mr. Jau, the assistant principal, waved their arms and yelled for silence. The excited chatter and sobs quieted down. The students were told to stay put, but Sonya and Bobby had already wandered to the windows by the main doors. Every student outdoors had been brought inside, the building locked down. Principal Fleming, a tall, olive-skinned woman, her thick black hair short and curly, was on her knees, giving Danny Brooks CPR. His mother was holding his hand; she was weeping, almost screaming. "Danny! Stay awake!" They could all see the blood on the paved walkway, soaking into the snow. Mrs. Fleming stopped CPR, rubbing her freezing hands. A security guard took over. A student standing near Danny when he was shot was taken to the nurse; blood had spattered on the girl's white coat and braided hair.

Sonya realized she was shivering, although she was still bundled up. Bobby was mute. The student body had grown quiet and somber, more confused than shocked. Many had pulled out their phones to call their parents. The sirens of the ambulance and police arrived in minutes, but Danny was dead. Sonya called Aron, her voice feeling far away. Her father said he would be there soon. Bobby also called his mother, assuring her that he was safe.

He sat down next to Sonya in the cafeteria. "That biker guy. Now _this..."_

" _This_ is worse," Sonya said.

A small group of students, kids Sonya had never noticed before, were huddled together, a girl sobbing. Sonya wouldn't learn the name of the dead student on the walkway until later.

Jessica Holden, the first victim of the Ravisher, her slashed face now healed but scarred, approached Bobby and Sonya. Over the months, the sweet and shy Jess had experienced a personality change brought on by the attack and a dependence on pain medication. She was very thin now, her skin peppered with acne, her once thick brown hair limp. She walked the hallways like a wraith, floating from class to class, with nothing to say, except the occasional hello to Piper or Sonya. The rest of the crowd Jess had been friends with from cheerleading at East Marine Middle School no longer had much in common with her.

"Hi, Jess," Sonya said.

"Hi. That boy's name is Danny Brooks. That's his girlfriend crying over there. Marissa..."

"Did you know him?" Bobby asked.

"No. This is bad..."

"There's cameras in the parking lot," Sonya said. "Whoever did it would have to be stupid."

"But the cameras are only pointed on the lot," Bobby said. "No one else was shot but Danny. That would make it seem less random, right?"

Principal Fleming, blood on her blouse and skirt, and Mr. Jau, a short, stocky Asian, straight black hair cut military short, moved the student body to the gym. The students were split up according to grade, forced to sit at the bleachers facing the stage.

Mr. Jau, using a microphone, said,"If any student saw anything that could help police, please come to this side of the gym."

Few students were outdoors at the time of the shooting, most rushing inside to get warm. Some bus drivers and parents in their vehicles had remained. These people were also brought inside, Danny's mother taken to Mrs. Fleming's office. This left a few kids who may be witnesses, including the girl taken to the nurse.

Nervous chatter filled the gym after a while. Police officers, over a dozen, were all over the school, the state cops yet to appear. The Medical Examiner's van came to take Danny's body away, some EMTs remaining. Shock was setting in, and Sonya saw a few of her teachers weeping, even tough old Mrs. Grover, who taught English.

"Everyone's freaked," Bobby said. "We're getting sent home for sure."

"Maybe not right away," Sonya said. "The witnesses have to give statements. All parents have to be notified."

Sonya felt her phone vibrate in her hand. Cal's name appeared on the screen.

"Hey, Cal."

"You all right?"

"I'm okay."

"Did you talk to your dad?"

"On his way."

"Good. If you can, keep an eye out for Garcia. If you see him, call me."

"Why?"

"I have a feeling that this shooting, as tragic as it is, is going to take the local cops out of the equation. State and federal now."

"The FBI?" Sonya asked.

At those words, Bobby's head turned sharply in Sonya's direction.

"Most likely," Cal said. "Which means nationwide coverage. The news trucks will be on their way."

"They can't come in this soon."

"Then they'll be across the street, trying to stay out of the way."

"So you just want me to watch out for Garcia?" Sonya asked.

"Yeah, that's it." He paused. "Did you hear the shots?"

"Yes. There were two."

"What did the shots sound like?"

"What do you mean?"

"More of a cracking noise or a pow-pow?"

"Pow-pow. Why?"

"That's more of a military rifle going off than a hunting rifle. Hunting guns make more of a cracking sound."

"The police think the gun that shot Waylon Johnson was military, based on the shells they found."

"This is going to sound callous, but the M.E. will be looking for the same kind of shells in that boy at autopsy."

"His name was Danny Brooks. I don't know where on his body he was shot, but he died almost instantly."

"The head, most likely. Same as Waylon."

"Connected?"

"I'm starting to think so. If that's the case, we could have a sniper. The whole city could be at risk."

School was dismissed early, students slowly being allowed to leave the building, the area covered with local police. However, Sonya caught no sign of Garcia.

Aron dropped Bobby off at the apartments. He was walking down the hallway when the door to Archie's place swung open. "I heard about that kid getting shot. You okay?"

Bobby nodded. "It all happened so fast, I haven't absorbed it all."

"You want to come in? Colin went out."

Bobby saw no point in returning to an empty apartment, so he stepped in.

"You want some orange juice? A bagel?"

"I'll take the juice, thanks."

Bobby sat at the table, his backpack at his feet.

Archie opened the refrigerator. "I have to admit, there's not much I miss about going to school."

"Nothing like this has ever happened at East Marine. We have bullying, drugs, locker checks, and metal detectors. The biggest dealer at my school is this kid named Todd Kemp. He's in a wheelchair and weighs, like, three hundred pounds. But he just deals in pot and pills, maybe X or ketamine. Small-time stuff. He never gets busted because he doesn't deal on school grounds, just talks with his customers. My friend Jess buys from him a lot since she was attacked."

Archie set the glass of juice in front of Bobby. "What happened to her?"

Bobby explained about the Ravisher's attacks, Piper's psychotic friend Justine Kent, and how Kyle Stone was revealed to be the Ravisher.

"The story was reported all over the country," Bobby said. "I'm surprised you didn't hear about it."

"That was before I left home and my church," Archie said.

"Were you a Christian?"

"No."

"Do you want to tell me? If not, it's okay."

"Not right now."

"You can trust me."

"Thanks. Trust is important."

"You made it sound like you lost your family."

"I guess I have. I miss them, but I couldn't live like that. I almost killed myself."

"Why did Colin want out?"

"Colin's wife left him. He isn't sure if he wants to go back or not."

"What if he does?"

"I'm hoping to be eighteen by the time he makes up his mind."

"So they let him...take a leave?"

"Right. They might welcome him back, but not me. I got sent away to a special camp. Pray away the gay."

"Were you willing?"

"I was told that my life would be easier if I was straight. I made the mistake of believing it. The other kids there wanted to believe it, too. Boys were shown pictures of half-naked girls and asked if we could imagine ourselves having sex with these girls. The girls at the camp were encouraged to flirt with us. We all ended up becoming friends. We prayed to God to make us straight. These two boys ended up running away together, but were caught and brought back. They were taken to the Sweat Lodges, these trailers where there was no water or A/C. No food. The trailers were in the woods. I was told a kid died out there from the heat. When we weren't praying, we were forced to run on the grounds all day. I stayed safe because a girl agreed to be my girlfriend, we had to pretend, kissing and holding hands. We got to go home."

Bobby shook his head. "Who are these people, Archie?"

"Colin told me that if I talked too much-which I have-I would be sent back."

Archie looked down, but Bobby saw his eyes tear up. "Are you safe?"

"I'll always be safe as long as I stay away."

"Does Colin keep you safe?"

"No one is safe. Not really."

"How do you feel?" Aron asked.

Sonya shrugged. "I'm okay."

Sonya was sitting at the kitchen table with her father.

"While I was at school," she said, "Cal called me. He thinks that Waylon's shooting and Danny's are connected. There might be a sniper."

"If so, the police won't keep it a secret. With a sniper, anyone can be a target."

"That's really scary, Dad."

"When you go to school, stay inside. No walking to Mack's store for lunch."

"Considering that it's freezing, I won't complain."

"The visibility was low the night Waylon was shot. His shooter would have to be skilled."

"Military?"

"Marines. Maybe Army."

"Are there shooting ranges in Marine?" Sonya asked.

"A few. The hunters like to practice."

"Do those places sell stuff that a sniper would want?"

"Yes. Ammunition."

"When I watch movies that feature a sniper, like Jarhead, they have these fancy scopes on their rifles."

Bill was in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I used to have a nice scope on my Winchester."

Bill had been an avid hunter and fisherman until the Alzheimer's caused him to become lost and confused whenever he would go hunting. He chose to sell most of his old hunting guns, knives, and equipment.

"How many feet can a hunting scope cover?" Aron asked.

"Up to fifty yards. Some can go up to a hundred, but those cost more. Very fancy."

"The shooter could have been far away," Sonya said.

"Or on a rooftop," Aron said. "Or another vehicle."

"But if this guy is a sniper, military-trained, he wouldn't be so dumb. The cameras are easy to detect in the parking lot."

"Off the grounds? Using a powerful scope?"

"It would be easier to get away, not squeezed between other cars and the buses. I only heard two shots..."

"All it took to kill a sixteen year old boy. I'm glad I retired from teaching before school shootings became commonplace."

"I thought Mrs. Fleming and the other staff handled it really well. Mrs. Fleming gave Danny CPR; she had blood all over her. Danny's mom was hysterical..."

Sonya stopped speaking. Aron covered her hand with his own. "Things are not going to be same at school, but the police will be watching."

"The police can't be everywhere at once," Bill said. "You never know where crazy people are going to wander."

"Well, there's crazy and then there's psycho."

"Right. To catch a psycho, you have to think like one."

Aron exchanged a look with Sonya. "But crazy people aren't all the same, Bill. They're crazy for different reasons."

"Well, these sniper types are mad as Hell about something and want attention. Even if they have to hurt innocent kids. And we never know when it's going to happen. It's like a storm we don't know is coming until it's too late. Then all we can do is find shelter."

Cal's conversation with Detective Garcia was a dead end. Garcia did not confirm that both shootings were connected or if the FBI was in town. Cal knew he was getting nowhere, so he decided to concentrate on something else.

Cal, upon being let go from the now-defunct print edition of The Marine Press, where he had been the lone crime reporter for almost thirty years, still wrote the occasional piece for the on-line Press as a free-lancer, but was putting most of his energy into his book on The Blue Diamonds MC and his new interest, The Church of Mankind.

Cal found what information he could about The Church, mostly from on-line sources. A book had been written and self-published by a former member. The book was entitled _A Hundred Lifetimes: My Life in The Church of Mankind_. The author was Thomas Lang, Frieda's Union's stepson, her husband Henry Lang's son. Henry had disappeared a year ago, and Thomas, having had enough of the cold-blooded Frieda and The Church's elusiveness, wrote a book about growing up in The Church of Mankind. Thomas was at the mercy of the Unions until Marshall, the old prophet, died. Frieda and her brother Timothy broke off from The Church and sued; the organization worth almost a billion dollars. Marshall had left leadership of The Church to his friend Lance Hawkins.

Matthew Hawkins was the name of the pastor of the Marine Church of Mankind. Cal picked up the phone, dialing the number he found on The Church's local website.

A woman's voice. "Hello?"

"Hello. Could I speak to Pastor Hawkins, please?"

"He is out right now. May I take a message?"

"Please. Tell him Cal Whistler from The Marine Press called, requesting an interview-"

"Pastor Matt doesn't give interviews."

"Well, most Mariners read the Press, so Pastor Matt may want to think about it. He can share more information about The Church, attract more potential followers. I hear that the congregation here is quite small. Mariners have a tendency to be frightened of new things, such as a religion they're not familiar with. But please tell the pastor to give me a call."

After they said their good-byes, Cal thought about what he had said. He had no reason to believe that the pastor would call back.

Cal went on-line and found _A Hundred Lifetimes_. He purchased and downloaded the book into his computer. Before he started reading, he checked his e-mail. His Diamond source had come through, Donut granting permission for Cal to attend Waylon's funeral. Cal was touched; he felt sorry for Donut and Carrie, Waylon being their only child. Cal replied to the e-mail, thanking his source.

Cal had returned to the book when his phone rang.

"Mr. Whistler? This is Pastor Matthew Hawkins."

"Hello, Pastor. Thank you for getting back to me."

"No problem. Why don't we schedule a time for an interview?"

The pastor's voice had a buoyant, cheerful quality, reminiscent of old-time ministers. "Wonderful. I have a funeral to attend tomorrow–"

"How about later in the week? Friday morning at nine-thirty?"

"Sounds good. I'm looking forward to it."

### Chapter Five

From The Blue and White, the unofficial blog of East Marine High School:

What Has Been Seen Can Not Be Unseen

by SkolClik

I didn't know Danny Brooks but, with his tragic shooting, Danny now seems like the kid everyone knew. If it had been any other student, the reaction would be the same. If I had been the victim, no different.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that it sometimes takes a brush with a psycho (The Ravisher, anyone?) to give some perspective. Like every student at East Marine, I know the location of almost every camera in the parking lot. On most days, I don't notice them, because I don't care, I don't do anything stupid on campus. Even Jabba the Dealer doesn't do his business on campus. Cameras are easy to dodge. Most high schools across the country have the same system of placing their cameras, and it's only a small measure.

Danny could have been shot from a long distance, but how long? When I got off the bus, I was checking my phone messages while freezing outside. I was putting my phone away when I looked up. I heard the popping noise, the first shot hitting the pavement just inches from my feet. The second shot hit Danny, who was a few feet away from me. I saw him drop, the blood hitting the girl with the white coat. She screamed and all Hell broke loose.

Before I was pulled into the building, I looked around the parking lot and the street. The wooded lot across from the school is usually quiet; students are not allowed to wander in that area. Later, I thought he Marine PD would go right over there. Maybe they did, but I wonder if they checked for tire tracks. The reason I bring that up is because I saw an old blue car parked on the side of the road as my bus came up to the school. A Chevy, I think. When the cops talked to the other kids, I'm sure one of them saw the car, too. But I haven't heard anything about the car on the news.

Danny Brooks' funeral will be at Fletcher Brothers Funeral Home, visitation is tomorrow from 3-5 p.m., the funeral Monday at 11a.m.

"Seemed like a sober post from SkolClik," Bobby said. "He didn't even add an insulting picture."

"I think he's scared," Sonya said. "He saw something."

Sonya and Bobby were home, on their phones.

Bobby had spent part of the morning visiting with Archie. When he returned to the apartment, he managed to finish his History paper on the Puritans. He tried to take a nap, but couldn't go to sleep.

"I think that bullet scared the jerk out of SkolClik," he said.

"Have you noticed he didn't follow up with another post?"

"The day isn't over yet."

"It's been hours. SkolClik posts several times throughout the day."

"Maybe it's out of respect for Danny Brooks."

"Respect? What about The Ravisher's victims? He made fun of all of them."

"None of them died."

Sonya sighed. "Now our school is just like all of those other schools. The story made the local news, even the national news for a few minutes. People say, 'Oh, isn't that a shame. Poor kid..."

"Now I know why so many kids are homeschooled. Some schools are run like minimum security prisons."

"We both sound miserable."

Bobby chuckled. "Are you going to the funeral?"

"I could, but I didn't know Danny."

"I don't talk to other kids not in my class."

"Did you e-mail Piper?"

"Yeah, but I haven't heard from her. Probably too busy enjoying St. Croix."

"I could use some sun."

"Isn't Waylon's funeral at Fletcher Brothers, too?"

"Yeah. His funeral is Friday."

"I didn't know Fletcher's did biker funerals," Bobby said.

"From what Cal told me, Fletcher's hasn't done a biker funeral in years, not since old Mayor DeKooning started cracking down on The Diamonds in the '90s."

"Well, Waylon's parents are here in Marine, so it makes sense."

"The clubhouse in Marine Heights is still locked up tight."

"Has been since The Ravisher was caught. Kyle's dad was a serial killer. They all knew, right? His brothers protected him."

"But you can't hide that kind of evil forever. It always wants out."

"If The Diamonds can't control a serial killer, how can they stop a sniper?"

"Even if the sniper is one of their own?" Sonya asked.

"I don't think so. Shooting a kid seems beneath The Diamonds. Some of those guys have kids Danny's age."

"Or grandkids."

"At our school, Cody Brush and Harley Greenwood. Their dads and granddads are all Diamonds."

"Uncle Bill thinks The Diamonds will go after the shooter, too."

"He's right. The Diamonds never wait on cops."

"What I don't understand is that guys like Donut, the chapter president, knew what Kyle's dad was doing to those girls. Knew for decades. But no one told the police, no Diamond came forward, even Cal's sources. Now, one of the own gets murdered, and–"

"The victim was a brother, not some teenaged girl."

"I'll never understand how they think. What made those girls less valuable?" Sonya asked.

"That's a question for Wayne Stone. Did you ever wonder if his death was really an accident? It seems the easiest way to get rid of a serial killer is to kill _them_. Problem solved."

The sun shined in spite of the bitter cold.

Cal, on that Friday morning, entered Fletcher Brothers Funeral Home. He was surprised to see the mixed crowd; well-dressed civilian sympathizers with Diamonds wearing leather vests over long-sleeved shirts and blue jeans.

Waylon was laid in a simple closed casket, a framed photo on top of the coffin. Red and white roses in a spray covered the lid. Blue Diamond paraphernalia covered the walls. A Blue Diamond tapestry, black with grinning skull logo in all four corners. The center sported the words:

LOYALTY. FREEDOM. BROTHERHOOD.

BLUE DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER.

Folded chairs were in long rows in the showroom. Waylon's old lady Sasha and his infant daughter Rose had come up from Florida, along with most of the Marine chapter of The Blue Diamonds. Male members kissed and hugged each other, all paying court to a grieving Donut, frail and sobbing, and Carrie, who tried to smile at her grandbaby. Sasha sat next to them, the baby in her arms.

Cal looked around at the aging crowd. Ramon 'Nacho' Clifton was sitting behind Donut with his old lady and grown sons. Cal had not been to a biker funeral in over a decade, this service subdued compared to the past.

Motorcycles filled the parking lot. Some biker funerals could boast hundreds of mourners, but Waylon's service was more modest, due to the weather. Another storm was predicted and riding would be hard. The Harley-Davidson biker hearse was parked at the front of the building.

Cal recognized Nacho, but he also saw Roy Beauchamp, Montreal chapter president of The Saxons, wearing a top hat and a long, black leather cape, his bare arms covered in leather tattoo 'sleeves.' A more flamboyant figure, but The Saxons had always been on good terms with The Blue Diamonds, a business relationship involving bringing drugs and girls across the borders in The Diamonds' heyday. The Canadian government had also cracked down on The Saxons, and their strength had been weakened, but they were far from extinct.

The funeral home staff, the Fletcher family, was warm and pleasant towards the non-conformist crowd. Biker funerals were good business, not as likely in the deep winter in a Michigan town. The other local funeral homes had enjoyed biker clients in the 1970s and '80s, but that business had gone away with The Blue Diamonds population thinning out in Marine.

The notes of an instrumental violin version of 'My Way' played low on the sound system. Cal tried not to seem like he was trying to listen to others' conversations, but when did outlaw bikers keep their opinions to themselves?

"The pigs don't know shit..."

"The Feds don't need to be at our door..."

"JR's grandson says he saw a car across the street, by the trees."

"But who can prove that the asshole who shot the kid shot Waylon?"

"They could prove that with shell casings, right?"

"Who says the shooter has to use the same gun or ammo?"

"Hey, Cal."

Cal looked up to see his source. "Hey! Nice turn-out."

"Did you see the hearse?"

"Impressive."

"I'm going out for a smoke." He lowered his voice. "Wanna talk?"

"Sure. But I have to bundle up again."

"The service doesn't start for another twenty minutes. There was a disagreement about the music."

"Couldn't decide between 'Born To Be Wild' or "Freebird'?"

"You're a funny guy, Cal."

Cal's source had an unlit Marlboro hanging from his lips. They both put on their coats and warm hats, Cal's source wearing his leather vest over a flannel shirt, his cap also leather, boasting the Diamond logo.

Cal heard the approach of more bikes. He marveled over the bikers' skill; how they didn't manage to end up wiping out on the snow and ice.

Cal followed his source out of doors to the side of the building, near the street.

He lit his cigarette. "Cal, we've known each other for a long time..."

"Almost twenty years."

"You went to jail once because you wouldn't reveal your sources."

"That was a long time ago."

"You know a few things about our friend Roy Beauchamp..."

"Yes. Why?"

"Roy likes Donut, but not Nacho. He thinks Nacho's a redneck, a real hick. Donut has more of a head for business–"

Cal would not remember this conversation until days after he heard the deafening 'whooshing' noise, then almost lifted and thrown across the busy street, cars skidding to a halt to avoid him. If he had been closer to the parking lot, he would have gone flying into the parked bikes, parts later found a half-mile away along with the biker hearse, the glass blown out of the windows.

The police would later find the remains of the C-4 explosive in the ladies' room in what was left of the Fletcher Brothers Funeral Home. Half of the mourners were killed, including several members of the Fletcher family. Waylon's casket was smashed against the wall on the other side of the showroom. Donut, already weakened from illness, would die days later from the shock and a concussion. Carrie would suffer from a broken collarbone and back. Sasha and the baby suffered minor injuries.

Cal would also try to recall what was said about someone's grandson, the boy saw a car. He would also receive the bad news that his source was dead, the explosion also sending him into the street, into the path of a Brinks security truck.

The clean-up would take days, surrounding homes and businesses also damaged from flying motorcycle parts. The explosion had been felt at least a mile away. When the bodies were all recovered, Nacho and his old lady were found, along with Roy Beauchamp, his top hat and cape blown off.

Cal would find himself as the subject of articles about the explosion, one of the survivors, this story also making the national news. The remaining Blue Diamonds would get to work, making calls to Florida, with promises of vengeance. One brother would be called to Marine; one of the few left who could be depended on to be cold and relentless enough to do the job. He was strange even for a Diamond; skinny, thick ginger hair and freckles, pale eyes and fair skin covered in cartoon character tattoos, including Tweety Bird and Bugs Bunny. But this man was no joke; he had killed many people in many different ways, and never lost a moment of sleep over it.

The brothers called him the Reaper behind his back, but Toon to his face.

### Part II–

### The Kill Shot

### Chapter Six

" _After all these years, you don't expect me to have wondered what was going on?" Annie's father asked. "I haven't had a real conversation with you in years. You couldn't even be bothered to talk to your mother..."_

He continued to drive, Annie next to him in his truck. He had picked her up from the bus station in downtown Marine.

Annie could have turned accusatory, bringing up the drinking, how she had raised herself, her parents only interested in the next drink. Instead, she maintained a cold silence, while her father, dressed in a thick camouflage hunting coat, navigated the icy roads.

Annie looked over at him; now seventy, bald with deep wrinkles, jowls and hazel eyes almost yellow. He wore dentures, his face and body bloated. She wondered how he had made it to seventy, her mother dead years ago.

" _And if he is following you–"_

" _He will never get me to go back," Annie said._

" _Why did you stay as long as you did?"_

" _I was devoted to The Mission, Dad. The immortality of the spirit..."_

" _The only things those assholes care about is money. Power."_

Annie didn't reply. She knew he was right, but Timothy and Frieda didn't know how to live outside of the cocoon of The Church. Timothy had tried, when he was very young and in the military, but his experience in Kuwait had only made him cling tighter to The Church after coming home. He had not been diagnosed with PTSD or Gulf War Syndrome, but had not sought psychiatric help. Instead, he received his therapy from fasting, prayer, meditation, and past life regression or whatever else The Church offered. The retreats in the desert; where he was treated like prince, the son of the prophet.

The prodigal son had returned, humbled by war.

" _And if he dares to come on to my property, I'll kill the little bastard–"_

" _No, you won't. If he wants to talk, fine. I'm not running anymore."_

" _Do you think that kook will give you a divorce? Just walk away?"_

The truck's tires started to slide, but he slowed down. "Dad, I'm not sure what Timothy wants. I don't think he even knows."

" _Then he is dangerous, Annie. You know him best–"_

" _No, I don't. Not since Marshall died. Timothy was always controlling, but I thought it was because he wanted to protect The Mission."_

" _What is their Mission?"_

" _To lead others in understanding that our souls are on a great journey. Life on Earth is more profound than we think. Life after life, we get closer to becoming more like Jesus, the Christ consciousness. But we can only move forward-evolve-by having as many past lives revealed to us as possible, along with cherishing the humanity in ourselves and each other. Mankind can evolve and bring us closer to a Second Coming. This knowledge–"  
"All of this doesn't sound so bad, Annie. But it's not why you ran away."_

" _The Mission has been forgotten in favor of money and power. What I believed in is gone. I don't think Timothy can accept that. The Church was supposed to be his life before he was born. He never questioned his father about The Mission until he joined the military. Marshall disdained war, but Timothy needed to go, to have a different life for a while, to grow up. But his experience in Kuwait just brought him right back to The Church and his father. That's when I met him."_

Annie's father stayed quiet until they arrived at the old house. She looked through the flying snow and the darkness to find something familiar, a reminder of her life here. She wondered if she had been gone for too long. "Dad..."

" _We put some new siding on, a new deck."_

" _I never thought I would come back here..."_

" _Annie, there's something you should know. About The Church."_

" _Yes?"_

" _The Church of Mankind has come to Marine. They've taken over the old Unitarian church downtown. The pastor's name is Hawkins. Matthew Hawkins."_

Sonya took in all of the lively chatter in the school cafeteria Monday. Everyone, in all classes, was talking about the explosion at Fletcher Brothers Funeral Home and Danny's funeral being abruptly moved to a mortuary in Falls River.

"There's, like, four other funeral homes in Marine," Bobby said. "But Danny went to Falls River? Forty miles away?"

Sonya was sitting with Bobby, Piper's cheerleader friends close by. Usually, they would talk to Sonya if Piper was there, but at least Kelly and Courtney said hello to Bobby, because snubbing Piper's best friend in her absence was rude, for some reason.

"I've been getting my lunch at Mack's store for so long," Bobby said,"I forgot about Meatball Mondays in here." He looked down at the little meatballs in brown gravy, topping a mound of instant mashed potatoes. "Comfort food."

"We're going to be locked down for a while," Sonya said. "It's too cold to walk over there, anyway."

"I tried getting on The Blue and White last night," he said. "The site is down."

"Do you think SkolClik is scared?" Sonya asked.

"Of...what?"

"Of being unmasked. SkolClik has gone all this time without anyone knowing who he or she is. Nobody seems to care as long SkolClik doesn't write about them."

Bobby picked at a meatball with his fork. "I could go for a taco."

Sonya popped a meatball into her mouth. She chewed for a moment, then swallowed. "Tasty. They're okay. Try one."

Bobby, at Sonya's request, put a small bite in his mouth. "Yeah, okay."

"Tomorrow is Taco Tuesday."

"Oh, joy."

"Did you get your history paper back?"

"I got an A."

"Awesome."

"Sonya?"

She turned around to see her cousin Kaitlyn, a senior cheerleader, standing beside her. Sonya hadn't spoken to Kaitlyn, once Bill's step-granddaughter, in months. Kaitlyn lived with her mother Tara and her grandmother Sue, Bill's ex-wife.

"Hi, Kaitlyn," Sonya said.

Kaitlyn hesitated for a moment and then sat down beside Sonya. Kaitlyn was dressed in a green cable-knit sweater and leggings. She worked for her clothes as a cashier at L+M Market. Tara had never really worked, Sue supporting them both.

"Mom and Axel are engaged, you know," Kaitlyn said.

Axel, Tara's boyfriend, was a Blue Diamond.

"Was Axel at–"

"No," Kaitlyn said. "He wasn't at the funeral. He's been sick with the flu. I heard your step-dad was there..."

"Yeah. He's okay, but it really scared me when I saw it on the news. He went home from the hospital the next day."

"I've never met any of those people. Axel comes over to Grandma's house alone."

"How is she doing?"

"All right. She's done with her chemotherapy, so we just have to wait."

"Radiation?"

"She got that first. They had to remove the left breast and the lymph nodes." Kaitlyn pulled out her phone, and showed Sonya a photo of Sue. "We went wig shopping."

A series of photos, Sue making comic faces with each wig. Sonya chuckled. "I like the red-haired one with the spiral curls."

"She always wanted to know what she would look like with different hair, but she settled for some hats instead."

"Wigs can be hot. My mom didn't like them, either."

"Have you spoken to Kristen Beck lately?"

Kristen, one of the Ravisher's teen victims, who suffered a miscarriage after her assault, was a senior and once Kaitlyn's best friend. They had a falling out because Kristen didn't like Kaitlyn's boyfriend, Dane Lock, the school quarterback.

"Not since the Ravisher was caught," Sonya said.

"I called her at home, but her mom said she moved out. She turned eighteen last month."

"She didn't drop out, did she?"

"She hasn't been to class since Christmas. She doesn't work at Chester Chicken anymore."

"I can't blame her for quitting that place. She was attacked behind the dumpster."

"Her cuts were healing well. Not as deep."

"I like Kristen. I hope she's okay."

"Dane and I broke up."

"I read it on The Blue and White."

"That stupid site better stay down."

"Did you read the last entry?" Sonya asked.

"Yeah. About the car. I didn't see anything. I was inside."

"Why wouldn't Kristen's mom tell you where she went?"

"I didn't ask. What about your friend Jessica?"

"She's...not good."

"I've seen her talking with Todd Kemp. I don't know about Emily Watts."

"Missionary work with her parents."

"Oh. Well, if you see Kristen, tell her that everything she said about Dane was true. I wouldn't listen."

"Maybe you can tell her yourself."

"No. I don't think so."

Kaitlyn rose from the table and left the cafeteria. Bobby had heard the whole conversation, but Kaitlyn hadn't seemed to care.

"How can two best friends stop speaking over some dumb jock?" Bobby asked.

"Because someone didn't want to be friends anymore."

"Jealousy?"

"Sometimes we tell our friends things in confidence. We want them to keep our secrets, but people talk."

"Betrayal, then?"

"Yeah. I think having a big mouth breaks up friendships more than anything else."

Bobby had lived at Lakeshore Apartments for almost three years. The area was peaceful, with only occasional theft. Many families lived at Lakeshore, plenty of single parents like Bobby's mother.

A divorced father named Brad Jensen and his eight year old son Tyler were coming back late from ice fishing. They had gone thirty miles out of town to an uncle's property. Brad had enjoyed seeing Tyler try to learn the basics of ice fishing in that metal shack on the frozen river. Brad worked long hours, so he liked spending time with Tyler when he could.

Brad had taken a week's vacation from Marine Steel, and Tyler was spending time with him after school. A trip to the nearby Big Wolf Lodge was planned for the weekend. One part resort, casino, and indoor amusement park, Tyler couldn't stop talking about the trip.

They took the fishing poles and tackle out of the back of Brad's small SUV. He hadn't been a victim of theft at Lakeshore, but he didn't take any chances, keeping his valuables inside.

Brad and Tyler had spoken of Danny Brooks and the funeral home explosion. Brad figured that he and Tyler were safe.

They were at the front door of Brad's unit, not paying attention to the old black Jeep that was approaching from the road. Brad pushed his key into the lock, Tyler standing behind him, still bundled up, carrying the tackle, the poles under his arms, at his chest.

The driver's side door of the Jeep opened, just a few yards from Brad and Tyler. The first shot hit Tyler, the tackle and poles falling with him. Brad only had a moment to yell out, the next shot taking Brad above the ear.

Bobby and Delia looked out the window, taking in the sirens and red lights. The tenants were told by police to stay inside.

They had been in their pajamas, watching TV, when they heard the two shots, two brief popping sounds, just one unit away.

"That's _it_ , Bobby," his mother said. "You're on lockdown here, too."

"Mom, it's too cold to go anywhere except school."

"And how do I know this maniac won't open fire at your bus stop? I can't believe this..."

"The bus driver won't pick me up at the door."

"Maybe Mr. Neslund–"

"Sonya's dad is too busy with his brother. He has Alzheimer's–"

"Maybe I can take you..."

"What makes you safe? He could shoot us both. Or when you're driving to work."

"Wear your helmet."

"Oh, Mom..."

"You won't be the only one. Helmets are called brain-buckets for a reason."

Bobby, in order to quiet his mother down, actually took his old motorcycle helmet to the bus stop. He wore the helmet going out the door, knowing he would be ridiculed. He walked past the crime scene tape and lingering police and FBI to the crowd of kids and parents waiting at the stop.

Delia's idea had not been original; several more kids were wearing head-gear, even a few football helmets.

What if the sniper stops aiming for the head? Bobby thought.

Bobby didn't notice, as he was walking out of his unit, that Archie was watching him through the window.

### Chapter Seven

"Hi, Ben. Thanks for calling."

"How's your head?"

"Still hurts. Like my broken arm."

"Compared to the others, you lucked out."

Cal was sitting in his apartment, covered in a blanket on the couch. The cast, wrapped around his left arm, rested underneath. His right hand held his cell to his ear. "Poor Donut. Heard he didn't survive his injuries."

"Waylon's old lady and baby survived. Nacho wasn't so lucky."

"Jesus. Anything to do with Waylon's murder?"

"Can't say yet and I'll be the last to know with the Feds."

"Did I tell you one of them came to see me at the hospital?"

"Remember his name?"

"Her name was Westwood. Older African-American woman. Very pointed questions."

"The funeral home had cameras in the parking lot and some extra security. The Fletcher Brothers welcomed biker funerals, but they're not stupid. However, they did not ask for a police escort. Instead, just two security guards hired from an agency. One of these guys used to work for the Marine PD. He told the Feds as much as he could, but he was in shock, also with broken bones. The other guard is dead."

"Did they find the location of the explosives?"

"If they did, I don't know."

"Doesn't make you feel loved, does it?"

"There's no love around here lately. Captain Schultz and the Chief have nothing to say to me or anyone else in Homicide. The Feds have silenced them."

"That's a shame, Ben. Of course, the only thing worse was the murders of Brad and Tyler Jensen. Sonya's buddy from school lives at those apartments."

"Cal, remember when I put you in jail twenty years ago–"

"Because I wouldn't reveal my source."

"I think your source is dead."

"He is. Poor bastard."

"Only two people were pushed out into the street. You and Elijah Barnes. Don't be surprised if a camera caught the two of you walking out of the building. That surviving security guard is a witness. He saw you two go around the corner."

"I thought no one was talking to you, Ben."

"He came to me."

"Elijah was my paid source for over twenty years. He was a bartender at the clubhouse and he would slip me some info. Mostly political. There were things I knew that I could never put in print, for my personal safety. Carolyn was still alive, Sonya was little..."

"What did Elijah tell you that day?"

"I can't remember. I've tried and tried. I don't think we spoke for long..."

"Do you think it had to do with Nacho becoming chapter president?"

"Why not?"

"I was never sure who Waylon's enemies were. I always got the impression that Waylon was a laid-back guy. Not a hard-core one percenter."

"He was involved in getting drugs across the border into Canada. He'd also go down to Florida, Texas, all over, and drive truckloads of heroin and anything else back here."

"I wouldn't doubt that he may have had a few enemies. And Roy Beauchamp from The Saxons was there."

"He's dead, too."

"And that's why I don't think he was involved."

"Who else comes to mind?" Garcia asked.

"I'm at a loss."

"Is anyone helping you at home, Cal?"

"No. Sonya wanted to, but I told her to stay home. Her father agreed with me."

"I don't see as many people on the streets lately. Of course, the temps are still almost below zero."

"Have you see The Marine Press on-line edition today?"

"Not yet."

"They're calling the shooter 'The Marine Sniper.' Creative, huh? Who wrote that crap? An unpaid intern?"

"They don't know what they had, Cal. I'm feeling the same way around here. Look, I can stop by your place if you need any help."

"Thanks. But I'll be okay. Thank God it was my left arm that was broken, I'm right-handed."

"You can work on your book."

"I'll have a whole new chapter now. I can call it, 'How I Almost Got Blown Up With The Blue Diamonds.'"

"Send that one to Esquire."

"Hey, Uneasy Rider."

Bobby heard Archie calling as he entered the apartment unit. The older boy was standing in his doorway.

Bobby smiled and pulled the helmet off his head. "Everyone's uneasy lately..."

"You wanna come in?"

"Sure. What did you do all day?"

"Nothing much. I've been reading up on The Blue Diamonds. Real badasses, huh?"

"They used to be." Bobby took off his coat and sat at the table.

"Want a Pepsi?" Archie asked.

"No thanks."

Bobby noticed the tablet at the table, front page of The Marine Press on the screen. "My friend Sonya's stepdad used to write about The Diamonds for The Press. All the drug busts. I'll bet The Marine Sniper is a Diamond; if the shootings and explosion are connected. But I could be wrong..."

"You could be right."

"A couple of FBI agents came to our school. We had an assembly about safety because no one was prepared for what happened when Danny got shot. The girl who got covered in blood? She hasn't come back to school."

"She must be having nightmares."

"I would be, too. Post-traumatic stress."

"Colin has that. From being in Kuwait."

"He was military?"

"A long time ago."

"You explained why you left your church. Why did Colin leave?"

"He started to question his faith. New leadership didn't help. Then his wife left him. He needed some time away, and he offered to take me with him."

"Archie–"

"Colin doesn't know you've been here, Bobby. He doesn't know I have a friend."

"Why not tell him?"

"I think Colin is starting to regret brining me here. I think he wants to send me back to Oregon. And there's no way I'm going back."

"Why are you so afraid? No one can make you believe–"

"But they can find a way to control."

"Archie, you need someone to help you."

"I dream that I'm back at that camp. They made us watch porn, Bobby. Kids as young as twelve, not even kissing yet. If their parents had the smallest suspicion that their child could be gay, they were given more and more hypnosis to find the first past life when they were gay, because there _must_ be an explanation, right? Something horrible and depraved. Disgusting things that were planted in their heads, because how could a little kid recall living in a harem? Being forced to do anal or oral with different men? That's rape, not sex. Those kids were happy until all of that garbage was dumped on us; we were bad, so we would always be lacking in the eyes of God. No new Jesus in our group. Do you have any idea what that can do to a little kid? The lawsuits that will be coming–"

"Are you sure you want to tell me that part?"

Archie grimaced, tears in his pale eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I can only imagine what you've been through."

"I appreciate you listening to me rant."

"How could you keep it all to yourself?"

"I think we were supposed to meet. I mean, what were the chances of finding a friend like you on the day Colin and I move in? I was taught not to believe in coincidences..."

"Maybe God does look out for us, Archie."

Sonya and Bobby were texting and calling, but neither was allowed to leave home except for school. They both kept Piper abreast of the news of The Marine Sniper, but The Blue and White website was still down, much to the disappointment and relief of Sonya's classmates.

Sonya had yet to return from school that day. Aron had gone outside to wrap the mailbox in duct tape, a rough repair.

Bill, however, opted to stay inside. The cold made his body ache, and Aron didn't like it when he went outside in the cold alone, saying something about him, Bill, getting lost.

I wouldn't be so stupid, he thought. I'd freeze my ass off out there.

Bill had not wandered in a while. The new medication took away some of the confusion and anxiety. Bill was grateful for his meds, but he saw nothing wrong with a little natural medicine.

Aron had been kind enough to roll a modest joint for Bill. Aron no longer used marijuana, hadn't in decades. Bill was only allowed to smoke when Sonya wasn't at home. Bill knew his niece was no fool, she would smell it, but he followed Aron's rules, even though Bill _allowed_ Aron and Sonya to live in _his_ house.

Bill took a puff, inhaling deep. He was sitting in his chair, Helga napping nearby. She was on her back, paws in the air, snoring softly. Bill grinned, shaking his head. The old girl was comical.

He looked to the dining area at the sliding glass doors. Nothing but snow, hills of snow. He had shoveled a walk-way for Helga on the deck to the ground. Another storm, and he and Aron would plow for the neighbors. The extra cash was a help.

Bill took a sip of soda, stealing from Sonya's stash of Dr. Pepper. She was such a nice girl. She had baked cookies the other day. He wondered if there were any left. He tried to recall what kind of cookies she made. Peanut butter? Chocolate chip?

The phone rang next to his chair. He answered.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Patrick and I'm calling on behalf of The Church of Mankind. I'd like to talk to you today about The Church's mission."

Bill paused.

"Sir?"

"A church, huh? I don't go to church."

"Do you believe in God, Mister...?"

"Call me Bill. Yeah, I think there's a God. So what?"

"Well, at The Church of Mankind, we believe that God has a common mission for all of us. This mission is to obtain knowledge by accepting the immortality of the soul."

"I believe that when I die, my soul will leave my body and go to Heaven or someplace. Maybe then I'll remember the things I'm forgetting."

"I'm so glad you mentioned that, Bill. Because The Church of Mankind believes that the knowledge, the experience, we have with each life we live brings us closer to a higher consciousness."

"So we don't know it _all_ after we die?" Bill asked.

"Not everything, because we have to return to learn more."

"Oh. You mean...reincarnation?"

"Yes, Bill. We have to return many, many times. But The Church of Mankind has master practitioners that can take you through each life to gain insight–"

"What if you come back as a bug? Or a dog?"

"The Church believes you come back as a human being. Once you've been human, you have to return as human."

"Oh. So a dog would have to come back as a dog?"

"I think so. But The Church of Mankind does not deal in animal communication. Just human."

"Will I always reincarnate as a man?"

"You could reincarnate as a woman, because men and women are human, right?"

Bill took another puff. "Okay. But if I come back as a woman, and have sex with men, would that make me gay?"

"No, but homosexuality is not condoned by The Church of Mankind."

"It seems to me that sex is just something we do with our bodies while we're alive, like eating or walking. When we die, we are no longer in our bodies. But we have a new body each time we come back, right? With each life, it would be less important whether we're male or female or who we have sex with, because it would all start to blur together. Maybe it's better that we don't remember..."

Bill and Patrick were both silent for a moment.

"Bill?" Patrick asked.

"Yes, son?"

"Would you like to come to a service? The Marine Church of Mankind is located downtown. Our services are Sunday mornings at nine-thirty."

"Maybe I will. But I have to ask something..."

"Yes?"

"Why do you people hate homos? My niece has a friend. He's swishy, but he's a nice boy."

"Homosexuality creates an environment of irresponsibility, because the purpose of sex is reproduction. Our late prophet, Mr. Union, believed that the pleasures of sex should not blind a human being to its consequences. The spread of AIDS and other STDs or unwanted pregnancy is all a consequence of irresponsible behavior. These things impede the pursuit of knowledge of the soul."

"But so many babies come into the world unwanted. What about their souls?"

"God doesn't make mistakes."

"But human beings do. If God created us in his image, as the Bible says, does that make God gay and straight? Male and female? Makes you wonder, huh? I used to think God was this mean old man with a beard. But I was wrong, because I don't think God has all these rules. How can a soul get better if we put it in prison? Weigh it down with guilt and fear?"

"Our prophet was a wise man. You can learn more about him if you come to our services, Bill."

"I'll think about it."

"I enjoyed talking to you, Bill. Have a blessed day."

Bill was chuckling to himself when Aron entered the house. Aron removed his coat. "What's so funny?"

"I just talked to some guy on the phone. He wants us to come to The Church of Mankind."

Aron rolled his eyes. "Don't talk to those people. They're kooks."

"They don't like homos, either."

### Chapter Eight

Cal shook the cool, dry hand of Pastor Matthew Hawkins while keeping his broken arm tucked under his coat.

The pastor was boyishly handsome, with thick dark hair and brown eyes, shoulders broad. He looked younger than his years, but a bit heavy around the middle.

Cal had never been inside the old Unitarian church, but he noticed the smell of fresh paint and the new rug in the aisle. He looked up at the pulpit, taking in the simple gold-painted crucifix surrounded by a circular frame of wood, to represent the continuation of the spirit. This created four spaces between the circle and the cross, each space inhabited by a symbol; a human skull, a white rose, a sword, and a cup. Cal was reminded of The Blue Diamonds tapestry at the funeral home.

What is it about people and their social clubs? he thought. We find something to worship and then try to drag other people into it.

"Thank you for taking the time to talk to me," Cal said. "I know it's a stressful time in Marine."

Pastor Matt straightened his tie, dove gray against a white shirt and dark blue jacket and pants. "Yes, the shootings and the explosion at the funeral home. What tragedies. Many of our congregation is staying home from services. I can't blame them."

"Otherwise, how do you like Marine?"

"Very much. I've met many open-minded people here. The rest listen respectfully, at least."

"You can't blame them for being skeptical, can you?"

"Oh, of course not." Pastor Matt pointed to a nearby pew. "Let's sit. Are you comfortable here? I can ask Jane to bring us coffee."

"No, thank you. But I will sit." Cal pulled out a small pad of paper. "I like the old-fashioned way. Besides, with a broken arm, it's hard to use a lap-top."

Pastor Matt sat next to him. "Have you done any reading or research on The Church?"

"I was surprised to find so little in print about The Church of Mankind, aside from the writings of Marshall Union. A brilliant man, but a bit unpredictable..."

"Our prophet was very human. In many ways, The Church is a work in progress, just like any other religion."

"Reincarnation plays a large part in The Church–"

"The foundation, really."

"What about _your_ past lives, Pastor?"

"I have only recalled three under hypnosis. As a Past-Life Practitioner, I have helped others recall up to fifty past lives, going back thousands of years."

"What do you do with all of that information? How does any of it apply to the present?"

"The results are sometimes not so direct. Let's say a follower comes to me and asks,'Why do I have such severe claustrophobia?' But sometimes the physical illness or psychiatric problems are worse, and the past-life regression is only part of the treatment, along with prayer, meditation, and fasting."

"What about going to a doctor?" Cal asked.

"I would never tell a follower to ignore medical advice from a doctor."

"I went on You Tube, and I've seen these video testimonials from Church followers, claiming they were cured from serious illnesses, such as cancer, after receiving treatment from a Church practitioner. One claimed he was cured of Parkinson's disease. If this person recalls a past life of being evil or doing evil acts, do they deserve to be sick?"

"That kind of thinking touches on karma. God moves in mysterious ways, correct? But only the guilty conscience rationalizes suffering. I don't think an evil person deserves to be sick, but rehabilitation can take lifetimes. The Church of Mankind has offered many people a chance to start over; people who have been to prison, committed serious crimes. A man in his 60s came to us, a lifelong drug user, and we took him back several past lives, including living as a prostitute in an opium den. As a woman, he ran away from the brothel to family. While trying to get well, she died of pneumonia. When he became aware of this past life, something switched on in his head. He went back to rehab and has stayed clean since. He told me that he could feel the hope he had in that life, and he felt he had lost hope in this life, that he was tired of trying. But maybe he could try again."

"Where there's life, there's hope," Cal said.

"Life after life."

"Reminds me of the song 'Highwayman.' You know it?"

"Johnny Cash?"

"Along with Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, and Waylon Jennings. What a team! Anyway, the song touches on reincarnation. Willie sings that he was a highwayman, Kris a sailor, Waylon a damn builder, and Johnny flies a starship in the future. They all claim to still be living after death, possibly the same soul."

Pastor Matt grinned. "I've heard the song many times. A romantic take on reincarnation."

"We want the adventure and romance, don't we?" Cal asked.

Cal had taken notes, but had paused during the story about the addict.

"There's nothing fun about devotion," Pastor Matt said. "Our mission is more work than anything."

"The Church of Mankind has churches all over the world. Australia. Japan. Britain. Canada. Why Marine?"

"We felt the Mid-West could use our presence. We've had churches on the east and west coasts and Chicago. Another will be coming to Detroit."

"And how does The Church plan to help the people of Detroit? The same as Mariners?"

"Same peaceful approach. We have young followers who have returned from their tours–"

"Tours?"

"Followers can volunteer to become missionaries and their tour is usually performed in some other part of the world. Including the Middle East."

"Preaching past lives to Muslims?"

Pastor Matt laughed. "We start with the teachings of Jesus first and go from there. We also have many followers in the U.S. Armed Forces."

"Wouldn't there be a conflict between the soldier and the peace-loving Church of Mankind follower? How can they become the same person?"

"One would have to be sacrificed for the other."

"There's a surplus of soldiers, I would think, looking for redemption or hope."

Cal and the pastor were quiet for a moment. Cal put his pen down. "I've been reading the book by Thomas Lang, Frieda Union's stepson. _A Hundred Lifetimes_..."

"What do you think?"

"Of the book?" Cal asked.

"Yes."

"Well, I get the impression Thomas Lang is angry and he's telling horror stories. About people being starved and dying in these trailers called Sweat Lodges. Is any of this true?"

"Not that I know of. The Church has cooperated with every state and federal investigation over the years."

"Those investigations came about due to some puzzling deaths–"

"Yes. Both individuals were troubled people, one of whom had ceased contact with The Church months before she died. Her suicide note included some rambling reference to The Church, but I had never met the woman. The other death, I believe, was a murder-suicide of a couple. The wife had found out her husband was cheating with another man. Both tragedies."

"Cautionary tale?" Cal asked. "The wife was convinced she and her husband were soul-mates, bound by many lives together, but he just kept being unfaithful with other men. She couldn't accept it, so she killed him, then herself."

"Why cautionary?" Pastor Matt asked.

"I know how The Church feels about homosexuality."

"The prophet believed homosexual activity impeded the progress of the soul from life to life."

"Marshall Union was from a different generation. You're no older than forty, Pastor. How do you feel about gays personally?"

"We all have to take some responsibility for ourselves. This includes gays."

"Because their behavior is more deviant or promiscuous?"

Pastor Matt shook his head. "Not any more than straights, but one group influences the other. You can see it in today's culture. Straights imitate the creativity and flamboyance of gays, and gays want marriage and children, which used to be territory of straights. The world is changing and The Church wants to keep up, but I wonder how much of this acceptance of gays in the mainstream is just politics. The Church deals with more...eternal concepts."

Cal chuckled. "Homosexuality goes back to ancient Greece, but so does politics."

"True, Mr. Whistler–"

"Call me Cal."

"You seem well-educated, Cal. I grew up in The Church, as did Thomas Lang. We played together as children. I always knew my place was with The Church. However, Thomas was always detached emotionally. He had problems with Frieda–"

"He mentions it in his book. She abused him, made him fast for days as a boy, beat him."

Pastor Matt sighed. "Frieda is not a warm woman, but she was devoted to her father and The Mission. His death and the lawsuits were heartbreaking, even for her."

"Can I ask what happened to her husband?"

"Henry has health problems. He's much older than Frieda. He had heart surgery. The lawsuits and having to leave The Church was very stressful for him. Henry is a kind, gentle man. He made Frieda a nicer person when he was around. Well, most of the time."

"Thomas Lang also mentions The Great Creation. That Man, as we know it, exists because of a higher intelligence, emissaries of God. Not God directly, as in creationism, or through evolution, although The Church does not dispute that primitive beings and creatures, such as dinosaurs, did exist. But our more attractive, less hairy selves were more of a work project for these emissaries, along with our souls. That's what I picked up from Henry Lang's book, anyway. Am I correct?"

"Yes. The Church believes that God sent his best to create what is Man."

"His best? Like angels?"

"Yes."

"Then wouldn't we behave more like angels? If we are the result of a work project, God would have fired all of his emissaries."

The pastor chuckled. "Yes, but he didn't. He loved us as much as he loved them. We, along with his emissaries, are all his creation. If you're interested in learning more, please come to our services. We're also having a candlelight vigil for the shooting victims in the park."

"I don't recommend that, Pastor. Too dangerous."

"My mother requested it. She and my father are coming for a visit."

### Chapter Nine

"How come you didn't tell me about Archie sooner?" Sonya asked.

"I just wanted..."

"To keep it for yourself?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

Bobby made the decision to call Sonya and tell her about his new friend. As Sonya listened, some of Archie's story started to sound familiar. She had called to check up on Cal, and he told her about the book he had been reading by Thomas Lang, who had grown up in The Church of Mankind.

"Bobby," she said, "there might be a reason why Archie won't tell you about his church–"

"I think it's The Church of Mankind. I Googled it. I mean, it can't be a coincidence that Archie shows up with his stories and a creepy religion comes to Marine. Makes you wonder, huh?"

"Do you like Archie?"

"We've become friends fast. I think I can trust him; it's Colin I wonder about. He's never around, but Archie says he doesn't work. He also mentioned Colin was in the military and has post-traumatic stress. And Archie hasn't explained why he and Colin moved here in the first place. Why Marine? Why so close to the religion you're running from? Doesn't make sense."

"Maybe Archie just wanted to get away, but Colin must have had some plan, being the adult. Why come to a town where you don't know anyone?"

"So you don't get recognized."  
"I'll bet he doesn't plan to stay for long."

"Archie is just waiting to turn eighteen."

"Does he think he'll be able to take care of himself?"

"I guess."

"Do you have...feelings for him?"

"No, not like that. But there's something familiar about him. Like I've always known him."

"Be careful, Bobby. I don't trust The Church of Mankind. I think Marshall Union was a con artist, making up his religion as he went along."

"The Church of Mankind is worth billions. He must have been the best con man ever."

"Like my Uncle Bill says, 'There's one born every minute.' By the way, a Church rep called the house." Sonya giggled. "Uncle Bill talked with him for a while. And even Uncle Bill thought their anti-gay beliefs are bullshit."

Bobby laughed. "And the rep didn't know he talking to someone with Alzheimer's."

"Proves my point; there's one born every minute."

"What have you been doing with your time?"

"Aside from homework? I learned how to re-light the pilot for the hot water heater. I baked cookies. I shoveled snow and shoveled snow. Today, I held down Helga on the floor with Uncle Bill so Dad could trim her toenails. The way she carried on, you'd think she was being tortured."

"I miss Helga. I wish I could see her."

"I'd like to go to the mall or the movies. Dad went grocery shopping, but made me stay home with Uncle Bill."

"Mom's the same way with me. She keeps making me wear that helmet."

"Have you heard from Piper?" Sonya asked.

"Not in a few days. Probably having too much fun and sun."

"Did you see the story on the news about Danny Brooks?"

"Yes. His mother wouldn't be interviewed."

"I can only imagine what she's going through. Same thing with Brad and Tyler Jensen's family."

"That's going to be a double funeral in Winterhaven. At Vanderhyde's Funeral Home. Some people who live in their unit are going."

"Did you see how pissed off The Chief of Police was? The Sniper is a dead man."

"Who do you think will find him first? The cops or The Diamonds?"

A new chapter president had yet to be chosen, but the elder members of The Blue Diamonds came to a decision; retribution was in order.

The existing elders; Gerald 'Popcorn' Lewis, Johnny 'J.R.' Hanson(the younger brother of T. Hanson, the former chapter president of the Blue Diamonds)and Judas O'Brien, waited at the bar in The Blue Diamond clubhouse in Marine Heights. The three men, all in their sixties, heavy around the middle, weathered faces boasting long gray beards except for Judas, who kept his 1970s style moustache groomed, along with his long white sideburns, were the only men in the clubhouse. The place had been closed for days, J.R. the only one with a key. When they had entered, he turned on the lights and the furnace, the building cold. J.R. made coffee, Popcorn and Judas keeping their coats on, black knitted caps on their heads.

"I heard Waylon was finally cremated," Judas said.

"The urn is at Donut's house. Carrie and Sasha are there with the baby," Popcorn said. "The urn is a skull. Customized."

"Cool."

"Donut wanted the same thing. Carrie's afraid to give him a funeral."

"I can understand that the bastard who shot Waylon probably shot that kid at the high school. But how is the bombing connected?" Judas asked.

Popcorn shrugged. "Who could have access to that much C-4 explosive? The cops can't seem to connect it all, but why try to blow us up if Waylon was the only intended target? Makes no sense to me if it _all_ wasn't connected..."

"That doesn't explain the kid. He had no connection to us. Neither did the father and son at the apartments."

"But I feel it in my gut that none of this is random. If this sniper is military, he has a plan."

"And J.R.'s grandson just happened to see that car."

"An old Chevy Monte Carlo. The boy can draw, he showed J.R. the car."

"Yeah," J.R. said. "Cody found a copy of the model on Google. Probably a 2000 Chevy Monte Carlo. Dark blue. There's a lot of them out there. I asked Cody if he remembered anything different about the car. A dent or scratch. A bumper sticker. He said he didn't look that long at the car from inside the bus. But later he told me he noticed that the letters on the car had been painted over, along with the other decals, like the Chevy bow-tie on the front. A sign of an amateur paint job, not thinking to take off all of that stuff before painting. Anyway, that's all I've got."

"And who says this Chevy is registered for Michigan?" Judas asked.

"The cops will be looking into all of that shit," Popcorn said. "Besides, the witnesses at the apartments said the sniper was driving a Jeep."

"Could the sniper have stolen the Chevy or the Jeep?"

"That's where we get the advantage. My cop at the Marine PD deals with Auto Theft. I told him to look up recent thefts of Monte Carlos and Jeeps. He gave me a list of stolen vehicles, and it's not as long as you might think. With a little patience, we can narrow it down."

"But, Pop," Judas said, "the sniper can leave those stolen vehicles anywhere and move on to the next."

"Let's not give the Marine PD too much credit. They've never dealt with anything like a sniper before. Even D.C. didn't know how the deal with their bat-shit crazy sniper until his car was found. And then it was a shoot-out."

"Well, how much proof do we need? If Toon has the patience–"

The door swung open, bringing the cold in. A tall, very lean figure, bundled up in black, entered.

"Hey, Toony," Judas said. "Makes you want to run back to Florida, don't it?"

Toon, not one for displays of biker affection, nodded a hello. "Shit, we got snow there, too." His voice was low, husky from years of smoking and drinking. "Starting melting when I left."

He took off his bulky coat, placing it on a chair. A black sweatshirt covered his torso, but the Tweety Bird tattoo, a bright yellow, took up most of his neck. The Florida sunshine had lined his face prematurely; his graying auburn hair was cut short, the curls untamed. His Blue Diamonds leather vest with patches covered the sweatshirt.

He sat at the bar next to Popcorn. He sipped his coffee as the older man explained the shootings and the car J.R.'s grandson had seen the morning the boy was killed. Toon listened in his easy but cold manner, not making eye contact with anyone but Popcorn.

"I was sorry I wouldn't have been able to make Waylon's funeral," Toon said. "I guess I was lucky..."

"I was running late, so I missed the fireworks," Popcorn said. "Judas was there..."

"I had just stepped into Fletcher Brothers," Judas said, "I was only lucky because I was still in the hallway and not the showroom. I got blown against the front doors. Holy shit!"

"I heard Roy Beauchamp from The Saxons was there," Toon said.

"Yeah, poor bastard," Popcorn said. "He was sent home for burial. Judas and I are just trying to keep things in order."

"Pop," Toon said,"I can't promise you anything, even with your list. I won't demand any payment until I finish the job because it could take a while. I'm no detective; usually, I'm given a clear target. You don't seem to have one."

"I already had Judas check out some of these addresses," Popcorn said, "and the owner of the stolen Jeep lived at Lakeshore Apartments, where the father and son were killed. I think whoever stole that Jeep lived at the apartments, too. It would just seem more convenient, you know? Why steal a vehicle from miles away only to have to come back to kill your target?"

"Only if the sniper had planned on killing the father and son _before_ he stole the Jeep," Judas said.

Popcorn almost laughed. "Judas is the detective. To me, it makes sense. But how does a crazy bastard think? I've known some psycho dudes, but not like this."

"Wayne Stone was psycho," Judas said. "So was his son."

"But that was a different kind of psycho. Someone like Wayne tries to hide their kills, not leave 'em on the street."

Toon, who had his own methods, shook his head. "I'll go to the Lakeshore apartments and stake it out for a while. But I'll bet this guy isn't driving that Jeep or Chevy anymore. And when he makes his next kill, it will be another stolen vehicle."

"Sonya told me that she's reading _A Hundred Lifetimes_ ," Piper said.

Piper sat with her mother on the ship's deck, a warm breeze blowing. They were laid out on deck chairs, a laptop in Robin's lap while Piper, over her mother's shoulder, read the report on The Church of Mankind from Robin's law office.

"I'll bet Cal Whistler was all excited to get that interview," Robin said. "Although I'm sure he was just grateful not to get blown up at the funeral home. Fletcher Brothers. What a pity. Good people."

"Sonya said the FBI has come to Marine," Piper said. "Even the national news."

"To be honest, I'm glad I'm not home right now. Hopefully, they'll find that maniac before we get back."

"Bobby has to go to the bus stop wearing a helmet."

Robin shook his head. "Poor Bobby. Delia must be a nervous wreck."

"The Blue Diamonds seem to think it's all about them, but the father and son at Bobby's–"

"I don't doubt for a minute that the Diamonds are one step ahead of the Marine PD, even the FBI."

"Really?"

"The Diamonds have more friends in Marine than any FBI agent. I'm sure Ben Garcia is just sitting at his desk, waiting for the other shoe to drop, courtesy of The Diamonds. The Feds are out of their element in Marine." Robin passed Piper her laptop. "I'm going to the ladies' room. Do you want anything while I'm up?"

"No thanks."

The report was over ten pages long. Piper skimmed over it while her mother walked away. Piper accessed Sonya's e-mail, but not before making a copy of the report. She sent the copy to Sonya, then deleted the copy. She checked The Blue and White, but the site was still down. She returned to the report, having read several pages before her mother returned with a frothy rum drink, the straw between her lips.

"I wonder if Cal knows that Matthew Hawkins is next in line to run The Church," Piper said.

"I think he would keep that sort of thing quiet in Marine." Robin took another sip. "Not enough rum."

"Marshall Union, the prophet, went into hiding the last years of his life. You'd think his followers would stop trusting him, but The Church just kept making more and more money."

"Billions. People start fighting and lawsuits follow."

"But why didn't Marshall Union leave it all to his son and daughter? Why Lance Hawkins?"

"Maybe he trusted Hawkins more. The old man was starting to get paranoid, a symptom of dementia. Lance Hawkins may have taken advantage of the prophet."

"You'd think he would have wanted to be surrounded by the people who loved him."

"His daughter Frieda and her husband were looking after him, but the old man didn't trust her. He apparently felt the same way about his son Timothy."

"Timothy's wife also disappeared."

"People have a tendency to disappear around the Unions."

"The Church of Mankind is a cult, isn't it?" Piper asked.

Robin shook her head. "A tax-exempt religion. On the surface, their beliefs seem harmless, all that past-life stuff, but Marshall Union, in his day, had his followers going with him on treasure hunts , the maps his past lives. He claimed he was once a pirate in the 1700s that hid a cache of gold coins off the coast of Italy. He took his early followers by ship to the very place he claimed, and they started digging. They found nothing, but not one of those people doubted Union. He was that powerful. Besides, curing his followers of disease was power enough in those days."

"Why does Thomas Lang hate The Church?"

"His stepmother Frieda is no longer wealthy and selling Church secrets is lucrative. He may have self-published, but a movie studio bought the rights to his story for six figures."

### Chapter Ten

Sonya found the report in her e-mail and started reading right away, the facts matching with Thomas Lang's book, which she had finished reading over the weekend.

She shared her interest in The Church of Mankind with her father, and Aron had also started reading _A Hundred Lifetimes_ from his Kindle.

"Marshall Union served in World War Two," he said. "A lot of guys came home from the war depressed. Union started seeking answers for himself; hypnosis, holistic medicine before it was really popular. He was an alcoholic and he claimed past-life regression helped him dry out and get rid of his depression."

Father and daughter had talked at length about Marshall Union the night before, one of the longer conversations Sonya could remember having with her father.

"Do you think the sniper could be from The Church of Mankind?" Sonya asked.

He shook his head. "It doesn't sound typical of someone in The Church. Spiritual growth is hindered by violent acts, according to Union and most other organized religions."

Sonya read all ten pages of the report, getting a more in-depth picture of the lawsuit filed by Timothy Union and his sister Frieda Union-Lang against The Church of Mankind and Lance Hawkins. The Unions were suing for damages amounting to one hundred million dollars. A settlement was offered, but turned down by Timothy and Frieda. They were not able to prove that Lance and his wife Sophie had abused or mistreated their father. The Unions went to court, but they lost. Timothy and Frieda went away, going into seclusion. What they had been doing since was uncertain. Thomas Lang had not heard from his parents and Uncle Timothy in almost two years, although the Church still continued to thrive under the reign of Lance Hawkins.

Sonya finished reading, taking her laptop downstairs. Bill was napping in his chair, Helga at his feet. He once said that she was more loyal than his two ex-wives combined.

Sonya found her father in his room, sitting at his bed with his Kindle. The door was open. He looked up, removing his reading glasses.

"I want to show you something Piper sent me," Sonya said.

"Photos of the island paradise?"

"No. Sorry. About The Church of Mankind."

Aron put his glasses back on and skimmed the report on the screen. "This is a legal document. How did Piper get into the file?"

"She said her mom was doing some work for The Church here. But Piper mentioned something interesting in her e-mail; she's thinking that the sniper could be with The Church."

Aron shrugged. "There's no proof. Only that the sniper was probably military."

"What about Timothy or Frieda?"

"Those two could be tangled up in litigation for decades. According to this report, their lawsuits could outlive them. So it would make no sense to go on a rampage in Marine, Michigan."

"When do snipers make sense?"

"Good question. Military types are used to order, structure, but the Marine Sniper is probably on some deranged mission, like the D.C. Sniper."

"And when have deranged people ever made sense?"

"Once again, good question."

"Maybe Cal would like to read this."

"I'm sure he has his own theories. He told me his source was dead and Ben Garcia is being stone-walled by the FBI. No one is making much progress."

"Have you heard from the temp agency?" Sonya asked.

"No. Winter is slow, but I did get another extension on my unemployment. The only offers I'm getting are as a substitute teacher and I'd rather temp in a factory."

"Couldn't you go back to teaching for a little while?"

Aron had taught high school English and History for fifteen years. Born in the Netherlands, educated in Canada, Aron had met Sonya's mother Carolyn when they were both teachers. They had both taken early retirements for different reasons.

"I need to start dinner," Aron said. "You have any homework?"

"Already did it."

The Blue and White had been down for over a week.

SkolClik was a mystery, but the student body at East Marine High School didn't seem to take much of an interest unmasking the blogger, preferring to complain instead.

Sonya thought about the other sites where she could possibly find SkolClik. The obvious were Facebook and Twitter. FriendsRing was for kids and teens and The Blue and White did not have a page there. Sonya tried Instagram, where she found a SkolClik page.

Sonya decided to leave a message as a comment to the last photo, a picture of East Marine High School on the day of Danny's shooting, before the ambulance and police cars left. The photo had looked as if it had been taking through a window.

Sonya's message was polite and direct, identifying herself and asking to speak with SkolClik. She had low expectations.

Sonya tried reading a book, but ended up going downstairs to help Aron with dinner. After eating, she returned to her laptop, finding a new e-mail.

"Meet me at the school library tomorrow before class-SkolClik."

Toon couldn't believe his luck. Maybe more coincidence than luck, but Popcorn had mentioned that maybe the sniper was target practicing when the psycho shot Waylon in the power lines. Toon had wondered that if someone wanted to target practice indoors instead of the freezing outdoors, where could they go? In Marine, the obvious choice was The Point Blank firing range.

Toon knew the owner, a friend of the Diamonds. Gary Shackleford was a Vietnam vet who also sold ammunition and hunting equipment in his store, attached to the firing range. Toon knew that not all of Gary's activities were legal, including selling guns and ammo to The Diamonds in their heyday.

Gary was a very large man, his white hair cut military short. His small dark eyes widened at the sight of Toon, knowing the man's reputation.

Gary shifted his bear-like girth on to a chair behind the counter. Toon took in the impressive selection of rifles, pistols and equipment that filled the small store. The Point Blank was popular with local hunters and gun nuts, so Toon figured Gary might know something, no matter how small.

Toon didn't bother with introductions. "Hey, man. Anybody weird come into the store lately?"

Gary shrugged. "How weird?"

"Sniper weird."

Gary grinned and nodded. ""The Marine PD have already been here. FBI assholes, too."

"You wouldn't tell them anything..."

"They've threatened to take my firearms license away so many times, that I had nothing to share. But, when a customer comes in that's a little odd, I keep the security footage for a while."

"Good idea."

"A few days after Waylon got shot, a young guy comes in, browsing in the store. I wasn't here, but my wife was. I had a few carbines in their boxes on the counter over there-" he pointed to a glass case "-and one of the carbines came up missing. The cameras are taping all of the time. I didn't notice the missing carbine right away, not until after I came back. The wife felt bad, so she starts to look through the discs to find someone walking off with the carbine. She found him, but that was before the kid got killed, then the father and son. It might mean nothing, but my wife held on to the disc."

"She was going to give it to the police?"

"We don't deal with them, and I would just be out of a 35 inch carbine."

"A hunter?"

"Maybe. But I don't get as many hunters this time of the year. The store has been slow, even the range. Too cold and icy to do much."

"Do you still have the disc?"

"Yes, I do. I'll get it for you. But like I said, it might not be much help."

Toon's good luck continued. Gary played the disc for him with a portable player at the counter. Gary's wife brought them coffee as they gazed at the small screen.

Gary fast forwarded the footage until he came to a young man with fair hair and a puffer jacket, a knitted cap on his head. He almost looked into the camera, his eyes pale. He looks down at the carbines in the glass case.

"This is where the little fool grabs the box," Gary said.

The young man turns his back to the camera, easing the box, now in his hand, to his front. He walks out of the doorway, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. A vehicle can be seen passing the front window.

"Can you slow it down?" Toon asked.

Gary slowed the footage, so Toon could try to make out the vehicle. Then he paused it.

"What does that look like to you?" Toon asked.

"A car, painted a dark color. This shit's in black and white, so that's all I got. Probably parked right at the front to get away fast. Did you see how he was walking? His legs were moving faster than the rest of him."

"Someone else was in the car."

"Likely."

Toon had license plate numbers for each stolen Chevy Monte Carlo, but only two were dark blue or black. Popcorn wanted him to follow up at Lakeshore Apartments, where the Jeep was stolen.

The apartments were his next stop.

Toon parked the Ford truck he borrowed from Popcorn at a space next to the unit where the stolen Jeep had been parked.

The freezing cold wasn't enough to make Toon stay inside the warm truck. He wanted a cigarette. He shivered while he smoked in the parking lot, taking in the huge piles of snow that had been plowed to the sides of the lot. Toon took another puff, the cigarette between his stiffening fingers. He kept the heat on in the truck, ready to crawl back in as soon as he was done smoking.

He had thrown the smoldering butt down when he saw two men leave the unit. Both walked to a truck parked close by, one carrying a zip-up rifle case, the other a square-shaped box by a handle. They stood for a moment under a light, Toon getting a good look. The man holding the box was tall and fair-haired, his eyes pale. He could not have been any older than eighteen.

The young man put both cases in the truck. He wore the same puffer coat, walking back into the building.

Toon got in his truck, waiting for the other man to leave. Soon, he pulled out and Toon followed.

Toon hoped his luck would hold out as he kept a safe distance. The guy with the rifle drove to a highway on-ramp. Toon hoped the guy wasn't going out of town, but Toon followed for several miles before the man pulled off, somewhere west of East Marine.

He came up to an old STARCO gas station. He turned on to the lot. Toon slowed down.

The man parked at the front of the store and stayed there, the engine on. Toon made a show of buying some gas. He went inside to pay, seeing a woman at the register, reading a newspaper. He paid for his gas, bought a pack of cigarettes, and went back to Popcorn's truck.

The man was still there. Toon pulled away from the single gas pump, a car waiting patiently behind him. Toon parked to the other side of the building, but still had a view of the other truck.

The man at the pump filled his car with gas. Toon was growing frustrated. He didn't want to scare the guy off, but he couldn't follow him all night.

The door to the man's truck swung open. Toon saw the barrel of the rifle and heard the popping noise. The man at the pump fell backwards, landing on the pavement. Toon put his truck in reverse, but the other truck was already speeding out of the lot. Toon chose not to follow, but he knew he was a witness to a sniper attack. He went in the opposite direction. When he felt there was enough distance, he called Popcorn

### Chapter Eleven

Sonya was still half-asleep when Aron dropped her off at school. She had not slept well the night before, worried that the message was some mean prank. Before leaving for school, she had sent a copy of Robin's report on The Church to Cal.

Sonya entered the school, security guards thick on the grounds and hallways. She received no stares as she made a beeline for the library.

The librarian was at the counter, a security guard close by. Sonya walked between rows of books before finding a table inhabited by even one student. When she came upon a table in a back row, she found four figures, wearing identical black ski masks, heads covered by hoods.

Sonya almost rolled her eyes, but kept a straight face. "SkolClik?"

One of the figures, a female, rose from the table. "We're all SkolClik, Woodpecker."

Sonya heard the chuckles and almost groaned, hating her nickname from The Blue and White, a reference to her red hair. Detective Woodpecker, who unmasked the Ravisher in her backyard.

"Well," Sonya said, "which one of you saw the car the day Danny was shot?"

"Doesn't matter," a boy from the table said.

"Yes, it does. You should come forward, tell the police."

"The Marine PD won't find the sniper," he said. "Just like they didn't find the Ravisher. You did."

"Why is the site down? Are you all afraid?"

"We like staying anonymous," another boy said.

"So...what do you want from me?"

The girl handed her a folder. "I wrote this. I saw the car, the bullet almost hit–"

"That's enough," the boy said. "The rest is in that statement."

"A statement?" Sonya asked. "Did any of you sign it?"

"Of course not."

"Then it's not a statement."

"It's all we're offering," the girl said. "You can give it to the police."

"I can," Sonya said, "but a report without witnesses coming forward isn't much. And then they might track you all down."

"I don't think so."

"Then what's your point?"

"Please take the report," the girl said. "Maybe it will help."

"All right." Sonya took the folder. She turned to leave. "Nice meeting you guys. You know, there are people missing your posts. You might want to get back to work shaming people. It gets boring around here."

Sonya, with a few minutes left before class started, headed for the cafeteria to find Bobby, the folder tucked under her arm, backpack swinging from one hand. Still in her coat, she stopped in the hallway. She was going to put the pack on the floor, wanting to put the folder inside. Before doing this, she opened the cardboard folder.

A few sheets of blank white paper looked up at her.

She would spend the rest of her school day wondering if she was going to be the subject of a new SkolClik post. She was too embarrassed to tell Bobby, who didn't know she was meeting with SkolClik. She couldn't believe their cruelty; people were being murdered, and she wondered if SkolClik was telling the truth about being a witness to Danny's shooting. If that was the case, then SkolClik was more dangerous than Sonya had imagined.

"Are you kidding me?" Aron asked.

"No, Dad," Sonya said. "I'm not."

Sonya had told her father about her day. She wanted to talk to somebody, just not any of her friends.

"Well, these kids set you up," Aron said. "But why?"

"Just to embarrass me, I guess."

They sat at the kitchen table. Sonya looked at the beginnings of a new snow storm through the sliding glass doors.

Bill was in the kitchen, trying to help Aron with dinner. He was opening a bag of salad mix, the task keeping him busy. In good weather, he could work in the yard or Aron could take him places. Only in his early sixties, Bill was still vital enough to get bored and restless. Aron would take his brother with him to plow out the driveways of various neighbors and friends, racking up a nice profit over the hard winter.

"They wanted to humiliate me," Sonya said. "They must think Danny's murder was a joke. What about Brad and Tyler Jensen? SkolClik was sitting there, in their stupid ski masks, which went unnoticed by the librarian and the security guard. But I know one of them saw the car across the street and a bullet hit the ground." Sonya sighed. "How long is this going to take, Dad? People like the sniper eventually make a mistake that gets them caught. But where are the eyewitnesses? When Danny was killed, there were enough people outside, but only a few spotted that car before it took off. There were no witnesses at the gas station where that man got shot last night. The place is small, no cameras in the parking lot. Again."

"Do we have any French dressing?" Bill asked.

"No," Aron said. "I'll get some next time at the store."

"I'll bet the Diamonds already know who the sniper is," Bill said.

"That wouldn't shock me."

"Would the Diamonds share what they know with the police?" Sonya asked.

"I don't think so," Aron said. "Especially with the FBI around."  
"Maybe I could tell Ben Garcia about SkolClik, anyway."

"I don't know how much it would help," Aron said,"but maybe you should."

*****

Bobby, when he returned from school that day, expected to find Archie at home. They had fallen into a routine of saying hello to each other after Bobby came home. Instead, what Bobby found made his heart sink.

The building manager, Mr. Fuller, was standing at the wide-open door, on his cell. As Bobby came closer, he noticed the apartment was empty.

"Assholes moved away in the night," Mr. Fuller said. "I hate it when this happens. They hadn't even paid the full deposit. The dead of winter, I thought I'd be nice..."

Bobby didn't say a word, just kept walking to his door. He had not said good morning to Archie before leaving for school, the apartment already empty. He pulled out his phone. He had been too busy at school to check his messages.

The first and only message was a text.

"I'm at the Dockside Motel."

The Dockside was a run-down place, renting by the week or month.

Bobby texted back, asking Archie to call him.

His phone rang, Sonya on the other end. She had been quiet all day; he knew something had been bugging her.

"Archie and Colin moved out," Bobby said.

Sonya, who had been ready to tell Bobby about being duped by SkolClik, said, "They only just moved in."

"They're staying at the Dockside. That's all I know from his text."

"Do you think they're getting ready to run?"

"I can't think of anything else."

"He'll probably want to see you. Don't go."

"I trust Archie, but I don't think I've ever had a good look at Colin. He was just never around much."

"Why do you trust Archie?" Sonya asked.

"Well, it's not just because he's gay or about the same age. There's something familiar about him. He's not a bad person. And he's certainly not the sniper."

"What about Colin?"

"Not so sure about him."

"There's another bad storm coming. Winter storm Chuck. No one's going out."

"I'll just talk to him on the phone, okay?"

"Really?"

"They only have the truck. I know I'm not going anywhere for twenty-four hours."

"Mr. Yakes assigned homework for the next two days. I think they already know we're getting a snow day."

"I think they'll be relieved. A day away from the school and the paranoia."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't go out. Don't let Archie persuade you."

"I know, I know."

"That's what Timothy Union looks like?" Piper asked.

Brown eyes, almost black, with a long, lean face. His hairline was receding a bit, but his face was unlined, the photo taken while Timothy was in his early thirties, before his father's death. There was also a photo with his estranged wife, Annie.

"These pictures were hard to come by," Robin said. "The leaders of The Church don't like having their faces out there too much, except for the prophet and his books. Marshall was always well-dressed, but those guys in the background of this picture look like Mafia thugs. That's what The Church is like on the West Coast. This was at one of their Christmas parties!"

"Where are the kids?" Piper asked.

"Probably locked away somewhere. In Thomas Lang's book, he mentioned that Marshall Union didn't like kids, only wanted them around to talk about their past lives so he could find the new Jesus. I think the kids were coached. I mean, how can a five year- old recall being a Holocaust victim?"

Piper and her mother had finished dinner, enjoying a quiet evening in the ship's lounge, the Caribbean sunset through the windows.

"A new storm is coming to Michigan," Piper said. "Chuck."

"I'm afraid to go home," Robin said. "I don't want to drive to work in that shit. Another long, dark winter..."

The cruise had also been an attempt to keep Robin from getting winter depression. She had kept special lamps at work and at home, the lack of natural sunlight making her tired and moody.

"Why would a religion like The Church of Mankind want to come to Marine?" Piper asked. "These are people who don't like kids and are dark and secretive. They would never be accepted by the average person with children. Marine people always have their kids around."

"Family is secondary to The Church," Robin said. "The Mission is first, no distractions. According to Lang's book, there are former members who admit that the reason they left was because they couldn't take being separated from their children. They were cut off from family members not in The Church, including their parents. Can you imagine not speaking to your mother for years because she isn't in your church? But the Church of Mankind could get that hold on their followers."

"A cult."

Robin nodded. "Too many people have been hurt or disappeared. Frieda Union's husband hasn't been seen in years, same with Annie Union. Of course, Lance Hawkins says they're all fine, just needed some time away."

"They're not dead, are they?"

"I don't know. But I don't like those people in my ignorant little city. I know, the First Amendment protects everyone, and I'm one of its biggest supporters, but The Church of Mankind gives me the creeps, and I think most Mariners would agree with me. The Church won't last long in our town."

"I think Cal might have something to do with that."

"Knowing him, he's putting together his exposé."

"His source from The Diamonds got killed in that explosion."

"I defended Elijah Barnes once. He was a lot younger then. Your dad and I were still married. Breaking and entering. Heroin addict. He got clean later. I wonder what made him want to be Cal's source, why he was willing to let a few secrets out for some money. I thought maybe he was using again, but I'm not so sure." Robin closed her laptop. "Maybe I can fit in a massage before bed."

Bobby, while waiting for Archie to call, found the photos sent by Piper to Sonya on his laptop. He stared at Timothy Union's face for a while before getting an idea. He downloaded the photo to his phone, heading for Mr. Fuller's office.

He lucked out. Fuller was still in Archie's former apartment, inspecting for any damage.

"Mr. Fuller, are you busy?" Bobby asked.

"Like usual. Why?"

Bobby showed him the photo on his phone screen. "Does this guy look like Colin?"

Mr. Fuller nodded. "Yeah. Or his younger brother. Why? You know where he is?"

"No. Sorry."

Bobby returned to his apartment. He looked out the window, at the snow now coming down in wet clumps. He hoped Archie would call soon.

### Chapter Twelve

"I see what you mean," Ben Garcia said.

Garcia, at his desk computer, took in the photo of Timothy Union.

"Sonya's friend said he's a dead ringer for this Colin guy," Cal said.

Garcia was talking to Cal on his cell. The weather continued to grow worse, with Garcia looking forward to the end of his day. He had other cases, just returning from an interview with a witness when his phone rang. Cal's voice was almost chirpy. He explained what Bobby Chambers told Sonya, then Sonya calling Cal and passing on the photo.

"I downloaded Thomas Lang's book," Garcia said,"but I haven't had time to read it. I can give the photo he Feds, but I think they're getting closer. They made a trip to The Bull's Eye shooting range. The owner is a real asshole, wouldn't say a thing. The Feds had to threaten to revoke his firearms permits, so he spilled about the robbery of a carbine. Denied he had any video evidence, but the cameras were obvious. The Feds don't need a permit, so he finally showed them a video of some kid stealing the carbine. There's a glimpse, through the front window, of a vehicle leaving the parking lot. But so what? In the meantime, a father of three gets picked off at a gas station. The cashier was the only witness. She quit her job the next day. Can't get ahold of her."

"That's strange."

"They'll get her to come in, but what's really strange is that she took off before I arrived with the Feds. The place was empty. The only reason we knew about the shooting right away was because _someone_ called 911, hearing the gunshots. I think they'll have more luck with the stolen Jeep and the DMV. They have a lot of leads, but are trying to cover it all themselves. They don't think they need the local yokels like me to help. But you wait, Cal. The other shoe will drop"

"Did you take a look at the report from Robin Jones's office?"

"If she finds out I had access to anything from her office, she will be royally pissed. Conflict of interest, anyone?"

"If you had asked her, she would have shared. Besides, the report mostly touches on The Church's history. Stuff you could find in any article."

"Speaking of articles, how's the book going?"

"Due to the weather, I think I can manage to finish another chapter. I just finished the draft on my interview with Matthew Hawkins; that will be on The Marine Press on-line for Sunday. They may even manage to pay me on time. By the way, Hawkins mentioned that his parents are coming for a visit. I don't think that's wise."

"I could offer an escort."

"Good idea. With the leader of The Church in town, there's going to be a bigger turn out along with their prayer vigil in the park. Tempting Fate, if you ask me."

*****

"The news goes on and one about that Bushmaster rifle," Bill said. "I knew this guy from the paper mill; he was a sniper in Vietnam, a Marine. Wish I could remember his name..."

Aron was in the kitchen, preparing a pot of chili. Bill sat in his recliner, Helga watching Aron cook. Sonya was upstairs.

"That guy had a hard time," Bill said. "Shell shock."

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Aron said, almost to himself.

"Bad nerves. The war always in your head. To think; I avoided the draft because I was a foreigner, got married young. I lucked out." Bill sighed. "Are you making that chili spicy?"

"Sonya doesn't like it too spicy. You can add more chili pepper to your bowl. There's cheese and sour cream. Corn bread."

"Yum. Hey! I remember that guy's name! Dave Warren. He had a wife and a daughter. His nerves were so bad, he had to go on Disability. Drank too much, so did the wife."

"You'd think the police would find someone like Dave Warren interesting," Aron said.

"He's got to be seventy by now. Too old to be running around shooting people. Besides, he probably drank himself to death."

Aron finished stirring the chili, putting the lid back on the pot. He opened a drawer, taking out the local phone book. He found Dave Warren's phone number, writing it down. "This will probably lead to nothing, but what the Hell. Maybe someone like Warren, with his expertise, could help the police."

Aron dialed the number. The phone rang several times before getting picked up. "Hello?"

A female voice.

"Hello. Is Dave Warren there?" Aron asked.

"No. He's deceased." The woman hung up the phone without a good-bye.

"Well, that was rude." Aron said. "Whoever she is, she said Dave Warren is dead."

"Did she sound young?" Bill asked.

"Yes."

"Maybe that was the daughter."

"What was her name?"

"Don't recall. Are you making that chili spicy?"

"I'm outside."

Bobby read the text message, knowing Archie would show. Their conversation on the phone had been brief, but Bobby said nothing to try to stop Archie.

After showing Mr. Fuller the photo of Timothy Union, alias Colin, Bobby had given a lot of thought about the two. If Colin was the sniper, and Archie knew, Bobby suspected that Archie was too frightened to tell anyone because he didn't want to be sent back to Oregon and The Church. But what was Archie to Colin? A cover? The seemingly single father of a teen son? Archie didn't go to school, rarely came out of the apartment the whole time he lived there.

Bobby bundled up in his coat, gloves, and boots. Delia would be upset to find him gone, but Bobby couldn't help but wonder what Colin would do if Archie stopped being useful.

Bobby locked the door behind him, going out of his unit and into the storm. He saw Archie at the wheel of Colin's truck, the headlights on. Bobby let himself in, the heat blasting.

Archie, also dressed for the weather, said,"We can't stay here. I can get us back to the Dockside."

"Are you sure? The visibility is bad. I'm surprised you made it."

Archie flashed his dimpled smile. "I'm a good driver."

"Do you have a license?"

"No."

*****

Toon, in Popcorn's truck, was once again parked near Bobby's unit. He watched the blond boy get in the same damn truck. Snow was collecting on his windshield, but the wipers managed to keep it off, he didn't have time to do it himself if he wanted to follow the other truck. He waited until after the truck pulled out; then he followed, once again getting on the highway.
Part III-

God Forgives, Outlaws Don't

### Chapter Thirteen

Annie had only been working at the gas station for a week. The place was owned by a friend of her father's, an old war buddy. He paid her under the table, the station one of the few mom and pop gas stations left in the Marine area.

She later berated herself for being so stupid, but she had to get out of the house. Her father's sobriety didn't make her feel any closer to him; she had been surprised by how he no longer kept any liquor around, he had been dry for years. He tried to convince her to talk to the police about what she witnessed, but all she could think about was how Timothy could find her if the police in Marine and back in Seattle started investigating her disappearance. As far as they knew, she was on an extended leave from The Church.

She felt guilty about the man who was shot at the gas station. Another victim of The Marine Sniper. She had been keeping up with the story, but never knew it would come so close to her.

I have enough problems, she thought.

She did not see any connection between Timothy and the sniper at first. Timothy had been trained as a sharp-shooter in the military, becoming one of the best, but Annie had never asked him how many men he had killed in the Middle East. His years in the military, his actions, had been the antithesis of the beliefs of The Church of Mankind. He had not been an agent of peace and enlightenment, but a killer. He had burned a bridge by joining the military, but managed to swim his way back to The Church and his father's good graces.

Annie had packed her bags, ready to leave Marine, but no buses were running because of the weather. Her father refused to take her to the Greyhound station downtown.

"You said if he came here," her father said, "you would face him down. He can't force you to go back. It's not like you left a child behind."

Thank God, she thought, that Timothy and I did not have kids. The Church never knew how to deal with children. Bob's son was proof of that. Poor Archie. Sweet boy.

The homophobia in The Church wasn't the worse of its crimes. Annie hadn't left any children, but she left behind the memories of her friends, like June, who had died or disappeared. There were members who had run away, probably hiding with family or in faraway places, hoping no one in The Church would find them.

Annie sat by herself in the kitchen of her parents' house. She looked out the window to the snow and the strong winds whistling through the cracks in the roof and walls. The kitchen was dark except for the light above the stove. Her father had gone to bed.

David Warren, former U.S. Marine Corps sniper, Vietnam vet. He had medals. Annie's mother had put them in a big glass frame kept on the wall in the living room with a photo of young Dave in his uniform. To Annie, the young officer and the drunk, cold man who raised her never seemed like the same person. Dave didn't tell war stories. He had shared few activities with Annie or her mother.

Annie shook her head at the thought of Timothy and the sniper being the same man. Timothy could be capable of almost anything, but if he turned on civilians, then there was no saving him. He had PTSD and, like her father, became more and more remote as the anger and depression closed in. Timothy did not drink or use drugs, but he would sit for hours alone, in and out of their house, usually slipping into the woods outside. Frieda wanted him to get treatment using The Church's methods, although he was no longer part of the Church. Annie had been afraid that he might attempt suicide, but the act was forbidden by The Church. In those last few weeks, Annie could have sworn he had become possessed. The Church didn't believe in demonic possession, so Annie tried to rationalize his behavior when he bought a rifle and started going to target practice, something he hadn't done since before he was discharged. He befriended Archie's parents, although they had remained in The Church. They were troubled by their son's homosexuality and the boy had threatened to run away.

Annie knew she wouldn't sleep tonight. She had read in the paper about the new Church of Mankind in Marine, the prayer vigil they had planned in the park. However, the weather would keep them inside. Matthew Hawkins. She had remembered him as the opposite of Timothy; open, friendly, good-natured. A good, honest soul. Something The Church could use.

The Church needs to reform, Annie thought, because when all of the dirt is dug up, the bodies will be found. Maybe I'll finally get to speak for June and all of the others without ending up in the ground next to them.

"My parents have already arrived in Marine," Matthew Hawkins said.

"We have no way of knowing if the sniper is connected to The Church of Mankind," Ben Garcia said,"but a large gathering might attract him. How many people are you expecting?"

"Close to fifty. The congregation is still growing."

Ben Garcia was sitting at his desk, speaking with Matthew Hawkins over the phone.

"Won't more people turn up if your parents are there?" Garcia asked.

"We were even expecting some protesters. We always get a few, picketing the sidewalk. But the weather..."

"No one in Marine would bother, I can tell you that."

"The vigil is staying inside. It won't be long. My parents are staying at a hotel nearby."

"The downtown Holiday Inn?"

"Yes."

"They should be escorted to and from The Church. Did you inform them of the shootings?"

"Yes, I did, but they still wanted to come."

"I can send a few officers, Pastor."

"If you insist. However, I think the only thing to fear tonight is the ice on the roads."

"Hey, Garcia!"

Garcia said his good-byes, leaving his desk to approach Special Agent Ellen Westwood and her colleague, Agent Mitchell Sand. Sand had been the one calling to him. Sand was almost twenty years younger than the experienced Westwood, an agent for almost thirty years. Westwood was African-American, plump, her hair relaxed and cut short, well-dressed in Hillary Clinton-esque pantsuits. Sand resembled a young Kiefer Sutherland, blond hair in a crew-cut, with a tendency to pull at his tie, as if a suit made him feel imprisoned. Both agents were standing in the hallway outside of Captain Schultz's office.

"Detective Garcia," Westwood said,"we just spoke to the owner of the gas station. We made an interesting connection between the sniper and the new cashier who was working that night. Her name is Annie Union, who used to be Annie Warren."

Garcia shook his head. "The same Annie Union–"

"Who was in hiding with her husband," Sand said.

"I was just going to ask Schultz to send a few officers to The Church tonight."

"Good idea," Westwood said. "I have a bad feeling about the sniper tonight. He's going to be out."

"Have you found where Annie is living?"

"With her father."

Archie eased the truck into a parking space near his motel room door. He kept the truck on so he and Bobby could keep warm, but he turned the headlights off.

"I don't think I need to tell you about The Church of Mankind," Archie said. "The faith I was raised in..."

"No. I guess you don't," Bobby said.

"When was the last time you spoke to your father?" Archie asked.

"Not since I was six years old."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Falls River, forty miles from here. But he could have moved away, as far as I know."

"I look a lot like him," Archie said.

Bobby looked closely at Archie, realizing why his new friend seemed so familiar; same smile, same blue eyes. "Archie..."

"I was told that your mom divorced our dad because he wouldn't break off his relationship with my mom. Her name is Marie. _Was_ Marie Holt. She lived here in Marine when they met. Rick might have been around three years old. My mom and your mom used to work together at a shop that made auto parts."

"Auto Components," Bobby said. "Mom worked there during the divorce..."

"I guess she was really mad when my mom got pregnant. By then, Mom was reading books by Marshall Union. She moved to Falls River to be close to a group of believers, but wanted to move to a town with a Mankind church. A few years after the divorce, my parents, now married, took me and moved to Oregon to be close to the big church in Seattle. My dad-our dad-became a member."

"My dad was a criminal," Bobby said. "A thief."

"He changed. Robert Chambers Sr. is a practitioner. Takes people into their past lives, does counseling."

"I can't believe you, Archie. You must be confused."

"The one thing Colin and I had in common was that we were looking for someone in Marine. He was looking for his wife Annie and I was looking for my half-brother. Dad knew you were gay. He told me. I kept having past-life memories of a brother. I had been alone in Oregon, an only child. When they found out I was gay, I became a problem to solve. But Dad didn't want to fix you because you were far away in Michigan. You couldn't embarrass him..."

Archie wiped his eyes with his gloved fingers. Bobby could feel himself tear up. He took a deep breath. "Archie? Who is Colin?"

"Timothy knew Annie would run back home to Marine if she left him. We traveled by car because he had guns. I didn't know he was hunting Annie until we were miles away. What could I do? But I fooled him, because he didn't know you lived at Lakeshore Apartments. But Dad told me before I left. I found Delia's name in the phone book when we got here. Dad didn't put up a big argument about me going with Tim, Dad trusted Tim with his life. But Mom didn't like it. She thought Tim had a nervous breakdown. She was right. He wanted me to help him chase Annie down. He hated her for leaving. She could destroy everything if she went public. There would be no more money to fight over. The empire would crumble."

Bobby wanted out of the truck. He was feeling trapped. He wanted back to his apartment, his bed, his mother. He was fine with Archie being the troubled friend, not the desperately lonely half-brother in danger.

"Tim had me go into a gun store and steal a carbine for his rifle," Archie said. "For target practice, he said. My mom said he had given up guns after coming home from the Marines, but he started going to firing ranges back home. Annie didn't like it, but he would threaten her. Her friend died in one of The Sweat Lodges. Annie and Tim had left The Church by then, but my parents stayed friends with them. They felt sorry for Annie. People were leaving, becoming scattered. Annie wanted out, to leave Seattle. By then, my parents were thinking about moving to Seattle permanently, to be closer to The Church, even though things were becoming strained, angry."

"If he finds Annie, is he going to make her go back?" Bobby asked.

"No. He's going to kill her. But Lance and Sophie Hawkins are here to visit Pastor Matt, so I know where Tim is tonight."

"Did he tell you his plans?"

"He doesn't tell me much, but I read in the paper that Lance and Sophie would be here, and I know Tim won't pass up that opportunity before killing Annie."

Toon had followed Archie's truck into the motel parking lot. He parked a few spaces away, waiting for the boys to come out. He sat with his chin in his hand, his elbow resting against the steering wheel.

The door to the driver's side opened, and from the light in the parking lot, Toon took in the driver as the kid in the apartment lot from last night.

Toon dropped his hand, searching out the pistol underneath his waistband.

### Chapter Fourteen

Timothy Union had no knowledge that The Church of Mankind had planned to open a church in Marine, Michigan. He had come here to locate Annie, knowing she would return to the hometown she always hated, to the alcoholic parents who neglected her.

Archie had not confronted Timothy because he didn't need to; the older man knew Archie was scared, but the boy would keep his mouth shut.

Timothy sat in the backseat of the blue Chevy Monte Carlo, parked at the curb in front of The Church of Mankind building. Snow was still flying; the Chevy's windshield, roof, and windows covered. This worked in Timothy's favor because no one could see in. He checked his watch. He was early.

He had read, in the Marine Press, about the prayer vigil and the arrival of Lance and Sophie Hawkins; the people who had stolen his inheritance, along with Frieda's. Now, his sister was living in some apartment in Portland, her husband long gone. And he was sitting in the backseat of an old car in a frigid-cold snow storm.

The rifle with scope rested across his lap. He wished he could have taken the Jeep, but the brakes were soft. He left the truck with Archie. Timothy owned the truck, but he had stolen the Monte Carlo in Marine Heights, the Jeep taken from one of his neighbors at Lakeshore Apartments, hiding the vehicles in wooded areas. He had taken the Jeep out to East Marine when he shot the biker, Waylon.

He had read about the explosion at the funeral home days later, stunned because he had nothing to do with it. His mind had been on The Church and Annie since he left home.

Crazy bikers and their vendettas, he thought. Like a bunch of gangsters. I wouldn't be surprised if Lance shows up with a few of his bodyguards in their expensive suits.

Matthew Hawkins had been his best friend, now pastor of this old church, the roof covered in a foot of snow, the paint peeling underneath the ice. Pastor Matt wouldn't stay long. He'd find a flunky to replace him so he could go back to the West Coast, to enjoy the sunshine and celebrities seeking out their past lives.

Timothy heard a car pull up to the curb, doors slam shut. He heard laughter. He rose from the front seat and turned around. Bent over, he pulled at the backseat, revealing the trunk. He crawled in, locating the hole next to the license plate. He looked out, using the scope, effective up to one hundred yards. He took in the group of five people approaching the steps. He pulled the scope away, not ready until he was sure the Hawkins family had arrived.

Bobby felt the barrel of the pistol at his back. He saw Archie's eyes widen.

"You two! Move!"

Archie raised his arms. "Where?"

"Your room, dumbass!"

They obeyed, stepping carefully through the snow and ice. They reached the door to Archie's room.

"The key is in my pocket," Archie said.

"Get it out! No ideas!"

Bobby's cold legs felt numb, his bladder tingling. He was afraid to look behind him. "What do you want? We don't have any money."

"Shut up. Just go in."

The boys entered in front of Toon, who shut the door with his foot. A lamp was on, but the light was dim. The room was cold.

"You two sit on the bed. And no bullshit, you tell me the truth!"

Toon could see both boys were not exactly tough guys. The blond kid was wearing fuzzy hot-pink gloves and silver glittery boots. The other kid's blue eyes were as big as saucers, his lips trembling. Toon kept his gun pointed at them. "You two little shits better tell me where the sniper is!"

"I don't know!" Archie cried.

"You have some idea!" Toon stepped towards him, pulling Archie's winter cap off, grabbing him by the hair. "Tell me, you little pussy."

Bobby slipped his gloved hand into his coat pocket and turned on his phone. He pulled it out to his side, finding Sonya's number.

"Please! I don't know! He doesn't tell me anything."

The raised voices drowned out the sound of the phone, which Bobby slipped under his butt.

"Maybe he went to the church," Bobby said.

"What church?" Toon asked.

Bobby realized he had seen this man before; Toon, tattoos and freckles on weathered skin.

"The Church of Mankind downtown," Bobby said. "His real name is Timothy Union. He's probably going to shoot some people there tonight."

"Is that right?" Toon asked.

He let go of Archie, stepping back. "You better not be lying, son."

"A bunch of people are getting together there," Bobby said. "Timothy Union's father used to be The Church leader. Timothy wants revenge."

Archie was surprised at Bobby's calm demeanor, but he didn't know that Bobby had grown up with a violent older brother, learning to deal with irrational people at a young age, often coming to his mother's rescue and dealing with the bullying he took at school and at home with Rick.

Toon kept stepping back, gun in hand, until he reached the door. When he let himself out, Bobby leaped off the bed, turning the lock.

Sonya read Piper's text:

Bobby won't text me. Plz check.

Sonya knew he had gone off with Archie. Piper was used to Bobby hanging on every word, promptly responding to her messages; but Bobby _not_ doing this was so out of character, Sonya couldn't help but imagine the worst.

The phone rang in her hand. She saw Bobby's name, relieved. However, when she answered, he had already hung up. She left a message, but the worry started to nag at her.

Sonya went downstairs, the aroma of chili and cornbread still in the air. Aron had washed dishes and was now watching TV with Bill.

"Dad, I think something's happened to Bobby."

"Call his mother."

"I don't think she's back from work. She works double sometimes."

Sonya sat on the couch next to her father. She explained about The Church and Bobby's new friend Archie. Aron could feel his blood pressure rise when she mentioned that the sniper could be Archie's guardian Colin, who could be Timothy Union. They were hiding out at The Dockside Motel.

"Can you take me there, Dad?"

"In this weather? Call the police."

"I just need to know if Bobby is okay."

"I can't drive in this weather. The visibility."

"It's stopped snowing."

"The roads are still bad. Besides, I can't leave Bill."

"He's already asleep."

"What if he wakes up and we're gone? He can't be alone. He'll get confused."

"Please, Dad. We can leave him a note."

Bill was sleeping soundly in his chair, Helga dozing nearby.

"Look," Aron said, "it's not that I don't care about Bobby, but how can you be sure he's at The Dockside?"

"It's all I've got. He could have gone somewhere else with Archie, but where?"

"And if this Colin guy is the sniper, why is Archie with him? And why would he involve Bobby?"

"I don't know. But I wish Bobby would call me back. I mean, someone could have taken his phone or–"

"All right, Sonya," Aron sighed. "But if I take you all the way out to The Dockside, and that boy isn't there, _your_ cell phone is getting taken and the friend drama ends."

Sonya tried to hide her smile. "Thanks, Dad. I'll pay you back. I'll make dinner sometimes."

"That's all right. If you cook anything like your mother did, God rest her soul, I'll settle for a Big Mac. Hey, Bill! We're going for a drive!"

Bill stirred and opened his eyes. "In _this_ shit?

### Chapter Fifteen

Timothy rolled down the back window on the Monte Carlo, getting some of the snow off. The window was becoming frozen shut. Timothy pulled hard at the inside handle. The window gave, bringing in a blast of cold air. He looked around for a moment, realizing the snow had stopped.

He had heard cars parking and doors slamming several times over the last hour, people coming in groups.

Pastor Matt's flock has grown, Timothy thought.

He was still waiting for the service to end, for them all to come spilling out. He would have to wait another few hours.

The police escort, consisting of two off-duty officers sent by Captain Schultz and the FBI, flanked Lance and Sophie Hawkins as they departed from the downtown Holiday Inn.

Lance, a white-haired version of his handsome son, and Sophie, thick silver hair in an upsweep, wearing a red wool coat, feet covered in leather boots, looked like the wealthy couple they were, the Marine cops noticing Sophie's jewelry. No woman in Marine wore such diamonds on her ears or fingers. However, the woman had a friendly, easy way about her, her husband more reserved, watchful.

Ben Garcia drove in his car behind them. While the FBI was heading for David Warren's house on the other side of town, Garcia was babysitting the pastor and his parents, who just happened to lead The Church of Mankind, a cult worth a billion dollars.

They were driving slow, the clumpy snow providing little traction against the ice underneath. Taking twenty minutes to get through the few blocks to the church, the police-escorted car finally eased into a parking space just steps away. Garcia had to park farther back, the other spaces taken.

Timothy poked his head up for a moment. Both cars were plain. He took in the couple exiting the car, Sophie standing under the street light in her red coat. Timothy pulled his head down, his heart starting to beat hard. He grabbed his rifle, the scope going into the hole. He aimed on Sophie then replaced the scope with the barrel. He pulled the trigger on the Bushmaster and heard a scream followed by a male voice.

"The blue car!"

Timothy dropped the rifle and crawled into the front seat. He was parallel-parked between the two other cars, his vehicle covered in snow and ice. However, he tore out of the parking space, banging into the car in front of him. He rolled down the window on his side, getting a glimpse of an older man running towards his car, slipping on the ice. A few shots hit his car, but he kept going, although all he could see was white through his windshield.

*****

Sophie Hawkins would later give God all of the credit for saving her from a sniper's bullet, if not a sprained ankle.

Sophie had exited the car, taking a few steps before slipping on the ice just below the streetlight. As she went down, her ankle painfully twisted, the bullet from the Bushmaster missed her, ricocheting against the light post and into a car door. She had screamed at the sound. Garcia had recognized the Monte Carlo just moments before, and was approaching the car, weapon drawn.

The old church doors swung open, Pastor Matt and a few congregants looking out. Seeing his mother on the ground, the pastor wanted to run to her, but the officers told him to stay inside. Sophie called out, assuring her son she was all right, Lance at her side.

Garcia got back in his car to follow Timothy.

Toon had reached the church just minutes after Garcia and the escort. He did not see Sophie get shot at, but he caught Timothy Union trying to escape in the Chevy.

Toon also recognized Detective Garcia, who was running towards his car. Toon drove past them all, ready to follow the Monte Carlo. The tires on Popcorn's truck also slid along with Timothy's car, which managed to go straight down the lane. Downtown Marine boasted many one-way streets, neither man familiar with the area.

Timothy turned on to busy Farm Road, the windshield still thick with snow. The traffic light turned from yellow to red at an intersection and he slammed into another vehicle. He kept his foot on the gas, pushing the other car before realizing he wasn't getting anywhere. He opened the driver's side door, ready to run. He left his rifle and stepped out into the night. He glanced at the other car; a woman slumped over the wheel. He saw vehicles coming the other way. He started to run through the ankle-deep snow. He slid and fell a few times, heading for Pine Street, the area of old shops and decaying apartments, once grand Victorian houses. He did not look behind him, but heard brakes squeal.

Toon stopped at the accident scene. He watched Timothy try to run as he reached for his pistol.

He only had minutes before Garcia caught up with him.

Aron parked at The Dockside Motel. He went inside the office with Sonya and Bill, asking about Archie. The manager took them to the room, knocking at the door.

Bobby answered. He was alone in the room. Sonya gave him a quick hug, which he returned.

"Where's Archie?" she asked.

"He's gone," Bobby said. "He was scared, so he took his bags and left in the truck."

"What is he afraid of?" Aron asked.

Bobby explained about Toon looking for the sniper, how the biker was probably on his way to the downtown church.

"Wait a minute. Toon came after you?" Sonya asked.

"Yeah. Scared Archie half to death. The Diamonds sent him to find the sniper."

"If Timothy Union shows up at the church," Aron said, "they're all in danger over there. I'll try to call Garcia, but we need to take you home, Bobby."

"Did Archie say where he was going?" Sonya asked.

"No. He wants to disappear until he turns eighteen. By the way, Archie's my half-brother."

"What?"

"I'll explain on the way home."

Toon followed Timothy on foot, almost sliding into the worn statue of some long-dead lumber baron. Timothy made it across Pine Street and Toon found himself almost crawling through a snow drift. He rolled over on to the sidewalk, keeping a grip on his pistol. Timothy slipped again and fell forward in front of a long-closed furniture store.

Toon realized he was close enough. He took aim, his breath coming as a thick cloud. Timothy was getting on his feet when Toon fired.

Garcia caught up minutes later, coming upon the accident first. The driver had regained consciousness and he was tending to her when he heard two shots. He left the woman for a moment to check out the Pine St. storefront area, the ambulance on the way. Garcia stepped carefully, making it to the sidewalk. He found a body, blood spattered against the snow, pavement, and glass. He came closer, seeing where the bullets did their damage to Timothy Union's head. Garcia made out the two sets of boot-prints in the snow. He did not get a good look at the driver in the truck as it had passed him at the church, following Timothy Union. At the accident scene, the Chevy and the woman's Toyota were the only two vehicles Garcia saw besides his own.

Whoever shot Union, Garcia thought, made it back to his truck and took off. An angel of death. Well, more like a Hell's Angel.

Garcia turned around, hearing the ambulance in the distance.

### Chapter Sixteen

From The Blue and White blog:

WIPER'S HOME!!!

Here at The Blue and White, we're always grateful to our sources(who don't have to worry about getting blown up at a funeral home) for bringing us the hottest, most current, craptastic events going on at East Marine High School. The Blue and White is back in business (a bullet couldn't keep us down), so let's start with Wiper Bones and her buddies, including Detective Woodpecker and Bobbyholdsherpurse.

Come to find out, the trio behind the reveal of the Marine Sniper, alias Timothy Union, the former Prince of The Church of Mankind (see previous post about The Wacky Cult That Came To Marine). All three were digging into the story, including Wiper from her cruise ship (rich bitch). Actually, Winter Storm Chuck provided help, but Union's killer is still a mystery, the Marine PD and the FBI not taking any credit. A masked avenger? More like an avenging Diamond, if you ask me. But I'm sure the families of Waylon Johnson, Danny Brooks, Brad and Tyler Jensen, and Brian Dodd, the victim at the gas station, are somewhat satisfied to see Union shot like a rabid dog in the street. Five lives taken because some guy couldn't handle his wife leaving him. Was that the reason? Would she have been his last victim? She's left town, as did the boy who lived with Union at Lakeshore Apartments. The police have talked to his parents in Oregon and all roads lead to The Church of Mankind. The cops looked through Union's belongings, but found very little, except a photo of him and his father, the prophet.

The explosion at Fletcher Brothers Funeral Home is another mystery. A vendetta between The Diamonds and Saxons? But Roy Beauchamp, a Saxon, was among the victims. But the cops are almost convinced that the sniper had nothing to do with it. The investigation continues, while the surrounding neighbors are still picking motorcycle parts out of their yards. Of course, The Diamonds aren't talking.

Things at school have calmed down, but security is still tight. Nobody knows what to do or say. We just do what we're told, feeling numb and stupid, sort of like Jessica Holden. Poor Jess. Whatever her cocktail is, it's got her passing out in the supply closet in the gym with the soccer balls and volleyball nets. Since Jabba the Dealer doesn't sell on campus, and no one will narc on him, he stays in business. Some say he deals to the school staff, too.

Anyway, good riddance to the sniper and hello to the return of the gay kids, the drug addicts, and the low standard of life. Some things never change, like waiting another six weeks for spring. Somebody needs to shoot that groundhog.

"Good skiing weather," Piper said.

"I've never skied a day in my life," Sonya said.

Piper, Sonya, and Bobby were walking through Four Winds Mall, an Orange Julius in each hand.

Sonya and Bobby were grateful for a Saturday out. The mall was busy, the food court full, kids playing in the Jungle Gym.

"I went skiing with Piper once," Bobby said. "I twisted my ankle and spent the rest of the weekend by the fireplace. Hey, Piper, weren't there any girls on that cruise?"

"The gays were all over eighteen, I think. Mostly couples, some with kids. I fell in love with St. Croix. Here, let me show you pictures."

Piper pulled out her phone. The three friends sat at a bench while Piper showed the photos she took of the beautiful beaches and sites at St. Croix and the other Virgin Islands.

Sonya looked away for a moment, at people shopping and eating. Talking and laughing. She wondered if any of them thought about someone like Timothy Union walking in and opening fire.

Are they afraid, but pretending not to be? she thought. How do you keep it out of your mind?

"Sonya?" Bobby asked. "You want to walk over the big Goodwill Store?"

Sonya didn't answer, still looking out. Bobby put his arm around her. She turned her gaze back to her friends.

"We can't let guys like Timothy Union or Kyle Stone get to us," Bobby said. "I mean, Toon was pointing a gun at me, but I don't want to be scared all the time."

"Right," Piper said. "Why should they take away our fun? Forget 'em for a while."

"All right," Sonya said. "But first, Dad wants me to price the mailboxes at Target. And shovels. And salt."

Bobby tried to talk about Archie to his mother and, although Delia agreed with Archie's details about her ex-husband's relationship with a woman named Marie, she didn't have much to say, not wanting to talk about the past. However, Piper had been fascinated by Bobby having another half-brother. He told her everything he knew, but Bobby would learn more when he received a letter from Archie weeks later, postmarked Nashville, Tennessee:

Dear Bobby

I knew I could send an e-mail, but I like writing on paper, and there were a few more things I wanted to tell you.

First, I want to thank you for helping me. I made the decision to leave before that Toon guy even showed up. I had a feeling Tim was going to get caught, but didn't know he would die.

I wanted to meet you ever since our dad had told me about you. I had always felt lonely, but I sort of had a feeling I had a brother out there. In The Church of Mankind, past-life regression is part of fulfilling The Mission. I had been taken back many times since the age of ten. In one of these memories, I had a brother, but he became very sick and died. The lamps were gaslights, the house was big, paintings on the walls. Another life, and we were soldiers, wearing dark blue uniforms and caps. The Civil War? Another life, and we spoke a different language, like Spanish, maybe Portuguese. A ship on the ocean. Maybe we were sailors. The ship went down and we died. Another ship, and we were very hungry and sick. We died out there. Sometimes we were together, sometimes apart. But we always knew the other existed.

I'm very sorry about the things Tim has done. I didn't know he would go so far. He was always kind to me, if remote. He never told me stories about Kuwait, when he was a Marine. I bumped into Annie at the Greyhound station in Detroit. She told me she was going to Canada. She gave me some money. By then, she knew Tim was dead. She could have gone home, but I think she's too scared.

I'm staying at a shelter for runaways in Nashville. No one knows my real name here. I walk around. Nashville is also known as Music City. Everyone carries a guitar and writes songs. It's lonely, but I don't want to go home. When I turn eighteen, maybe I can visit you in Marine. I can meet your friends. Another life as brothers. Around and around, like a circle. If The Church taught me anything, it is patience. In the meantime, I'll pray for us both because I think God hears all prayers. That's what I would like to think, so I know I'll survive.

Love, Archie.

THE END

###

**About the author** :

Laura A. Ellison was born and raised in Muskegon, Michigan. She is a graduate of Grand Valley University, where she majored in English, her emphasis in creative writing. She is also the author of The Last Girl (also featuring Sonya Neslund and friends), Karma House, Consumed, Blood In Trust, Time Immortal, Blood Bonds, A Foreign Body, and The Witch Box.

**Connect with Laura on-line** :

website: http://spiritimmortal.weebly.com

Twitter: <http://twitter.com/EllisonLaura>

Facebook: <http://facebook.com/laura.ellison.90>
