Page 66 of Chasing Lynda

I work hard to school my expression into an imposing but friendly one; the kid doesn’t look one day older than twenty-one, and if he’s as good at his job as his old man, he’s going to be as useful as a fucking bucket with a hole in it.

My eyes flit to the box Vince is carrying. “Nice to meet you, Vincent. Normally, it would be a pleasure to sit down with you and talk about your personal journey on the path of enlightenment, but I have a packed schedule today. So let’s make this quick. What brings you to Shell Cove?”

The kid clears his throat, looking nervously down at the box he;s holding so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. “As you might know, Pastor, we’re building up a following in Bridgeport in preparation for the inauguration of the new church.”

I tap my fingers nervously on my desk, looking at Vincent in silent encouragement to get to point.

“Last Thursday, a group of our youth was at Pleasure Beach, handing out some literature about enlightenment to the people visiting the pier. Someone thought they saw Lynda—”

He stops at the withering look I turn on him. My congregation needs to learn to address me and my family with the right amount of respect. I might be a young leader, but he wouldn’t have been so casual with Harold Winthrop.

The kid is smarter than his father though, I have to give it to him; he realizes his faux-pas and immediately corrects himself.

“Sorry, I meant Mrs. Lawrence. They unfortunately lost sight of her and a few more groups were sent to check the beach, the pier and the nearby amenities. There were a few more possible sightings, but no positive identification was made at that point.”

I’m on the verge of losing my cool, hanging onto my calm and collected demeanor by a thread. “Did you come all the way here to report about a bunch of kids maybe seeing my wife?”

Vincent shakes his head. “No, Pastor. I thought that it was worth keeping a presence in the area, just in case those sightings amounted to something. I was actually planning to go check out the rock concert that was planned for last Saturday night.”

I arch an eyebrow. Great fucking excuse to go out partying!

We obviously don’t endorse rock music. We have an approved list of music we advise our members to stick to, if they want to reach enlightenment.

I’m about to call him out on that. The fucking apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree where the young Kirk is concerned. Granted, he only just started on the police force and he’s still a rookie, but he has the same lack of authority as his old man.

Vincent rushes to explain. “However, in the early hours of Saturday morning, we were called to a fire at the Pleasure Beach Hotel. The fire department thought the fire was the result of foul play and we were called when it was clear that there were casualties that didn’t manage to leave their rooms on time. I went in with the coroner’s office and—”

He opens the box to show me its contents; there are some charred remains of a backpack that looks vaguely familiar.

I take the box from him when my eyes fall onto a partially burned driver’s permit.

Lynda’s smile is unmistakable.

I turn to Greggs. “When the fuck did my wife get a driver’s permit?”

He shifts in his chair. “I guarantee you it wasn’t under my watch. It must’ve happened when the feds took over the compound. They were trying to rehabilitate the women, get them jobs and make them independent.” I share the same disgust that’s evident in his tone. “That’s why we decided to let Martha Winthrop and her daughters take those women, remember? They were no use to us after the government brainwashed them that our church had abused them.”

Right. I look at Vincent. “So you found her? Where is she?”

The boy looks at me with something like pity in his eyes. “I checked the hotel records. Her room was on the floor where the fire broke out. She wasn’t outside with the guests that were being relocated after the fire. The fire brigade extracted five bodies from the blaze on the eighth floor. Two men and three women. They’re badly burned, so we need to wait until they’re identified through their dental records to be sure but—”

I don’t understand.

I look at Greggs’ stony expression. “You’re the first one to hear about this. I haven’t even told my wife yet.”

I don’t see any tangible sign of grief on his face; the only telling that the news might be causing him grief is the unusual tension in his shoulders and the slight tremor in his hand when he adjusts his glasses on his nose, in his usual nervous tick.

Lynda is dead.

My Lynda. I don’t even know how I feel about it.

I mean, the bitch deserves it. And truth be told, she’s probably got the easy way out, because had I found her alive ... atonement would’ve been long and painful for her.

But she was my wife, and I hadn’t even had the chance to break her in when we were separated by the feds.

Greggs gives me a second to collect myself. “We must find you a new wife, Aaron. This could be a great opportunity to get some positive press. Think about it. You’ve been celibate since Lynda disappeared, you haven’t even joined the inner circle mission meetings, even before you decided to scrap them. Aside from the fact that getting laid will be good for you, think about how good this will look. You want to return to the original purity message of Harold’s doctrine? What’s more pure than an enlightened man, The Enlightened Man, staying pure while his wife was missing? Something like that will be elevating your status from leader of this church to divinity. Our followers will give anything to be touched by your Light.”

Touched by my Light.

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