Page 40 of Where the Darkness Goes

Mom squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t like to talk about our dad’s death, except to say it was an accident at work, and that it was quick and he never suffered. He died right after I wasborn, and it kills me not to know more about him, but I know it’s hard on her.

Will and I don’t know a life where he exists. We don’t have many memories with him. It feels selfish to push her, to cause her more pain when our wound is just an empty hole—a scar rather than the ever-present burning ulcer that remains for Mom.

Still, I always hope someday she’ll tell us more about him.

Mom looks over at one of the few photos we have of our dad in the house, right after I was born, holding me with a one-year-old Will sitting next to him. “It was a bad thing, yes, but that’s not what I mean. What happened to your dad wasn’t anyone’s fault. I don’t want you to go getting any ideas about?—”

A knock on the door interrupts us, and Mom’s brows draw together as she turns her body to look out the window, wincing at an apparent pain. Will moves faster over to the door. He checks the window first, something we never do, even on the rare occasion someone knocks.

“It’s Sheriff Ward.” His eyes find mine, full of fear.

Mom rubs her hands over her thighs. “Well, go on. You two get to your rooms.” She shoos us, standing up slowly and releasing a hiss of pain as she does. “I’ll handle this. Get to bed.”

I look at Will, who doesn’t seem to want to leave any more than I do, but without a choice, we amble toward the hallway.

“Sheriff? What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Mom pulls open the door, her soft voice gone at once. Suddenly, she’s professional and courteous, the only way anyone in this town sees her except us. “What’s he doing here?”

I freeze, wondering what he she’s talking about.

“I’m sorry about this, Francis,” Sheriff Ward says. “Ed says you were at the house earlier.”

“Cleaning, yes.” Mom’s voice is sharper now, defensive. “What’s that got to do with anything? When I left, they were—Well, when I left, everything was fine. I’m sorry about your loss, Ed. Emily and Pearl, they were real fine people.”

“Don’t you dare talk about them,” Edward Gray says, his voice strained like he’s trying not to cry. The words set my arm hairs on end.

“Ed,” a new voice cuts in. It’s Pastor Charles. “Francis is not the enemy here. Your heart is broken, but let’s all keep our heads about us, shall we?”

“What’s happening?” Mom asks again, her voice guarded now. Suspicious.

“We need to come in and take a look around, Frannie,” Sheriff Ward says. “Just to be sure everything’s okay.”

“Meaning?” she snaps.

“Some expensive china went missing today during the time Pearl and Emily Gray were murdered,” he tells her. “Ed says you were the only other person in the house today.”

“Is that right? I was in that house today the same as I have been every Friday for sixteen years. You really believe I stole something from you now? Or that I’d ever…” She trails off with a gasp. “You think I hurt them, don’t you? That’s what this is really about.”

“Francis, we all know you didn’t do this.” That’s Pastor Charles, his voice calm and demure. “But it would help Ed’s peace of mind just to check, and then they can be on their way. The Lord is testing him right now, as He tests all of us. You understand this loss. You have every right to be hurt by this, but I believe you can find grace in your heart for Ed. Can’t you?”

From where I’m standing, I can see Mom wavering. She shifts her feet in place.

“It’s not personal, Francis, but we’re starting to see a pattern. The Grays’ china is missing, just like the Allens’ coin collection went missing the day Amber and Jill were killed. The coincidences—you being the cleaner for both families, you beingone of the people in both houses on the day—are surely just that, coincidences, but we need to come inside to prove it.”

“Tommy Ward, we’ve known each other since we were both running around in diapers, and this is how you’re treating me? You all know this is wrong. You know I’d never?—”

Sheriff Ward cuts her off, his voice stern. “We’ll come back with a warrant if you don’t let us in willingly. Judge Thornton won’t be happy to be woken up, but with four dead people on our hands, you have to understand that people in this town need to see some sort of action. See reason, Francis. We’re talking murder here. If you’re as innocent as you say, all you have to do is let us inside so we can prove it and move on.”

Mom clears her throat. “I won’t let you wake my kids. Their bedrooms are off limits, you hear? Come back with a warrant for those if you have to. And for goodness’ sake, take off your shoes before you come into my house. This is not a barn.”

“You heard her,” Pastor Charles says. “Shoes off, boys, and let’s be respectful of Sister Francis’s time. It’s late.”

“Thank you, Charles,” she says finally, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it. Will and I dart to our rooms and close the doors quietly. I stand on the opposite side of mine, back pressed to the wood, listening.

“They’re just going to take a quick look around, and they’ll be on their way.” That’s Pastor Charles again. “It’s all going to be okay.”

He says it over and over again as I hear the sheriff moving through our small home—turning things over, opening and closing drawers. His heavy footsteps make his path easy to follow.

It’s going to be okay.I want to believe him, but I can’t. How can any of this be okay? How will it ever be okay again?

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