Page 13 of Entombed In Sin

Pastor Michaels grabs hold of my shoulders as he steps back and looks down at me. I risk a glance up at his face to find concern etched into his expression.

“We need to talk. It’s urgent. I know you’re busy but?—”

“We can take care of anything that Beatrix was doing,” Thatcher interrupts pleasantly as he comes up beside us. “Here, why not sit and talk in here? We can reconvene when you two are through. Take your time.”

I can’t look at either of them in the face as Pastor Michaels thanks Thatcher before my stepbrother slips out of the room. The minute the door shuts behind me, Pastor Michaels grabs my wrist and leads me away from the door.

“What happened to your hands?” he demands, glancing down at the bandages.

Quickly, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I was being careless around the furnace.”

He nods, satisfied with my response.

“Thatcher just told me he and his brother obtained ownership of Bright Starr, thanks to their father’s will. How is that even possible?” he asks as we lower ourselves to the old couch. “This place belongs to you and the Starr family.”

My heart races as I try to compartmentalize everything that’s happening in my life. Bright Starr’s change in management, Trevor’s death and his eyes arriving in our mailbox, being buried alive… There’s a ton that’s happened, and because it all intertwines, I have to tread carefully during this conversation.I can’t let anything slip. Maybe this was the warning Thatcher was trying to convey when I entered the room. This could get complicated if I don’t watch every word that comes out of my mouth.

“It was a surprise for me too, but I guess Mom thought it best to give everything to her husband in case of her death,” I mutter, staring down at my hands. “But they’re letting me live in the house with them, and I still get to work here and help run the place, so not all is lost. Honestly, it’s kind of nice having the help.”

“I guess if they’re actually pulling their weight…” Pastor Michaels’s voice trails off as he nods, deep in thought. “Look, I want to hear all about your new situation, but we don’t have a lot of time, and I need to say something to you before you get wind of what everyone is talking about in town.”

I bite my bottom lip and force myself to look up into his face. To my surprise, his face is even paler and his eyes slide away from mine with a look I can only decipher as guilt.

“Uh-oh,” I groan. “What’s happened? What are people saying?”

Pastor Michael sighs, sagging as he does. “I don't know if you know, but the Haggardy’s were the ones to find Trevor hanging off the old Hogton Bridge.”

Guilt builds in my chest, causing it to constrict tighter than ever, as the pastor’s bottom lip trembles and tears mist in his eyes as he looks back at me. Crap, I need to say something.Anything.

“Pastor Michaels, I’m so sorry?—”

“No, Beatrix, no.” He shakes his head. Reaching forward, he takes my hands, cupping them between his. “I’m here becauseI’msorry.”

I blink rapidly, trying to search my brain for an answer to this type of response. It’s not the first time someone’s saidsomething strange in their grief. Maybe he's just flustered. I’ve never seen him so upset. The fact that I’m partially—okwholly—responsible for his current state makes this situation so many times worse. Thankfully, I don’t need to find something to say because Pastor Michaels continues.

“Trevor left a note. Sheriff Heins called me to the scene and showed me it. Trevor said—” he swallows and takes a steadying breath before he continues, “—he said he couldn’t live with what he did and hopefully he’d be forgiven for his sins.”

It takes everything in me to keep the derision off my face. There wouldn’t be enough time in the world, even if Trevor had been immortal, to atone for his sins. I don’t say that, though.

“That’s awful. I hope he’s found—” I start, but the pastor cuts me off.

“Trevor was a good kid. Did he have his faults? Sure, we all have some. But I thought… Well, I thought he and I had found a way for him to get over what he’d done.”

My friend must see the confusion on my face because he shakes his head, his expression melting into regret.

“There’s only one thing I can think of that would haunt him to the point of taking his own life.” He scoots closer, his grip around my hands tightening. “I know what he did to you back in high school and before you left for college, Beatrix.”

My spine goes completely straight and stiff as shock leaves me momentarily speechless. I let out a strangled noise as mortification and disgust, phantom pain and helplessness, all combine to create a painful knot in my throat.

“The first I learned of what he did, I heard him talking to Sebastian about the, ah,incidentafter a service. When I approached him about it, he immediately told me how bad he felt. He thought you two were on the same page, and when you ran away crying, he didn’t know what to do. I had him pray about it and when nothing came of it legally… Well, I thoughtthat maybe it hadn’t been so bad. You know how things go. Kids getting carried away and all…”

My lips part but close as I stare at the knowing look he gives me. As ifIhad seduced his son and then got too swept away and possibly overreacted. The feeling in my hands begins to fade, leaving them tingly. Does he think what happened wasmyfault in some capacity? While the rest of the girls in school vied for his attention, I never wantedanythingto do with Trevor. I can still hear Trevor and Sebastian’s laughter that first time as theychasedme down the alley before they?—

“The second time, I only found out because the cop you gave your statement to came and told me about it,” Pastor Michaels says, clearly on a roll now. “He’d been a diligent student in Bible study when he was younger, and I really thought he might follow in my footsteps before he lost his faith. I suppose he felt he had some loyalty to me.” Pastor Michael shrugs. “This time when I confronted Trevor, he told me how you two had gotten a little drunk at a party and he may have taken it too far.”

He laughs nervously. The sound is so startling and inappropriate, I recoil slightly. Seeing my reaction, he stops. Reaching up, my friend smooths back his mousy brown hair as he attempts to gather up the courage to continue whatever else he’s been bottling up.

As he struggles with his words, I struggle not to fall apart. But it’s hard. My insides fracture; the frisson forming across my heart as it begins to crumble makes it nearly impossible to breathe. I try to swallow down that knot that’s formed in my throat, but it only grows bigger as the seconds pass us by.

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