Chapter 14
Saturday, October 23, 1973
In his hand the pastor held a crumpled envelope, and a photograph with a picture of his missing brother Seth, bordered by several unidentified men. In his other hand he held a brass key which came in the envelope with the photograph.
He turned over the picture and read the writing on the back as he had done so many times before. It read, "If you want to know the truth, here is the key. I’m sorry I can not tell you anything more. Be careful." At the bottom was the address of the church scribbled in red ink.
He walked across the street into the shadow cast from the huge building. His pace quickened and he ran up the steps to the front doors. He looked around to see if there was anyone on the grounds that could assist him. He saw no one. He turned to the door again and knocked several times and stood back waiting for a response. It was the middle of the day on a Saturday and he realized, as a Pastor himself, that the chances of anyone being here now were slim.
He pulled on the door and was surprised to find it locked. His own church was rarely if ever inaccessible to the public making him wonder why it was closed. He looked down at the key as he rolled it between his fingers. He thought for a moment and placed the key in the lock turning it with a click.
The door pulled out easily and he stepped inside the narthex, which was filled with stacks of boxes, taped shut and neatly arranged along side the walls. He did not dare look inside he thought as he stepped over to the next set of doors.
The doors to the main room were dark stained glass with artwork portraying the birth and death of Jesus. He noticed right away that they were covered in dust and had lost their shine, no longer shimmering from the light that past through the window.
He tried these doors first giving a little tug to see if they were locked. . They opened with some resistance as he shoved boxes across the floor on the other side. The scraping sound of cardboard on wood was the only sound he heard besides his own breathing.
Standing in the main hall, he looked out to the vastness of the room and stood numb staring out at the scene before him. His veins turned to ice as he saw rows and rows of children’s skulls facing away from him towards the altar. The positions of the skulls resembled the game pieces of a chess game on a chessboard. From one side of the room to the other, and from the back of the room to the front, they lined up neatly spaced one foot apart. The only thing interrupting the pattern was a two-foot pathway running the length down the center to the altar.
A twenty-foot cross-hung upside down above the altar at the far end of the room sending terror throughout this man of God. Pastor Rhine, his heart in his throat, walked lightly forward keeping his feet within the narrow path, horrified at the site, as he neared the altar. Halfway to the altar, he looked back at the many vacant eyes looking to him and said out loud, "The poor children."
He noticed along the walls, stacked four high, were more boxes neatly arranged and taped shut. It scared him to know what lie inside. He turned back and walked to the altar stepping up onto the platform beneath the overturned cross. Before him, set side by side on the altar, were six adult skulls facing out to the crowd of faceless children. They seemed to be addressing the congregation in a silent, spiritual cry.
The pastor walked around the altar and stood behind it looking out upon the many vacant faces looking back to him and his eyes began to water. He placed his hands on the altar and bowed to say a prayer for the dead. Looking down upon the skulls he noticed writing engraved on the back of them. He read as he scanned across them, "Follett, Davis, Thomas, Rhine!" The voice screamed in his head. It was Seth!
A hot flash came over him and he looked to the ceiling closing his eyes. Bible verses shot through his mind in an attempt to calm him. "Though I walk through the valley of the…" He stopped, "No!" he screamed in his head as he opened his eyes.
He reached out without thinking and grabbed Seth’s skull, and stuffed it in under his jacket. In a panic, he shot around the altar and darted out onto the main floor tripping and landing in the midst of the children’s skulls, sending them across the floor in all directions. He looked down to see the helpless, innocent, empty eyes looking back at him and scrambled to his feet.
Regaining his balance, he took off down the center isle, pushing his way through the narthex. He stopped winded, with the skull tightly clutched under his jacket doubled over feeling ill. Taking a calming breath he moved to one of the boxes stacked along side the wall and tore open the lid. His energy drained from his body as he looked upon the mismatched assortment of children’s bones within the box.
Stepping back he found the main door and pushed it open running out into daylight. Outside the building, he stopped and attempted to regain his composure trying not to attract attention to his find. Quickly, he trotted down the steps, walked across the grass, and kept out a watchful eye for anyone who may be watching.
He pulled out his car keys and unlocked the drivers’ door while grasping the skull under his jacket. The door swung open and he quickly tossed the skull on the passenger’s seat covering it with a stack of papers from the backseat. Once inside, he shut the door and started the ignition only to see a teenage boy on the sidewalk watching him.
The boy darted into the alley. Pastor Rhine put the car in drive, stomped on the gas pedal, and spun the tires as he left the church behind.
***
His heart pounding in his chest, the Pastor pulled his sedan into the parking lot of the Denton Valley Inn putting the car in park. Turning off the car, he opened the door, skull in tow, and ran to the staircase along the side of the building. Climbing to the second story landing, he proceeding down the walkway to his room at the end of the Inn. He fumbled for his Inn key, facing the bright red door keeping a firm grip on the skull now under his jacket. The door opened before he could get the key inside. Standing before him in the doorway was his wife Emily, holding their three-year-old son Tony in her arms. She looked him in the eye and said, "Is something wrong Jack?" curling her brow.
"Grab everything!" he cried as he raced inside gathering up clothes and bags. He found an open suitcase, and with his back turned to his wife, placed the skull under a shirt, zipping the bag closed. He turned to see if she saw him do this noticing a grave look of concern on her face.
"Where are we going?" she asked, clutching Tony tight to her. "We just got her two hours ago!"
"I know! Something came up and we can’t stay," he said, gathering up the bags on the bed. "Get down to the car. I’ll be right behind you!"
She hesitated, then turned grabbing her purse and walked out of the room with her child in tow. He tossed the room key on the bed and left the room with their baggage under his arms. He left the door open. "We need to hurry!" he said to her as he came up from behind. She picked up the pace and they both ran as fast as they could down the black iron staircase to the ground below.
Far off in the distance Pastor Rhine could make out the sounds of police sirens breaking over the horizon. His heart was now a humming bird in his chest. The bags were tossed haphazardly in the back seat and the three of them entered the car.
To his right the Pastor saw the Inn clerk dash out of his office waving his arms and shouting incoherently. "Forgive me Lord," he said out loud, put the car in reverse, and stomped on the gas pedal. He then threw the car into drive and took off out of the parking lot watching the clerk in his rear view mirror through the dust.
"What’s going on?" Emily yelled to Jack as little Tony began to cry.
"I will explain later!" Jack yelled back keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead.
The scenery zipped by at 70 mph as the cool October wind blew in through the open window. Keeping an eye in his rear view mirror he saw the tiny flashes of police lights and the faint sounds of sirens racing from behind him.
By this time they were clear of Denton Kansas and were well on their way out of the county. Still the city police pursued him.
"What did you do?" Emily yelled. "Why are they chasing us?"
Pastor Jack looked over to his wife and son and said, "I found something."
"Is this about Seth?"
"Yes. That’s all I can say for now."
The four-door sedan was at top speed at 85 mph. The police behind him made up for lost time and were in the process of overtaking him any minute.
"What’s that up ahead?" Emily asked, pointing out the front windshield.
Pastor Jack squinted as he peered down the road at the two specks on the path ahead. "It’s a roadblock!" he shouted and slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. He applied the breaks and brought the car down to 35 mph until he was about fifty feet from the deputy’s cars blocking his path. It took only seconds for the city police to pull up from behind and block his retreat.
Sweat dripped from Jack’s forehead. He looked to his wife who was holding Tony tight to her chest and clenched his jaw. He spun his head around looking for a way out mumbling to himself.
"You’re scaring me!" his wife said.
The deputies in front of him exited their vehicles and approached the Pastor and his wife with pistols drawn. The police in the rear were coming from behind, shotguns in tow.
Jack gripped the wheel, and with his eyes closed raised his head to the heavens above and said, "Lord, if you can hear my prayer. I ask thee for thy divine assistance in our time of need."
Pastor Jack Rhine’s young son reached out and touched him on the arm. Jack looked over to the boy without saying a word and a calm came over him. The look in the three-year-olds eyes took the fear from his heart, and for the first real time felt the presence of his Lord God.
"Daddy," the young child said. "I hear you."
Like the parting of the Red Sea, the two patrol cars blocking their path separated, shooting off the roadway like toys to a child. Flying end over end, the patrol cars landed in the pasture hundreds of feet apart, in a cloud of dust.
Without hesitation Pastor Jack Rhine spun his tires and charged the men before him. His confidence restored by the power of his God, he drove down the centerline as the deputies unloaded shot after shot into the car. Glass broke, steam shot out from under the hood and pieces of metal flew off the car with each blast, but the car sailed on past out of reach of the lawmen.
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