Field of Graves(50)

As Mary Margaret lost consciousness, she heard one last word. A strangled whisper. She didn’t know if it was from her God or the priest being immolated with her, but the word filled her with peace, and she stopped struggling against her earthly bonds.

“Forgiven,” the voice said.

And the flames took them.





40


He stood watching the flames, a small smile playing on his lips. He raised his eyes to the dark and boiling skies. “And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven...”





41



The skies were still roiling with gray and black clouds, and rain continued to pour down. Lightning reached out a fiery hand toward the earth. Nature wasn’t finished with her punishment, but the winds had lessened.

Downtown Nashville looked like a war zone. Trees, trash, metal—all were strewn around in the streets like litter after a celestial concert, carelessly dropped by receding waves of humanity. People were venturing into the streets to survey the damage, their eyes wide with the excitement and fear that accompanies every natural calamity. The sense of awe was palpable; it was dazzling to be involved in something that they had no control over.

Workplaces were left with flickering lights or no electricity at all, so many had shut down for the rest of the day. It was better for the people not directly involved in the cleanup to get out of the way. The tornado had cut a swath two hundred yards wide right down the main downtown streets of Nashville, but most of the outlying areas had only suffered superficial damage. There were no reports of deaths.

Fitz, Marcus, and Lincoln had sneaked off to their respective homes to see if they had taken a hit from the storm. Price had to deal with the law enforcement aspects of helping with the cleanup. He wasn’t very popular with the rest of the detectives in the CID at the moment. After a brief meeting with the chief of police, he’d called in all the off-duty detectives. They weren’t happy to find they needed to go help Patrol work the roadblocks that had been put up around Nashville to help NES get the power back on.

With everyone gone, Taylor finally felt as if she had some breathing room. She and Baldwin stayed in the Homicide office, planning their next steps. They were still on generator power, working under odd, not quite bright lights. The storm damage was impeding their ability to cross town to Vanderbilt to interview everyone again, and the phones were all down. As with most of the downtown businesses, it appeared the school had been closed down, so the students and administration were scattered.

After a frustrating hour of waiting, they gave up, decided to take a break and get some food. She was glad for a momentary respite from the case to clear her head and recharge her batteries.

As they drove out on Interstate 40, circling around downtown, they were impressed at how quickly the cleanup was progressing. Many of the streets had already been cleared. The damage was not as severe as it had initially looked, but many trees were uprooted, and power lines were strewn across the streets.

Taylor decided it would be best to get out of the way, so she suggested they head back to her side of town to get some dinner. She lived in Bellevue, a small community just west of Nashville. It didn’t take them long to make the drive. The tornado had been confined to downtown. Once past the exits for West End, the streets were relatively clear.

She pulled into a neighborhood restaurant called Jonathan’s, and they went inside. The place was packed, a beehive of activity. It seemed no one wanted to stay at home; they’d all come out to share the day’s excitement. They made their way through the throng of people waiting for tables at the front door and went into the back bar.

They’d been making desultory chitchat on the ride over, mostly about the weather. The memory of her outburst had faded away. More comfortable together now, they ordered beers. Taylor brought out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Baldwin.

Baldwin gave her a grateful grin. “I’d love one, but I quit a few years ago.”

Taylor gave him a smile and lit the cigarette. “So did I.” She took a couple of drags, crushed it out, and rose.

“Will you order me some fried clams? I need to go to the bathroom.”

“No problem.” He watched her walk away and saw many heads turn as she pushed through the crowd. He started berating himself. He knew now why he was interested in staying on this case, and it wasn’t only the murders themselves.

Taylor wove her way to the bathroom, grateful to find it empty. She stood in front of the mirror, pretending to smooth down her hair. She could have easily let Baldwin head to his own home, but instead she’d invited him to dinner. There was something about him that made her want to stay in his company. She’d lashed out at him earlier more from fear than anything else. When he’d offered to be there for her if she needed him when they were out on the steps, she’d had a yearning so strong it felt like a blow to the chest. Something about Baldwin had gotten under her skin, and she was furious at herself for letting that happen.

At the same time, she wanted to fall into his arms, cry on his shoulder, try to explain the frustration, the pain she was feeling. She was lonely. He was the nearest attractive warm body, even if he was screwed up.

She gave herself a once-over in the mirror. Knock it off, Taylor. This isn’t right. She nodded to herself in reluctant agreement and went back to Baldwin.

The kitchen had worked quickly; there was a plate of fried clams in front of her seat. She sat, noting that Baldwin had not started eating his cheeseburger. Manners. Hmm.