- STEVEN -

"I really have a ton of homework to do—"

"Steven, it's Wednesday night." My mother's hands rose to her hips. "You know we have church."

"Come on, Mom," I begged. "It's just this one time—and my grade in history is borderline. I need to get this essay written."

She rolled her eyes.

"Mom, what? What did I say?"

"Well, it seems lately there's always a ton of homework on Wednesdays. And the last time you swore up and down that you'd be slaving over a mountain of textbooks, your father and I came home early to find you and Dylan playing your X-Box in the living room."

I dropped my gaze. 

"That's what I thought," she said with an unyielding voice. "Now go upstairs and get dressed. I have to be there early tonight, so I can't give you a ride. You'll have to take your car."

****

I rattled into the parking lot atop the crunch of disembodied asphalt, rolling to a stop as I paused to gaze ahead of me at EdgeWay Church of Christ—at the silvery-gray bricks that glistened under the light moisture of the evening, the stringed arrays of bright lights decorating stony segments of wall that stood between glass windows.

The sounds of car doors opening and footsteps clattering across the gravel vibrated through the air, parents scurrying alongside their little ones toward the double doors separating them from their kind and loving pastor—dear old dad.

I stuffed my hands inside my jacket pockets and shuffled forward, keeping my eye out for Dylan, or any friendly face for that matter. Anyone I could talk to without having to staple a smile to my cheeks the entire time.

"Steven, there you are!" My mother waved me over the moment I walked inside. "There's someone I'd love for you to meet." She was standing next to that senile black lady who'd found me in the side-office building the day before.

"Hey, Mom," I managed.

"Steven, this is Charity Vaughn-Daley. She just joined the church yesterday, and we're so thrilled to have her."

"Hi." I looked hard in her eyes. "I'm Steven." I extended my hand, and she shook it.

"Hello, Steven." A welcoming smile spread across her face. "Oh, what a firm handshake you have!"

Is she really not going to say anything about yesterday?

"Steven," my mom continued, "Ms. Vaughn-Daley is a marvelous woman indeed. She moved here all the way from Bright Faith Church in California."

I'd heard of that church before, but all I really knew about it was that it was big. Huge, in fact. They had somewhere upwards of thirteen thousand members.

"Bright Faith, huh?" I asked. "You're a member there?"

"Actually, I'm the pastor," Charity replied. "Or, I was the pastor, anyway. I resigned four years ago."

No way was this lady the pastor of Bright Faith. "Resigned, huh? Bright Faith's a pretty big church. Can't imagine you'd wanna leave all that behind."

"Steven!" my mother chided. "You needn't be so froward. I'm sure she had her reasons."

Charity smiled. "Oh, Evelyn, it's quite alright." She turned to me. "The truth is, dear, I left to pursue the call of God as a Love Revivalist."

I hesitated. "...A what?"

"We're a growing group of Christians trying to bring back the teachings of God's love in churches all across the nation."

"Oh, how wonderful, Charity!" my mom gushed with delight. "Steven, isn't that just amazing?"

"Y-yeah." I nodded, scratching my head. "Yeah, that's real...amazing. Look, Mom, I should probably go find Dylan. I promised I'd sit with him tonight and—"

"What's up, lil' bro?" A hand clapped heavily against my back.

I turned to face my older brother Cameron, hand-in-hand with a slim brunette girl who wore a tucked white blouse and a ruffled purple skirt.

"Cam!?" I gasped as he moved closer, gripping my palm and drawing me in for a bearhug. "What're you doing here? I thought you weren't coming down until you finished that big project for your boss back in Chicago."

Cam grinned. "Turns out I work faster than that old creep gives me credit for. Finished the project an entire month in advance, and I'm still getting paid, so I figured why not come visit the fam for a few days?"

"Dude, that's awesome," I beamed, smiling for the first time since I'd made it to church. "We gotta go do something while you're here."

"For sure, bro. You already know it!" He high-fived me, then turned to face Charity. "...And you are?"

"Charity." She smiled warmly, extending her own hand for him to shake. "Charity Vaughn-Daley, an old acquaintance of your father's. We've known each other since Seminary—"

"Wait, what?" Mom cut in. "Marcus never mentioned that. I thought yesterday was the first time you two had ever met."

"Oh, I'm sure he would have gotten around to telling you," Charity assured her. "After all, I've only just joined the church. And with all the buzz going on about that body found in the school, it probably just slipped his mind."

She has an answer to everything, I thought to myself. And I bet she's lying through her teeth.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Miss Vaughn-Daley," Cam cut back in, returning Charity's smile.

"The pleasure's all mine, dear."

"Cam," the girl on his arm whispered sweetly, "aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, babe." He cleared his throat. "Mom, Steven, Miss Vaughn-Daley, this is my girlfriend Anna."

She reached out her free hand to shake Charity's, mine, and Mom's, smiling at the three of us while still clinging to Cam.

"We've been officially dating for seven months now," Cam announced, then nuzzled his nose against her ear.

"Well, you make a lovely couple," Charity replied.

Does this lady ever stop talking?

My mother glanced at her wristwatch. "Oh, my! The service starts in eight minutes. I must get going. It was wonderful meeting you, Anna." She turned to go, waving hurriedly as she scampered out of the main sanctuary through the nearest side door.

"...So," I spoke up after a moment's silence, "I, uh, guess we should go find seats then."

The first row of chairs was only scarcely populated, as usual, so I took a seat toward the left edge. Cam and Anna followed suit, taking seats to my right, and Charity bade us goodbye before heading off to the bathroom. I'm pretty sure I breathed a sigh of relief the moment she left the sanctuary.

I don't know what her deal is, but that woman is insane.

After a few more minutes, my dad walked in the side entrance chatting with our church's treasurer, Landon Rhymes. The two of them seemed happy enough laughing at small talk, and I saw Charity walk back inside the sanctuary slowly behind them. She took a seat in the third row, where she placed her purse gently on the ground before setting her Bible and a floral notebook on the chair beside her.

Dad climbed the steps leading to the stage, and Landon strolled over to where I was stationed in the front row.

"Good to see you, Steven." He smiled warmly as he settled in next to me.

I nodded back in reply, then turned to face the front of the sanctuary, where my father had taken his place behind the dark wooden podium.

"Welcome, everyone," Dad began. "It's wonderful to see all of you this evening. God has a lot in store for each and every person here. I can't wait to share with you from His Word tonight."

My father continued talking; I know he must have. But I honestly couldn't tell you a single thing he said.

He was turning the pages of his leather-bound Bible on stage, likely navigating between two passages of Scripture, when I felt my seat vibrate rhythmically against my thigh.

I glanced to my left, spotted Landon's cell as it buzzed against the cushioned pew.

Landon angled his neck downward, his phone sourcing the incoming call as originating from an "Unknown Caller." He looked swiftly left, then right—then he got up and ambled through a side exit door.

What was that all about? I thought on it for a moment as I glanced back up at the stage. Dad was still droning on, and some memory verse from a passage I'd never even heard of was projected in bold print on the sanctuary screen. The eyes of the audience stayed strictly ahead, motionless, refusing to desert their strong shepherd in his time of eulogy.

Sliding my Bible onto the seat next to mine, I opted to follow Landon's fine example and scurry for the halls.

I slid from my seat, padded quietly to the same exit door Landon had used and pressed it open, tiptoeing out and silently praying (Ha—the irony!) that my father was too distracted to notice my bemused getaway.

When I'd made it into the hallway, I twisted left and glanced quickly from side to side.

Where'd Landon go?

It wasn't long before I had an answer.

"Glenn? Yeah, he was my friend. What's it to you?"

I whirled to the right, gaze shooting down the carpeted hall before landing on a man cuddling his phone to his ear. Landon?

"Listen, you creep. I don't know who you think you are..." Landon trailed off.

The staticky feedback of hushed words on the other end was just barely audible.

"No, you're in danger!" Landon began again, voice rising. "If you seriously think you can threaten me like this and get away with it—"

Lowly, dully, I made out the dial tone; whoever was on the other end had hung up. Landon grunted angrily and gritted his teeth. His left hand, resting at his waist, clenched instinctively into a fist.

Who was that guy? I thought to myself as I started inching backwards to return to the service.

Landon paused, his head suddenly jerking up and turning to face me directly. "Steven!?" He rushed briskly forward and gripped my arm. "Steven, what are you doing? Were you...spying on me?"

"I—I just..."

"Steven, what did you hear?"

"Landon, chill out," I tried. "I wasn't spying. I just came out here to get some fresh air."

"Steven, don't lie to me," he growled. "Why would you do this? Did your father put you up to it?"

Huh? "Put me up to what, being spooked by whatever 'unknown caller' decided to give you a ring in the middle of church?" I felt my words sharpen, voice finding its edge as I stared back at Landon's accusatory eyes. "You looked freaked, and I thought something was wrong, so I came out here to see what the deal was. How was I supposed to know I'd find you yelling at some creep over the—"

Incredulous and inpatient, my burgeoning tirade was cut short by a terrified woman's hollering pitch.

"What the—"

"Judith?" Landon's tone suddenly shifted.

"Who?"

"That sounded like Judith Saver. She's running the nursery tonight..."

"But why would—"

Landon took off running.

"Landon!" I called. "Landon, wait!" In a split second, I was bolting after him.

I raced down the main hallway before turning, doubling to the right, then spotted a thin woman curled over with her back against the wall adjacent to the EdgeWay nursery. Thin strands of graying blond hair draped over her shoulders, her lower lip quivering as she stared blankly forward.

Is that her? I wondered. Judith?

"Sh—she's dead," the woman said as I drew closer, her words sending a surge of ice down my spine.

"Wh-who?" I asked, breaths uneven as they escaped my lips. "...Who's dead?"

"Don't go in there," she whispered. "Steven, don't go in there." She hazarded a glance at the door to the nursery room just inches away from her, then shut her eyes—shuddering as she twisted away.

I moved forward on shaking steps. "L-Landon?" I called out.

"Stay back, kid!" He shouted from inside the room, his voice seeping from behind the cracked door. "Lord, help us all."

"Landon," I began, grasping the door's edge, inching it slowly open. "Landon, what're you—?"

"I SAID STAY BACK!" he screamed.

Shivering against my nerves, I swung the door widely and stepped inside—my jaw dropping at the sight of the bloody massacre.

"What the f—"

"Shh..." Landon mused.

The lights overhead seemed to dim with each passing second, almost as though sapped of strength by the skin and bones over which they rained their pale and imperfect glimmer.

It was a woman—I could tell that much. Her eyes were shut, and her face was smeared with fresh, dripping blood. She was dressed in a royal-blue blouse stained by purple splotches. Her neck was cocked backward, and her corpse rested on a mat of firewood. What must have been twenty matches littered the floor next to the mat, sitting at angles on squared fragments of apricot paper that curved at their edges like scrolls.

Paper? No, those weren't paper.

My eyes darting to her lower body, I noticed that both hands sat on top of her waist and were wrapped in black-and-white newsprint. Through blots of blood, I made out typeset words penned in ebony strokes across the clippings.

"Those are...newspaper articles," I breathed.

Landon nodded wordlessly.

"Terror in Paradise," I read aloud the title of the newsprint closest to me, the one covering the corpse's right hand. I gasped. "Landon...that's—that's Madam Caroline..."

I started stepping away slowly, averting my eyes as I did, and caught a glimpse of the room's leftmost wall, across which crimson words were streaked and trickling:

Where no wood is, there the fire goeth out.
So where there is no busybody, the strife ceaseth.

"No," I breathed. "This can't be happening again..."

Footsteps began to fall against the carpet outside in the hallway—people were coming, lots of them.

Either church had let out, or Judith Saver's scream had brought everyone running.

"Call the cops, kid," Landon said, a shiver in his voice.

My hand descended into my pocket, but my eyes dared not dart away. I was frozen in place, staring at the blood on the wall and the corpse of a busybody.

****

I couldn't remember anything else that happened that night. I knew I must have gone home, must have slept. Maybe I'd managed to say a few words to my dad, or maybe I'd been wordless the entire time.

Somehow, some way, I made it to school the following morning. I made it through the early class periods of the day, and I even made it through the lunch line with food on my tray. But after seeing that body, who knew if I could ever eat again?

Words were swirling through the air as I brushed past curious classmates and their prying eyes.

That's him, I could feel their stares whispering. He's the one who found Madam Caroline's body.

I arrived at my usual table to greet Dylan, setting my lunch tray on the table and taking a seat. I tried opening my mouth—really, I did—but I couldn't. My vocal cords dragged in my throat, not even allowing the subtlest of whimpers to escape my lips.

"Hey, Steven." Dylan just stared at me knowingly. "I, uh, heard about...you know, what happened. And I..." His voice trailed off into a sigh.

My eyes fell to the table, to the full plate of food that sat untouched in front of me.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that," Dylan spoke the first coherent sentence I'd been able to process all day.

My neck slouched, and I rested my head in my palms.

Dylan reached out, slid his arm over my shoulder, pulled me in tightly. "Landon said you really pulled through, Steven. You called the cops, told them what you'd found. If that'd been me, I...I don't know what I would've done."

He was trying. He really was.

I turned to him, smiled faintly. "...Th-thanks, Dylan. Thanks for everyth—"

"Well, isn't that sweet?" A shrilly mocking voice rose above the others in the lunchroom.

Dylan and I turned simultaneously forward.

"...G-Grace?"

"I know what you did, Steven." She folded her arms as she glared at me. "You can play the victim all you want, but you're not fooling me."

"Grace, w-what're you talking about?"

A sarcastic smile stretched across her face as she plopped her backpack down on the lunch table and ripped it open with lightning speed.

"L-look," I shivered, "I don't know what you're trying to—"

"SHUT UP!" Grace shrieked. "You know what you did! And now, so will everyone else!" She yanked a fifteen-inch silver-topped computer from her bag.

But it wasn't her computer...it was mine.

She flipped up the screen and opened the Safari web browser, then dragged the mouse across the screen and clicked on my least favorite tab.

Web History.

"Oh my," she mocked, lifting her hand to her throat as I sat wide-mouthed, unable to move, unable to speak.

"Oh, Steven, she's sooooo pretty," Grace cooed as she enlarged the first video she found to fullscreen. A beautiful blond moved, breasts-down, across the silky surface of a plushly satin-topped bed. The woman froze suddenly, whipping her front to face the camera and grinning as she did.

I heard ooh's and whoa's echo through the air as boys at the tables behind us turned their attention to the star of the show.

Grace was breathing heavily, so heavily that I almost mistook it for laughing. "All those things..." she began through tense heaves, "all those things you said to me...about how I meant everything to you, about how you cared about me..." Moisture was building at the base of her eyes. "All that crap you made me do for having a freaking conversation with Ahmed, some freshman boy!...And you were doing THIS the whole time?"

She slammed my computer top down, then shoved it across the table at me. "We're over, Steven!" she screamed. "WE'RE OVER!"

For a moment, she looked like she might break down in tears.

But then something changed.

Something shifted in her eyes.

She rose her hand to rest it on her hip. "I'm through," she laughed. "I'm finally, finally through."

Then she zipped her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

On any other day, I'd have told her how hot she looked doing that. But not today. Today, I had come to school numb, muted, my mind adrift in the terror of finding Madam Caroline's body.

But what Grace had done was on a whole new level—she hadn't just silenced my brain, rendered me unable to speak.

She'd ripped the voice out of me altogether.