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The reverend used to wait for the arrival of his congregation on the lawn. He always had a welcome smile for everyone, sincere handshakes, and a few kind words for the children.
Elizabeth, his wife, did not always participate in the welcoming ceremony of the congregation, but when she did, she stood out for her courtesy, even more than her husband did. It was impossible not to like her and love her as pleasant and graceful as she was.
"Reverend Abblepot! What a pleasure to see you again among us! "
"Thanks, Jim. I, too, am happy to be back. Especially when there is someone like you who greets me so affectionately, the pleasure doubles."
"Did you see that I arrived on time, Reverend?"
"Well done, Stuart, I am pleased. Now you have to try to pay attention to the service too! "
While exchanging these pleasantries, the reverend saw, behind the last boy with whom he spoke, Evelyn Archer arrive, followed closely by her nephew. The two had an agitated pace and pouted air. They looked like they had just argued.
The reverend had always thought that Mrs. Archer was one of the kindest people in Vestavia, but there were times when a dark shadow covered her face. Abblepot would never have dared to say that she had an evil look, but when it darkened, Evelyn Archer's face gave a feeling of unease.
No one should enter the church angry with others, Abblepot thought. And a reverend had to do everything to bring his congregation on the right path. Therefore, he immediately went to meet the two.
Martyn had stopped at the edge of the fence, while the old aunt carried on walking towards the church entrance.
Abblepot greeted her: "Good morning, Evelyn," he said as kindly as he could "is everything all right?"
"Good morning, Reverend," replied the old woman seeming lost in thought. Then, with a sudden change of mood, she said, smiling: "It's a beautiful Sunday morning, isn't it?"
Abblepot was almost more troubled by that quick transition to friendliness than from the aggressive mask of just before. He was almost about to continue, trying to investigate the possible causes of Evelyn Archer's anger when a sparkle in the woman's eyes dissuaded him. He was not at all convinced that her excellent humor was sincere, even if it did not seem at all disguised, but this very fact left him speechless.
He felt as he was standing in front of a used-up actress, or even worse, in front of two different personalities trapped in the same person that manifested one after the other. This feeling disturbed him, not just a little, and the mysterious light at the bottom of Mrs. Archer's eyes almost knocked him back.
He moved away and let the old woman pass, who soon after disappeared into the church.
There was still the young Martyn, who continued to stand on the edge of the lawn.
Abblepot remembered the scene from the previous afternoon when, right near the church, he had met him while the boy had pretended not to see him. Could the two events be linked?
Martyn Trischer was stealthily looking towards the vicarage.
Abblepot raised his arm in greeting. This time the young man replied, waving at him and did what he tried to be a smile. Then he lowered his eyes again, pushing his hat a little more down on his head.
That there were disagreements in the community was not new. How many times had the reverend been a peacemaker? Now there seemed to have been an argument, or at least some trouble between the young man and Evelyn: probably everything would be okay soon without the need for anyone's intervention. But Johnathan Abblepot was like that: he could not be entirely at peace if he could not do something to solve a problem.
Now, however, in that situation, he felt as if invisible tentacles forbade him to take a step forward. The reason for his concern was precisely that feeling of discomfort he felt with those two people, something that had never happened to him before.
He decided to take time, also because it was now time to get ready to start the Mass.
He turned and headed for the church. Elizabeth had appeared at the window of her home.
Abblepot did not want to worry her, so he tried to remove the concerned expression he probably had from his face.
He smiled and greeted her.
His wife did as well from behind the window.
When Johnathan Abblepot entered the rear of the church reserved for the reverend, he did not notice that his wife had remained at the window and that Martyn Trischer was still leaning against the fence.
The looks of the two had crossed.
4.
Vestavia Hills, 1859
Nicholas Abbot opened his eyes. It was Tuesday morning. The scent of wood filled the room up.
He lived in a not very large but well-kept house, which his wife appreciated for its quietness.
A slight sticky feeling bound his tongue to the palate. He didn't know what could have been the cause.
The night before, he had gone to bed early enough and slept with a dreamless, deep, but strangely restless sleep.
It must not have been that early, judging by the light that entered the room through the door, which his wife, who had already got up, had left open.
Nicholas staggered in the day room, searching for his wife with bleary eyes.
"Good morning to my dormouse!" Anna greeted him cheerfully.
"Good morning, what time is it?" Nicholas asked, his voice strangely clear and not pasty.
"It was time to wake up!"
Annabeth was particularly cheerful that morning, and that already set the right tone for the day. The disagreements between them a few months ago seemed to be going away gradually.
Nicholas loved her: he liked everything about her, mainly how she tolerated him and how she knew how to be sweet and attentive. He was delighted with her cheerfulness, which was always ready on every occasion. Even though it had been tough for them the previous year, he never stopped experiencing these feelings.
They had been married for four years and had not been able to have children yet, but they didn't let it be an issue, even if it wasn't a comfortable situation.
Nicholas Abbot was a detective. He tried to give a name and an explanation to the tragedies that occurred daily in Vestavia Hills like in the county as in every part of Alabama.
Annabeth had never particularly loved her husband's career: Nick had to deal daily with violence and with people who were indeed not the cream of society. Nevertheless, over the years, she had become used to it: she had never intended to question the profession that her husband loved so much.
After all, nothing serious had ever happened to him in so many years. Not that Nick hadn't been in potentially dangerous situations, but he was cautious enough and very smart. Moreover, his colleagues had always given him a big hand.
"Honey, can we throw this newspaper away?" Anna said, picking up a newspaper that was on the kitchen table.
"What? Oh, no, wait, leave it there. "
"But it's two days old, what are you doing with it? Maybe it there was at least something interesting in it."
Nicholas did not reply. Instead, he asked for breakfast.
The newspaper reported the news of a child found dead not far from Church Yard. The misfortune had affected everyone in the community. The monster's hunting had already begun, but there were those who, as the article said, hypothesized an accidental death.
Reading that article, which in reality did not report anything other than the usual general journalistic information, Nick felt troubled and almost morbidly intrigued. That's why he hadn't thrown the newspaper away yet.
In the last few weeks, other tragedies like that happened, like a kind of god of violence had taken over the people of Vestavia Hills and the county. People seemed to have gotten wicked.
Perhaps, however, it was only his impression: in the months and years before, there had always been misfortunes, either related or not to violence.
However, Nick continued to feel stirred inside.
He picked up the newspaper again, and while drinking his cold milk and eating Anna's cake, he meticulously observed it again, as hypnotized by the page that reported the events of the tragedy.
In the afternoon, Nick greeted his wife with a kiss and began to leave the house; he had decided to go by the police headquarters, despite not being on duty.
"Be careful," she said, as she did every time, even if he had to go buy milk.
The dusty road reflected all the yellow of the sunlight: it didn't look like a day made for the bad news.
Once he arrived, Nick found the familiar smell of tobacco and the usual intense activity to welcome him.
"Abbot! What are you doing here?" said Philip Torrent, one of his roughest colleagues.
"I couldn't stand a day without seeing you, Phil!"
In response, Torrent let out a husky laugh and exposed his partially broken teeth.
His friend Jack said to him, "Since you've come by, Nick, I'll send you to the captain right away. He has been harassing me all morning by saying that he wants to talk to you. Even if you're not on duty. "
"Okay, Jack, thanks. I'll go straight away," said Nicholas.
Instead, he first went to check some files, which was why he had gone there.
He searched through the mess that was around and found what he was looking for: some information about the latest deaths reported by the county newspaper.
Was there something that tied everything? Nicholas thought so he could feel it.
He wanted to make sure he had read all the details that the command recovery officer had gathered and shown him not long ago.
Once he did that, he went to the boss's office.
Mr. Flitter was the worst you could wish for: quick-tempered and moody, and he also had heavy breath. However, he was a good cop.
"Abbot! Just looking for you. "
"Captain."
"Now, I want you to explain to me why you didn't tell me anything about the interrogations you did last week. I thought I was clear. "
Nicholas could have justified himself in some way, but he knew it would only make the situation worse. Therefore, he kept quiet and let the reprimand pass.
"All the information needs to go by me," Flitter yelled, "especially the ones about an investigation that I wanted."
Flitter stopped without speaking any more: with that tone, he had made things clearer than he would have done by spending more time talking.
Nick said, "Of course, sir. My mistake. I'll report back tomorrow when I'm back on duty. "Then he added hurriedly," I want to ask you to deal with a case. "
Flitter blinked as if he had been annoyed by a bug: "What?!"
"I want to investigate the boy found dead."
"Wolf is already working on that."
"And the latest alleged cases of violence in the county," Nick continued as if he had not heard Flitter's statement.
"I said Wolf is already working on that case."
Nick insisted: "I want to investigate, even privately. I promise you that I will not take time away from my other duties; you should reduce them a little. "He concluded like that with a smartass look on his face.
The two looked at each other for a few long seconds.
Then the captain said, "To hell with it. I know that even if I didn't permit you, you would do it anyway. Also, Wolf just let us know that he is not well and won't be for a few days, that bastard."
Getting some of the other idiots out there to do his job means wasting time." Finally, he added authoritatively: "But you will have to report everything to Wolf and me when he returns. Understand?"
"Understood," Nick said and then slipped out of the office. After all, Flitter was a good cop.
He decided to keep the half-day he had off and spend some time with Anna: before facing death and violence again, he needed something beautiful that would show him what else life can reserve.
The next morning he woke up early, even before his wife. He went out to scout the city.
He would begin to visit all the public businesses once again: the shopkeepers were good informants, even involuntary; thanks to all the people they met each day, and those they could notice walking up and down the street. Never underestimate the disconnected look of a butchery owner who observes what people, who walk past him, do and how they behave.
As soon as Nick found himself on the main road of Vestavia Hills, he felt it wasn't going to be a day like any other at all.
There was incredible fibrillation in the air, a palpable heaviness as if someone had spread a wet blanket over the shoulders of the whole town.
It did not take him long to understand why people exchanged inquisitive looks and had a sort of interest that one noticed as soon as one set foot on the street.
Once around the corner of Hickory Road, Nicholas saw in the distance, towards Church Yard, a column of black smoke that had nothing reassuring.
He quickened his pace. Then he decided to let go of all restraint and started running.
Once there, he found several people still staring astonished at the burning rubble. Several small groups had formed throughout the Church Yard: people talked to each other to give themselves the courage and try to understand what had happened, but without raising their voices, as you do at a man's deathbed.
The burning building was the church. The fire must have developed very early in the morning, and the fact that the construction was slightly away from all the houses had perhaps contributed to delaying the alarm.
Then action was taken, probably with a human chain, to try to put out the flames using buckets of water.
Flames had burnt more than half of the church, and the embers were still hot and kept under control by a group of citizens. The vicarage wasn't too damaged, although the part closest to the church had the signs of the flames, similar to enormous dark fingers that stretched to grasp it.
Nicholas was surprised that he didn't realize something was going on, but probably the wind blew in the opposite direction to his house, so neither the smoke nor the screams of fear had reached it. Also, his home was on the other side of Vestavia in respect to the church, and that agitation around it left no traces in his neighbourhood.
