83
Evers
The truck slid to a stop. Evers turned off the ignition, checked the rearview mirror, and leaped out of the pickup, slamming the door. He raced for the church through the wet snow. Glancing to his right, he noticed that the street was as silent as a winter landscape painting. No one in sight. No car lights, only the amber street light and the distant window glow of neighboring homes. Did he lose them?
He reached in his pocket and retrieved the keys to the heavy oak entrance doors to St. Michael’s. He tugged at it to find it locked as he anticipated. He recalled when church doors were never locked, inviting people inside before crime and vandalism became pervasive. But now it worked towards his advantage. He turned the key in the lock, snow lacing his face, then opened and enter
