Letters from the Dead pt. 48

They stopped laughing when they noticed me walking towards them.

“I was just telling my friend what had happened.”

Trisha looked towards her feet in what I guessed was an attempt to seem distraught.

The young man held out his hand. 

“My name is Howie Moore.  I work over at the Church of the New Day.” 

I recognized the name. 

It was some mega church that had just opened up outside of town. 

Howie was tall, lanky, with olive skin, hawkish features and dark hair that was bleached at the tips.

Up close he looked to be in his thirties, the frosted tips an obvious attempt to appear younger.

“Howie is the youth pastor.”

Trisha’s comment didn’t come as a surprise.  It explained the late 90’s hair.

“He was just helping me make sense of the horrific tragedy.”

She was lying to me. 

I knew it.

I told her that I was glad she was seeking guidance, and after a few niceties, I made my way past them to the main entrance.

I needed to get away from them. 

Being near them made my skin crawl.