I walked to my office as
fast as I could.
I needed to get away from
those two.
I couldn’t tell why they
had bothered me so much, but at this point, after everything that had happened,
I wasn’t going to question my gut instinct.
Once inside my office,
with the door safely closed, I took a deep breath.
My eyes fell on a stack
of papers, stuff we had pulled from the basement.
The picture, the one of
the Sisters of Suffering, sat on top.
I walked to it, a part of
my mind already knowing what I would discover.
I picked up the picture
and looked at the young nun, the one whose face was partially hidden.
She had looked familiar,
and now I knew why.
She was the spitting
image of Trisha King.
The older nun standing
next to her, her face puckered in disapproval, was equally as familiar.
I had just seen that face
a few minutes ago.
Howie Moore.
I didn’t care if they saw
me.
I ran from my office,
from the building, making a straight line to my car.
I knew what I had to do,
and whom I had to tell.
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