The Mask Maker [3]

I love this story to death!

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As I neared the cathedral, my stomach squirmed. I hadn’t stepped a foot in that building for five years. It seemed almost unknown to me. Shadows loomed over the façade, and the cross hanging above the entrance glared at me.

Was it right for a sinner to step into a holy place?

I’m not here to worship Jesus, I reminded myself. I’m here to find the priest’s wife.

Mustering all the courage I could, I stepped through the doors and into the building. To my relief, I saw Emily Ross, the priest’s wife, sitting alone on the pew. The rest of the building was silent, save for Mrs. Ross’ subtle sobs.

I tried not to glance into the hallways; they were forbidding.

Taking a deep breath, I walked swiftly up to the pew that Mrs. Ross was sitting at. I didn’t startle her. She wiped her eyes and turned to me. Her skin was paler than I had last seen her. She wasn’t even in her early forties, yet she had wrinkles. She used to be beautiful. She used to have long, ravishingly red hair. It was pale now. It was as if she were in a black and white movie.

“Mrs.—” I caught myself. “Sister Ross.”

“Hello, Brother Wells. I haven’t seen you for a while.” She bit her lip to fight back the tears.

“I know. I’m sorry about that. I, uh, I…” I didn’t have an excuse.

“People come and go in this church. Have you noticed that, in all the years you were active? There were those strong ones that never left, and then there were the weak ones like myself,” Mrs. Ross whispered.

I silently sat next to her.

“I’m leaving the church, Brother Wells. Just like you. You were right, you know. There is no God.”

“Don’t say that!” I muttered, staring into her eyes. “You’ve always been the woman that I’ve looked up to in the church. You can’t leave. You know that God lives. I don’t. It was my choice—”

“Brother Wells, please. I’ve already decided. God wouldn’t kill his own priest. My Mike was the holiest of all the men. Next to the Pope, of course, but still.”

I nodded, and folded my arms. I didn’t know if I could interrogate her now about her husband. It was a far too sensitive subject.

But I had to know more about this Mask Maker. There was an emotion that stirred within me whenever I thought about the killer.

“Sister Ross, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She continued to dab her eyes with her handkerchief.

“Your husband… did he have any enemies?”

Mrs. Ross stared into my eyes. Her once blue eyes were now black and cold.

“What do you know about the Mask Maker?” she asked me. My jaw dropped in surprise.

“Nothing. Well, I know that he cuts the skin off of his victims and makes them into masks. That’s all I know.”

“You don’t know who he is?” she asked. I shook my head, my eyes wide.

“His name is Brother Pastor. Edgar Pastor.”

“He used to go to this church?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. He was one of the most active members. Mike had just begun his ministering when Brother Pastor joined the church. He was such a decent man. I would never have thought that he would—” She never finished her thought. She glanced up at a clock on the wall and said, “Oh, my! I must get going! My brother is going to be picking me up in five minutes. I’m sorry, Brother Wells. I have to get going.”

“Oh, of course! But, before you go, can you tell me where I might find this Edgar Pastor?”

“He doesn’t have a permanent place of residence, Brother Wells, but you might be able to find him around Brother Roger Forggin’s cottage, just outside of the city. And please, Brother Wells, don’t let him know I sent you. I’m never going to see you again. Goodbye, Brother Wells. I’m glad that you have a happier life now, and I hope you continue to live one.”

“Where are going with your brother, Sister?” I asked.

“I am moving out with him to New York. Goodbye.” She waved, turned around, and exited through the cathedral doors for her last time, leaving me alone.

My excitement was too much to hold in. I jumped up in joy, because everything was coming together.

Roger Forggin was dead. The Mask Maker used to live with him. Father Ross was dead. He was the Mask Maker’s priest.

So Edgar Pastor did have a pattern to his killings. I ran out of the cathedral as quickly as I could, my stomach bubbling with excitement.