Step to the Graveyard Easy Read Free Page A

silence seemed to echo faintly with half-remembered voices, half-remembered words.
Dominus vobiscum. Et cum spiritu tuo. Pater noster, cut es in caelis.
Hail Mary, full of grace. Blessed art thou among women. Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
Kyrie eleison.
    For a long time he sat without moving. The restlessness stirred in him finally, brought him out of himself. On impulse he made the sign of the cross, something he hadn’t done in more than a decade. Mary Lynn would have been astonished. Probably would’ve tried to take credit for him being here. He stood, turned out of the pew.
    Someone was standing in the shadows by the nave, watching him.
    Priest. Young, Cape saw as he came forward, dark-haired and moonfaced, shapeless in his robes. Smiling.
    “Hello. I’m Father Zerbeck.”
    “Hello, Father.”
    “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you a member of this parish?”
    “Once, a long time ago. I grew up three blocks from here.”
    “You still have family in the neighborhood?”
    “Not anymore.”
    “Have you moved back here, then?”
    “No.”
    “But I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I? Recently?”
    “A time or two,” Cape admitted.
    “May I ask why?”
    “It’s a good place to sit and think. Look inside yourself, make decisions.”
    “Is that the only reason you come to St. Vincent’s?”
    “I’m not much for prayer, Father.”
    “That’s too bad,” the priest said, but he was still smiling. “You seem troubled. Is there anything I can do?”
    “No. My decisions are all made.”
    “That isn’t what I meant.”
    “I know what you meant,” Cape said.
    “If you’d like to take confession—”
    “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t do me any good.”
    “Are you so sure of that?”
    “Sure enough.”
    “It’s never too late to ask for God’s help.”
    “Isn’t it?”
    “Have you… lost your faith?”
    “The way you mean it, I guess I have.”
    “What caused you to lose it?”
    “That’s between God and me.”
    “So you do still believe in him?”
    “I believe in him, all right,” Cape said. “What I question is that he’s as benevolent as we’re taught.”
    “Then why do you still come to his house?”
    “I told you, it’s a good place to sit and think.”
    “Have you tried talking to him? He does listen, you know.”
    “I’m all talked out.”
    “He’ll help you find yourself, if you let him.”
    “I’m not lost. Not anymore.”
    “Aren’t you?” the priest said.
    Cape said, “Keep the faith for both of us, Father,” and went out of this cool, hushed sanctuary for the last time.
    At 4:15 he was on the highway again.
    Heading southwest, the radio tuned to a Chicago jazz station, the window rolled down, air rushing in hot and humid against his face.
    First stop? It didn’t matter.
    He cranked up the volume, bore down harder on the gas.
    No longer standing still.



4
    St. Louis.
    Nashville.
    Memphis.
    No set itinerary. Each new day a discovery. Interstates, state and county highways, back roads. Large cities, small cities, rural towns, backwaters. Tourist attractions and scenic vistas; bleak alleys and redneck haunts. High life, low life, day people and night crawlers. The good, the bad, and the ugly. He wanted to taste them all.
    Vicksburg.
    Natchez.
    Deep in the heart of Dixie. Traces of the antebellum South in the oldest civilized settlement on the Mississippi River. Under-the-Hill section along the waterfront; medium-stakes poker game in one of the back rooms of a tavern that had once been a cotton storage warehouse. Five- and seven-card stud and Texas Hold’em. He’d learned poker in his dorm at Ball State, played a fair amount of it since. Knew the game’s finer points, but had never had a great deal of luck. Too conservative, not enough focus or concentration. Here he found himself playing in a different style—betting aggressively, card tracking, reading the other players’ faces and body language, bluffing, sandbagging, raising