“You’re more of an expert on this device than I am. What do the settings tell you?”

Lucas got down on his knees and looked at the settings and indicators. “Clever man, he’s transferred himself to the next receiver station.”

“Which is?”

“The property.”

<°)))><

A softer floor this time, but just as cold as the last one. The Rev wondered where he was now.

He stood up and tried to take in the new environment. Bare walls, some seats towards the back, one window with security grilles. It reminded him of the prison cells that he had visited as part of his pastoral duties over the years, except there were fewer items in this room.

He grabbed a chair, sat down and asked the Lord what he was meant to do now.

There was nothing the Rev could do.

This was a jail: there was no way out. Was anybody around? He yelled a few times but his voice just bounced off the walls.

<°)))><

Smoke filtered up through the trees on the property. It was a common sight to see property owners burning off. The council could investigate smoke if it irritated or annoyed others. Starkey had kept this in mind. He burnt things bit by bit; he did not want anyone investigating the property, not yet anyway.

It was time to flee. To burn what evidence was left. Cover his tracks.

The small fire was down the back of the property near a row of pine trees. The hypnotic nature of the fire had caught his attention. He stood there staring, then nodded his head. It was time to go. He started walking to his car. Something caught his attention—a noise coming from the shed or maybe from an adjoining property. It sounded like a voice, but he just shrugged it off.

His phone sat on the passenger seat. Three missed calls from Grant Windsor. He returned the call but there was no answer. He would drive past Grant’s place on the way to the airport.

Starkey looked up at the house. He stared for a few moments and then said goodbye and drove off.

The drive to Windsor’s place was a careful one. He tried Windsor’s apartment but there was no one home. Starkey wrote a note. It was not his preference. He dropped the note and a spare set of car keys in the letterbox.

He called Lucas before driving to the airport.

<°)))><

Lucas was in the passenger seat. Tag was the driver for the return trip. Lucas’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. Bruce Stark Calling. He decided to answer it.

“Hello, Starkey.”

“Hi, Lucas. Sorry to bother you but I’m trying to locate Windsor. I had a meeting scheduled with him. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“Not lately. Saw him a couple of hours ago. He told us that he’d be in contact if he needed us.” Lucas finished the call. Starkey had said goodbye as if he meant it. He turned to Tag. “I’m going to have a smoke. You want one?”

Tag looked at Lucas. “You’re acting mighty strange, Lucas. Never seen you smoke in the car before.”

“It’s fine, mate. Did you want one or not?”

“Nah . . . you know, Lucas, I reckon the minister was a brave man using the technology. Don’t think I would.”

“Don’t think I would either, mate.” Lucas lit his smoke, wound the window down and took a long drag. He thought of the minister, pictured his face and blew some smoke in the direction of the imaginary face.

You’re cool, Lucas, the voice in his head told him. Real cool . . . real tough. After a few more puffs, the cigarette was flicked out of the car with some aggression—sparks bounced along the road behind them.

“How come you didn’t tell Starkey about the transfer?” asked Tag.

“Not sure. Must have forgotten. No drama.” Lucas didn’t want to tell Tag there was no transfer. He just left Windsor in that cold room with his dead son. 

<°)))><

The Rev got up from his chair and did another scan of the room. It was obvious that the room was built to keep people in. How long was he going to be here for? There was a toilet, a table with some packets of crackers, some bottled water. The crackers and water would keep him alive if he was in for an extended stay.

He was racking his brain for facts. He sat down and placed his head in his hands. Father . . . help me to be at peace with my circumstances. Things would be okay. Time for some rest, an opportunity to spend time with God without the distractions of the world. He thought of Jentezen Franklin and how his church began each year with twenty-one days of fasting, a time of restoring energy and spiritual sharpness. He smiled, reminding himself to be thankful in all circumstances.

The Rev was thinking of the past and the future, but knew his thoughts needed to be in the now. How hard it was to be in the present moment, as the mind seeks out distractions. Oh, how to steady the mind. He started saying a prayer that he knew monks and nuns used: they called it the Jesus Prayer:

Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.

He prayed the simple prayer over and over. It was his favourite prayer because it summed up the whole Gospel: who Jesus is and who we are.

At one point the Rev, with his head bowed, felt a presence in the room. He looked up and knew God was with him. He thought of the Bible verse when God allowed Moses to see God’s glory.

And the LORD said, “Here is a place by Me, and you shall stand on the rock. So it shall be, while My glory passes by, that I will put you in the cleft of the rock, and will cover you with My hand while I pass by. Then I will take away My hand, and you shall see My back; but My face shall not be seen.”

The Rev thought of God’s glory, so powerful it could not remain in front of Moses, it had to pass by him. Even with that, Moses was protected by the hand of God and the cleft of the rock when the glory of God passed before him.

“Thank you Father.” He would wait for those that the Lord would bring.

<°)))><

Should Windsor have seen it coming? He believed not. He saw a look on Lucas’s face that he hoped never to see again. The door was slammed in his face and he was told to rot with his son.

He’d left his phone in the car. There was no way out except the way that pastor escaped and there was no way Windsor was going to consider that. Who knew where that pastor ended up?

Solitude scared Windsor. He needed to be active in mind, body and soul. Activity stopped him from thinking. But now he sat, staring at his son floating in the tank, and he was a confused man. Solitude had been forced on him and he didn’t know what to do.

The equipment in the room gave off a steady, monotonous humming—there were no distracting noises. Windsor’s head was clearing but he did not like what was being revealed: fear. All these years, that was what he had been running from. He could focus now. He listened to the voice in his head, and for the first time he thought that maybe he wasn’t listening to the right voice.

He started to sense evil in this place. He saw shadows.

He spoke to God, something he hadn’t done for a long time. He asked for forgiveness.

A still small voice told him to press the transfer button.

<°)))><

It was sudden. But he was sure he saw bony skeletal arms reach out for him. He sat dazed. An arm was reaching out to him, helping him up. He looked up. It was the pastor.