The Chosen Seed: The Forgotten Gods: Book Three
Cass didn’t turn around until he heard the tentative steps coming through the doors behind him. The church was quiet and he’d picked a row near the back, away from the two old women busily arranging flowers and polishing silver. Not that they were paying him any attention; he’d lit a candle and now he was moving his mouth silently and that was enough for them to think him one of the fold. It didn’t take much these days – the Church was a club desperately in need of new members.
He raised his hand to the elderly man clutching a small suitcase, but even then it took Father Michael a couple of seconds to recognise him. He hurried over, looking nervous.
‘Cass,’ he said, his eyes searching Cass’ face for some trace of guilt or innocence. ‘You’ve lost weight. And the hair—’
‘Looking like Cass Jones might get me unwanted attention. And having a hole blown through your shoulder can make you drop a few pounds.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Father Michael looked apologetic. ‘But are you okay? You just disappeared— I was worried. I was surprised to hear from you, but I can’t say that I wasn’t pleased …’
‘A friend’s been looking after me,’ Cass said, then, ‘I’m getting there.’
There was a moment’s awkward silence where all the allegations hurled at Cass via the world’s press hung between them.
Cass broke the silence. ‘Thanks for bringing the stuff. I appreciate it.’
‘It’s fine.’ Father Michael smiled. ‘The police haven’t been back to the house, not since your troubles started. I presume they were just checking to make sure you weren’t hiding out down there – as if you’d be that stupid. As if you’d killed those people— I wonder sometimes if anyone ever knows anyone at all.’
‘You don’t think I’m guilty?’ He tried to hide his surprise.
‘Not for a moment, Cass.’ Father Michael was looking at him with something close to pity. ‘You have to ask?’
‘Everyone else does.’
‘People can get blinded by evidence.’ The old priest winked. ‘Why do you think no one believes in God any more?’
Cass almost laughed aloud as an unexpected warm rush of gratitude flooded him. He hadn’t wanted to call, but he hadn’t been able to come up with any other way to get the photographs and documents out of his dead parents’ house. He’d expected suspicion, but on reflection maybe he had just been blaming Father Michael for his own father’s crimes, simply because the priest had been his father’s friend, and one of the few people close to him still alive.
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