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H enry sat in the Pinedale Diner at his and Maggie’s favorite booth with his hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, contemplating what he’d done. He was responsible for two more lost lives. He didn’t know how to move past that. “I’m sorry, hon.” He whispered to his wife under his breath.

Henry had participated in the original murders, and he was the one to bring T the victims. Part of him always felt bad afterward. Once the women died, Henry had done his best to give them a place of honor.

Someone passed by. He looked up in time to see Betsy and one of the widowers from church walk by. Betsy gave her signature sniff. “Didn’t see you in church this morning.” She didn’t wait for his response.

He’d disappointed Betsy. Been mean to her.

“Looks like you got on Miss Betsy’s bad side.” Henry noticed Sheriff Taylor standing beside his booth. “You must have done something really bad.”

The sheriff wore a smile. Henry wondered what he’d say if he knew Henry was one of the people he was looking for.

“Must have,” Henry said in answer.

“Well, don’t worry too much about it. I’m sure she’ll get over it in time. How’s the mining going?”

“What?” Henry’s brows knitted together.

“I heard you blasting yesterday. You must be opening up a new tunnel.” Sheriff Taylor kept his attention on Henry’s face, waiting for a response.

“Oh. Yes. Yes. It took a couple of blasts but it looks promising.”

“Uh-huh.” Sheriff Taylor didn’t look away. Henry tried not to squirm under that intense gaze.

The waitress called the sheriff’s name. “Gotta go.” He held up his coffee cup in a way of a farewell and retrieved his order before leaving.

Henry watched him go and wondered how long before Sheriff Taylor came knocking on his door.

He heard Betsy laugh overly loud as if to make sure Henry heard it. She wanted him to know she’d found someone else to take care of. He had bigger things to contemplate besides Betsy’s wounded pride.

He should turn himself in. Henry sipped the strong black coffee and thought about what the community he’d been a part of for so long would think upon hearing he was part of a serial killer team.

Not that it mattered. He didn’t much care what the townsfolk thought about him anymore. After all, his and T’s days were numbered. But the shadow this would cast on his sweet Maggie’s memory—all the good she’d done for their church and for the community—would be wiped away. All everyone would remember was she was the wife of a serial killer.

Still, his conscience was driving him mad much like “The Tell-Tale Heart.” In Edgar Allan Poe’s short story, despite the killer being able to hide the body behind a bricked-up wall, the killer was driven mad by the sound of his victim’s beating heart and ultimately confessed to the crime.

Would Dawn’s and Sierra’s pretty faces be what drove him into confession?

“Can I get you some breakfast, Henry?” Nancy asked. She seemed distracted this morning.

“No, just coffee. Anything wrong?” Henry couldn’t help it. He cared about people.

Nancy looked over her shoulder as if to make sure her boss wasn’t listening. “Did you hear about Florence and Irv?”

Henry sat back. “What about them?”

“They’ve been arrested,” she looked around before whispering, “for stealing.”

“Oh, good grief. That’s awful.”

Nancy nodded, but there was a certain amount of glee in her eyes. Why did people get excited about others’ misfortunes? He pictured Nancy talking to one of her customers about him.

“Irv killed that woman way back then. And now he’s killed again. He’s going to fry for this.” She noticed another table was ready to pay their bill. “Oh, I’d better go.” Henry watched her shmooze the group in an attempt to get a bigger tip.

Disgust rose in his throat. He left the appropriate amount of money on the table and then slipped out the side door.

He drove Maggie’s small SUV. The old truck he’d used before was too hot to be out on the roads.

Hot. What was he? Some type of criminal mastermind?

He maneuvered through the early morning traffic toward his home. He hadn’t been able to go back to the mine and check. If they’d escaped, it was only a matter of time before he was arrested.

Henry remembered the victim T had taken. He’d doubled-locked the basement to prevent T from harming her. But he had a decision to make. If he let her go, he would seal his and T’s fate and destroy his wife’s reputation. If he didn’t, he’d have more blood on his hands.

Henry pulled over on the side of the road and got out. Weeping, he prayed sincerely for the first time in his life.

“Help me, Lord. I don’t want to be a monster anymore. Help me gain Your forgiveness,” he prayed and waited for answers that Maggie always claimed would come if you prayed for them.

Wait for the Lord to answer, Henry. He will in His own time. . .

His only answer was gathering clouds knitting together to take the sun away.

Or maybe that was his answer after all.