Read The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) for Free Online

Her clothes had been washed while she slept and they smelled nice and clean. She had taken a hot shower and felt the best she had in quite some time, though she couldn’t understand exactly why.
    She was still inside the church. She’d been there several days.
    Each day she spent a lot of time with Alexander, talking and laughing, discussing life and the world, and he had made her feel right at home and extremely comfortable. She liked him a lot. Everyone at the church had been very warm and welcoming.
    There were lots of trees on the church grounds, and they took long strolls at night when the air was cool, the ocean visible in the distance from the hill where the church stood. Alexander had given her a tour of the church. It was impressive. The rooms and long halls were filled with art that touched her soul. Each day it seemed a small portion of her burden was lifting. The darkness was slowly beginning to fade. She couldn’t explain it.
    During their walks, she would ask Alexander many questions. He was always ready with an answer. She asked why suffering existed in the world, and why God would allow so many to starve and die of disease, while others—like her father—were blessed with so much. She questioned him about God and Satan. They pondered the meaning of life and why there is so much pain. Alexander proved to be a patient teacher and a comforting, supportive friend. Tatum already had a crush on him. She couldn’t help herself.
    The dining room was long and cavernous, with huge doors at one end and a vaulted ceiling. It made her feel very small. The arched windows overlooked the lawn, and as she ate she watched a groundskeeper tend to the landscaping, moving sprinklers around and trimming the grass along the paved walkways.
    She scraped her spoon across the plate, scooping up the last of her potatoes, the final bite of lunch. As if he had been monitoring the entire time and waiting, Alexander came through the doors at the far end of the room and hooked an arm around her. She loved the way he smelled, and her heart raced.
    “Does your tummy feel better now?” he asked.
    Tatum nodded. “It was delicious.”
    His smiled brightened. “I’m happy to hear that.”
    “Every meal here is delicious,” she said.
    “Indeed it is!”
    They held hands as he led her down a flight of stairs to a classroom. She sat at her desk and readied her pencil. There was a chalkboard on the wall with the morning’s lesson scribbled out in Alexander’s distinctive hand. He was fluid in many languages, and she had loved hearing him speak Greek and French.
    “Now, we are going to talk more about your soul,” he said, warmth radiating from his face.
    “Do I really have a soul?” she asked, sitting with her legs tucked under her.
    “Well, what do you think?”  
    “I don’t know, I guess so. I’d like to believe that I do.”
    He smiled at her answer.
    “If you do have a soul,” he said, “what do you think your soul would be worth? Do you think you could put a price on it?” he asked.  

EIGHT

    Archer parked across the street and watched the house for fifteen minutes with his aviators on. Webb had given him the name Cory Overstreet and told him she was the girl with blonde hair and had one side of her head shaved down to the scalp. She had a pretty face, but the rebellious spirit had driven most of the pretty out of her eyes and smile. She looked like a punk.
    Cory had been busted for underage drinking and twice for shoplifting, so Webb had been able to pull her record and forward it to Archer. Her father was long gone, and the mother worked long hours, so Cory had more or less raised herself. So, no big mystery she had turned out as she had, Archer figured.  
    Sunset was an hour away. Archer wondered whether anyone was home. No one came or went. He got out of the Land Cruiser and crossed the street. Kids on skateboards rumbled past him in baggy clothes. The sidewalk was broken and weeds had grown through the cracks.