Big Little Secrets (Binge-worthy domestic psychological thrillers) by A.B. Whelan

Author:A.B. Whelan [Whelan, A.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Burbank Books
Published: 2022-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

CLINT

As insane as it sounded when I first heard Daniel’s plan of breaking into a parish, I’m growing excited about it now when I’m driving in the car toward the Catholic church where the missing girl’s mother works. This is the same church Daniel talked about on our first drive through the city. Jezus Szive. The Heart of Jesus.

It’s past midnight, and the city is nearly vacant. Once we pass the soccer fields, that nose-hair-burning reeking smell is heavy in the air again. It’s coming from the factory across from where Daniel’s mother lives, which I now learn is a sugar beet processing plant.

“You can get used to it,” Daniel remarks as a reaction to Barn’s expressions of disgust.

People would not be willing to get used to living in stench in Las Vegas or Telluride, I think, but I immediately get annoyed with myself for comparing the two countries.

My brother sits in the back seat with Milan and Peter. I catch them trying to communicate in the rearview mirror while Daniel keeps me focused on the road with his driving instructions.

“That’s the church.” Daniel points at a relatively simple grayish sand-colored building with a tall tower sitting in the middle of a square between the two prongs of a forked intersection, obscured by mature trees that are in full summer bloom. “Take the left and drive into that narrow street. See?” Daniel navigates me onto a narrow asphalt road cutting through woodsy green belt and manicured hedges. The church and the state always have enough money to keep things nice and organized.

Under the veil of the dark night, I feel like we are entering some old royal’s estate, which makes our plan for breaking in even more ominous.

As the road curves to the left, the church building spreads out on our right. Its architectural style reminds me of a small medieval castle. The colossal arched main door is perched above the parking lot with steps wrapped around the concrete landing. I picture Nelli walking on those stairs in her white First Holy Communion dress, and I have to clench my jaw to keep myself from becoming emotional.

I don’t know what I’m going to do if she is gone from this world, or worse, if we never find out what happened to her. How can loved ones of missing people go on with their lives? How can they push the pictures of torture, humiliation, fear, and pain from their mind? My brain is wired to look for warning signs and foresee the bad things that can happen in every situation regarding my family. Even now, I battle with my thoughts, murmuring that my wife is being held alone somewhere, tortured, hurt, holding onto the hope that I’d rescue her. I won’t let go of these images until I find her. How can anyone? Because this uncertainty inflicts one of the worst mental tortures on me.

Daniel instructs me to park on the dirt shoulder next to an eight-foot-tall brick wall that stretches to a metal gate.

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