is not here. We couldn't find him in the vicarage. Nor in the surroundings. And believe me, I was one of the first ones to arrive. "
The news did not immediately breach, as it should have in Nicholas' mind, still affected by recent events.
But when he rationalized it, the news hit him like a punch.
He said in a calmer but still tense voice: "Are you telling me that Johnathan Abblepot was not at home last night and still hasn't shown up?"
The firefighter replied, emphasizing the words: "I cannot know, sir, if the Reverend was not at home last night. I'm just saying that when we ran to the vicarage to wake him up, in case he slept through that hell nearby, he wasn't there. And even now in the surrounding area, no one has seen him. "Now, it was the man who was indisposed by Nick's attitude.
Nick understood that the information that the firefighter could give him would not go far beyond what he had already heard.
Nicholas managed to approach some other people, finding out that there was no sign of Reverend Abblepot.
"My son told me he saw him on the church lawn two days ago."
"I went to church to pray, but he wasn't there. I thought I saw his shadow in the window, but not him in person. "
"I even looked for him at his house. I knocked at the door three times: nobody answered. "
Everyone had their own story to tell, but in none of them, there was a hint of where the Reverend was. It seemed that they hadn't seen him for at least a couple of days.
Nick had to make a decision: to either carry on working on the boy's death case, or to continue investigating the mysterious church fire, and the disappearance of Johnathan Abblepot.
He knew he couldn't ignore what happened at Church Yard, and hoped he could reconcile the two. He had to find out more about the Reverend's disappearance, and what was behind the burning of his parish.
Once back home, there was no need for Nicholas to explain to Anna what had happened in town. The news went round fast.
Annabeth knew Reverend Abblepot.
Religion was a serious matter to her: she had talked to the Reverend several times, and she liked him.
“My God, Nick. Something bad has surely happened to him. But who could have wanted such a thing?! Destroy the church!”
Her husband replied as if he were already writing notes for the investigation: "It is certain that the two events are connected. But we don't know what did happen, or didn't, to Reverend Abblepot."
"Do you mean he could have set the church on fire!"
"I'm not saying that, how can you think that? However, for now Abblepot is a missing man. There seems to be no evidence that anyone has hurt him or made him disappear. To tell the truth there doesn't seem to be any proof of anything, not even that there is someone behind this incident. "
"If no one is responsible, what else could have happened? Did the church catch on fire due to terrible bad luck, and the fire bell fell from the column by itself? Did the Reverend, frightened by a possible accusation, want to escape? Which of these theories seems credible to you?! "
"Calm down, Anna, you're taking this too personally. I also believe that the recent disappearances and deaths around here are related to what happened last night. I have already spoken to the station: we will deal with this matter. I will deal with this. "
Anna clutched a tea towel in her hands and gathered thoughts by rocking her head slightly.
She said, "Nick, there is something strange about this. There is something wrong; I would never want something like that happening here in Vestavia, in our town. "
Nick looked at her full of kindness, but he could not remain silent about his frustration: "Anna, bad and wicked things happen in every city of America."
"I feel there is something different in this case. I think something disturbing. I don't know ... don't ask me why, but it's like that. "
Nick preferred not to insist further, given his wife's nerves. Annabeth was particularly shaken by the incident, even if he didn't know why.
She needed to feel him close.
He went to her and hugged her. Then he kissed her on the forehead and went outside.
He had work to do.
He walked high and low all the main roads in town, asking questions to many people; in some cases, he asked the same people twice a short time later, the ones who didn't convince him, to catch possible contradictions.
He looked at the site of the fire for a long time.
He filled several sheets with all the notes, the hypotheses, the thoughts that rioted inside him.
Yet even after all this intense activity, the sunset came without Nicholas Abbot being any closer to a lead.
He stopped for a drink before going back home, to gather his thoughts, or perhaps calm them down. He needed something strong.
Upon entering the bar, he noticed that a person was watching him. Then, when he had taken a more decisive step towards the front door, she withdrew, as if she wanted to approach him but not at that moment.
His tense nerves most likely made him see more oddities than there were. Therefore, he decided to silence the nerves and not give too much weight to the last impressions of a very long day.
When he went out into the street, without having shaken off that feeling of having made some mistakes, the figure waiting for him was still there, she had just changed place, but not the intention of approaching him, it seemed.
Nick became self-defensive, subtly tensing his muscles, ready to sprint. However, he soon realized that there would be no reason for it.
The person in front of him, now he saw her well, was an older woman, submissive, who certainly could not have caused him any concern.
"Inspector Abbot," said the woman.
Nick looked carefully at the figure before him. A crooked smile formed on his face.
"It's me, detective, Evelyn Archer."
The lampposts on the main street were already emanating their amber light, which seemed to wrap everything up. It was as if all Vestavia Hills was sinking into see-through molasses: people and buildings could still be seen, but everything had a sticky slowness on it. People seemed to move in slow motion. Things showed as a slowed downtime, not at their usual pace.
The town's colours seemed to merge, one moment they look like was chalk on a blackboard, the next moment they were exchanging places in strange combinations. A woman passing by had the skin the same colour as the moon and the hair like the nearby bush. A passing horse, on the other hand, was tinged with the bluish colour of the furthest areas of the street, where the street lamp's lights did not reach; while the buggy that the animal was pulling and the man who drove it had the colours of the blood of the pieces of meat exposed by the butcher.
Even the dimensions of objects and the world were assuming unstable
