Free The Stranger Beside You by William Casey Moreton Page A

you.”
    “Now you’re thinking like a winner.”
    “Two days.  That’s all I need.”
    “Look at me, Scotty.  Look me in the eyes.”
    The aroma of freshly upturned soil and decay made Sheldon’s stomach turn.  His equilibrium wavered, but he managed to right himself.  He turned to Mr. Z.
    Mr. Z took a step closer to him and squatted so they were nose-to-nose.  He gestured at the open graves with a flourish of fingers.  “Forty-eight hours,” he said.  “And then we start burying the rest of them.”
     

 
     
    15
     
     “This is not Shakespeare,” Karly said, glancing up from the page.  “Not even close.”
    “Are you positive?”
    She was standing at the window in her office, holding the page of notes in one hand.  She pushed the Gucci sunglasses up onto the top of her head and glared at me.
    “As it happens, I was born an hour outside of Stratford-upon-Avon, William Shakespeare’s hometown, so I know a bit or two about the man’s work.  The great bard did not pen this chicken-scratch you have written here, and it does not strike me as the words of Dickens either.”
    I was seated at her desk and opened the browser to Google.
     “Are you certain this is what you heard him say?” she asked.
    I hesitated a beat before answering.  “Ninety percent.”
    She read it aloud.  “Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, I will fearlessly make known the mystery for which I am an ambassador in chains.”
    I began typing.  “Have you ever heard that in your life?”
    “You’re asking if I remember everything I’ve ever read or overheard?” she asked.
    I shrugged.
    “Have you seen the way I drink?” she answered.
    “Point taken,” I said.
    I finished typing Tom’s words into the search field and hit ENTER .
    The hard drive chattered for a couple of seconds and then the screen redrew and displayed the search results.  I stared at the fifteen-inch screen.  Karly stood directly behind me, watching over my shoulder.
    She was the first to see it.
    “The Bible,” she said.
    I leaned toward the computer and squinted at the small text, then I clicked on a link at random.  A new page opened.
    “It’s from a Bible verse,” I whispered.
    Karly leaned over my shoulder and pointed at the screen. 
    “Yeah, the book of Ephesians.  Who’d have guessed?  Didn’t see that coming.”
    “Looks like it’s from chapter nineteen.”  I kept reading.  “Actually, part of it comes from chapter twenty as well.”
    Karly was nodding.  “But there’s more to the actual scripture text than you have written in your notes.”
    “If I heard him right, he had to have been actually quoting only pieces.”
    “Read the verses in their entirety,” she said, and walked back over to the window.
    I moved the mouse pointer to the beginning of verse 19 and tracked the words as I read them aloud.
    “Pray also for me, that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains.  Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.”
    There was silence between us for a long moment.  Karly stared out at the sunshine and the street.  I stared at the computer screen, trying to make sense of the craziness of what Tom had said to me inside the FBI interrogation room.
    Now, understand, we have never been big churchgoers.  Nothing against organized religion at all, in fact, I’m for it.  Church is simply not a major part of our lives.  Whether or not I believe in God sort of depends on the kind of day I’m having.  On Christmas and Easter we usually slide into the back row at a chapel somewhere and sing the hymns and drop some cash into the offering plate.  We do it mostly for the boys.  The exposure is good for them, I guess.  But all of this is to say that Tom and I are not biblical scholars, so I wouldn’t have recognized a quotation from a book of the New Testament if it hit me in the head.  And