Free Fear Has a Name: A Novel by Creston Mapes Page A

of her old Bibles. Her face was gaunt, her eyes glassy; she sniffed and clutched a fistful of tissues.
    “You okay?”
    She turned to him with tired eyes. “Just need this time.”
    “The girls are watching cartoons, you’re fine.”
    He crept in and sat on the ottoman next to her. He covered her hand with his, and they talked quietly. It crossed his mind to pray with her, but he dismissed the thought. He wasn’t feeling very spiritual. Besides, Pam was being spiritual enough for both of them.
    Jack hadn’t seen her without a Bible since the night at the bridge. She had been jotting down scripture on the back of his old business cards and glancing at them while busy in the kitchen or playing with the girls. And though she hadn’t said anything, he quickly figured out she was fasting. The incident had numbed her. Her movements were slow and contemplative. She listened intently and spoke less, not depressed or sedate, but reflective.
    “I’ll be back here as soon as I can, okay?” he said.
    “We’re fine—really.”
    They agreed to say nothing about the man to Pam’s parents. If her mother knew what was going on, they would most assuredly need to get her a rubber room at the nearest asylum.

    As he waited to interview Dr. Andrew Satterfield in his frigid office at Five Forks Methodist Church, Jack shivered and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
    Satterfield’s office looked and smelled as if it had just received several thick coats of Sherwin-Williams’ brightest white paint. A wide window overlooking dense green woods made it even brighter. The long, shiny reddish wood desk in front of Jack held only a small calendar, pen holder, stapler, calculator, notepad, and telephone—each placed precisely in the form of an arch. There were no folders or coffee mugs or papers or any sign of “real work.” Behind the desk was a matching credenza, dust-free, not a thing on it—no photos, no children’s artwork, no computer, no hint of Satterfield’s personal life.
    Church secretary Barbara Cooley, a heavyset redhead wearing an electrifying blue dress, a necklace of large faux pearls and matching earrings, and thick red lipstick, had led Jack to Satterfield’s office and assured him the associate pastor would join Jack shortly. While they chatted, Jack confirmed that Mrs. Cooley had seen Pastor Evan McDaniel the morning of his disappearance. She agreed to speak with Jack when he was finished with Satterfield.
    Jack didn’t know whether he was shivering because it was freezing in the office or because he was uptight about leaving the girls alone. So much for his simplistic theory about the intruder being a drug addict on a mindless binge; the man had proven himself much more menacing. Now Jack was the one talking about purchasing a gun. He had discussed it with Officer DeVry the morning after the bridge incident. DeVry was neutral on the topic, but this time it had been Pam who hesitated.
    “Let’s wait,” she said.
    “Wait … for what?” Jack said. “For him to kidnap you, or one of the girls? This guy’s certified nuts, Pam. He’s liable to do anything. If he comes on our property again, we need to be prepared.”
    It was the same argument Pam had pleaded days earlier.
    But something had changed in her since the night on the bridge. Her silence, her quiet determination … it spoke volumes. It whispered to him that they had all the protection they needed, if they would only believe.
    But this guy was crazy … and he might come back.
    Does God not know that? Jack chastised himself. If the guy was insane, did that make God any less effective in protecting them?
    The heat gets turned up, and you’re going to take matters into your own hands?
    Jack pictured the Gadarene demoniac from the Bible, rushing from his home among the tombs to the shoreline where he confronted Jesus. The dude wore no clothes, and no one could subdue him. They tried, but he tore the chains and broke the irons.
    Jesus sent the man’s