The house’s silence engulfed her. So peaceful, so quiet, asleep while the world crumbled. She crossed to the stairs and took them on her tiptoes. Kevin’s bedroom was to the left. She eased the door open, saw him on the bed, and walked quietly up to him.
He lay sprawled on his belly, arms above his head, as if surrendering to some unknown enemy beyond the mattress. His head rested on its side, facing her, lower cheek bunched, mouth closed. His face didn’t speak of surrender, only sleep. Deep, deep, sweet sleep.
He was dressed in street clothes; his tan Reeboks sat on the floor, nudging the bed skirt.
Sam briefly wondered if Jennifer had stayed with him until he fell asleep. Had she seen him like this? This sweet boy of hers? This stunning man who bore the weight of a hundred worlds on his shoulders? Her champion who’d slain the wicked boy on Baker Street?
What did Jennifer see when she looked at him? She sees the same as you do, Sam. She sees Kevin and she can’t help but to love him as you love him.
Sam reached out, tempted to brush his cheek. No, not as I love him. No one can love him as I love him. I would give my life for this man.She withdrew her hand. A tear broke down her right cheek. Oh, how I love you, dear Kevin. Seeing you these last three days has reminded me how desperately I love you. Please, please tell me that you will slay this dragon. We will, Kevin. Together we will slay this beast, my knight.
The childhood role-playing reference flooded her with warmth. She turned away and walked into his closet. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Something that Slater had left. Something that the FBI missed because they wouldn’t have guessed that it belonged to Slater.
Kevin had ordered his clothes neatly. Slacks and shirts hung in a row, jeans and cargo pants folded and stacked, shoes on a rack. Seminary dress to the right, casual dress to the left. She smiled and ran her fingers through the slacks. She smelled the shirts. His scent lingered. Amazing how she recognized it after so many years. He was still a boy. A man, Sam. A man.
She searched the closet and then slowly worked her way through the rest of his room, walking around him, careful not to make any sound. Other than the rise and fall of his back, Kevin did not move. Sam found nothing.
The bathroom proved no better, and her spirit lightened. She didn’t want to find anything.
His study. Sam shut the door and sat at his desk. She ran a finger over his books: Introduction to Philosophy. Sociology of Religion. Hermeneutics Revealed. Two dozen others. He was in his first semester at the divinity school but he’d bought enough texts for two years, easily.
On the floor beside the desk she saw a small pile of paper, which she picked up. A paper he’d titled “The True Natures of Man.” He was a true man.
Please, Sam, let’s cut the romantic drivel and do what you came to do.
She was less concerned about noise; there were two doors between her and Kevin. She searched the drawers and removed the books one by one. This is where Slater would leave a clue. This was the room of the mind. He was obsessed with numbers and mind games. The mind. Somewhere, somewhere.
A small stack of business cards, topped by a slip of paper bearing her own number, sat by a calculator that looked fresh out of the box, perhaps never used. The first card belonged to John Francis, Ph.D., Academic Dean, Divinity School of the Pacific, South. Kevin had spoken at length about the man. Surely Jennifer had already interviewed him.
And what if she hadn’t? The last four days rushed by without time for standard procedure or a thorough investigation. She picked up the phone and called the number on the card. A receptionist with a nasal voice asked her if she wanted to leave a message. No, thank you. She hung up, turned over the card, and saw that Kevin had scribbled another number with the same prefix. She dialed it.
“Hello, this is John.”
“Hello, Dr. John Francis?”
“Yes, this is he.”
“This is Samantha Sheer with the California Bureau of Investigation. I’m working with an agent Jennifer Peters on the Kevin Parson case. Are you familiar with it?”
“Of course. Agent Peters was here yesterday morning.”
“Kevin speaks highly of you,” Sam said. “You have a doctorate in psychology, isn’t that right?”
“Correct.”
“What is your assessment of Kevin?”
“That’s a bit like asking which animals live in the sea. Kevin’s a wonderful man. I can’t say there’s anyone else I’d rather tangle my wits with. Extraordinary . . . genuine.”
“Genuine. Yes, he is genuine. Nearly transparent. Which is why it’s strange he can’t remember this sin Slater demands he confess, don’t you think? I’m wondering, is there anything that’s occupied him in these last few weeks? Any reoccurring themes, projects, papers?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. He was quite interested in the natures of man. You might say consumed with the subject.”
Sam picked up the rough draft of the paper. “The true natures of man,” Sam said. “And what are the natures of man? Or what would Kevin say are the natures of man?”
“Yes, well, that’s the mystery, isn’t it? I’m not sure I can tell you what Kevin would say. He told me he had a new model, but he wanted to present them cohesively in his paper.”
“Hmm. And when is this paper due?”
“He was scheduled to turn it in this Wednesday.”
“For what class?”
“Introduction to Ethics.”
“One more question, Doctor, and I’ll let you go. You’re a religious man with an education in psychology; would you say that the natures of man are primarily spiritual, or psychological?”
“I know that Freud would turn in his grave, but in my mind there’s no doubt. Man is primarily a spiritual being.”
“And Kevin would agree to that?”
“Yes, I’m sure he would.”
“Thank you for your time, Doctor. You sound like a reasonable man.”
He chuckled. “They pay me to be; I do try. Anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”
She set the phone down. Ethics. She scanned the paper and saw that it was hardly more than the recitation of several theories on man’s natures. It ended with a new heading: “The True Natures.” She set the pages down. Where would Kevin keep his notes on the natures of man?
She stepped over to the bookcase and reached for a large gray book titled Morality Redefined. The book was used, frayed around the edges, pages yellowing. She lifted the cover, saw that it was a library book. Copyright 1953.
Sam flipped through the pages, but there were no notes. She was about to replace the book when the back cover fell open. Several loose sheets of white paper dropped to the floor. On the top of one in Kevin’s handwriting: The True Natures of Man, an Essay.
Samantha withdrew the pages and sat down at the desk. They were only notes. Three pages of notes. She scanned them, a simple outline with headings that fit the subject. Summaries.
We learn as we live, and we live what we learn, but not so well.
How can a nature be dead and yet live? He is dead in the light, but thrives in the dark.
If Good and Evil could talk to each other, what would they say?
They are all pretenders, who live in the light but hide in the dark.
Insightful. But there was nothing here that Slater would have . . .
Sam froze. There at the bottom of page four, three small words.
I AM I.
Sam recognized the handwriting immediately. Slater! “I am I.”
“Dear God!”
Sam set the pages on Kevin’s desk with a trembling hand. She began to panic.
No. Stop. What does “I am I” even mean, Sam? It means Slater is Slater. Slater snuck in here and wrote this. That proves nothing except that he has his nose in every part of Kevin’s life.