He Goes Out Weeping: A Story of Mystery
David Fiensy
John Book wants to be a theology professor. But why is he haunted by shadows from his past? And who is stalking him with murderous intent? He Goes Out Weeping is for mystery readers who like a little theology with their chills.

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book excerpt

MAC ADAMS WAS not happy. Six-and-a-half hours sitting here for a measly two hundred bucks! On this November evening at eleven-thirty PM, he sat under the streetlight shade of a massive magnolia tree. He glanced at his partner, Joe, and imitated Joe’s posture. They sat straight-backed and motionless on one of the five benches arranged around the tree. Mac thought of making conversation but decided against it. His partner seldom made small talk. He rarely talked at all except to complain about some ache or pain. Hypochondriac. They sat so they could observe the entrance to the Divinity School building. Mac was feeling sulky. He didn’t know why they had taken this contract. But business had been slow lately. If they didn’t get more contracts soon, Mac would have to get another nighttime security job in some warehouse or store. It would pay minimum wage and require him to put in forty hours a week. Ugh! An old stray dog wandered from bench to bench hoping for a handout, a leftover sandwich or something. He came over to Mac and Joe’s bench and sniffed them. Mac uttered a grunt and the dog moved on. Mac had met his partner, Joe Tremaine, in prison. They had, it seemed, similar life’s goals: make the fat-cats pay for their hard times. A fat-cat was anyone with more of this world’s goods than they had. He and Joe had shared a cell for the year they served for assault and battery. They had made a pact to join up after they did their time and pursue their lofty ambition. Mac Adams could hear the low voices of students from elsewhere on the university campus. They were on their way to their dormitories or to a late-night snack and drink. The libraries had closed; it was time to move the study or chatter elsewhere. There were still quite a few students milling about the thirty-acre quad but they were gradually moving to other parts of the campus. Soon the quad would be empty. The two men waited. Someone emerged from the Divinity School front door. Mac Adams and his partner stood up. A man came out; he was tall, thin, and elderly and carried an object under his arm. Mac Adams scanned his figure with intense eyes. The man passed by and squeezed his chin. Mac Adams looked at his partner, shook his head, and the two men sat down. Mac grumbled to himself again. Two hundred bucks to sit in the cold and wait for some student. Why not march into the building, beat the crap out of him, and walk away? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff? Why did they take his contract? Two more left at about the same time, one a female wearing a uniform of some kind and the other her boyfriend or husband. They were holding hands. Cleaning crew probably. They waited. It was midnight. Mac Adams was getting cranky. He liked these jobs but didn’t like to work for it this much. They had been sitting here since five o’clock. Seven hours under this creepy tree! A lousy two hundred bucks. Mac looked up at the tree’s branches barely visible against the dark sky. The magnolia tree must be over a hundred years old. Why didn’t someone cut it down before it fell on people? Someone opened the door to the Divinity School building and stepped out. The figure walked past the magnolia tree and headed north. The young man carried a bookbag and walked briskly. The two men rose and studied him carefully. Mac nodded to Joe and they emerged out of the tree’s dark mass following him toward the northside of the quad. Mac kept his eyes on the lone figure, his contract, his target, who now walked about twenty yards ahead of him and Joe. The target walked unaware of what was coming. His midnight stroll looked, to anyone taking the trouble to notice him, leisurely and carefree. Leaving the quad, the target walked on past Gothic classroom buildings and came to the residential and dining section of the campus. There were dormitories, coffee houses, and cafeterias lining both sides of the walkway. On went the target past the football stadium. He stopped for a moment to look at the dimly lit tennis courts and then walked on. Finally, he approached the remote parking lot, the lot for students. It was now 12:15 AM. As the target neared his car, Mac quickened his pace and closed in—Mac, a short, husky man, was now at four o’clock; his partner, Joe, a tall, thin man, was at eight o’clock. Though Mac was rather stout, he moved like a cat. For the first time Mac noticed that the target limped a little. He appeared weak and defenseless. Mac Adams smiled; he enjoyed beating the helpless. Mac was psyching himself up now. Some impulse fired in him. He was eager; he was angry; he would strike without mercy. He was ready to attack. He would get revenge for all the beatings he had endured as a child. He would do the same to this weak victim. The world would pay for his suffering! But then, as he got about five feet from the target, Mac Adams watched as the target took two quick steps to his left and slammed a left footed side kick into the kneecap of Joe, bending his knee in the wrong direction. There was a “Crack!” Joe fell and screamed in agony. Then Mac Adams watched, as in a dream, as the target took four sliding steps to his right, spun around counter clockwise, and landed a spinning hook kick into his temple—heel on head. Mac heard a “Thud!” He felt numb; his ears were ringing; his vision blurred. Then someone screamed. Who was screaming? His knees buckled. He felt the world rushing up toward his head and the cold pavement of the parking lot on his face.