"You never did finish showing me your pictures," Joe said to Jim after Mrs. Barley had left for her appointment.

"I'll show you now," Jim promised, leading the way upstairs to his room.

Joe sat down on the bed and took the pictures Jim handed him.  Ten minutes later, Joe's eyes widened in shock.  "Jim, did Father Ramster see this picture?" Joe asked, his voice laced with disguised calm.

Jim nodded.  "He said it looked just like him."

"Did he see it before you went away from your mom last week?" Joe wanted to know.

"Yes," Jim said.  "But he forgot to give it back to me, so I got it back when we had our session."  Jim handed Joe another picture.  "This is one of you and me at the doctor's office this morning.

Joe took the proffered picture.  "You are very talented," he told Jim. 

Jim beamed at Joe.  "Tell you what," Joe said.  "Why don't you draw another picture for me?  I need to go call Frank."

"Okay," Jim agreed, picking up his pencil and starting to draw.

Joe raced down the steps to use the phone.   "Hi, honey," Mrs. Hardy answered the phone on the third ring.

"Let me speak to Frank," Joe said, forgetting to say hi to his mom in his excitement.

"What's wrong?" she demanded.

"Father Ramster is the one who tried to frame Jim," Joe answered.  "Is Frank there?"

"Frank went to see Agent Patrick a little over an hour ago," she said.  "Maybe he's still there."

"Thanks, mom," Joe said, hanging up.  Before Joe had moved from the phone stand, the phone rang.

"May I speak with Joesph?" a strong male voice came through.

"This is he," Joe responded, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. 

"Your brother stopped by here earlier," Father Ramster said.  "I'm sure he would love to have you and Jim come for a visit."

"There's no way I am turning Jim over to you," Joe snarled, barely able to control his anger.

"You've seen the picture," Ramster deduced with a sigh.  "Very well then, bring the picture and come alone.  If you aren't here in fifteen minutes, I will take care of your brother," he added before hanging up.

Joe sighed, frustrated.  He picked up the phone and dialed the Shaws.

"Hello," Callie answered.  "Shaw residence."

"Callie, come over and watch Jim until Mrs. Barley gets home," Joe ordered.

"Why?" Callie demanded, knowing something was wrong.  "What's going on?"

"I have to go somewhere," Joe told her.  "Come now," he added, hanging up.  He thought about leaving a note, but he didn't have the time. 

Going over to the stairs, Joe yelled up at Jim who came to the top of the stairway, his unfinished picture still in hand.

"I have to go somewhere," Joe told him.  "Do you remember Callie, the girl who came over with Frank this morning?"

Jim nodded.  "She was nice," Jim commented.

"She is going to come over and stay with you until your mom gets here," Joe told him.  "Can you come down stairs and wait for her?"  Jim nodded and started down the stairs.  "Don't open the door for anyone but Callie or your mom, okay?"

"I won't," Jim promised.

"And don't go outside," Joe added, worried.

"I won't," Jim promised again.  "Are you taking my picture?" he asked Joe, seeing it clutched in Joe's hand.

"I have to," Joe answered.  "Don't let anyone inside but Callie, your mom, or me," he cautioned Jim again.  Jim nodded his agreement and Joe left the house, climbed on his motorcycle, and headed for St. Francis.

Joe made a quick stop at Randall's Convenience Store, running in and making a photo copy of the picture, before arriving at St. Francis.  He glanced at his watch.  He had two minutes left.

Entering the building, he saw Ramster posting bulletins.  "Where's my brother?" Joe demanded, his blue eyes flashing angrily.

"Shh!" Ramster shushed him.  "This is a house of worship."

"And of murder," Joe added.  "You killed Devon."

"With a little help," he admitted, causing Joe's face to pale at the picture the comment brought forth.

"Really, this isn't the place to discuss the matter," Ramster continued.   "Shall we join your brother?" he asked, holding out his hand in the direction of the door and let Joe precede him.

"Frank!" Joe shouted in alarm, several minutes later as he entered the cellar of the rectory and saw his brother lying face down on the dirt floor.

"Give me the picture, Joe," Ramster demanded calmly, watching Joe rush over and kneel beside the prone youth.

Joe glared up at Ramster, then checked Frank for a pulse.  "He's alive," Ramster assured Joe.  "He's just sleeping, as you will be."

Ramster pulled a thermos from beneath the robe he was wearing.  "I saved you some tea," he said.  "Give me the picture and drink your tea," he ordered.

"So you can kill us?" Joe demanded in disbelief.  "I'm not going to let you drug me."

"Oh, but it is either this or you, Frank, and Jim, die," Ramster told him.

"What?" Joe asked, a bit confused.

"Devon's death was an accident," Ramster told Joe.

"Was beating him an accident too?" Joe demanded, not believing the man.

"He refused to cooperate," Father Ramster said.  "I..we..went too far," he confessed.  "She was scared.  She said we should make it look like he was strangled, but that didn't work, so..." he broke off.

"So you made it look like a ritual murder," Joe said, looking at the man with utter disgust.  "Devon saw you two and because he wouldn't keep quiet, you killed him.  You sold your soul, Father Ramster," Joe continued.  "And you're not even trying to buy it back."

"Drink your tea," ordered Ramster, his face white.  "I'm not going to hurt you, your brother, or Jim, as long as I get the picture before I leave."

"Why didn't you just take it from Jim?" Joe demanded.

"I did!" Ramster shouted.  "But when I saw you out the window last night, I thought you were on to me.  When I left to take care of you, Jim took the picture back."

"Take care of me?" Joe asked, lifting his eyebrows.  "One murder wasn't enough for you?  You tried to kill me last night just like you tried to kill the Barleys and me in the van," Joe accused him.

"That wasn't me!" Ramster denied, his eyes shining feverishly.  "When I found out what she had done, I put in for a transfer," he practically begged Joe to believe him.

"You can't run from what you've done," Joe insisted.  "You can't hide from yourself or God."

Ramster's face crumbled and he sank to his knees, dropping the thermos and letting the drugged tea spill out.

Joe started forward but before he could take more than a step or two, a shot rang out and Joe fell to the floor.

*****

"Where did he go?" Callie wondered out loud for the hundreth time, as she paced back and forth across the living room floor.

"Maybe he went to the church," Jim said, finishing the picture he had started before Joe had left.

Callie stopped pacing and looked at Jim thoughtfully.  "Why would he go to the church?" she asked him.

Jim shrugged his shoulders, then picked up the picture he had drawn and handed it to Callie.

Callie took the picture.  "Thank you," she said, smiling at him.  "This is very good of Joe and Father Ramster," she praised, looking at the sketch of the two shaking hands.

"Joe liked the other one with Father Ramster so much, I drew him this one," Jim told her.

"Which other one?" Callie asked, her eyes narrowing on him.

"The one he took with him," Jim replied.

"Jim, would you like to go for a little ride?" she asked.

"Sure," Jim agreed.

A few minutes later, Callie pulled into the parking space near Joe's motorcycle and Mrs. Hardy's car in the church parking lot.  "Wait for me here," she told Jim before getting out of the car.

Jim waited until he heard a loud noise.  He dropped his pencil and hurriedly opened the car door.  Leaving it open in his haste, he ran into the church.

*****

Joe heard a thump and looked over at Ramster.  He lay on the floor with blood beginning to pool from the wound in his back.

"Up," ordered a voice.  Joe stood slowly, lifting his arms into the air as he did so.  "You too," she ordered a prone Frank.

"He's been drugged," Joe told her.  "How could you?" he demanded, glaring at her.

"Ramster deserved to die," she said.  "He was going to take off and leave me to go to prison," she explained, her voice scathing.

"But you killed your own son," Joe stated, his voice showing he still had trouble believing it.

"Some son," Leslie Lenin scoffed.  "He tried to wreck my marriage to Bob.  And when I tried to have a little fun, he insisted he was going to tell."  She gave a little laugh.  "If only he hadn't been so head-strong, everything would have been wonderful." 

Mrs. Lenin's eyes hardened as she turned her anger at Joe.  "Everything became fine until that brat drew the picture.  Then you and your brother had to get involved."

She raised the gun and aimed it at Joe's head. "Why couldn't you and the Barleys have died in the wreck?" she demanded.  "It would have been so much easier," she added, pulling the trigger.

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