Read Online The Last Sunday by Terry E. Hill - Free Book Online Page A

know that, baby, and God knows that too. You didn’t kill him. They killed him. With their greed and immoral behavior. The Cleavelands killed him. It’s not your fault. You just have to listen to me, baby, from now on. I know what’s best for you. I know what’s best for us. Trust me and everything will be just fine,” she whispered as Percy wilted into the comfort of her gentle arms.

Chapter 5
    A wall of television monitors in Samantha’s office presented a steady stream of “triumphant widow” news feeds. She studied her images on the screens and each report intently.
    Her new office was situated high above the main entrance of the church. Sunlight turned into an aquamarine mist as it filtered through the intricately woven ten-foot-high glass panes that formed the walls that encased her lofty tomb. From this new perch Samantha could see her kingdom and all its inhabitants, sprawled at her feet, but they could not see her.
    Each national and international report covering the opening of New Testament Cathedral vied for Samantha’s attention from the wall of television monitors opposite her acrylic desk.
    She wore a black-and-white, cropped tweed Oscar de la Renta bolero jacket, a layered-front sheer blouse, and a printed sateen skirt. Shimmering black hair cascaded like water around her cheeks and framed the face that the world had come to love. Were the cameras rolling? Was there a room filled to capacity, the audience hanging on her every word? No, but Samantha Cleaveland was still perfect.
    â€œOnly days to the grand opening of what many are saying is the most beautiful church in the world,” Diane Sawyer said while reporting on New Testament Cathedral during the news broadcast that had aired the evening before.
    â€œNot only is she beautiful, but Samantha Cleaveland is one of the most courageous women I have ever met,” gushed Don Lemon from another screen.
    The images continued in rapid succession, all funneled to her office by a legion of technical minions buried somewhere deep within the bowels of the new media center at the opposite end of the campus. From her desk, Samantha pointed the remote to select the feed she wanted to hear. She controlled their sound and their words with the simple wave of her manicured hand.
    â€œI’m sorry to disturb you, Pastor Cleaveland,” said a disembodied voice from the phone on her desk. “David Shackelford is here to see you. I told him you didn’t want to be disturbed, but he said it’s urgent and you would want to speak with him.”
    Samantha slowly spun her white leather chair away from the wall of monitors to the window behind her desk. She gazed over the campus and thought, I’m going to have to do something about him.
    â€œSend him in,” she replied, making no attempt at hiding her exasperation. “And, Chantal, hold all my calls.”
    David Shackelford bolted into the room seconds later. His hulking frame and Ferragamo loafers hurled him across the expanse of the office toward Samantha, who was still seated behind the desk.
    â€œI’ve been trying to reach you for two days. Why haven’t you taken my calls?”
    Samantha did not move. “I’ve been very busy, David,” she responded coldly. “What is it that you want?”
    David paused when greeted with her coldness. “I . . . I want you, Samantha,” he stammered. “I need you. I’ve been going crazy without you.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, David. I’ve told you, you belong with Scarlett, not me. I don’t have time for a relationship. Besides, how would it look for me to been seen with someone only months after Hezekiah died? He’s barely cold in his grave.”
    â€œI don’t give a fuck about what people think.” David rushed around the desk and lifted Samantha by her shoulders. “I love you, Samantha. I need you.”
    â€œI don’t like to be handled,