by RJ Martin
The next track was an a cappella piece Father Dom only played during Lent. It was called the Miserere and had no instruments, just singing. Along with the monks, in this one there was a boys’ choir too. One kid sang really high, like I used to be able to do before my body changed and my angelic dreams died.
Father Dom told me the song was really one of the psalms sung in Latin. For a long time you had to be at St. Peter’s in Rome to hear it because this was the pope’s song and no one else’s. In fact they threatened to kick out anyone who tried to write it down or play it anywhere else. That is, until Mozart heard it and did just that. He was still a kid but also a genius and he didn’t just play it but made it better. When the pope found out, rather than be mad, he knew how wrong he’d been and let Mozart play it everywhere. The world got to hear this beautiful song because he disobeyed.
The kid’s voice went so high, you’d think it might go beyond a human ear’s ability to listen, like a dog whistle or something. I stared up at the pine-beamed rafters hoping to maybe see the angel voice rising toward heaven. As the sound fell so did my eyes until I found his.
“Did you do all this or was it me?” I stumbled forward into a kneel. The marble floor hurt against my bare knees. “They all think I can hear your voice or, you know, one of your angels but I don’t.” The wine made me ballsy, and I got louder. “Is that how it works? Stuff just happens and people decide to believe it’s you?” I leaned back so I could look right up from his feet to his always stoic but sympathetic face. “I don’t know what you want from me.” He reminded me of Rusty again and that made me remember JC was human once like me. Did he ever have to choose between a boy and becoming him? Had he been waiting for me all this time? The thought was like a gust that lifted me. When I stood, I discovered what it meant to be drunk, and I needed to use the altar table for support.
“Is this what you want?” I ducked my head, pulled the surplice off, and let it fall to my feet. The choirboy’s voice soared again so high, I bet JC heard it up there too. I faced him as he always did me. The only difference was he still had on his old-fashioned briefs and I was naked. I wanted—no, needed—for something to happen. Either for him to reveal himself to me like so many people thought. Or for being there in his presence to be enough to make me not want to be with Rusty: someone warm, alive, and here. “I love you,” I whispered, knowing that if he had normal ears, he wouldn’t hear me, but his were not like ours.
The squawk of a radio made me jump and swing around toward the door. Two state troopers were there and already headed toward me.
“What are you doing here, son?”
“I don’t know.” It was true.
THE NIGHT air slapped me sober as they led me in handcuffs from the church. I was so tired and confused I had trouble figuring out if it was real jail I was going to or an ecclesiastical dungeon beneath the Vatican. With my head lowered, I looked through my long bangs at some of the locals, in their plaid jackets and stained hoodies, who had spilled out of Big Bart’s bar to see what was up at the church. I guess the game was over. Among them were guys who knew me, like Forge, Coach Danetto, and a couple of others I recognized as Dad’s friends from the Knights of Columbus. The cigarettes and longnecks stayed at their sides because they were too shocked to drink or puff. One hand rose from the pack and held a cell phone aimed at me. I followed the man’s arm down to see it belonged to the curly-haired guy from the church. I now just called him Curly because I kind of knew him in a creepy way. He was the only one smiling. He started taking pictures again and didn’t stop until I was in the back of the trooper’s car and off to learn my fate.
THE STATE police didn’t have a station house but a barracks. I guess because they were more macho, like domestic Marines or something. Rather than put me in a cell, they told me to sit in a plastic chair and not move without permission. I might have fallen asleep there, but the radios kept crackling with reports of accidents or speeders being pulled over and licenses that needed to be run. The door swung open extra hard, and I thought it would be the troopers bringing in some wanted killer or something. Instead it was my parents.
“FATHER DOMINICK was in Albany.” The head trooper, Captain Frost, tried to calm my dad. The name suited him as he had the whitest hair I’d ever seen. Big and burly, he looked like he could have been a bear in a past life. “And your son says there was no assault or anything of that nature.” I hadn’t even thought they’d go there.
“You asked him that?” My father looked from the polar bear trooper to my mom. She looked especially frazzled in her belted coat over the worn-out NC3 T-shirt and pink sweatpants she wore to bed.
“Hank!” she scolded him in front of the troopers and me. “What about the other one. The Russian?”
“Father Svi is from Ukraine,” I said softly, not bothering to raise my head. That he was really Polish I left out. Less was definitely more at the moment.
“Yes, well, we’re still working on that one,” Captain Frost said, ignoring me and answering her.
“What does that mean?” I could hear the anger in Dad’s voice, and sure enough he washed his face but only once. To me that showed restraint like he was being careful to not get too upset here or he might really get hot and wash it right off.
“The father was supposed to be staying at a rectory for a small church near the border.” Captain Frost paused, looked my way again. “He’s there once a week apparently but….”
“He wasn’t tonight,” Mom said. “Jonah?”
“I was alone,” I whispered but kept my head down. I started to feel like I really was too.
“So why was my son at the church?” Dad seemed like he could hit something or cry. It was fifty-fifty.
“He says he doesn’t know.” Captain Frost sounded exasperated with me. He probably had it pretty good most of the time dealing with drunk drivers and speeders, maybe the occasional drug smuggler. A kid naked and alone in a church, well that must have really been a handful he wished he didn’t have to deal with. I knew I felt that way, and I was the one who did it. Really, I just wanted to go home. “But we did find this.” The trooper held up the baggie of hosts I’d been carrying around in my pocket. I could’ve put it back, but I forgot it was even there. My mother gasped and both my parents stepped back like it was drugs or something.
“Is that…?” I felt my father’s eyes on me now. “Jonah, has that been blessed?”
I nodded just enough for them to see. He took a step my way, but Mom put her hands up in a double Heisman.
“Hank!” She stopped him before he could reach me. I kept my head down until I felt my mother take my arm. “Home.”
WE RODE back to our goofy, too-many-leveled house in silence except for the occasional grumbling from my father. “We have to find out what happened here.”
“Not tonight.”
I didn’t speak but kept looking through my hair until I got used to the obstructed view. It became kind of a new normal. My wrists hurt from the handcuffs, and I wanted to rub them. I didn’t because I wanted even less to draw attention to the fact they’d been on me at all. Dad turned on the radio, a sports report about hockey. I thought it might be a signal, but I’d been so wrong about Chad I wasn’t about to guess.
I SAT on the shower floor with one hand on the knob and made it hotter as my body adjusted. I didn’t open the little window to let out the steam like I usually did. Instead I watched as the pale white fog smothered the little bathroom, until it and I disappeared. In my bedroom, I found my too-small pajamas laid out on my bed and two aspirin set out on the nightstand along with a glass of warm milk. I took the pills, drained the glass, and fell into bed. I was almost asleep when I remembered I hadn’t said my prayers. I looked for my crucifix’s glow, but it wasn’t there. I flipped on the light and saw the empty space on the wall JC had occupied since before I could remember. It was brighter, and clean in a perfect outline of his cross. Mom must have worked fast because my Lives of the Saints and kid’s version of the Good
News, what we called the Bible, was no longer on my bookcase either. I knelt and prayed to the cross mark on the empty wall; nothing personal, just a few Hail Mary’s that Mom might chill. Anything I wanted to tell JC, I already did in the church.
I woke before dawn to find scissors against my chest. I opened my eyes, but I knew I shouldn’t. Clutching the chain in her hand like it was a dead snake, my mother completed the mission and cut the cross from around my neck. In her faded pink robe that had a bleach stain from when Angie tried to do laundry, Mom slowly padded out and softly shut the door behind her.
I WANTED to stay hidden under the covers forever, but the smell of bacon frying got me out of bed. I was sure it had gotten out that, far from being some kind of modern-day saint, I was just a screwed-up teenager. Both of my parents were standing when I came into the kitchen and mine was the only place setting. Judging by the travel thermos my father was filling with nearly an entire pot of coffee, it was obvious he would be the one visiting the twins today because Mom had to stay home with me. She placed my eggs in a hat—my breakfast favorite—in front of me and turned away to rinse the frying pan in the sink while Dad busied himself putting sugar and creamer into his thermos.
“Your brothers are coming home tomorrow,” Mom at last said as she turned my way and smiled.
I was afraid if I said anything, it might set Dad off all over again, but if I just sat there, it would seem like it didn’t matter to me. “That’s great.” It was too: finally good news.
Dad grimaced at Mom, but she just shook her head in the negative: no questions yet. We all moved in almost slow motion like we were being careful to not make too much noise or any sudden movements. The hearty knock on the back door made us all jump. Dad peered through the curtain. “Go eat in the family room, Jonah.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to.”
“Don’t back talk.”
I looked to Mom for confirmation, but her eyes were already on Captain Frost as he came in the back door. “Go,” she said and I did. I sat on the couch nearest the kitchen and leaned my head as far as I could to not be too obvious I was listening.
“Father Dominick is not pressing charges.” Captain Frost took a seat at the table across from my father.
“Thank God for that,” Dad said.
Mom’s response was to set the frying pan down a little too hard on the stove.
“We’ve located the other priest, and we’re certain he was nowhere near the church or your son last night.” She spun and stood beside Dad now. “Apparently the father is married and he spends a few nights a week with his husband and their daughter in Montreal. He was there last evening. We have the video of his car crossing the border.”
Father Svi became a priest to find freedom, but then he hid to keep it. Now because of me, he was out of a job. He’d tried to warn me. I didn’t listen, and now he was paying the price. I took my breakfast and went back into my room. Being too upset to eat might’ve seemed more appropriate, but I’d had wafers and wine for dinner. It was bacon too. I didn’t get out of my bed again until the middle of the afternoon. The spring sun was too much for the thin shades on my windows, so I gave up and looked outside. I immediately wished I didn’t because I saw him parked there: Curly. He leaned against his compact car that needed a wash more than he did and typed on his tablet with one hand and yakked on his phone with the other.
When he looked up, I ducked back inside. I wanted to tell my parents, but that would mean spilling about a lot more. I just didn’t feel like talking about anything, especially not that. Really I felt like I had when Rusty went off with Angie and left me with JC. Only worse because now I’d lost them both.
After dinner I decided to go outside for a little while. It was getting really claustrophobic in the house; Dad had the news on low as he sipped a beer and watched it from the worn recliner that had been Grandpa Hank’s. Curly was gone, but I didn’t go out front. I didn’t want to see anybody except the two guys I definitely wouldn’t, maybe never again. The air smelled like new grass, and the amber of the sunset made our backyard and rusted swing set look like they were in some faded old movie. I sat on the railing of our back deck and watched until it was over, and the air got too cold to be out without a jacket. I still didn’t go inside. I blew on my hands and waited for the stars. It clouded over instead, and without a moon, was just dark. It wasn’t even nine o’clock, but I went to bed anyway. I lay down, but I couldn’t sleep. Who was Curly? What did he want? Where was Rusty? Where was JC? Would either of them ever come?
THE NEXT morning, not the sun but the noise woke me. There were car horns and voices. Instantly I panicked and jumped up to find Chad standing against my door. “What are you doing here?”
“Keep it down, Jonah.” Chad put a finger to his lips. “Your folks don’t know I’m here.”
“Why would they care?” I whispered, assuming this was Chad’s old spy-movie games again. “You’ve got to get over all this intrigue stuff, you know?”
Chad’s answer was to toss me a cap. “Tell him that.” It was the slouch beanie Rusty always wore. It even smelled like him. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Why do we have to be so quiet?”
“Because I don’t think your parents are going to let you leave the house today.”
AFTER RUSHING to get dressed as stealthily as I could, I stepped into the hallway. The big TV rumbled in the family room, and my parents were huddled in front of it. The local news channel usually had a weather obsession this early, but the cloud with a frown was not on the screen this time—instead my house was. I glanced at the plate-glass window and saw the camera pointing from across the road.
Chad was right. There was no way my parents would let me out of their sight with this happening. A whole line of cars snaked down the road like we were having a garage sale. Curly, I spotted right off. Like my eye was now trained to look for him the way deer did wolves. He chatted up one of the troopers, but the officer seemed more interested in crowd control. Other than Curly, most of those waiting behind the wheel or leaning against their hoods looked local, or at least from the region. They had that weary expression and pale skin of folks who had been deprived of fresh air and sunshine for too long.
I backpedaled not into my room but Angie’s because hers faced the backyard. I jumped down first, and the sneakers I’d ruined the day I first met Rusty squished in the dew-soaked grass. Chad and I scrambled for the trees, careful to remain unseen, and down the wooded trail we’d walked, run, and, okay, even skipped on for as long as I could remember.
ONCE WE reached Chad’s backyard the glass door slid open before I reached it.
“Hey.” Rusty stepped back so I could enter. He had buzzed his hair down to a fuzz and looked like a tennis ball with eyes. “You’ve been busy,” he said as the television glowed with the image of my house and the same lady reporter from Mémé’s funeral gabbing about the strange events of recent weeks.
“Who is Jonah Gregory?” she asked into the camera.
“He knows things before they happen,” Karen Whitten said.
“He knew his grandmother was going to die in a car accident,” Callie added.
“And he, like, laid his hands or something and his little brothers got cured,” Maya said as she jostled with Karen to be at the center of the frame.
“They’ve been sick forever.” Jana now shoved from the other side.
“If you don’t want to take the word of his classmates and friends,” the lady reporter said. What friends? “Some say seeing is believing.” The footage of me carrying Mémé’s coffin followed and froze as the pigeon flew past my face. “Was this a sign?” Ah, jeez.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” I said. Taking Angie to New York had really hurt her and me. That’s what started all this. It was his fault.
“You too.” No, not all his, I admitted. Rusty rubbed his fuzzy scalp. It surprised me I liked him better this way. “I’m here now, right?” With all the craziness around me it was so great t
o see him, to not be alone, I had to squeeze my eyes tight to not really wimp out and start to cry. His arms slid around me, and I fell into him all over again. Rusty pulled back just enough to kiss me: not some sloppy movie version but a light brush on my lips, then my eyelids, and then he play-bit the end of my nose.
“How long have you been back?”
“Yesterday,” Rusty whispered. “As soon as I found out, I was on the phone with Jace pleading for a pardon.”
I looked toward the television. “I’m surprised she’s not at my house yet.”
“You’re getting to know my mother.” We both laughed. “Happy birthday, Jonah.” He handed me a small wooden box tied with twine. I opened it to find a feather encased in amber on a string made of leather. “It’s to ward off evil spirits. I got it from a Cherokee guy I met when Jace and I were on a book tour in Oklahoma. Who knew people read there? I guess romances are popular everywhere,” he said as I let him put it around my neck.
“You need to see this?” Chad was back with Darcy in tow. I was so into seeing Rusty I didn’t even realize they’d left.
“You two are so cute together,” Darcy added.
“Have you been spying?”
“Fair is fair,” she said. “And you saw second base. I only peeped on a single.”
“I’ll explain,” I told a confused looking Rusty.
“No time.” Chad set his phone on the table for all of us to see. A video of me being led from the church in handcuffs filled the screen. It was a little blurry and uneven, and I could tell it came from Curly’s cell phone. Beneath the constantly looping video were pictures of me. One was my yearbook photo from NC3, another was of me participating in a Holy R blood drive, and there was even an old picture of me as a little kid altar boy. How he got them I had no idea, but it really freaked me out. Curly’s real name was Charles Spicer, and he blogged about the supernatural. The headline read: The Strange Case of Jonah Gregory. Words jumped out at me because I was too charged up to read it. Prophet, angels, miracles, etc.
