UnCatholic Conduct

by Stevie Mikayne

  After half a mile, she slowed down, no longer able to hear him crashing through the brush ahead. She might have missed the little cabin in the densely-packed trees if she hadn’t stopped to scan the horizon.

  “What the hell?” She ducked behind a tree and extracted her gun from her ankle holster. The walkie buzzed, and she quickly shut it off. Nothing like static to tip off her location.

  She stalked the remaining distance to the cabin, and at the door, leaned in to listen. Someone moved around inside. What was he doing here? Did he have a weapon?

  If she waited for the police to get here, she might never get a confession. After thinking again, she tucked her gun into the back of her pants and opened the door.

  “Hello, Mark.”

  He whirled around, his head almost reaching the ceiling.

  “Jil, what the hell are you doing here?”

  She stared at him. “So you did know.”

  His jaw dropped, but he quickly recovered himself, and his mouth formed a hard line. “Yes, Julia, I did.”

  “How much do you know?”

  He pulled himself up, his angular face cold. “Everything.”

  In the tiny cabin, he looked even more enormous. He could easily grab her and crush her to death with his massive bare hands. She was determined not to let him see her sweat, though. Deliberately, she took one step forward.

  “You stole my notebook?”

  “I did. That’s when I figured out you weren’t who you said you were.”

  “That’s when you started following me?”

  “I saw you with Jessica. Downtown in that restaurant.”

  “You started calling my house? How did you get my number?”

  “I have friends everywhere, Jil. I thought you’d figure that out by now. Friends who can tap even a private line to an unlisted number. Friends who will follow people into dark tunnels.”

  “But those friends don’t know how far you’ve gone, do they, GunSlinger? Or should I say, Clarisse?” Jil stepped forward again. “They don’t know it goes beyond bullying and threats, do they? You’re the only one who knows that.”

  Mark sneered. “You have nothing on me.”

  “Don’t I? Then why are you running?” Jil looked around the cabin, at the walls strewn with newspaper clippings and photographs. On a hunch, she played her hand.

  “Was this the cabin where you killed Bobby?”

  Mark blanched, but said nothing.

  “What are you afraid of, Mark? Ghosts from the past haunting you?”

  “I have no ghosts. No regrets.”

  “Not even for the people you’ve killed?”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “All those people: Tommy and Edward. Charleston. Regina. Bobby, Alyssa?”

  “None of those deaths were my fault.”

  She decided to go out on a limb. “You killed those two boys from your year. Then you killed Charleston because he was going to expose you and the rest of the Sons of Adam.”

  Mark’s jaw twitched. “What did you say?”

  “Charleston? Or the Sons of Adam?”

  “How do you know anything about—?”

  “I’m a private eye, Mark. It’s my job.”

  “To sniff around in things that don’t concern you? Isn’t it bad enough that you’re corrupting a principal into your queer lifestyle? Nosing into St. Marguerite’s past? You’d better watch yourself, Jil. This goes way beyond anything you can handle.”

  “I can handle the SoA, Mark. A group of cowards who prey on vulnerable people. Bring them to me in any dark alley and take bets on the survivor. It won’t be your Sons of Adam.”

  Mark’s jaw twitched, and he clenched his fist. “Stop saying that.”

  “What? The Sons of Adam?”

  “Shut up.”

  Jil felt the cool reassurance of her handgun pressed against her lower back. The recording device swirled silently in her pocket, gathering every word. “Why should I stop, Mark? Does it bother you that your secret boys’ club is no longer a secret?”

  “It’s not a boys’ club.”

  “No, of course not. Because that would be too gay, wouldn’t it? Too suspicious, to have a club made up only of adolescent boys. Might raise some alarms. Make people question you, right?”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I think I do. I think you watched them and you liked what you saw. And I think you hated yourself for liking it and killing them was the only way to get rid of those feelings.”

  “I’m not gay,” he rasped.

  Jil lifted her chin. “Funny. You didn’t say you didn’t kill them.”

  His face contorted. “They deserved to die.”

  “Who did?”

  “All of them!”

  “Why?”

  “They were at a Catholic school!”

  “Doing what? Holding hands? Kissing?”

  “Everything!” Mark exploded. “More than that. Right here on school grounds. I saw them!”

  Jil settled back against the desk, praying that if Padraig or Morgan got there, they would stay outside until she’d heard everything. The guy was spinning out. If she didn’t get the confession now, she never would.

  “Tell me what they were doing.”

  “In the loft. Above the gym…I saw them. It’s a cardinal sin what they were doing!”

  “Who?”

  “Those girls.”

  “Regina?”

  “And her sick girlfriend.”

  Jil let the sentence hang for a moment. Out of genuine curiosity, she asked, “Why didn’t you go after her?”

  Mark shook his head, seeming to come out of the memory. “She left school. Went to a conversion camp.” He barely seemed to realize that he’d just incriminated himself.

  “So you thought your work was done?”

  “I had other things to think about. And it worked. Megan came back a changed girl. She even dated one of the student council.”

  The student council. The SoA front. “So you moved on to other targets?”

  “I never killed anyone!”

  “Except those boys.”

  “They killed themselves.”

  Jil shook her head. “No, they didn’t.”

  Mark covered his face. “I didn’t mean…it wasn’t supposed…”

  Jil stepped closer. “What happened?”

  Mark’s face contorted in rage. A long moment passed, and Jil was afraid she’d pushed him too far. That he would clam up and walk free.

  “They got what they deserved,” she whispered. “Didn’t they? You were protecting the rest of the students from being corrupted, like you were.”

  “That faggot kissed me,” Mark growled. “That’s how I knew.”

  “Who kissed you?”

  “Edward. Then Charleston and Rocco and I, we saw him and Tommy at the movies one day. I guess they thought they were alone in the back row.”

  “And you figured out they were together?”

  “We kept it to ourselves. Rocco figured we could use it to our advantage. You know—get a little extra spending money, some favors done.”

  “You mean you blackmailed them.”

  Genovese sneered. “Yes, Charleston and Rocco were especially good at that.”

  “What about Buck? He’s Charleston’s twin. Was he there?”

  “Buck is the weaker twin by far. He thought we should leave the boys alone. Didn’t agree with our ‘activities.’”

  “Because he actually understands the tenets of Catholic faith?”

  Mark stopped. “What? That overprotective blundering fool? He’s the embodiment of Christianity?”

  “Yes. Love thy neighbor. Do unto others. I think he does a pretty good job.”

  “Strength is required of true Christians. Strength to follow the righteous path. The true path.”

  “Marrying someone you don’t love and bearing children into a fraudulent relationship? Raising them on lies?”

  “Don’t yo
u dare bring my sons into this!”

  “What about your wife? How is she on the Divine path when she’s married to a—”

  “Don’t you dare!” Mark bellowed.

  She eyed him coldly. “Murderer.”

  “You don’t understand!”

  “Then tell me.”

  Mark ran a large hand through his thick hair. “We harassed them, it’s true. We did a good job of it as well. Had them quaking in their boots every time they heard a noise in the hallway. We even got them at home in their beds by throwing rocks at their windows.”

  “Were you involved with the Sons of Adam then?”

  “The SoA is for members only! I won’t discuss it.”

  “Fine. So you and Charleston and Rocco followed those boys and harassed them until they couldn’t face coming to school again.”

  “They made a pact,” Mark said. “A suicide pact.”

  “And you saw to it that they carried it out.”

  “It was Tommy’s idea. He was more committed. We listened to them make their plan.”

  “How?”

  “The loft above the gym. That’s where they used to meet.”

  “And you watched them there?”

  “Yes.”

  “So they made a pact? And you found out when they were going to do it.”

  “We followed them to the gym. They tied their ropes to the rafters and were supposed to jump off the second floor balcony. Tommy did it. Edward hesitated.”

  “He didn’t want to die.”

  “He had second thoughts.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He was just standing there, on the balcony, with the rope tied around his neck. He…he started praying to God. He was praying for us. For our souls.”

  Jil took a deep breath, imagining what must have been going through Edward’s mind.

  “He said ‘Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do. Especially Mark—’” Genovese stopped, his eyes blazing at the memory. He smashed his fist against the tabletop. “I knew what was coming next.”

  “What?”

  “He was going to say it. He was going to say it out loud.”

  “That you were made like him?”

  “I was not!” Mark screamed. “I wasn’t anything like him!”

  “But Edward saw that you were.”

  “He was wrong! He was a liar and a sodomist! I had to shut him up.”

  Jil locked eyes with him. “So you pushed him?”

  Mark froze.

  “C’mon, Mark. Did you have the strength to stand up for your beliefs or not? Did you let that sodomist live or did you push him?”

  “All right!” Mark yelled. “I pushed the faggot. Okay? I pushed him.”

  “Because you were doing God’s will?”

  “No! It was wrong of me.”

  Jil shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “It felt like I’d cheated. It felt incomplete. He was supposed to do it himself. He was supposed to repent his sins! That’s what the Sons of Adam is all about.” Mark’s eyes blazed and he pounded the table when he realized what he’d said. “Damn you!”

  Jil held her ground, even though every instinct told her to get out of his way. “They were supposed to repent and take their own lives?”

  “Yes! Like all the others!”

  All the others. “How many have there been, Mark? How many people have the Sons of Adam targeted?”

  “I told you not to say that name!”

  “Oh, I’m going to say it. I’m going to say it to everyone who will listen. I’m going to say it on the news, on the radio. I’m even going to sit down with a reporter and make sure it hits the front page of the paper.”

  Mark’s face turned purple. “You have to shut up!” he roared.

  Just then, the door burst open and Morgan crashed over the threshold, followed by two other uniformed policemen. “Police! Get down on the ground!” shouted Morgan.

  Genovese leaped into the air, toppling the table in the middle of the room with his giant hands before he dashed for the door.

  Jil rolled to the side and watched as two of the officers tackled Genovese. He snarled and tried to stand with two men on his back.

  The brawnier officer took him out at the knees and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.

  “Wait,” Jil called, getting up.

  The policemen stopped. Genovese stared at her with a peculiar look on his face.

  “Bobby Hansen?”

  Genovese shook his head. “Had nothing to do with me.”

  Jil nodded. Why would he deny that one and confess to all the others. Unless he was telling the truth?

  She stared at him a moment longer, but he remained immutable. “Go ahead, take him away.”

  “I’m not going to jail,” Genovese rasped. “I’m not!”

  “Why not?” Jil retorted. “Lots of bitches there. You might even like it.”

  Mark lunged back into the room, but the officers had a firm grip on him and shoved him outside. Jil could hear him cursing and yelling above the crunching of leaves and twigs.

  “Pig-headed,” Morgan said.

  “Determined,” she returned.

  “Foolish. Brass-balled. Stubborn as hell and impulsive.”

  Jil flashed him a grin. “But you love me, don’t you?”

  “Hell yes, baby.” He winked. “If you swung my way, I’d even kiss you.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.” Jess stood in the doorway, a wry smile playing on her lips.

  Morgan put his hands up in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Principal Blake.”

  Jil cast a quick look behind Jess to make sure nobody was listening.

  “I already checked,” Jess whispered.

  Morgan ducked out, chuckling as he closed the door to the cabin. The old hinges creaked as the wooden door banged shut.

  “This place is creepy,” said Jess, looking around.

  “Really creepy. I think you should have it torn down.”

  “I will. Right after—” And she leaned forward to lock lips in a heated kiss.

  After a moment, Jil broke away.

  “How did you figure it out? What made you dig more?”

  Jil smiled. “Regina Francis.”

  “Regina? The girl who slit her wrists at school?”

  “She didn’t die.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jil lowered her voice to a whisper. “When I looked through the yearbook, the description of her didn’t make sense. No outgoing girl with lots of friends is going to commit suicide. She staged her death. Her girlfriend went to a conversion camp, then finished her year at St. Marguerite’s and went to university in a different province.”

  “That’s an awful lot of trouble to go to shake the SoA.”

  Jil narrowed her eyes, weighing the pros and cons of telling her what she’d discovered that morning.

  “What is it?” A line formed between Jess’s eyebrows.

  Jil sighed and blew the hair out of her face. “I wish I didn’t know. I wish I hadn’t gone looking.”

  Jess leaned into the doorway. “What did you find?”

  “Suicides. Suspicious ones. High school students….”

  “Where? How many?”

  Jil sighed again, the weight of knowledge heavy on her shoulders. “They’re everywhere. If you look hard enough, they’re everywhere.”

  “That’s why Reggie had to get out of dodge.”

  “She was convinced she’d be followed the rest of her life. And she probably would have. So she changed her name to Frances.”

  “And she and Megan?”

  Jil winked. “Married. With a dog.”

  *

  At home that night, with Jess sitting on her couch, drinking a large glass of Bordeaux, Jil took out her tablet.

  “She’s really gone?” she said to Jess.

  Jess looked up, over the novel she was pretending to read. Instead, she’d mostly been staring at the fire. “I’m sorry I don’t know
more.”

  Jil sighed. “I just can’t believe it. How could she disappear like that? And what about Gideon?”

  “They’re together still, from what I understand. In another city. With a family this time. That’s all the social worker would tell me.”

  Jil tucked her legs up.

  If she wanted to find them, she could. It wouldn’t be that hard. But she wondered if it was best just to leave them alone. Let them get on with their lives.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Jess whispered, folding her hand tightly over Jil’s. “It’s hard to let go.”

  “I can’t help wondering…if Reggie could do it…”

  “Bex is just as clever, Jil. She’s going to be just fine.”

  Jil looked past her at the crackling fire and said a little prayer for their safety. For a long time, they remained silent, just holding hands, then the phone rang, breaking their dream state.

  Jil answered. “Hey, old man, how’s it going?”

  For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Fear clutched at her stomach in his silence.

  “Padraig? What is it?”

  He exhaled slowly, and the hiss of his breath sent a shiver down her arms.

  “I don’t know how to tell you, Kidd, so I’ll just come out with it.”

  “What? What’s happened?”

  “It’s Elise. She’s died.”

  END

  About the Author

  Stevie Mikayne was slightly shocked when a private Ottawa PI agency let her into their underground training school. For three days, she battled perpetual pregnancy nausea to learn undercover secrets, including how to use an amazing assortment of PI equipment. Although she’s never gone undercover, she did work for several years with medically-fragile children at the Catholic School Board, where nothing remotely exciting ever happened to her.

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