The Sutters smiled bravely back.
13
Just outside, Jill let her anger out. Whispering fiercely, she filled David in on Jenna’s hostile brother, the whole story.
“Brian Walsh,” she said. “The cops interviewed him while I was with that breech and you were doing Jenna’s surgery.” She stopped for a second. “What was that call?”
David was frowning back toward Jenna’s room. “Something Holloway’s gonna take,” he said low. “I don’t like the sound of brother Brian. They should have a police guard-”
He stopped as they saw a figure rushing toward them. A young nun in modern habit, looking bereft. Feet away, she stopped to check the patient’s I.D. plaque and room number.
“Ah, Sister?” David said.
She turned with tearful eyes to them. They explained who they were.
“You know Jenna?” Jill asked.
The young nun said yes, she was an old friend of Jenna’s, and asked worriedly about her condition.
David gently told her.
She put her hands to her face, half-turned away, and burst into muffled tears. “I’m Cathy Riley,” she managed, turning back, pulling tissues from her pocket and scrubbing her face. “Now Sister Catherine, please call me Cathy. I’m…oh, I just can’t believe this,” she said in a high, tremulous whisper. Her words rushed. She needed to talk. “Jenna’s been my lifelong friend. I’m four years older. I used to babysit for her, then she grew up and…we volunteered at charities, chopped veggies for soup kitchens, laughed and giggled a lot...”
David said, “Sister-”
“Cathy, Cathy.”
“Okay, Cathy. Maybe have a seat before you go in?”
On a bench just down from Jenna’s room, they sat her between them and told her about the attack - including Brian’s reported hostility but leaving out the snake. Listening, she went from sitting slack-jawed and frozen to rocking forward with her face in her hands.
“Brian…do that? Kicking and punching her belly?” she said in a muffled voice. “I can’t believe it. I know he’s a pain and…” She floundered.
“Obsessed with the Church?” Jill said as delicately as she could.
Cathy raised her chin. “In the past few years, yes. But he’s mean about it. Drives people away, actually.”
“But you don’t think he could have done this?” David asked quietly.
Sister Cathy straightened, her strained face slack. Finally she said, “I can’t think that. I mean, Brian yells, he’s got a temper…but this?”
She mopped more tears. “He’s mean but not crazy. Anyone who uses his religion as a pretext to harm is just plain nuts. Psycho. No priest would condone harming anyone. It can’t be Brian...”
Her voice trailed as if she were re-thinking it, troubled. She shook her head helplessly.
Jill asked, “Did you know Brian as well as you did Jenna?”
A swallow. “Not since childhood.” A frown. “Actually, even then he was a hard kid to know. Always in his room studying, or just avoiding people if you ask me. He got good marks, but Jenna used to say he studied by memorizing, not understanding.”
“Do you know his wife?” David asked.
“Barely. Saw her at the wedding four years ago and maybe twice since. She isn’t gregarious either. Jenna said they’d been fighting lately, and she apparently finds her only comfort in the Church. Brags and brags how she’s never missed a Mass. Even I’d want to say, Enough already.”
Cathy’s eyes turned suddenly alarmed. “Not Brian…I can’t believe... There must be some maniac out there.”
They told her the police were on it.
“Working as we speak,” Jill said; and David said, “The surrogate couple is in there now with Jenna. Grieving for their lost child, but also worried about her. Staying with her.”
“That’s so kind,” Cathy murmured.
“You must have known about Jenna’s surrogacy?” Jill asked - again, delicately.
“Yes.” Sister Cathy pulled in a shaky breath. “I wasn’t in favor of it, but her mind was made up. I’ve never met the Sutters but she said she loved them, felt so bad about the type 1 diabetes. Truthfully, I didn’t know how I felt. I mean, God loves all children, and this baby was to be raised by his or her loving parents and God loves families.” She shrugged and gestured. “I often feel torn.”
They nodded, smiled a little.
Cathy was quiet for a moment, then searched David’s eyes. “Is there any chance Jenna might recover? Partially at least?”
“There’s significant brain damage,” he said quietly. “But there’s always hope.”
“And prayer. I’m going to pray my heart out.”
Sister Cathy rose, wiping a tear. “Thank you for telling me, preparing me.” She glanced feelingly toward Jenna’s room. “The Sutters must be in so much pain. Maybe I can comfort them.”
Jill said, “It does help them to talk, have company. They’re feeling very alone.”
“I’ll go to them now.”
The figure was stooped. Wore a dark, cheap coat, leather gloves, and a kerchief over her blond hair.
It should have looked odd: stiff, bleached-looking hair on a tall figure who walked bent over - but at one in the morning, who’d notice in a hospital chapel? It’s nearly deserted anyway, the figure thought. Just one man in a pew near the front, weeping.
Head bowed, the figure moved into a pew several rows behind the man. Placed a battered black purse on the floor, and next to it, a brown paper bag and a Macy’s shopping bag. She kept her coat and gloves on, her chin down and her hands clasped, as if in prayer.
The kerchief was pulled forward, which hid most of the face. Still, the figure was careful not to look up. These days, they might even have security cameras in a chapel. Which makes it a fake chapel, right? Another modern trick of the devil.
Only God watches in a truly sanctified place. So what I’m about to do will be alright.
After ten minutes, the weeping man in front rose from his pew. Moved to the altar and knelt before it on both knees, crossing himself, then re-clasping his hands, weeping more.
The figure kept her head bowed but raised her eyes; watched through narrowed slits. Hurry up, fool. You’re wasting your time. Satan’s probably laughing his head off.
The praying man was overweight. Groaned and cried and had a hard time hauling himself back to a standing position. Finally crossed himself again, and turned.
The figure hunched further forward, as if in more intense prayer. Watched sideways as the man’s old shoes moved past, and waited till he was out the door.
Now, quick. Nighttime’s full of weepers in hospitals.
The figure picked up her purse, Macy’s bag, and brown paper bag. Both bulged.
Moving slowly, head still bowed, the figure carried her bags to the altar. Then hesitated. If they had security cameras, there’d probably be one behind the altar, aimed out at the pews.
That was okay. Precautions had been taken for that, too. Makeup could do the most amazing things.
Sounds in the hall. Someone approaching or just passing by?
Suddenly quick, the figure put the brown paper bag on the altar. Turned and moved back out a bit faster, head still down, body bent as if in pain.
Moved like that through the hospital lobby, too. It was almost as busy as daytime. Patients coming in looking for the emergency room, crying relatives, doctors and nurses coming on or going off shift.
Nice that the chapel was just off the lobby. Not so nice that security cameras would be out here for sure.
Head down, the figure moved bent and stiffly to the street. Did not straighten until reaching two blocks away, and even then kept the kerchief pulled forward.
Three blocks away, a trash can beckoned. Lose the black purse? No, keep it. It was an old plastic thing, bought in a thrift store like the coat, which would stay on for now. It was a moonless, gusty night with a cold rain starting.
Good. Extra cover to get the next one! And this time RE
ALLY kill. I have spoken with God. He said it was okay if they’ve relinquished their souls.
Yesss! On such a perfect night with such a perfect getup? Give ‘em two! She’ll be sleeping, but I have my lock pick!
The figure pressed her Macy’s bag to her and hurried to the downtown subway, thinking, Oh so busy I am! God’s chosen warrior, and tomorrow the world will be forced to confront its sins!
Inside the hospital chapel, the brown paper bag sat on the altar. It bulged.
And then moved. Not enough to fall off, but it moved again.
Poked at some air holes punched in the bag.
14
Jesse was sleeping. Didn’t wake when Jill took him out of his isolette and held him, hugged him to her.
“I so needed this,” she whispered, drawing a deep breath. “Can’t tell you how much.”
“Ditto,” David said tiredly, taking a picture of her hugging the baby, then taking several more. Jill kissing Jesse’s little cheek, his tiny hand.
“Okay, my turn.”
She handed the baby to David. He sat in the rocker, put Jesse sleeping on his chest, lay his head back for a second and – just like that – he fell asleep. He was so exhausted.
Jesse’s head was on his shoulder, and both of them, sleeping, were facing her. What a picture. Jill got out her phone and snapped it. David moved a little and Jesse moved a little too, as if sensing their closeness. Jill snapped that picture too.
A nurse just passing grinned and said, “Aww…”
Jill smiled back, then gently lifted Jesse from David’s arms and put him, still sleeping, back into his isolette.
David woke.
“Huh?”
“Just putting him back,” Jill whispered.
“Gee, he sleeps like a baby.”
“We’ve gotta get to bed too.”
David rose, looking foggy-headed. Came awake watching Jill download a baby monitor app to her phone, then did the same with his. “Be in two places at once!” he mimicked the online ad. “Watch your baby when you’re away, out on date night! Hey, how ‘bout a date night?”
“Two-way communication.” Jill was reading the ad too. “You can hear your baby and s/he can hear you.”
“Amazing,” David mumbled. He turned away and saw Jesse’s picture come onto his phone screen.
Jill leaned over the isolette. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
He peered at his screen. “Three.”
Then she stuck out different fingers. “How many now?”
“Two. You made a peace sign.”
“Awesome.” Jill grinned. “This thing really works.”
Another nurse checking other babies smiled. “A mother’s dream. My sister just got hers.”
The security guard seated nearby smiled too. “That’s what my wife says.”
Such good feelings, just coming here. The newborn nursery was a warming, quiet, protected place, full of love and caring. Every new little life was so precious.
David was back to muttering sleepily, reading the app’s directions. “We have to leave the Wi-Fi on. Use of the camera requires internet access.”
“We’ll keep our phones charged.”
“You can snap a photo or video while away. Sing to him. Play music for him.”
Jill took another picture of Jesse sleeping, then turned her back to him and watched him on her phone’s new monitor.
“Oh, he yawned in his sleep!”
“Yep.” David had seen Jesse do it and was grinning goofily with one eye closed. “Speaking of sleeping…”
“Yes. Bed, bed…”
A bad feeling suddenly chilled. It was time to leave. Go back out to the world where evil lived too…and lay in wait. Jill felt it and knew it. David saw her expression change and her fists suddenly clench.
He put his arm around her. “Feeling nervous again?”
“Big time.”
He exhaled. “Psycho’s had a busy day. He’s probably tired and fast asleep now, to terrorize another day. Let’s go to my place, sleep in the big bed.”
They practically leaned on each other, heading out.
Minutes later they were on the sidewalk, David in a navy parka, Jill in her old pea coat with a long blue scarf drooping. A cold wind gusted, and she pulled the scarf up over her head. Neither spoke as they hurried the long block to his apartment, in a square building of 60s featureless architecture upgraded with surveillance cameras in the lobby, the elevators, and hallways.
Getting off the elevator, Jill commented on the surveillance.
“There’s always been drawbridges,” David muttered as he unlocked his door and flicked on a light. “Moats, forts, sentries…”
It was a one bedroom, with a good-sized, sparsely furnished central area and a long thin kitchen. They peered tiredly into the fridge, knowing there was nothing there but leftover Chinese and some still-marinating beef. Four nights ago, Jill had tried to make shish kebob, make a lovely dinner…but they’d been called, and hadn’t seen the apartment again until last night, when they’d argued and were in no mood to cook.
“A few more days and we can donate that beef to science,” David said.
Jill groaned and went into the bedroom. Pulled her jacket and scrubs off and was in bed naked a minute later with her head under the bunched pillow. David stripped and followed, lifting the pillow to peek for her. She raised her arms to him, and they made love in the nightglow of the near hospital’s windows, seemingly closer than a block, its towers rising over smaller, closer buildings.
He was asleep soon after with his arm around her. Jill lay on her side, unable to sleep. They’d been too blitzed to remember to close the blinds, and the hospital lights glowed, brought back the awful day. That sign threatening tiny, innocent Jesse and the hospital, and…oh, poor Jenna Walsh. That attack was so hideously cruel. Jill saw the snake slither from Jenna’s sweater again, and jerked cringing in the bed.
David mumbled something in his sleep and moved onto his back. Jill did too; now lay staring at the ceiling, its shifting lights and shadows. Sirens wailed in the street below, more sirens sounded from the ambulance bay. She closed her eyes. Snakes and hateful signs gave way to thinking about her life, her not-terrific past. Parents divorced when she was seven. High-profile, absentee mother, a prosecutor. Father seen just a few times before his death. So busy in L.A. with his brand new life and family, though he’d sent a few birthday cards. Big deal. The cards had made her cry.
She was still crying, holding Jesse, in the middle of a cobbled, crowded square, thatched roofs on smaller houses. “Last birthday card,” her father said. “It’s the Inquisition, I’m so sorry.” She clutched Jesse harder as a crowd dragged them both to a wooden stake with high-piled sticks beneath it. Burn? They were going to burn them? Galileo was tied to a stake next to her, his old eyes wide on Jesse. “This is fascinating,” he said. “Quick, explain.” Someone lit the kindling below her and Galileo. Flames shot up, licking the bottom of her long dress. Jesse screamed and she hugged him to her, rising up in an acrid cloud, the hospital electric lights blinking below.
15
Dawn angled through the stained glass, sending soft reds and blues and golds across the pews. A shaft of gold lit a weeping woman’s clasped hands and her rosary. Her hands stilled, and she looked up, blinking through stinging tears. Had God just spoken to her? Her breath caught. Real, or nervous breakdown? Wait…real! She felt it! The gold light was now strong on the altar. It called to her!
Joy replaced exhaustion. God had heard her hours of desperate prayer, and was telling her that Frankie Junior would be okay. She actually felt the Holy Spirit lift her from her seat and carry her, trembling and arthritic, to kneel painfully before the altar.
Prayers tumbled from her lips:
“Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee…Blessed are you, Lord God, h-holy is your name…”
In her rapture she was stammering… “Blessed are you for ever, great is your mercy…”
She raised a hand to touch the altar. “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, we praise you…”
And lost her balance.
Then righted herself, catching the altar edge. “…we bless you for calling us to be…”
Heard something thump to the floor. “…your holy people…”
Her voice wavered. The gold light shaft had moved on; a rustling sound drew her attention to a brown paper bag on the floor. Bulging.
Moving…? Poking at moist places.
Something long and black slithered out and shot across to the front pew. The woman’s vision blurred in terror. Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
Then another snake shot out, and then more, writhing near her, crawling over each other…
Later, the woman would not remember how she struggled to her feet, and managed to run out screaming. She wouldn’t even recall security guards and a cop running to her.
It was all a blur…
They were going to be late for rounds. It was almost seven and the other interns would be waiting. David came, wet-haired from the shower, to read over Jill’s shoulder. She was hunched into his laptop, madly scrolling and reading.
“Galileo?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She kept reading, didn’t look up.
“Your hands are shaking.”
“I had another nightmare.”
He made a pained sound and kissed her brow. She still didn’t look up.
“1633.” she said, tapping the screen. “Galileo was old and sick during the Inquisition, but they interrogated him for eighteen days, and finally made him confess that he may have had it wrong, and the Church was right in saying that the sun revolved around the earth, not the other way around.” Jill scrolled. “He was still declared a heretic, and died under house arrest.”
She frowned, fast-skimming more, then looked up. “The Church finally accepted that he may have been right…in 1983.”
“What was the rush? Speaking of rush - please? Rounds and interns await.”
Waiting, indeed, they were. By the nurses’ desk, Ramu Chitkara had a bag of bagels he was passing out to Tricia, Charlie Ortega, and Gary Phipps, who was munching with one hand while his other hand stuffed an extra bagel into his scrub pants pocket.
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