He frustration mounted, and he muttered to himself, lying on the bed. “Fucking cop. We mustn’t get angry. Bad things happen when we get angry. We make mistakes.”
“You already made mistakes.”
The priest jerked his head from the pillow and attempted to jump to his feet. “You!” he shouted. As he reached a half-sitting position, he saw sparks and then long silvery threads flying through the air toward him.
His next sensation was complete rigidity, his body turned to stone. Like Lot’s wife, he thought briefly in his confusion. He was cognizant but incapacitated physically. He fought for control, but as fifty thousand volts pulsed rhythmically through his body, he fell back onto the bed helplessly and felt his bowels release.
When it stopped, he again attempted to rise, but his body only jerked and spasmed in response. He tried to keep his eyes on his attacker, but they wouldn’t focus, and the lack of light obscured him. Suddenly, the darkness exploded into a burst of brilliant white stars as he felt a blow to his head and lost consciousness.
He came to slowly and tried to regain his bearings. His head was splitting, and his mouth was gagged. He was bound at the hands and feet, lying on the bed, and his entire body ached. His eyes focused past the bedroom and out into the study. He saw a figure seated at his desk, methodically deleting his gallery of pictures.
The beginnings of a shout were suppressed as he thought better of it, and he strained to think, to find a solution. We always wriggle out of everything.
The intruder rose from the desk and came toward him. He feigned sleep, hoping to catch the attacker off-guard and gain the upper hand.
“This is for my old man.”
It was the last thing he heard before another blow took him back into unconsciousness.
He woke briefly, his head banging off objects as he was dragged across the building by his feet.
He came to again, this time finding himself prone on a cold, hard surface. He realized he was still naked. His eyes adjusted to the brilliant light above him, and he squinted. Through a halo of gold, he saw the beaten, dead face of Jesus on the massive cross above, looking down on him. The stained-glass windows on the periphery of his blurred vision swirled like kaleidoscopes. I’m on the altar. Why am I on the altar? He looked down the length of his body to see that he’d been duct-taped to the slab at his chest, waist, and feet.
His question was answered, to his horror, as he saw the intruder approach with a large knife.
“No,” he screamed through the gag. “No, no, no.”
“Vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly,” the intruder spoke as he neared.
The priest knew the attacker’s intent, and so he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth to prepare himself. He tried to block all sensation with his mind, but nothing could beat back the searing, sharp pain as the tool of his offenses was hacked from him. His groin throbbed, and he felt the warm rush of blood as it poured out of him and around his lower body.
From there he felt no pain, as his body went into shock and his life began to slip away. The last things his senses brought to him were the sound of liquid being poured out, the nauseating smell of gasoline, the flare of a match, the beauty of a shroud of multi-hued red and orange flames surrounding him, and finally the burning of his own wicked flesh.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Take me, and do what you please...
TOMMY BECAME AWARE of sunlight beginning to make its way into the room and the morning local newscast droning on through its usual litany: sports, weather, financial, war, death, hatred, politics. He had one foot in the present and one in the fragmented jumble of dreams when he first heard the ominous ‘breaking news’ music. He paid it no mind and started to drift again until he began to pick up the pieces subconsciously.
“...SWAT teams engaged...”
In his dream, he was sitting on the bank of the pond, fishing with Bobby. Margie was next to them on a spread-out blanket, unpacking their lunch from a wicker picnic basket.
“...church...”
He looked across the pond and saw a priest walking along a path. The priest stopped and stared back, then made the sign of the cross at them and continued on his way. He was whistling, and his gait was carefree.
“...engulfed in fire...”
As they sat peacefully, Moses approached without a word and sat beside them. Margie greeted him with a kiss and handed him an ice-cold beer from the cooler.
“...castration...”
Bobby yelled that he had one on the line, a big one. He yanked back the rod and wound the reel to bring it in. Tommy asked if he needed help, but he refused. Moses urged him to bring it in, and Margie clapped her hands and danced with glee on the shoreline.
“...Father Damien Tarat...”
Bobby continued to tug and reel until his catch bobbed to the surface and made its way toward them, a wake spreading behind the body of a priest at the end of his line.
Tommy shook off the lingering effects of deep sleep and rocketed up out of the recliner, shouting “Jesus!” He stood swaying and half-awake in front of the television.
A reporter was standing in front of a burning church, bathed, along with the scene, in swirling, flashing red and blue lights. The colored lights danced off the shattered stained glass, and yellow tape encircled the building. Tommy stood transfixed. His repeated shouts of “No!” filled the air around him, but sounded as if they must’ve been coming from someone else.
The reporter continued excitedly, “Again, the word we have here is that a lone attacker entered the church rectory late last night, subdued Father Tarat and took him into the main area of the church. Area 911 services reported receiving an emergency call from the building, with the caller repeating the following biblical verses:
‘Rescue the weak and needy; Deliver them out of the hand of the wicked. Since indeed God considers it just to repay with affliction those who afflict you. O Lord, God of vengeance, O God of vengeance, shine forth! Vengeance is mine, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly.’
“Police responded, and the man emerged from the church with a gun. Police had no choice other than to fire on him. After firefighters doused the blaze, they found the remains of Father Tarat laid out on the altar. Police are working to identify the assailant. Father Tarat had been accused of molesting altar boys and several other children.”
“Oh my God, what happened? I heard you yelling. What happened at the church?” It was Margie, standing next to him in her robe. “I’m so glad you’re home, Tommy,” she said, hugging him. “Who did this?” she asked.
“Uh...I don’t know. They didn’t say yet. Probably one of his victims...” His mind tried to process, but stalled, mired down with shock. Pieces clicked slowly together as if pulled by magnets through water.
He disengaged from Margie and ran up the stairs. I don’t remember if he was even in there sleeping, I just assumed... He checked Bobby’s room, then hurtled back down the stairs and out the door.
19 Discoveries
His mind racing now along with his vehicle, Tommy pulled up in front of Moses’ apartment and jumped out of the car, reaching into his pocket for the key. He ran up the stairs and burst through the door, scanning the room.
The kitchen table held a coffee cup, a pen, and several sheets of blank paper. He was careful not to touch anything. His former colleagues would figure it out soon, and be by to shut the place down.
The shock of it was still washing over him in waves. He looked to the bathroom and thought of Moses being sick in there. He looked to the couch and the old TV and thought of Moses. He looked to the stash box and thought of Moses.
Footsteps came up the stairs, and he turned to find Lukas coming through the door with an envelope.
“Hey. Uncle Mos said you’d be by. Said to give this to you. Only you.”
He’s doesn’t know. Tommy took it from his outstretched hand. “Thanks,” he said, as Lukas disappeared down the stairs. Tommy wondered if he should’ve told him right then and there, but decided to read the note first.
My brother Tommy,
Time was getting short for me, I hope you understand. I had to do what I did, for all the reasons we discussed, and more. I came home last night and sat at this table thinking about the mistreatment by evil people of good souls like your son and entire races of people, and became very angry. I had to do it before I sobered up too much. You know how that hard stuff affects me.
Anyway, I couldn’t have you back out of this on my account or cut me out. You still have hope, and a lot to live for, and I was at the end of the line. What needed to be done is done. I was tired of being sick, and the government won’t let us die with dignity. I didn’t want to suffer any longer.
I hope this buys me some retribution, and hopefully, as you read this, I’m back with my sweet Angie, in Elysium. I’m cancer-free, I suffer no more, and now I know all the answers. Hopefully, we’re all the same color where I am, or at least not judgmental about such a silly thing. I wonder if once the flesh is gone, all of the evil we perpetrate upon each other in lust of it will be gone as well.
Carry forward, my friend, take care of your wife. Talk to your boy, love your son, and keep me in your thoughts. I love you, man.
Moses Taylor, astronaut, husband of Angie the Angel, friend of Tommy, Vigilante Angel.
He sat on the couch and re-read it a few times, then folded the note and descended the stairs to talk to Lukas, to break the news as he’d had to so many times before, on the job. He reached the bottom and was about to turn the corner to the first-floor apartments when he saw Lukas sitting alone on the stoop outside.
“Hey, kid,” Tommy said as he sat beside the youth.
“Save it. I just found out. Word gets around quick in the ‘hood.”
Tommy knew to remain silent.
“Uncle fucking Mos, going all fucking Rambo and shit. Damn. Is this your motherfucking shit, white man? You get him all worked up and into this vigilante shit? You all always up there plotting about some bullshit. You use him to do your dirt?”
Now he had to respond. “No. I’m pissed off at him, and I’m all fucked up about this. He went off on his own. He was sick, Lukas. Damn sick. He wanted to make a difference, I guess. He kept talking about trying to do something to make up for the wrong he did a long time ago. I told him he already paid for that.”
Lukas considered his words a moment. “But you were into some shit like that. You were planning something?”
“It’s better not to talk about it, Lukas. You know how that goes. Your uncle and me were both real sick. That puts a man into a different mindset, gives him a tremendous amount of power.
“We both had a lot to make up for, and yeah, we talked about that. But I never wanted him to do something like this alone. He was sick of being sick, and he hated that fucking priest for hurting kids, like I did. He hurt my fucking kid, and I think that’s one of the things that motivated Mos. He stole my thunder there, and I’m a little angry about it. The cops’ll be here soon; I have to go.”
Lukas was sniffing, fighting back tears. “I know he loved you, cracker. He talked about your white ass all the time. Never thought I’d see the day some damn white cop come waltzing in here without getting an ass-beating.”
“Yeah. I loved him too. I’ll be in touch. Let’s give him a good send-off. I’ll help out; keep me in the loop on the arrangements. You’ll find my number in your uncle’s address book. I got to roll, Lukas. Cops are going to be all over this place soon. Go upstairs and clean house, don’t say too much.”
“I hear you. That’s one thing we’re damn good at.”
Tommy left the building and paused, hoping to hear the scrape of the window opening high above. He turned and looked up, half-expecting, half-wishing to see Moses’ head emerge through it.
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and walked toward his car.
THE AFTERNOON SUN PIERCED Tommy’s closed eyelids, waking him. He could hear the drone of the newscast before his eyes could adjust to the light. He leaned away from the window and rose up slightly from the living room couch to find Bobby sitting in the recliner next to him.
“Day off?” he asked Bobby.
“Night shift.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“Aunt Diane’s.”
They watched the coverage in silence. Sadness, paranoia, and fear continued their assault on Tommy. The excited reporter was standing in front of the cordoned-off church again, rattling off the details as the screen filled with a dated picture of Moses.
“...we’ve just received word the deceased assailant has been identified as Moses Taylor. His motive is currently unknown...”
“Dad...that’s your friend...” Bobby said.
Tommy grabbed the remote to increase the volume.
“We’ll be back with more details as we find them out. This is Jenna March, News 12. John, back to you in the studio.”
Tommy turned off the TV but continued looking at it.
“You okay, Dad? You’ve got a weird look on your face. Did you know he was going to do this? Did he say anything to you?”
“No, son. I mean—we saw all this in the news when we were getting treatment. It upset us both. We said some things, sure. I bet a lot of people did, right? There can’t be much doubt the priest did it—all those lives he ruined, those kids.”
This time it was Bobby who offered an awkward silence and uncomfortable posture.
“Bobby, Moses said something to me. That I should talk to you. It was after we all worked together back on Thanksgiving,” Tommy said.
Bobby hesitated, considering whether to finally confront what they’d remained silent about for years. “Yeah, we took a break and went outside for a while and talked. He brought up the priest then.”
“What did he say?” Tommy asked, anxious to keep the conversation going. He was scared of what Moses might’ve told his son, and terrified of what his son might be about to tell him.
“Actually, it was me who did most of the talking. I told him about it. What happened a long time ago.”
“Listen, Bobby—we don’t need to...”
Bobby’s voice rose in anger. “Yes. Yes, Dad. We do need to. We’ve always needed to. Some things are too painful to keep inside for so long. You need to hear it, and you need to deal with things. We all do. We can’t live in denial. We can’t fix what we’re afraid to confront.”
Tommy slumped back in acceptance. He thought of Moses by his side, and it gave him courage. “Okay, it’s okay. I love you, son. Go ahead.”
“That priest got me too, Dad. I talked to Moses about it. I had to talk to someone, and Moses was easy to talk to. He had some bad things happen to him too when he was a kid; maybe that’s why he did what he did.”
Bobby paused, not noticing the tears flowing down the face of his tough, hardened father. “Why do you think I was always ducking church?”
“Why? Why not tell me and your mother?”
“I didn’t think you wanted to hear it. He threatened me. I was a kid, and I was scared and embarrassed. So many reasons, Dad. But it’s over now. We have to move on together.”
Tommy flinched at the words. “Ah, Jesus, Bobby. I’m so damn proud of you. C’mere kid.”
Bobby moved over to the couch, beside his father. Tommy put his arm around him and held him tight, still crying. “I’m so sorry, son. I’m so fucking sorry. I wasn’t there for you,” he sobbed, his tears falling onto his son’s neck.
Bobby pulled away and looked his father in the eye. “While we’re at it, there’s something else, Dad. Another elephant we have to get out of the room. Or the closet.”
Despite Bobby’s attempt to inject some humor into the subject, Tommy looked at the floor, more out of shame than the awkwardness of the moment. He saved his son the trouble of the revelation
.
“Yeah, I know. I guess I always have and didn’t want to admit it. I was always this hard-ass, so afraid of facing my friends that I gave my son a miserable life.”
“It wasn’t, Dad. We all live with our secrets. You made me a better man in a lot of ways. We’ve had a good life, a good family.”
“I didn’t protect you from that son of a bitch. I’m supposed to protect people, and I didn’t protect my own son. Maybe if I had...”
“Dad, it wasn’t because of him that I’m gay. I’ve always been that way. C’mon. You know it. In the beginning, I tried to be this sports-playing, outdoorsy kid to please you, but it wasn’t me. Maybe that’s why he targeted me. After what happened, I didn’t care anymore. Doesn’t matter. He’s gone. We have to move forward—you, me, and Mom.”
“Yeah, we do. I love you, son. Unconditionally.”
They both turned as Margie entered the room. “Tommy, I’m so sorry about Moses...”
Tommy went to her and embraced her. It was the first time he could remember her going to her sister’s and not coming home smelling like booze. He wondered if they had a chance.
“He was a good man. He taught me a lot. The last thing he did was to remind me how lucky I am, and how special and important you two are. I’m so sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I love you, honey. Let’s have breakfast. We have a lot to talk about, our little family.”
20 The Visitation
Tommy and his family made their way through the media outside and entered the funeral parlor’s stuffy viewing room. They walked past the sparse groups in the sea of padded folding chairs, toward the casket ahead, where his friend Moses lay.
He took note of the few floral arrangements and looked for theirs. The sweet smell and choral music flowing through the room’s speakers began to nauseate him.
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