On Broken Wings

by Francis Porretto

  "You got it, boss."

  ====

  Chapter 5

  Louis could judge the state of his own expression from the way Father Schliemann's face went white as he opened the rectory door. The old priest slipped an arm around his shoulders and guided him to the rectory's sitting room without a word.

  It had been many years since Louis had last been unable to control a bodily reaction. The chemotherapy-induced nausea and dizziness were testing that control. The heavy brown leather armchair in which Schliemann had sat him rose and fell like a small boat on a choppy sea. The added pressure from the pain in his abdomen made it all but impossible for him not to clench his muscles in what Malcolm called the "panic stop."

  He could still command his breathing. It would have to be enough. He concentrated on making it slow, deep, and regular, until the rhythm gained dominance over the rest of his sensorium. An unknown interval had passed when he realized that Father Schliemann was kneeling before him. Lips moving in silent prayer, the old priest was gripping Louis's arms while staring up into his face.

  "I'm all right, Father."

  "You're not much of a liar, Louis."

  Louis's involuntary chuckle triggered another spike of abdominal pain. His breath control failed as his reflexes tried once more to double him over. "You don't miss much, do you?"

  "No one could miss that. What on Earth brings you here in such a state?"

  "Well, you might say I have a customer for you. Hang on while I finish riding this out, okay?"

  The priest waited. Louis struggled to lock in his breathing rhythm before he spoke again.

  "I seem to have picked up a stray with a guilt problem. Young woman, severely abused. Held prisoner by a motorcycle gang for several years. Gang raped and tortured nightly. You know, six o'clock news kind of stuff."

  "Are you serious?"

  Louis managed to nod.

  "And she has the guilt problem? What about the monsters who did this to her?"

  "I haven't reached the punch line yet, Father. She managed to escape from them only a few days ago. Bravest thing I ever heard, and I don't doubt one word of it. She had to cause a motorcycle accident to do it. Killed one of them in the process and damn near killed herself. As it is, she's going to look like one of Frankenstein's trial runs for the rest of her life."

  "How did you enter the picture?" The priest's face had gone expressionless.

  "She almost fell into their hands a second time. They were going to lift her right out of the hospital the cops had brought her to. I managed to sneak her past them."

  Schliemann rocked back on his heels. He steadied himself, then rose to a standing position. "How many of them were there?"

  Louis shrugged. "I didn't count them. Looked like about twenty."

  The priest shook his head in disbelief. "You snatched a prize away from a pack of twenty bikers. And brought her to your home, no doubt, where she is right now, unsupervised, while these men continue to look for her. Do you think you're some kind of superhero? Or have your gonads gone mad?"

  Despite everything, Louis chuckled. "No third choice?"

  Schliemann acted as if he hadn't heard. "A priest hears a lot of strange stories, and over time he learns which ones to ignore. But dear God, I have never heard anything like this in my fifty years with the collar. Did it occur to you what kind of danger you were embracing? Did you take no thought for your own problems and how you're going to meet them?"

  For a moment, Louis was silenced by surprise. Anger bloomed in the younger man, overwhelming the pain and nausea. He chose not to restrain it.

  "Who was it that taught me to act with love toward whoever God put in my path, Father? Who was it that reminded me of my assets, and what I could still do with them? Would you rather I had walked away from this girl and left her to face that pack of savages alone?"

  "What about the authorities, Louis? Did they even occur to you?"

  "What about them, Father?" Louis snarled. "I was there, they weren't. And these 'authorities' haven't really done so well in lots of easier cases we both know about, have they? Wasn't Lois DuBreuill one of your parishioners?"

  The priest reeled as if struck. Lois DuBreuill had been beaten to death by her husband. After taking her complaint about the beating he had inflicted on her just that evening, the Onteora police had driven her back to her trailer against her will. She had not survived the night.

  "And this young woman – she has a name, I suppose?"

  "Christine D'Alessandro."

  "Miss D'Alessandro has admitted to taking a life herself, hasn't she?"

  "I said so, didn't I?"

  "But just that one, of course. She's never victimized anyone herself, or invited any of the treatment she's complained about to you. Of course not. She's a pure victim, no stains on her own soul. And you, the hero of the moment, so anxious to do good, so desperate to earn your way back into God's grace, believe every word she says, don't you?"

  "Yes, I do!"

  The priest's face went rigid with shock. Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, he slumped into a chair at the other end of the room.

  Louis waited, his temper on a gossamer leash, all discomfort banished from his consciousness.

  "Louis, you do have a way about you." Schliemann had not ceased to shake his head in wonderment.

  "Will you see her or not?"

  "See her? Of course. How could I not? Will you bring her here, or would you prefer a house call?"

  Louis's eyebrows went up at that. "When could you come by?"

  The priest went to the coat tree in the hall and fetched a dark blue cardigan sweater. He shrugged into it as if nothing untoward had occurred.

  "What's wrong with right now?"

  ***

  With Father Schliemann standing behind him, Louis unlocked the front door of his house and eased it open. He did not want to take any chance on startling Christine, who could be anywhere.

  The two men stepped into Louis's living room. It was otherwise unoccupied, as was the kitchen. Louis deliberately made enough noise walking about that his presence would be known throughout the house. He gestured to the priest to sit, and mounted the stairs to the second floor.

  The doors of all three bedrooms were shut. He went first to the guest room and tapped on its door with one knuckle. There was no response.

  He turned and swung open the door of his own room. It was as he had left it. Christine was not there.

  He went to the door of the third room, which he used as an office and a professional library, and opened it. At the far end, his personal computer, which he had left powered up since the previous day, was running its screen saver. It was a trivial little program he had written a long time ago, which spun electrons in orbits around a rotating Bohr atom. Before it, staring raptly into the screen, sat Christine. She gave no indication that she had heard him enter.

  He slid up behind her and touched her shoulder. She started and turned toward him. Astonishment was written across her scarred features.

  "What is this?"

  "It's a computer, Chris. Never seen one before?"

  She had returned her attention to the rotating display. "How does it do that?"

  He moved to her side, dropped to a squat and looked up into her face. "A program draws those patterns on the screen when the machine isn't busy with something else."

  "Where did it come from?" She could not tear her eyes away.

  "Well, I made it."

  That got her attention. "You did this?"

  Her eyes had locked on to his own. The awe in them had changed to something like worship. Throat tight, he nodded once.

  "What else can you make it do?"

  He shrugged. "Damn near anything I want."

  "Could you teach me?"

  The plaintiveness of the plea wrung his heart.

  Chris, if we had the time, I'd teach you everything I know, from how to poach an egg to how to build a cannon from a stove pipe and some dirty rags. But first I
have to make you fit to survive, and we might not even have the time for that.

  He smiled. "We can talk about it later. Come meet my friend."

  He rose and held out his hand. She hesitated, then took it and allowed him to lead her down the stairs.

  ***

  Father Schliemann rose from his chair at the far end of the living room as Louis and Christine descended the stairs. The priest stood still and allowed them to approach him, rather than going to them. Louis pulled Christine gently across the room.

  "Christine, I'd like you to meet Father Heinrich Schliemann. Father, may I present Miss Christine D'Alessandro?" Louis waited and watched. Christine's right hand rose from her side and extended itself toward the priest. Schliemann clasped it with both of his own.

  "I'm pleased to meet you, Christine." If he was repelled by her scars, the priest gave no sign of it. The young woman nodded, but said nothing.

  Louis tried to keep matters in motion. "Father Schliemann is my confessor."

  Christine turned toward him. "What's a confessor?"

  The priest stood mute as Louis groped for words. "Well, let's say he's someone I tell my troubles to. He's very good to talk to, one of my best friends, really, and I thought you might enjoy meeting him. Father, would you like some coffee?"

  "Yes, very much, thank you. And perhaps Christine would like some as well?"

  The young woman nodded again. Schliemann had not released her hand. The priest pulled her imperceptibly toward the sofa to sit beside him. Louis went to the kitchen for coffee.

  "Louis tells me you've had some amazing adventures, child. May I hear about them too?"

  When he returned with mugs, words were pouring out of Christine in a torrent like that of the previous evening, but this time without tears. Schliemann's gaze was rapt upon her. The priest held both of Christine's hands between his own. Now and then he punctuated her narrative with a murmur of encouragement. It was unnecessary; Christine seemed reluctant to stop for breath.

  Louis waited for a pause in the flood of horrors and cleared his throat. Both his guests turned toward him. "Will the two of you be all right without me for a couple of hours? I have another errand to run."

  Alarm flashed across Christine's face. She started to rise, but Schliemann squeezed her hands and she subsided.

  "Certainly, Louis. Christine and I will be fine. We'll hope to see you, say, around two?"

  The tension drained from Louis for the first time that day.

  "If not earlier, Father. Take good care of her for me."

  ***

  Mill Neck Road was badly pitted and rutted. Louis's truck jolted and jounced down the old forest cut-through until he thought his kidneys might bounce out through his nose. He knew Malcolm didn't care, but it offended him that a road should be left in such condition.

  As always, he pulled the truck off the road and as far into the evergreens as he could manage. The last quarter mile to Malcolm Loughlin's trailer was necessarily a walk. Even the best four-wheel-drives would have little chance of bulling their way through the forest that surrounded Loughlin's home.

  As usual, Loughlin was there. He showed no surprise at the visit. Not having a phone, he had to accept Louis's visits as they occurred. Of the two of them, Louis was made more uneasy by the state of affairs.

  The two of them had settled into their usual chairs in the trailer's tiny kitchen before Louis spoke.

  "Malcolm, I'm going to have to put off what you asked me for. I'm sorry."

  Loughlin's expression remained neutral. "Why is that?"

  "Because I hate to disappoint you, of course."

  "No, no, why won't you be able to do it?"

  "Oh. Sorry. I've taken up a conflicting obligation. It's likely to consume all the time I have."

  All the time I have left.

  Loughlin stared at him from under lowered brows. "Do I get to hear about this 'conflicting obligation' that takes precedence over a prior commitment?"

  Louis recoiled. "You never let up, do you? You won't cut any slack for a sick man?"

  Loughlin tossed his head in irritation. "I know about the 'sick' part. But a man keeps his word once he's given it, or he dies trying. Are you still a man?"

  "Grow up, Malcolm." He took a grim pleasure at seeing his mentor stiffen. "I did not give you 'my word.' You said you'd give me something I wanted if I'd do something for you. No promises were involved. Well, I can't, or won't, take your pick, and now you can feel free to withhold what I asked you for. Capisce?"

  Loughlin's mouth curved minutely. "That's better. But I'd still like to hear about it."

  "Why?"

  "Because I know how much you wanted my part of the bargain. Whatever this other job is, it has to be a blockbuster."

  "Oh, it will be difficult, all right. I've picked up a stray, and I have to prepare her for the big bad world. She's been badly hurt, has no one and nothing."

  "Tell me."

  Louis did. It took some time. Loughlin remained silent to the end, and after.

  "Well? Comments? Questions? Expostulations of disbelief?"

  The old warrior shook his head. "I could have guessed. Oh, not the specifics, but that it would be something like this. Why did you never marry, Louis?"

  Louis cocked his head in puzzlement. "It takes two. I never found the right woman. Why do you ask?"

  "Do you think you would have wanted to be a father?"

  "Of course! There's not much point, otherwise."

  Loughlin rose from the table. He went to the window and stood staring out at the trees that kept the world at bay.

  "No, not much point at all."

  ====

  Chapter 6

  Louis let himself back into his house at ten after two. He found Christine and Father Schliemann in the kitchen. The priest was sitting at the table, apparently at his ease. Christine was at the counter fumbling with coffee fixings.

  "Louis! I trust your errand went well?"

  "About as well as could be expected, Father. Did you and Chris have a nice chat?"

  Schliemann smiled. "Delightful. She's been so many places you and I could never imagine."

  Christine jumped back from the counter as the coffeemaker gave vent to a loud, raspy belch. She might have fallen backwards had Louis not caught her by the elbows and steadied her.

  "Easy, Chris. It does that now and then." He sidled around her and lifted the coffeemaker's lid to assure himself that she had put in water. She had.

  "Father, I've got something new on the computer upstairs that I'd like you to see. Care to take a quick look?"

  "Certainly. We'll be right back, Christine." She sat at the table, staring at the coffeemaker, while the priest followed Louis up the stairs and into his office. Louis closed the door behind them.

  Schliemann went to Louis's desk and slumped into the chair. A moment later he was hunched over, balled fists pressed to his breastbone, shaking violently. Louis went to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. The priest was slow to recover his self-control.

  "You didn't exaggerate in the slightest, Louis."

  "No, Father, I didn't see a need."

  Schliemann resumed an erect posture and fought down the last of the tremors. He had the look that comes from having been forced to hear things one wants to disbelieve.

  "If it was that hard to hear about, great God in heaven, what it must have been like to live through!"

  "Neither you nor I will ever know, Father, and perhaps that's for the best. Overall, what do you think?"

  The priest sighed. "Overall, I agree with your original statement. She's the bravest creature I've ever met. And one of the luckiest."

  "What?"

  "In whose hands is she now, Louis?"

  "Oh. Thank you."

  Do you really think that's a sign of luck, Father? Remember this morning? I scooped her up because there was nobody else to do it, not because I'm the right man for the job. That proposition would have been doubtful even if I could expect to live forev
er. And we both know I can't.

  "I don't see a guilt problem, by the way. It's fear, not guilt. She fears retribution for the killing, but by all indications she considers it justified."

  Louis nodded. "I'm glad. Retribution I can protect her from. But even so, I wanted her to meet you. Thank you for coming today."

  Schliemann's eyes were solemn. "Will you be able to care for her as she needs to be cared for?"

  Louis smirked. "Wouldn't you say it's a bit too soon for her to enter a convent, Father?"

  "Louis!"

  "Sorry, couldn't resist. Of course I'll take care of her. I assume I'll have your help if I need it?"

  "Yes, of course." The priest rose to his feet and made a show of gathering his dignity about him. "We mustn't leave her alone too long, you know."

  Louis felt a surge of anxiety. "Why is that, Father?"

  "She might try to cook."

  ***

  Father Schliemann was warm and gracious in bidding them good-bye at the rectory steps. Christine was reluctant to let go of his hand. As they drove off, Christine's gaze remained on the old priest as long as it was physically possible. Louis tried not be too obvious about noticing.

  The drive home passed in silence until they had turned onto Alexander Avenue.

  "Why did you give him that D'Alessandro name?" she said.

  Louis shrugged. "You picked it. Said it had a nice sound. Have you decided that you don't like it after all?"

  She looked at him blankly. "No, it's pretty. You mean I can keep it?"

  He chuckled. "Your name is what you say it is, Chris. If you want to be Christine D'Alessandro, then that's what you are. I mean, who you are." He paused. "What about a middle name?"

  "Do I need one?"

  "Most people have one. Some people have two."

  "How many do you have?"

  He grinned. "My full name is Louis Dylan Aloysius Redmond."

  "Wow. I think I'll stop with just one."

  "Okay, so think about it a bit."