Necessary Heartbreak

by Michael J. Sullivan

  As she passed him, the soldier’s head snapped up, though the rest of him didn’t move. He was staring at her like a tiger ready to pounce. After a moment, he pulled off his helmet and tossed it to the ground. He let her get about ten yards in front of him before he started in pursuit.

  “Daddy, do something!”

  Turning to her, as if just realizing she was still there, he yelled, “Elizabeth, go to the tunnel now.”

  “No, Dad, no!”

  “I’ll help her, but you go, now! Do you know which grate it is?”

  “I think it’s the third one.”

  “Halt!” the soldier shouted to Leah. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  The soldier held up a piece of the T-shirt, the one that Michael had tied to the grate.

  “Oh, no,” Michael muttered.

  Terrified, he implored his daughter to run. “Go now!” Michael motioned to Elizabeth, who immediately sprinted across the street.

  Michael followed her for a few steps, then stopped. He could see her ahead, struggling to open one of the grates.

  The soldier was nearly upon Leah. “Where have you been hiding?” he hissed. “I’ve been waiting for you. I knew you’d come back to me.”

  He tore at Leah’s veil, then stepped back in surprise.

  “Leave her alone!” Michael screamed, taking several steps toward him.

  Leah spun around, shrieking, “Michael, go!”

  “Shut up!” With the shaft of his spear, the soldier knocked Leah to the ground. He fell down on top of her, holding the spear across her neck.

  “Dad! Daddy, I can’t open it!” Elizabeth shouted from the grate, struggling to break it.

  The soldier spun around, lifting his spear from Leah and staring back at Elizabeth. “There she is.”

  “No!” Michael yelled.

  “Go!” screamed Leah, hitting the soldier on the back of the head. He staggered a moment, then rushed toward Elizabeth.

  “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, please help us,” Michael repeated over and over, fumbling at the grate. He slammed it once with his shoulder, jarring it open slightly.

  Elizabeth stood up and kicked it with her foot. The grate fell through.

  “Get in!”

  “Stop!” the soldier yelled. He threw his spear at them. It skidded off the ground past Elizabeth’s head, striking the wall behind them.

  Michael pushed Elizabeth into the tunnel. Turning one last time, he got a quick glimpse of Leah as she darted into a side alley and was gone.

  Michael jumped down through the opening, landing on the grate.

  “Go, go ahead, now, Elizabeth!”

  “I’m going, Dad! I’m going!”

  “Keep your hand on the wall, but run!” He watched her disappear into the darkness ahead.

  Michael sprinted after her, his fingertips outstretched against the walls to try to guide him through the dark tunnel. He heard footsteps all around him.

  Is he following us?

  Michael didn’t stop to listen. He heard only the pounding of his own feet. After a while, he slowed down, out of breath.

  Michael was no longer running, and it surprised him when he realized that he was barely walking. Where am I?

  He stopped for a moment, trying to examine the sore fingertips on his left hand, though in complete darkness, it was impossible to see anything. He kept his right hand pressed against the wall, afraid he would lose his way if he let go. He couldn’t hear any footsteps behind him or in front of him.

  “Elizabeth? You there?”

  After what seemed like an eternity, a faint voice called back through the darkness, “Daddy, I can hear you but I can’t see you.”

  “Stay where you are.”

  “What about the soldier? Can you see him?”

  “Elizabeth, I can’t see anything. I can’t hear anything. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Dad. I’m just really scared.”

  “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll be right there. Just stay put.”

  He stumbled forward a few feet, his steps echoing around him. “Are you moving at all, Elizabeth?”

  “No, Dad. I want to. It’s so dark . . . please hurry!”

  “Okay, I’m coming.”

  He started to run but quickly got winded again.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yeah, Dad, you’re getting closer. Please don’t stop. Please!”

  “I’m coming, don’t worry. Keep your hands out. . . . Are you doing it?”

  “Yes!”

  Michael propelled himself forward, stumbling and breathing heavily until he collided with her.

  “That’s my arm!” Elizabeth yelped.

  He put his hand out and felt her face, putting his hand softly over her mouth. “Quiet, let me listen for a few moments.”

  “I can’t hear anything, Dad,” she said, her voice muffled by his hand.

  “Okay, okay, turn around and keep walking.”

  “Shouldn’t we run?”

  “I can’t.”

  They took several more strides forward.

  “There, look.” Elizabeth pointed to a dim light ahead.

  “Elizabeth, how can you be so certain? We could be walking to a whole different world. Does any of this seem familiar to you?”

  She stopped. “I’m not sure.”

  “Did it take us this long before to walk through the tunnel?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t keep track.”

  “Let’s be careful. Just in case, okay?”

  The light became brighter with each step forward. Michael put his hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, protecting her. As they got closer to the light, he grabbed her more tightly.

  “Stop.”

  “Why?”

  “Let me go first. If you don’t hear me calling for you, go back.”

  “What?” she yelped. Elizabeth shook free from her father’s grip and raced toward the light. “Stairs!”

  “Elizabeth, please. Wait!” He watched Elizabeth’s dark figure disappear through the opening. “Great, here we go again.”

  When he reached the lit area, he saw steps before him. Climbing them, he found himself back in the basement of Our Lady by the Bay.

  He stood there and looked in wonder at the boxes of food that were stilled piled up everywhere.

  “Elizabeth, where did you go?”

  “Up here, Dad!” She was making her way up the stairs to the church.

  “Elizabeth?”

  Michael watched the basement door close behind her, then looked around at the empty room. It was quiet. Even eerie.

  He fell to the floor and immediately slammed the trapdoor shut, worried that the soldier might still get them. He got up and ran to the corner, pushing a pile of boxes onto the door. Next, he ran to the other side of the room and grabbed more boxes, frantically dragging them to the center of the room.

  “Let’s see him get through this!”

  Satisfied with the mound of boxes he had made, he started up the stairs to get Elizabeth. When Michael reached the altar area, he saw Father Dennis by the vestibule.

  “What happened, Michael?” he said, pointing to his robes. “When did you get these clothes? Your shoulder, it’s bleeding. Did any of the boxes fall on you? My Lord, where are your shoes! Look at your feet! What happened?”

  Michael walked swiftly over to him. “Father, Father. I really need to speak to you. You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Calm down, son. Where were you?”

  “Elizabeth? Where did she go, Father?”

  “She went outside, Michael.”

  “Oh, okay. Follow me.” Michael started to run back toward the basement.

  “Is everything okay?” Father Dennis asked, running after Michael. “Slow down. You’re scaring me. What happened?”

  Michael stopped abruptly, grabbing the priest by the shoulders and staring intently into his eyes.

  “Father, I saw Christ!”

  “Okay,” he said calmly, “Christ is everywhere. How did he reveal hi
mself to you?”

  “No, no, you don’t understand. I saw him. I actually saw him. Down there!” Michael pointed over to the basement door.

  “Down where?”

  “In your basement.”

  Father Dennis looked at Michael. “Have you been hurt?”

  “No, Father. Listen to me.” Michael opened the basement door. “Come here, I’ll show you.”

  “Okay, Michael.” Father Dennis trailed Michael down the stairs and watched him as he ran to the huge pile of boxes in the center of the room.

  “What are you doing?”

  Michael didn’t respond. He started shoving boxes two and three at a time away from the disorderly pile he had made just moments before.

  “What exactly are we looking for, Michael?”

  “The trapdoor to your subbasement, Father.”

  Father Dennis slowly walked over to him and reached down to place a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Michael, there is no trapdoor, there is no subbasement. Please, please get up.”

  “But, Father,” Michael said, moving his hand frantically across the floor, “we just came from it a few minutes ago.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to say.” Turning away from Michael, he added, “Let me go get Elizabeth for you. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

  Michael stood there looking at the floor, then sat down heavily. “Yes, yes, Father. Get Elizabeth.”

  Michael sat stunned, leaning his head against a pile of boxes while watching Father Dennis walk back up the stairs.

  I must sound crazy. Father probably thinks I’ve finally lost it.

  He decided that he couldn’t be making this up: there was no way that he and Elizabeth could have imagined the same thing. He started to tear up but quickly wiped his eyes when he heard footsteps.

  “Dad! Dad, are you okay?” Elizabeth said, running down the stairs. “Father Dennis said you might have hurt yourself.” She ran over to him and knelt beside him.

  “I’m fine.” His voice was weaker than he intended.

  “Why are you crying then?”

  “Look.” He pointed at the floor. “The trapdoor isn’t here. It’s gone! He doesn’t believe me.”

  Elizabeth looked around the room before she stood up and started pushing aside piles of boxes. She stamped her foot from one area of the room to the other, searching. Finally, she shook her head and came back to sit down next to him.

  “No one will ever believe us,” he said. Then, under his breath, he whispered, “I lost her forever.”

  Elizabeth didn’t hear his last statement. She said weakly, “No one believed me, Dad. They thought I was making a joke wearing these clothes and telling them about Jerusalem.” They stared at each other. “But we both know what we saw, right?”

  Michael looked over at her. She might be strong and brave, but she still needed him. Pulling Elizabeth to her feet, he said gently, “Yes, we know. C’mon, Baboo, let’s get home.”

  They walked through the now deserted church. Father Dennis was nowhere to be seen. Michael picked up his keys and cell phone from the box near the altar, and they made their way down the front steps.

  “Car is still here,” Elizabeth said, seeing their Camry parked exactly where they had left it.

  Crossing the street, Michael stopped abruptly and looked down Main Street. “You know what, Elizabeth? Today is a good day for a walk. I owe you something.”

  Elizabeth looked horrified, pulling him back to the sidewalk. “In these clothes? And you with no shoes?”

  Michael smiled. “Yeah, in these clothes. What’s worse, walking with your father or being dressed like this?”

  “Wow, that’s a tough one. Hmm. Well, my friends think I’m crazy anyway. Maybe crazy is cool?”

  “Darn right it is.” Michael put his arm around her and started walking down the sidewalk toward the water.

  “When did that place open?” he asked when they passed a toy store on their right.

  “Dad, that’s been there my whole life! Aunt Sammie used to take me there all the time.”

  “Hmm,” he said loudly.

  Elizabeth started to giggle.

  “What, what’s up?” Michael asked as he tightened his grip around his daughter’s shoulder.

  “They’re looking at us, Dad,” she said, pointing.

  Michael looked ahead, seeing a group of boys laughing, obviously watching them. “So they are, Elizabeth.”

  “Hey,” he shouted out to the group of them, “what do you think of these fine robes?”

  The boys looked around at each other before one shrugged his shoulders and gave them a thumbs-up. “Hey, mister, where are your shoes?”

  Michael laughed. “Today I don’t need them.”

  “Dad, cut it out! You’re embarrassing me!”

  “Oops, sorry, Liz.”

  Suddenly they were startled by the sound of a car horn honking on the other side of the street. Michael stopped.

  “What’s wrong, Dad?”

  He shook his head and slowly walked to the other side of Main Street. An old man was struggling with his cane and a bag while attempting to press the crosswalk button. His hand shook visibly.

  “Hold on. I’ve got that, sir,” Michael called out as he jogged over and pushed the button. He turned to the man. “You look familiar . . . Mr. . . . ?”

  The man smiled. Michael could see his pink gums. “Szymanski.” He looked at Michael inquiringly. “I’m not sure I know you.”

  Michael shook his hand. “I’m Michael Stewart. Can I give you a hand with that bag? Do you need some help?”

  “You know, son, today I could use it. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Michael grinned. “No, I don’t mind at all.”

  He put his shoulder under the man’s outstretched arm. As a car approached, Michael grabbed the bag and put his hand out to stop the vehicle. “Quite an adventure, don’t you think, Mr. Szymanski?”

  “Oh, every day is an adventure for me now.”

  From across the street, Elizabeth grinned broadly and waved. When Michael and Mr. Szymanski had safely crossed, the old man cheered, “Woo-hoo!”

  Michael and Elizabeth laughed. “Elizabeth, this is Mr. Szymanski. Can you please take this,” he said, handing her the bag.

  “Sure.”

  “Which way are you going, sir?”

  “Not sure. Just taking my time and enjoying the day.”

  Michael thought a moment. “Would you like to join us?”

  “That all depends. Where are you going?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Elizabeth chimed in, “where are we going?”

  “Baboo, I’m taking you and Mr. Szymanski for the biggest, baddest ice cream sundae you can get!”

  “Ooh!” she squealed in delight. “I can see the shop!” She ran ahead down the street and in through the parlor doors.

  Michael rolled his eyes. “There she goes again.”

  Mr. Szymanski chuckled. “They all do that. Always in a hurry.”

  “Well, we’ll take our time.” Slowly they walked down Main Street. The track for the cable car was still visible in the middle of the road, a vestige of bygone days. Michael took in the beautiful architecture of the quaint, old town. “This is nothing like Jerusalem,” he muttered. “But it’s just as beautiful.”

  “What’s that, Michael?”

  “Ah, nothing. Maybe someday I’ll explain it.”

  Michael could see Elizabeth seated on one of the stools at the front counter when they walked in. The shop was painted in shades of white and pink, with candy displayed at the entrance. Booths lined the walls and an old jukebox played in the back.

  This is perfect, he thought.

  “Hey, Dad,” Elizabeth whispered, smiling surreptitiously, pointing to the woman behind the counter. “No ring.”

  Michael looked down at his left hand. He felt a momentary sense of panic and loss as he remembered, then pushed the feelings aside. They were home. His daughter was safe. It was all that mattered.


  “I’ve already ordered, Dad.” Elizabeth twirled around twice on her stool, underscoring her statement.

  “Okay.” He sat down next to her and took an experimental spin himself. Michael looked at his beaming daughter. I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.

  “Are you going to share with your father?” he asked, needling her.

  “Aw, do I have to?”

  Michael laughed. “You can do whatever makes you happy. What would you like, Mr. Szymanski?”

  The old man thought a moment. “You got enough money in your wallet for a banana split?”

  Instinctively Michael put his hand in his pocket, then drew it out again quickly. “Elizabeth, look at this!” he exclaimed, holding out his palm. There were the silver coins he had taken from Judas. He was still gazing at them in wonder when the woman behind the counter turned around to greet them.

  “Your daughter said you had never been here before. I’m so happy you found us.”

  Michael smiled as he looked up into the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  On a warm May night in 2007, a couple of decades of indecision ended. I arose with purpose, filled with ideas on how to finally complete my novel, which had gathered dusty bytes on my computer for far too long. I had never been so excited about the concept of writing. I shook my normally hard-to-wake wife, Debbie, out of her sleep and shared my thoughts. When she got excited about the plot, I knew then I had something special.

  Based upon some emotional childhood experiences, I had been pondering two questions: If we had an opportunity to cleanse our sins, how would we go about achieving that, and whom would we seek to help us?

  As I began to work on the first draft, the creative process became therapeutic. It gave me an opportunity to understand why my body and mind were experiencing certain emotions as an adult and how the joys and pains of childhood transformed me into the person I am today.

  When you write, it’s rarely an absolutely joyful experience. But from the first word I wrote in my notebook to the last correction made on the proofs, Necessary Heartbreak enabled me to believe in the goodness of the human character.

  I do believe there are people walking the earth who step into your lives for reasons. Many have done so along the way to help push me along in this project.