by Bruce Blake
“We’re going to church.”
Chapter Twenty
Poe perched on my shoulder as I climbed the church steps. Rather than explaining her presence, she’d taken the form of a moth in an effort to be inconspicuous. Don’t ask me why a moth. They’re nowhere near as beautiful as their butterfly cousins and it seemed to me an angel should choose a classier disguise. But it did the trick.
The door closed behind us, its thick wood shutting out the sounds of traffic and life buzzing by, leaving us in the still of the building. The silence compressed my lungs like the weight of the church sat on my chest, making me gasp. Poe’s tiny moth head nuzzled against my cheek.
“I’m okay.” I wondered if I really was.
I bowed my head and crossed myself, a once familiar act grown mildewy through years of disuse, but since recent events suggested my lack of faith might be ill-advised, reacquiring the habit felt appropriate. A few people sat scattered around the nave, heads bowed in silent prayer, each looking to have chosen his or her place as far from the others as possible. I left them to their privacy as I strode down the aisle on legs still shaky but stronger.
An unfamiliar priest--presumably Father Dominic’s replacement--shuffled about near the altar. I made a beeline for him. He looked up at our approach and smiled like a man resentful at being interrupted yet again but doing his best not to show it. He looked about my age --late thirties, perhaps early forties--with thin lips and a hairline that must have started fleeing his forehead in his late teens to have made it that far back.
“Excuse me, Father.”
“Yes, my son?”
“I need to speak with Sister Mary-Therese.”
“Sister Mary-Therese? I don’t believe she’s here today.”
A jolt rampaged up my spine.
“What?” I said louder than I should have. Some of the church-goers looked up from their pleas at the disturbance. I didn’t care. An urgency to find the nun forced itself into my muscles, curling my fingers into fists. “Where is she?”
“Well, I don’t know.” He took a half-step back, shifting into protective mode. People don’t really even trust each other in church.
I leaned closer to the priest, lowered my voice again. “The sister saved me from the streets years ago,” I said, making an effort to release the tension from my body, to convince him of my sincerity. “I’ve hit a tough spot and hoped she could give me some guidance.” Not the absolute truth, but within spitting distance.
He glanced at the way I listed to the right, the dark half-moons painted under my eyes by a sleepless and feverish night and nodded, his expression softening. With a hand on my elbow, he led me aside, away from the altar and the people murmuring their prayers and entreaties, away from the judging eyes of Christ looking down his nose at me from the crucifix on the wall behind the pulpit.
“I can help, my son.”
“No.”
“I’ve had experience in these areas. I can--”
“I need to see the Sister.” I grabbed a fistful of his sleeve to punctuate the words forced through my clenched teeth.
His face blanched, eyes widened and I guessed his experiences in these areas hadn’t all been good ones.
“Sh-she volunteers at the soup kitchen on Wednesdays. If she’s not there, she likes to spend time feeding ducks at the park.”
I nodded and released the priest’s robe. Neither option surprised me. Sister Mary-Therese concerned herself endlessly with the well-being of God’s creatures, human or mallard. The priest watched me, looking like he wanted to speak, but I hurried down the aisle without giving him the chance. The mercy-pleaders perched in their pews watched me go, too. Their eyes bored at my back, and I considered stopping, apologizing to the priest, but slammed through the door into sunlight instead, instantly feeling better out of the church’s guilt-filled air.
The sign down the street flashed 1:12 pm and I did some quick mental calculations: her work at the soup kitchen would be finishing up, so best to head for the park. Time pressed down on me like grave dirt on top of a casket as I hobbled toward the beat-up Escort.
The sister was the one person who cared enough to love me no matter what. I never gave Rae the opportunity to do that, in spite of what our marriage vows said. It didn’t concern me the sister loved everyone the same way, or that I’d never done anything to earn her love. I simply cared she be kept alive.
I opened the driver’s door and fell into the seat; Poe already sat in the passenger side. Her sudden presence startled me--I’d thought her still a moth sitting on my shoulder.
“How do you do that?”
She shrugged. “Angel stuff.”
I grunted, slammed the key into the ignition and cranked it. The engine groused listlessly, its uproar diminishing from dull growl to unenergetic mew before stopping completely. I tried again and the starter clicked at me as the battery abandoned it. I slammed my hands against the steering wheel, provoking a strangled honk from the horn.
“Shit.” I turned to Poe. “Can angels charge batteries?”
“Michael, maybe. He’s good with electronics. Not me.”
I looked at the uphill, traffic-clogged grade stretching away from the church and shook my head. “Push start’s out. We walk.”
At first, our quick pace felt okay, like my battered body would be able to maintain it, but my energy flagged halfway to our destination. Maybe Raph had been right, maybe rest would have been the best option, but Dominic wouldn’t wait for my recovery before offing the few people I still liked.
Poe noticed me struggling, slid her arm around my waist and draped mine across her shoulders. As small as she was--a foot shorter than me--strength radiated from her, warming and energizing my tired muscles. My chest tingled, the sensation spreading along my body’s pathways, sending the angel’s vitality coursing through my veins.
We rounded a corner and came within sight of the park. This wasn’t the kind of park where Gabe tracked me down, where people went for a quick lunch or a smoke. Instead, it was the city’s official homage to nature: a hundred acres of green patch designed to make everyone feel better about rampant over-development and a carbon footprint the size of Lake Superior. Stunted trees and gnarled bushes bounded the edge of the road, limbs mostly bare of leaves but for a few browned stragglers hanging on to summer like sun-bathers worried about their tans.
We plunged through the thicket and emerged on a rocky swath where only vegetation most people considered weeds grew. Beyond that: paths for walkers and joggers; lawn to accommodate picnickers and Frisbee-players; flower gardens; a quaint pond stocked with ducks and over-hung by a willow tree as old as the dirt in which it grew. I’d find Sister Mary-Therese sitting under the willow, plumping the ducks with crusts of bread.
My spirits wanted to lift with the fresh air, the lingering feel of summer revelers, but the immediacy of Sister Mary-Therese’s peril had settled too convincingly into my gut to allow it. Poe’s reassuring support disappeared from under my arm and moth wings flapped close to my head, gusting a tiny wind against my cheek. I wanted to tell her not to worry, if anyone would understand the presence of an angel, Sister Mary-Therese would, but I required all my focus and effort to keep my limbs moving.
I stood at the edge of a rocky outcropping and looked down the long hill, which flattened at the bottom into a patch of grass yellowed and beaten after a season of picnic-eaters and Frisbee-tossers. Poe’s silky wings beating beside my ears, I hurried down the rough path, my shoulder aching and throbbing in a spot roughly the size of a bullet.
The duck pond came into view. Half-a-dozen water fowl paddled across the algae-green water accompanied by the single swan that resided in the park and never seemed to leave; the rest of the duck population trampled the muddy bank at Sister Mary-Therese’s feet. She sat on a bench, hand extended, offering crusts of bread like giving communion to her flock; a peaceful scene until a black cloaked figure loomed from behind the willow’s broad trunk.
My flesh wen
t cold.
***
The boughs of the ancient willow hung low, dipping into the pond to offer the ducks respite from the heat on summer days. Though the sun shone bright today, the crackle of fall in the air precluded any need for shade. Sister Mary-Therese enjoyed the autumn sun on her face as she sat on the end of the bench farthest from the willow, where decades of sun-worshipers had worn the paint away and the wood beneath smooth. She lounged a minute before the clucking and shuffling ducks crowding close by her feet brought her attention to the task at hand. Leaning forward, she pulled a bag of bread crusts out of her coat pocket, the sight of it eliciting a ruffle of feathers as ducks accustomed to her visits jockeyed for the best spots.
“There’s plenty for all.”
She took the first slice from the bag, tore a chunk off the corner and tossed it to the crowd. They said you shouldn’t feed ducks like this: the diet fed them by park visitors didn’t provide proper nourishment. Sister Mary-Therese saw their point, but these visits made both her and the ducks so happy, she didn’t have the heart to stop. What did we have in life--human or duck--without happiness?
She ripped pieces of bread and threw them to the ducks, sometimes close, sometimes farther away so they’d have to scuttle after their snack. The way they waddled and quacked brought a smile to her lips. The innocence and purity of animals was an example from which mankind should learn a thing or two.
As she contemplated the ducks’ competition for scraps and the majestic swoop of the swan’s neck as it glided across the pond, a movement on the slope of lawn leading to the bleak, rocky section of the park caught her attention. She looked up and saw three men, two dressed completely in black; one tackled the mismatched man and they rolled across the grass.
A game of football.
She watched for another minute, hand dangling, a piece of bread between her fingers drawing an anticipatory press of ducks. It took a moment to realize she wasn’t watching a friendly game. The men exchanged punches then the man who’d been tackled spun toward the pond and began to run.
***
“Sister.”
I waved my arms over my head and broke into a loping run. She didn’t look up.
“Sist--”
The man slammed into my side cutting the word short, the impact forcing the air from my lungs. Pain flared down my arm as his weight pinned my injured shoulder to the ground. Why did my attackers always want to fall on top of me? Breath wheezing in my throat, I struggled to right myself and glimpsed a second man move impossibly quick, a glass jar and lid flashing out, capturing the moth fluttering in mid-air.
“Poe,” I coughed from under my assailant.
I shimmied and pulled, rotating to see who hit me: the bald man with the thin goatee, the one nearly cut in half between two cars when we last met. Apparently he’d recovered; I wondered if he held a grudge. I scrambled from under him, gaining my feet. The other man--the guy with the close-cropped hair--held the jar out in front of him. Inside, Poe fluttered her little moth wings, flitting around the glass prison.
Get yourself out of there.
The man leered, humorless grin streaked with menace, then shook the jar violently.
“No!”
He stopped, holding it out for me to see: moth-Poe lay dazed at the bottom, spindly legs pointed toward the sky. The man laughed and tossed the jar aside. My gaze followed its arc tumbling through the air. My stomach lurched as it landed on the grass with a dull thud, but it didn’t break. Beyond, I glimpsed Sister Mary-Therese. Her hand still held out to the ducks, she appeared to be looking across the pond at me. I waved frantically, but the man in black stepped toward her, sunlight gleaming on the knife in his right hand. I gritted my teeth and turned back toward the Carrions. They obviously wouldn’t let me go to her aid, so they’d have to be dealt with.
I gulped.
Somehow.
They rushed me, leaving me no choice. I planted my feet and bent my knees, bracing for the impact. The first one lurched at me and I leaned right allowing his inertia to carry him over my hip with a little help from my left arm--a perfect judo move I possessed neither the know-how nor the energy to execute.
How did I do that?
The second man took a different approach, choosing to swing a looping left hand toward my head. Shifting my body, his blow glanced off my right shoulder blade. I countered with an upper-cut, connecting with his chin hard enough to lift his feet off the ground; his jaw broke with a sickening crunch.
I left them behind to sort themselves out and headed for the pond. Poe would have to wait.
Only two strides worth of lawn passed beneath my feet before the bald man’s hand caught my ankle. I rolled with the fall and ended up on my back. The man with the shattered jaw loomed over me, blood streaming down his chin, the broken mandible twisting his face into a grotesque, cock-eyed cant. Gathering power swirled in his fingers, the glow reflected in his already-flickering eyes. I’d seen this trick before.
In my last moment, I remembered all the things Sister Mary-Therese had done for me, how she’d saved me time and again, and regretted I wouldn’t be able to return the favor.
***
One of the men dressed in black caught the running man by the ankle, sending him to the ground. The third man’s hands glowed, like he held a mirror reflecting the light of the sun. Sister Mary-Therese tensed, the joy of sunlight and ducks draining away. A duck nipped at the bread in her hand, startling her.
“Oh,” she gasped, standing.
The movement sent disturbed mallards waddling back to the pond and the safety of the water. Sister Mary-Therese looked up from the ducks and the algae-covered pond; her first instinct was to rush to the man’s aid, but a heavy hand on her shoulder stayed her.
The touch burned while freezing her limbs at the same time, its pressure weighing on her bones, increasing the mass of her internal organs tenfold like it did her body. The presence looming behind forced her to her knees where the pungent smell of duck droppings and decaying leaves was strong, but another fume threatened to choke those odors: the stench of something one would rather not smell burning. She gagged and, as the man behind her pressed close, she knew it came from him. Burnt hair, smoldering tires, a roast left hours too long in the oven.
“I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t want your money. It’s your life I want.”
***
The glow brightened to blinding and I raised my arms across my face defensively as the energy released in a flaming ball. Heat slammed against my chest, rattling my teeth, but my flesh didn’t burst into flames or rip from my bones. Instead, the fireball ricocheted off me and struck the man, engulfing him like a match tossed into a puddle of gasoline. The flesh on his face peeled away, exposing muscle and bone, but he didn’t scream. He lurched toward me, arms pin-wheeling, his exposed teeth set in a mockery of a grin. A few feet from me, his body fell to ash--a gray pile in the grass like a gruesome scene out of an Indiana Jones flick. I drew a breath filled with the stench of burning tires and climbed to my feet.
“I’m rubber and you’re glue.”
I turned my attention to the bald man. He’d regained his feet but look less confident. I didn’t know what happened or why, but it was better he didn’t know I didn’t know, so I covered my surprise with a snarl. He stalked toward me, hands balled into fists, lips moving in a soundless whisper. I stole a glance toward the duck pond and saw the sister caught in a deadly dance with the man in black.
No time.
I lunged, surprising him as my shoulder slammed into his chest. It felt like I’d thrown myself against a brick wall. The impact bounced me back a step, giving him an opportunity to catch me in the side of the head with a roundhouse punch. I stumbled away, the world doubling before my eyes, my stomach flopping with sudden motion sickness. My ear hummed as he and his identical twin moved in for the kill. Shaking my head to right my vision did nothing, but I managed to dodge his next blow. I doubted I’d be able to elude an
other. Could he kill me? It didn’t matter, I’d died once already, but Sister Mary-Therese...I needed to find a way past him, a way to end this fast to salvage any hope of saving Sister Mary-Therese. And Trevor.
The Carrion launched himself at me and my body defaulted to my newfound pseudo-judo. A quick twist and I caught his arm, tossed him over my hip onto his back. Before he could move, I landed my knee on his chest, bearing down with all my weight. Ribs popped and cracked, breath wheezed out of his chest. The sounds brought me a little satisfaction: that one was for all the guys who rode me to the ground in the last six months. He writhed like a turtle flipped wrong-side-up while I jumped up and ran for the pond.
***
The man breathed deep through his nose. “It’s not your fault.”
Sister Mary-Therese knew what came next when her time on earth ended, but so much of God’s work was yet undone. If it was His plan for her to go now, she’d accept that, but she wasn’t going to make it easy in case this plan belonged to someone else.
The man lifted his hand, momentarily releasing the burden holding her down, and Sister Mary-Therese lashed out, striking him across the cheek. His skin peeled away, clogging the space beneath her nails. He didn’t seem to notice the wounds, responding by pushing her down onto her back. Kneeling beside her, hand on her throat, he pushed back the hood obscuring his features. Three gouges where her nails raked his right cheek glistened with fresh blood. Redness rimmed his yellowed irises and someone had carved an inverted cross into his forehead. Sister Mary-Therese shivered and her eyes widened as she stared into the face of the monster. The man’s eyes softened.
