by Casey Lane
Father Keith tucked the knife in his bag and turned to face the pimp. “Marvin, how’s your mother?”
The pimp leaned toward him with a shrug. “They call me Vinny on the streets.”
Father Keith cleared his throat. “Okay, Vinny, how is she?” he reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder.
The man glanced at me and back to the priest. “She’s doin’ good, as good as she can with her bum leg and all.”
“Tell her I said hello and I hope to see you both in church on Sunday.”
The girl standing behind him snickered and he turned to glare at her, so Father Keith continued to distract him. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”
The pimp nodded to him. “I hear ya, Father. I hear ya.”
The girl took this opportunity to take off running down the street, and he abandoned his conversation and took off after her. She hailed a cab as her arms flailed wildly over her head. It stopped, and she rushed in, slamming the door behind her. Vinny reached the car door handle just as the cab took off down the street and he yelled out a few unmentionable words before abandoning his pursuit. I laughed, relieved to see that she had escaped him, at least for tonight. Father Keith turned to face me. My smile faded as he shook his head.
“Halo Bay, I’m an old man, and I won’t always be around to save you from bad decisions.”
He often tries to give me guidance, and I’ve found myself partially practicing in confession with him, which annoyed me, but he has a giving nature. I couldn’t hate him for trying. He pitied me and who knows, if I were in his shoes I would probably pity me too.
Father Keith had also witnessed me happy with David.
Poor David, laying in the morgue. Lifeless. What a terrible waste. My heart ached once again, but then I collected myself as I usually do. It was an old trick that I learned from my mother. She was the queen of faking it.
“Who said I need saving,” I muttered. Venomous I know. He didn’t deserve it.
The priest placed his hand on my shoulder and leaned in. “We all need it, including me.”
He started to walk away, and I called out to him. “Hey, you took my knife.”
He kept walking and waved a hand. “Come Sunday, and you may have it back, Halo. Now sleep it off, my guess would be whiskey, correct?”
I narrowed my eyes as shadow consumed his medium sized frame.
* * *
I returned to my dimly lit apartment and closed the door behind me. My hands shook as I thought about what I had done. I had never fought back before, and stabbing that pimp had awoken something inside of me.
Maybe it was courage, or perhaps it was fearlessness, because what did I have to fear now? Death was coming for me, sooner than I had planned, and it was time for me to decide how I would meet this specter. Would it be on my back begging for mercy or on my feet fighting for something more? Fighting for those who could not fight for themselves?
I stared at my hands and my vision blurred. It angered me once again. What good could I do when my body was threatening to fail me? So ironic that I would finally stumble upon a purpose greater than what I could ever imagine becoming, only to be hindered by this growing thing in my head. This thing that would eventually swallow up everything that made me who I was.
I sat down on the couch and stared at the TV. I searched for the remote and turned it on, flipping through the channels until I found a man sitting in front of a canvas painting a woodland scene. My eyes became heavy, and sleep came once again, this time peaceful, and I drifted into the darkness.
Chapter Six
The pounding on my door made me roll right off the couch and onto the floor. I moaned when my already bruised knees took another hit on the hardwood. I stumbled to my feet and made my way to the door, only tripping once along the way.
I love those first few moments when you wake up. Everything is right with the world. There is no pain or sorrow, no worry, no regret. We almost trick ourselves into thinking those we love are still among the living; then everything comes crashing in like a wave of unrelenting terror.
I reached for the door and held my stomach until the nausea passed. The pounding came again, and I leaned up and stared through the peephole. A man stood there in a long black trench coat. His blue eyes caught bits of light in the hallway. I called out through the door as my voice cracked.
“Yes?” I coughed and had to reach up and tap my chest.
“Mrs. Bay?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Miss,” I said with a suspicious tone.
“What?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. “I’m not married.”
The man paused, and I peeked through the peephole again. He was studying his phone. He reached down and swiped his finger across the screen and then sighed. “I apologize. It says here that you’re married.”
“Nope.” I chirped through the door as my calf muscles strained.
“Well, Ms. Bay, could I have a word with you?”
I reached down and touched the doorknob, then I paused. “Do you have some sort of identification?”
His voice went up a full octave. “Of course! I apologize. I should have shown you that from the beginning. I’m terribly sorry.”
I could hear him shuffling as he searched his pockets. His shadow moved at the base of my door. Finally, he called out to me. “Here. I’m Detective Presley. See?”
“As in Elvis?” I asked with a grin as I stared at his picture on the laminated card that floated in front of my door.
He pulled it down and smiled. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time he had heard that lame joke.
“No, Parker. My first name is Parker.”
“Parker Presley?” I asked, and he nodded, never losing his grin.
“Yes.” He added as he placed his identification back into the side of his coat and gave it a firm tap.
I reached up and slid the chain to the side, then the next one below it, then I unlocked the deadbolt, and finally, I opened the door with a hard tug, giving him a quick once over before I committed to inviting him into my apartment.
My eyes ran the length of his six-foot-one frame. He had black hair, bright blue eyes, and a chiseled jawline. Not one hair seemed to be out of place. He was very boy next door, all-American looking. I bet he played baseball in high school, or maybe basketball. He didn’t strike me as a football player, but he could have certainly been homecoming king. He was clean shaven, so I had to assume that he was either in a relationship or new at his job. I'm not judgmental, just honest. I had met quite a few cops at the hospital due to violence in the city, and none of them looked this clean shaven and carried a cheerful attitude.
None. In fact, they all looked like war veterans, and I guess in a way they were. Dead eyes. All of them had it. It was sad, or it used to be. It had been a while since I even thought about it. This man hadn’t been used up and spat out by this city, yet. It was refreshing.
“Could I?” he asked as he lifted his hand. I swung the door open and stepped back. He strolled in and closed the door behind him. Detective Presley turned and did a quick survey. His eyes lingered on the couch, and I glanced back at it and then turned to face him.
“I’m not great at the whole decorating thing,” I added a shrug as I wiped the palm of my hand on my thigh. His eyes lowered and then quickly lifted, locking onto mine. His cheeks were flushed. Parker seemed embarrassed, which was also intriguing. He was sweet, far too sweet for me, but it put me at ease.
His soft tongue caressed his bottom lip. He let his teeth scrape along it. I tried to ignore how nice his lips were.
Full and pouty.
I had always had a soft spot in my heart for men in uniform. To be honest, I’d always had a soft spot for good-looking men, period. The taller, the better. The darker the hair, the better. The more damaged…the better. This one wasn’t damaged at all, or so he seemed. But he would be.
You can only imagine why my
relationships have been so disastrous.
I thumbed behind me. “Listen, I need caffeine.”
He gave me a quick nod. “Okay.”
I walked into the kitchen and quickly pushed a couple of chipped plates into the sink and knocked an empty Chinese takeout carton into the trash can. He took a seat at my small kitchen table and had to move the chair back to accommodate his long legs. I sniffed the air and grimaced. There was a faint odor from aged Lo Mein.
“Coffee?” I asked and then let out a chuckle. “I mean if you like it. I’m not assuming that you do just because you’re a cop.”
He grinned. “Only if you have donuts.”
I rubbed the side of my head. “No donuts, but I probably have some cold pizza in the fridge.”
He placed his phone on the table and waved a hand. “Coffee will be more than enough, thank you for offering, and that was a joke, about the donuts, although I do like them.”
So polite, like David was.
Was.
Damn it.
I handed him my unicorn farting glitter dust cup. I grabbed it before thinking. I sipped from my black one, which was the cup I meant to hand to him. Parker turned it in his hand and said nothing, quickly taking a drink.
He cleared his throat as my eyes lingered on his mouth. “So, I came to ask you some questions, if that’s okay?”
I set my cup down and held it in my palms, slowly turning it. “Sure, I mean, it all happened so fast, but I can tell you what I remember.”
He picked his phone up and placed his hands in the coveted texting position. I stared at it, and he adjusted on the chair. “I take notes on my phone. No need to waste paper.”
“Very environmentalist of you.”
“It takes all of us.” He said. I gave him a nod.
He eyed me, and I leaned back in my chair, forcing it to creek against my weight.
“Well, I had left my desk, to um, well.” I paused. I didn’t want to tell him about Dr. Trager or my diagnosis, both of which sucked beyond reason. I cleared my throat and tapped my chest. “To use the restroom, and when I got back, the alarm was going off.” I stared at the kitty clock on the wall. The eyes moved back and forth with the long black tail that protruded from the bottom. Tick tock, tick, tock. I narrowed my eyes while the mechanics churned away inside of it, getting louder and louder until they were almost unbearable.
I am two seconds away from throwing my coffee cup at it and destroying the damn thing once and for all. Travis had left it here, and I have no idea why I kept it, allowing it to annoy the crap out of me. I need to make a list. I’ll do that as soon as this cop leaves. A list of everything I need to throw away.
He narrowed his eyes. “Desk?”
I nodded to him with a blink, and the cat clock stopped tormenting me. “Yes, I work at the front desk.” I undid the messy ball on the top of my head and readjusted it. I’m sure it didn’t do much to help. “I used to be on the floor, but I took a…well, a hiatus, and I just went back, recently, so the desk seemed like a good place to start, or so it was suggested to me by upper management.”
He lowered his phone and tilted his head. “I’m not sure I follow you.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied in confusion.
He looked at his phone, quickly scrolling through everything then he shook his head.
“You work at St. James Cathedral?” he asked.
I leaned forward and my brow furrowed. “No, I work at Mercy General, I’m a nurse.”
“Damn it,” he muttered as he started to stand up. “I’ve made a mistake; I thought you were a nun.” His blushing made more sense now.
I let out a sharp burst of laughter. “Me? A nun? No.”
I stood up as he placed his phone back into his pocket.
“Don’t you want to ask me about David?”
He tilted his head. “David who?”
I shifted from one foot to the other. “David Weller, the man that died at Mercy tonight.”
“That’s not my case.” He turned and left the kitchen, making his way to the door. I caught up with him before he could leave me in confusion.
“Wait, you mentioned St. James. What happened?” I asked as my chest tightened.
He stopped and looked at the floor. “I really shouldn’t be talking about it; it’s an ongoing investigation.”
I stepped around in front of him and crossed my arms over my chest. “I gave you coffee in my favorite cup.”
He half grinned and rubbed the side of his neck. “Oh, you mean the glitter farting unicorn? Thanks.”
“Yes, I love that one so it should count for something.”
He took a slow breath. “I really shouldn’t.”
I took a step toward him. “Listen, I know Father Keith, so I’m kind of worried. I mean, I just saw him last night. I spoke with him.”
“What time?” he asked, without hesitation.
I narrowed my eyes and stared at the TV. “It was after three.”
“What did you talk about?”
My arms relaxed. “Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll tell you.”
He glanced at my window, and I rushed to it, jerking it open and leaning out to see police cars, a firetruck, and an ambulance sitting in front of the large church.
I leaned back in and turned to face him. “Is he okay?”
He pulled out his phone, and I approached him, placing my hand on the phone and forcing it down. He looked into my eyes and let out another sigh. “I shouldn’t.”
I took his hand, and he shifted his stance.
“Please,” I begged.
“Father Keith killed himself last night.”
“No!” I backed away from him and shook my head. Detective Presley stepped forward with his hands out. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but it was....”
“No, no. He wouldn’t do that, ever.” I muttered while shaking my head from side to side.
His eyes softened. “I shouldn’t have shared that with you, you’ve obviously been through enough.”
I laughed, and he paused and tilted his head.
“You have no idea,” I said sternly.
He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a white card and handed it to me. I blankly glared at it through blurred eyes. The shock was now settling in.
“We have three psychologists on staff down at the precinct, anyone of them would be happy to talk to you about…”
I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around his waist. I buried my face in his broad chest and sobbed like a baby. I had a hard time holding myself up, so he reached down and held onto me as we stood there in the middle of my rundown apartment.
Finally, I tried to get my emotions under control and stepped back from him. I reached up and wiped away the tears. He spoke softly. “Honestly, if you need to talk to someone I’m sure…”
I interrupted him. “He would never do that. Ever.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
I shook my head and fidgeted with my hands. “Father Keith, he would never kill himself. He just wouldn’t.”
“I know it may be a shock. It is to most people when someone close to them does this, but…”
I looked up at him. “No, he didn’t do this. It was murder. He was murdered. I’m sure of it.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “Murder?” he asked. “What proof do you have?”
I held my wrists up, showing off my scars. He leaned in, and I lowered them. “We can spot our own and Father Keith was not like that, he just wasn’t. He wasn’t suicidal; he loved life. He loved the church and helping people. He would never kill himself, ever.”
Detective Presley scanned the room and then let his eyes settle back on me. “Ms. Bay.”
“Halo,” I added. “It’s Halo.”
He bit his lip. “Halo. There was a note.”
I stepped back and narrowed my eyes with doubt. “A note? What did it say?”
“Something weird, in another language,” Parker
said.
My heartbeat sped up as he stared at his phone. “Hold on; I have a picture of it right…okay, yeah, here it is.”
He held it out, and I felt lightheaded as the words stared back at me.
Videre in inferno, canis.
“I don’t…I can’t…” Words escaped me. My head was spinning.
I felt myself falling, and two strong arms caught me right before I hit the floor.
Chapter Seven
I woke in a hospital bed with familiar sounds all around me. I was back in Mercy, I just knew it. A shadow approached me, and a hand reached in and opened my right eye as a bright light temporarily blinded me.
“Halo, can you hear me?” The voice echoed and met up with the ringing in my ears. Finally, it stopped.
I slapped Dr. Trager’s hand away from my face and started to sit up, only pausing for a moment when a brief case of the spins interrupted my need to escape.
“Halo?” he repeated.
“Yes, yes. I can hear you, Thomas.” I coughed, tapping my chest again and he placed his hand on my shoulder until I heard the door open and my attention was drawn to the young detective who had visited me earlier in the morning. I scanned the room until I found the clock on the wall and could see that it was almost five o’clock in the evening.
“Ms. Bay, how are you?” he asked as he approached the bed and then paused at the end of it. Dr. Trager turned to face him. “She’s fine, well, as fine as she can be.”
“No…don’t,” I muttered.
“What do you mean?” the detective asked and Thomas looked at me.
I sighed. “He means I’m dying. Right?” I asked, and Thomas pursed his lips.
“What?” Parker asked in shock.
“Halo has a brain tumor that could be treated, but she…”
I waved my hand. “Stop lying; I’m a big girl.”
Thomas paused and stared down at his feet.
“Could I get something to eat?” I asked as I noticed the needle in my arm.
Dr. Trager nodded to me. “Of course.” He walked to the door and quickly left the two of us alone in the room. I tried to adjust on the bed, and Parker reached in and adjusted the pillow behind me. I leaned back, letting out another sigh. He stared at me a little too long.
