The Parker Trilogy

by Tony Faggioli

  She did now, and his presence was nearly immediate. Distant, but still there. She had a childhood notion come to mind, that of tying a long piece of string between two tin cans to make a crude telephone. Sometimes it worked, but sometimes the connection was too weak, the string . . . not taut enough. Another realization come to her from out of nowhere: she and Father Soltera, their connection, was based on need. Or, more accurately, the level of their need. Contact could only be established when a certain benchmark for that need was met.

  The witches stood and gathered around a pitifully resigned Luisa, who was now whimpering unintelligibly. Maggie stopped struggling as Sonia turned to look at her, sneered and said, “What do we do with this one?”

  “She’s special,” Delva croaked. “I think her blood will prove to be a very special gift The Master has given us for the ritual.”

  Maggie knew it would do no good to panic. Still, her mind began to dissolve with fear. Eenie held her in place as she did everything she could to wrench herself loose.

  All while Delva laughed and laughed.

  Chapter Ten

  The sky around them folded over on itself, first in one layer, then five, before it spread back out again, as if it were a massive sheet being whipped flat. The air crackled with energy, like sparklers on Fourth of July, but invisible and all around them. Father Soltera turned to look back at the mainland and saw Michiko there, sitting cross-legged, her wrists on her knees, her palms face up, watching.

  “Who is she?” Gabriella asked curiously.

  Father Soltera shook his head. “I don’t know, entirely.”

  They walked to a small dune edged with grass and sat together. “How did the two of you meet?”

  “I first saw her in the hospital, after . . .” He paused.

  “After what?”

  He looked at her. “Gabriella, I should tell you something. I was attacked. Stabbed, I think.”

  “What?” A look of concern flooded her face.

  “Yes. There’s a young girl, Luisa, from my congregation. She became pregnant with a . . . less than honorable man, is the best way I can put it. He wanted her to abort the baby and when she hesitated, he threatened her. I tried to help, so he came after me.”

  “What happened?”

  Father Soltera grasped at the memory of that night. “I-I don’t know, really. I mean, I remember him coming towards me and I was grabbed from behind. I felt the knife go into me a few times, and then things went black.”

  “That’s horrible,” she said as she hugged him.

  “I woke up a little later with people all around me . . . on the street. I think I bled a lot. Then I passed out again until I was at the hospital, and”—he motioned to Michiko—“there she was. Telling me stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  The energy around them had dissipated. The water, which had been restless, now went flat as glass.

  He sighed. “That I wasn’t going to die. That it wasn’t my time.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I was here, in this place. Off in the woods that led to here.”

  She looked around them. “I’ve wondered, so many times, what’s out there.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

  Rubbing the back of her neck with one hand, she asked, “Well, now that you’re here, what next?”

  He sighed heavily. “I think I have to leave.”

  “What? No! No, Father. Don’t leave me here all alone again. I can’t take it.” And the way she said it, with such desperation, made him waiver. Instead, he looked back to Michiko and the shore.

  “It’s why she’s waiting, Gabriella.”

  She shook her head, back and forth, like a terrified child. “No.”

  Father Soltera felt as though Michiko was right there in his mind, counseling his thoughts, showing him the truth. “I think it’s the way—the only way—to get you back home.”

  “How? How are you ever going to get me back home?”

  “We had a connection there, you and I. It was broken. I came here to reestablish it, and now, I guess like some kind of electrical current, it needs to be grounded again.”

  “Father, I can’t—”

  “You have to, Gabriella. You have to be strong and trust in the Lord. And I have to get back home and . . .” He struggled through the different ideas in his head. It was no use. He looked to Michiko and called to her in his mind. What? What exactly do I have to do?

  She told him.

  Nodding softly, he said, “I have to go back and bring the energy of this place back with me to bridge the divide.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He was still staring intently at Michiko. “Yes. Yes, I get it. If I bridge the divide between here and there . . . yes.”

  Gabriella seemed torn. “If what you’re saying is true . . .”

  He looked into her eyes. “If I can get back, your soul will be able to cross over that bridge, back to your body. From this place and back to your life.”

  Michiko stood and took a stone out of a small satchel on her waist and began using it to sharpen her long sword. The time for talk, verbally, telepathically or otherwise, was evidently over. And he was okay with that. Because now, at last, he could finally see a clear direction.

  He walked in a semicircle. “Yes! That’s it. This is how it must be, Gabriella. This is how what’s between you and me finally—” But he stopped himself from finishing, fearing that she was not ready to hear the rest of what he was beginning to suspect.

  “Finally what?” she prodded.

  He thought again of Felix coming towards him with the knife. He’d been scared, but hadn’t a part of him, way deep down, almost welcomed it?

  The sky rumbled but there were no storm clouds to justify it.

  The cancer. The loneliness. The chemo. The pills. The five stages of grief, over and over . . . by himself and for himself . . . until he lost count. Then? The cruel ray of sunshine in the form of this woman, standing right before him, the hope of a love, an escape, that could never be. That only ended up compounding his pain. So that by the time Felix arrived, by the time death came to visit . . .

  He pointed to the trees. “That forest is full of people who gave up on life, in one way, shape or form. I’ve counseled many over the years that had such thoughts, of taking their own lives. But sometimes the surrender isn’t always . . . proactive . . . is it?”

  She looked away.

  “Tell me,” he said, giving voice to a fear he’d had all along, “the accident— on the freeway, with the semi-truck—how did it happen?”

  “What do you mean? It blew a tire, it swerved into me . . .”

  “And?”

  She squinted at the memory, looked away, then looked back. At it. At him. “There was nothing I could do.”

  He said nothing. Because he didn’t have to. Because they both knew what this place—this stifling, haunting place—was for, and there was no use hiding it any further. Father Soltera, he’d been sent here, for her. But Gabriella? She’d arrived here because she shared something with all the other lost souls he’d encountered so far on this strange journey.

  Her eyes filled with tears as she set her jaw defiantly, seeing the accusation in his face. “I did everything I could to avoid that accident.”

  Again, he said nothing.

  She stepped towards him and began beating him on the chest. “I did! Don’t you look at me that way! Don’t you dare judge me! I did all that I could . . .”

  “I know, I know,” he said softly, tears filling his eyes now too. “I’m not judging you.”

  He’d been a priest a long time. He’d been a part of countless confessions, and each one was different in many ways: in what they said, in how they said it and how much they meant it. Except the moment when they were ready to confess something to themselves. Then it was always the same. Something special happened, almost every time; a clarity came to their eyes that was so bright it was almost like a lig
ht, as if the Holy Spirit were a beam flickering in their pupils. He watched it happen in Gabriella’s eyes now.

  “The road was wet. It was raining. I was . . .” Her cheeks tightened against the sadness overcoming her. “I was listening to our song. ‘Ombra Mai Fu.’ Loudly. Really loudly. I didn’t hear the tire blow on the semi as clearly as I should have but it didn’t matter. Because, because . . .” She fell into his arms and buried her face in his chest.

  “Say it,” he whispered into her ear, like a lover. A true lover. Not one who gives passion, but one who offers freedom. Absolution. Grace. Hope. “Say it.”

  “I didn’t want to avoid it—the crash, I mean. I didn’t even t-try,” she cried. “I hit the brake, but only for a second. Then I figured, why the hell not? What was there to live for anymore? Thirty-two years old. A useless job. No man had ever found me good enough, and I hated myself for caring about that, but I was tired of being alone. And now, I was a sinful piece of shit who’d tried to start something with her priest! Seriously? My priest? Who does that? Who? But then to . . . how could I have . . .”

  “You weren’t—”

  Her sobs subsided as she cut him off. “How could I have done that, Father? Just give up like that? What I did to the people I love. My poor mom. She’ll never know how much . . .”

  He pushed her away. “Yes, she will, Gabriella. She will know how much you loved her and I’m going to see to it. I’m going to get you out of here, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “But how in the world are you going to do that?”

  They were so engrossed that neither of them noticed Michiko had somehow crossed the waters and was now standing next to them. “He will do so by crossing through The Whiting Woods and finding The Stairway,” she said solemnly. “But your time together must end, now, if it is to work. We must go. We are running out of time.”

  Father Soltera hesitated, then looked at Gabriella and mounted up within himself all the courage his soul had left in it. “I’ve got to go,” he said.

  She let go of him reluctantly and wiped at her eyes. “Okay.” As if to pep him up a little, she smiled encouragingly. “See you soon!”

  “Yeah.” He nodded with equal encouragement and a little smile of his own. “You bet.”

  As he turned and walked to the water with Michiko, he realized that he hadn’t really lied. He’d simply substituted one truth for another.

  He’d see her again. Someday. But not here.

  Hector had forgotten how night in prison comes on like a creeping fog: through the bars in the windows, caressing the walls of the hallways, lingering at the edges of every cell until it finally rolls in, making a dark place even darker, until it permeates your soul. Hector hated nighttime in prison and though he was liking his solitude, he was also feeling like he was ready for the cellmate Curtis had promised. Flacco, anyone, would be welcome company right about now.

  He sat at the tiny desk in the corner of his cell, a copy of The Brothers Karamazov open before him under a small reading lamp, unable to concentrate enough to read and distracted by the discomfort of the metal chair he was sitting on. Rubbing his hand over his face, he closed his eyes and tried to deny it, the night. But it was no use. It was the loneliest, saddest part of the day, when you were left with only your thoughts. Of what you’d done to other people. Of what you’d done to your entire life. You could barely fathom the sun coming up the next morning, much less contemplate the years and decades stretching out ahead of you now like a long road to hell.

  But it’s not a road to hell, Hector. It’s a road to redemption.

  He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. The Gray Man was standing with his arms folded and his back against the cell door. But his image was snowy, like the static signal on a bad black-and-white TV set.

  “It’s about time you showed up.”

  The Gray Man dipped his head to one side. I know. But as you can see, this place . . . it is hard to infiltrate.

  “I thought you could do anything.”

  He grunted. And who ever told you such a thing?

  “I dunno.” Hector shrugged. Turning sideways in his chair, he could not hide the relief he felt, to his core, at seeing him. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

  Good. But I can’t stay long. There are a lot of lines in play this time.

  “Lines?”

  Human lives are like intersections, Hector. They cross and re-cross in some cases. You’re all so busy getting to where you’re going that you rarely ever see this.

  “Yeah?”

  His image faded, squelched, then blurred before he was back again. Yes. And the activity in my . . .

  Hector squinted at him with curiosity. “What were you going to say?”

  The Gray Man suddenly looked sad. It’s nothing, my boy. I’m just getting far along in this journey, is all.

  “What? You mean, like, you’re getting old?” Hector said teasingly.

  It worked. The Gray Man smiled. That’s what I used to call it, yes. Now I know better. He looked up, then back to Hector. Now I know that the entire journey is not about aging; it’s about evolving.

  Hector stood and stretched his back, which was killing him from the chair. “Yeah? That don’t make much sense because, man, I don’t feel so young no more.”

  Well. Aging happens. Yes. The body withers. But to what, is the question. To this state I’m in now or—

  “To the state of that little bastard that’s back after me?” Hector said, referring to The Smiling Midget.

  The Gray Man nodded. Exactly. And from there? The process continues.

  “What do you mean?”

  Never mind. We don’t have time for idle chatter. You’ve been in contact with Curtis.

  “No. C’mon. Look where I’m at. I know you’re in a hurry but I’m not. Because the minute you leave?” Hector said with a huge sigh. “I’m gonna go back to slowly going crazy again.”

  Hector, we should be working on your training with the blue. You will need it.

  “Please,” Hector said, looking at The Gray Man seriously, emotion cracking his voice. “I need something to understand besides just survival, man. I don’t care about no blue if there’s no purpose for all of this . . . of life . . . anyways.”

  The Gray Man looked down at his shoes and nodded. Then, uncrossing his arms, he put his hands in his pockets. Okay. It’s not all that complicated, really. Your little friend is doing as much evil as he can to advance in his kingdom.

  The idea reminded Hector of his Xbox for some reason. “You mean like leveling up or something?”

  Well. I’ve never heard it put quite that way, but yes, I suppose you could describe it like that.

  “And you?”

  It’s different.

  “How?”

  Your friend does everything out of selfish desire and ambition. With hate and pride he seeks promotion, to do greater harm, to become a greater evil. His kind and the place he serves is all about perpetuating greater pain and sorrow.

  “You mean . . . like in the world?”

  No. More like in the world within each one of you, Hector. By doing that, the world outside will naturally follow.

  Hector leaned against the edge of his cot, facing The Gray Man, waiting for him to continue.

  The crackle of more static came as The Gray Man looked around them, as if seeing through the walls and checking that the coast was clear, before he continued. The path I am on is about peace and redemption, about serving others and a greater good. It does not seek to grow and overcome anything, but rather to be a seed and become something. One must become before one can overcome, do you understand? The evolution of the soul is continuous.

  Hector squinted with confusion. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Don’t play the street thug with me, Hector. You understand full well. I’m on a path to my . . . next level, as you put it. So are you. Neither of us should forget that one can go the other way, too, at any given time. Free will does not end on earth. I
f that were true, then how could Lucifer have made the decision that he did?

  “Shit, man. That’s heavy. Lucifer?”

  The Gray Man shook his head. I’m saying too much. You shouldn’t be hearing this.

  “Then why are you telling it to me?”

  The Gray Man removed his fedora with one hand and used his other to dust the top of it off before he replaced it. He looked sad again. Because I’m running out of time.

  Alarmed, Hector tensed. “Time?”

  Yes, Hector. I’ve watched over my little section of the universe, your city, for long enough. It’s time for me to move. It happens. I just didn’t expect it to happen this soon. We don’t have nearly enough time to train you . . . and with the challenge coming your way, it will be crucial.

  “So then why is it happening?”

  His image cut out and staggered in static flashes across the room before it became fixed again. But his façade was much snowier now, and only getting worse. A pensive look crossed The Gray Man’s face. We must have faith, Hector, always, in one very important thing.

  “And what’s that?”

  That the Lord works for the good in all things. All things. Always. For me, most recently, it happened with Kyle Fasano. The love he had for his wife, the choice he made in the end. It affected me, you see? It reminded me of something I’d left behind. And now I’m seeing it again with you, in even more ways.

  “Seeing what, man? Quit talking in riddles.”

  Your humanity, Hector. Kyle’s humanity. It’s a beautiful thing, but it beckons to a part of me that is long gone. My role, the role of those like me, is to lead and guide you all, when you need to be, when you ask to be. To help you to evolve. We cannot waiver in that task. When we do? It’s okay. We, too, can repent and be forgiven. God loves us all, in the roles we each serve. And I suppose I’m telling you all this because you’ve seen enough to know that it’s all real: good, evil, heaven and hell. It’s not a bad thing that I’m leaving. It’s best for me now, at this time, to do other things. And you’re my last.