by T K Kenyon
Dante should walk away from her, Rappaccini’s cloned daughter, a walking apoptosis ligand.
He should run.
That last-ditch kiss haunted her. She would have fucked the priest.
But he was Just Dante to her, not a priest. He wasn’t a hypocritical priest who memorized enough Latin to fumble through the Mass and heard your confession and baptized your cousins. He was a scientist and an MD, and he had written an essay supporting her when the journals were brimming with brimstone for her.
And he was a priest. Like a priest always will, he had chosen the Church over her.
She leaned against the door.
Meth nuzzled her palm with his whiskery lips.
The printer, linked to the laptop in the center of the empty floor, grated out another page.
Dante had left her. No drunken Jesuit would darken her doorstep ever again. Her chest felt heavy, like a small hole in her right cardiac atrium was leaking blood into her chest cavity. The right atrium is the small, upper chamber that receives blood from the body after the somatic cells have depleted the oxygen, and then the heart passes the blood to the right ventricle, and that pushes the blood up through the lungs to exchange gasses with the fresh, inhaled air.
Yes, the right atrium must be her problem, because the wound seemed to be impacting her breathing, too, like she couldn’t suck in enough air and her body was starving.
She had almost fucked a priest again.
She had wanted to change his mind, to make him fight for her, to make him want her again, but it was better for him if he didn’t.
This way, he might live. He might put together a life for himself.
During that kiss, she had rationalized that she might as well get fucked because nothing mattered, not working or living or dying. When he had turned on her, terror rose but she wasn’t going to give into it this time. It was just fucking. Nothing else.
She walked away from the front door and picked up her cell phone. She scrolled through the contact numbers in the phone’s memory, selected one, and let it dial. The phone was cold and hard against her ear, like pressing a revolver to her head for Russian roulette.
A click traveled through the phone.
Sean’s voice whispered the name of his church in her ear, “St. John’s Rectory. This is Father Sean Gelineau.”
St. John’s served as a nursing home for aged priests. His reassignment had been part of her deal with the Church to not go public or press charges after Leila got pregnant.
Memories of his smooth voice whispering prayers in her ear raised bile in her throat. His voice was hoarse from a few more years of smoke settling on his larynx. He had shared Leila’s first cigarette with her. Every time her cells cried out for nicotine, and every time she gave in, she thought of him.
“Sean, it’s Leila.”
Rustling and clattering littered the phone line. “Leila? My Leila? Where are you? I’ve prayed every day that I’d find you again.” His voice was so silky, rehearsed. He had said almost the same thing last time, just before Meth chewed his leg halfway off. He said, “That’s an odd area code, three one nine.”
She closed her eyes and rested her hand on Meth’s warm head. He slurped his furry lips. That three-one-nine area code was for Iowa City, Iowa. She had never lived there. She had opened her cell phone account while on a road trip.
Sean asked, “How old are you now? Eighteen?”
A hot tear squeezed through her closed eyelids, and she rubbed it off her face. When she was fifteen, at the Orthodox church and new high school, the other girls had speculated and gossiped that she had changed schools because she had had an affair with a priest. The rumor was that she had an abortion.
They were wrong. It had been a miscarriage. Even babies died if she loved them.
That had been nine years ago.
Nine years ago: two years of high school, three of undergrad, and four for her PhD. She was all of twenty-five. “No, I’m not eighteen.”
“Ah,” he sighed. “You’re such a beautiful child.” He sounded distracted, distant, like he had sounded on the beach a few blocks from her high school when they had watched sea lions barking and surfing the glittering waves that pounded the shore, like a Pacific Poseidon was trying to smite Sean and save Leila before they climbed in his Corvette and he took her back to the rectory.
Her mouth was dry. Swallowing creased her throat. “Sean, I talked to someone. I told him about us. He’s a priest, too.”
“Another priest? You were with another priest?” Sean asked. “Did you seduce him, too?”
“No.” Her throat clamped on sobs. She lay down on the sleeping bag and curled sideways around a pillow.
“Leila, you can’t help it. You seduce men because, in women, carnal lust is insatiable. I couldn’t stop myself and now you’ve seduced another priest.” His voice sharpened. “Now, who was this other priest you fucked?”
Her chest flapped like a rabid bat in a mousetrap. “He’s with the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.”
“The Holy Office?” Sean’s voice cracked. He sounded afraid.
“Sean, have you heard what’s happening to priests who,” her heart dry-heaved, “mess with kids?”
“You told the Holy Office?” Even his voice beat her, cracked her open like a walnut and scraped out flesh. “I’ll make you sorry. I’ll find you. I’ll find you and make you sorry.” His voice acquired that raging note, and she coiled more tightly around the beaded pillow and wept with her palm pressed over the phone.
Dante’s business card nudged out from under her arm.
Air rushed into her lungs, and she was breathing for the first time instead of drowning. “They’re coming for you.”
Vatican things filled the front of the small card, even the long title of Consultor for the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.
Leila turned over Dante’s business card. On the back, Dante had written in black ink with even, block letters, If you need anything at all, for any reason, call. Phone numbers with area codes or city and country codes alternated with black lines.
From the phone lying beside her head, Sean said, “No one can run away from the Vatican, from the Inquisition. They’ll find me, no matter where I go, no matter what I do.”
She breathed, deeply and evenly, with no terror, no anxiety about who was waiting around the corner, for the first time in so many years. “I know.”
She hung up the phone and sobbed until the printer finished grinding out her thesis.
When she could breathe right, she thumbed Dante’s phone numbers into the memory of her cell phone, even though she could never call him.
He might answer.
He might come back, and she couldn’t take that chance.
The silence lulled her to sleep, alone, exhausted, though her arms flinched at every pop and groan in the tower of apartments.
~~~~~
The next day, Leila deposited her thesis with the sullen thesis office clerk and drove away from New Hamilton.
Meth the dog sat in the passenger seat, panting and hanging his grizzled head out the passenger side window, ears flapping, flying toward New York.
~~~~~~~
TK Kenyon
TK Kenyon is an Iowa Writers’ Workshop graduate, novelist, award-winning short story writer, pharmaceutical industry regulatory consultant, technical writer, molecular virologist, neuroscientist, minivan-driving mom, happy wife, cat slave, P90X devotee, surfer, high-handicap golfer, scuba diver, gourmet chef, mostly vegetarian, chocolatier, gardener, capsaicin addict, caffeine junkie, Apache and Scot descendant, native Arizonan, New Englander, nouveau feminist, political moderate with extremist tendencies, radical atheist, Buddhist-curious, occasional UU, Tamil Ayer Brahmin Hindu by marriage, ex-actress, grown-up child beauty queen, PhD, MFA, BS (in so many ways), ASU Sun Devil, Iowa Hawkeye, UPenn Quaker, and always looking for something interesting to do.
American Stories: 7 Award-Winning Short Stories by TK Kenyon
&nb
sp; A compilation of seven award-winning stories by TK Kenyon, previously published in literary journals, now together for the first time. Includes: “Hungry Ghosts,” “The Law of Large Numbers,” “Macho,” “Old Testament Biblical Sacrifice,” and “Communion Is A Kiss,” the prequel to RABID.
Jitterbugging with The Bomb: Stories about WWII by TK Kenyon
A compilation of four short stories previously published in literary journals, now together for the first time. Includes: “Kings,” “Hooligan Navy,” “Jitterbugging with The Bomb,” and “Heart Mountain.”
Callous: A Novel by TK Kenyon– Coming Soon
Selling Handcuffs (An Angel Day Thriller)– Coming Soon
Free Short Stories by TK Kenyon: Amazon Page (Scroll down to find free stories.)
Webpage at: http://tkkenyon.com/
Blog at: http://tkkenyon.blogspot.com/
Celiac Maniac Blog: http://celiac-maniac.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @TKKenyon
Cover: DNA Southern Blot image courtesy of Mr. Flavio Takemoto of Brazil (http://www.takemoto.com.br) via Stock Xchange (http://www.sxc.hu/profile/flaivoloka). Cover design by TK Kenyon.
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“[In RABID: A Novel] Kenyon pulls together all the beauty and terror found in religion and all the beauty and terror found in science to create a fictional space where every person seeks light, whether at the lab bench, or at the church altar, or both. We all of us are seekers and sinners; we, the devout and the damned, are all the same.”
-Barbara J. King, Bookslut
“[A] solid good read by novelist TK Kenyon, a gifted writer who has crafted a book of such mystery that you find yourself, at midnight, on the edge of your seat, asking, ‘What's next? What's next?’”
- Thom Jones, award-winning author of:
The Pugilist at Rest, Cold Snap, Sonny Liston was a Friend of Mine
CALLOUS: A NOVEL
Available soon for E-readers and in Print
“Crisp character studies … Surprising finish.”
“Kenyon revisits themes from her first novel,—small-town intrigue, salacious carryings-on, scientific research, religious fervor,—crisp character studies and considerable tension on the way to a surprising finish.”
-Mary Frances Wilkins, Booklist
“Convoluted lines of battle … Unconventional ending.”
“Like Kenyon's first novel, this one draws convoluted lines of battle between science and religion. There is also a big dose of small-town intrigue and some really smart law enforcement folks, although you don't always notice that right away. Kenyon has a way of painting vivid characters with a broad brush, although she also keeps a few character traits in reserve to keep things interesting. The book starts conventionally enough, with the disappearance of Ester, the adult daughter of a rancher in Texas. Chief Deputy Max, an old-fashioned cop if there ever was one, is on the case with his wife, County DA Diane, who is a secret Bible reader. You can't have a murder mystery these days without forensics, either, so Ester's childhood friend Vanessa carries on that theme. The tension and suspense build throughout the book, which makes it a tempting one-sitting read. If you get hooked on it, though, take time to enjoy Kenyon's characters, who offer a lot of detail to study. There's an unconventional ending, too, but I better not say anymore about that.”
-David Donelson, 5-star Amazon review
“Highly recommended.”
“T K Kenyon is launching a literary career from small town Texas. Like the best mystery writers, she has created a unique geographic niche with characters that are every day believable. CALLOUS is hardly a stereotypical mystery where the only plot motivation is to figure out whodunnit. The characters and plot are complex. There is more in the lives of the husband and wife detectives than solving mysteries. You care about them as people as they sort out the differences in their lives. CALLOUS is for those who enjoy mystery, for those who care about characters, and for those who just enjoy a good can-t-put-it-down read. Highly recommended.”
-Peter Clenott, 5-star Amazon review
“A Loyal TK Kenyon Fan”
“With "Rabid" as a first release, TK Kenyon established herself as a writer that could push your imagination while making you happily uncomfortable. With Callous... she has grown as an author and managed to tone down the quirks in "Rabid" that made me realize I was reading a fiction book while dialing up the suspense. This book is masterfully written and while not as cutting edge as a Chuck Palahniuk novel... it certainly challenges you on a number of levels. TK has done an excellent job of creating a spiral in this story where each turn of plot pulls this small TX town deeper and deeper into a manic episode of self destructive behavior and as you cling to the stability of a few characters, you as the reader, will revel in the difficulties that are created by the rest of the cast. "Callous" represents a big step forward for TK Kenyon and not only have I recommended it to everyone that I know, It has also cemented me as a loyal TK Kenyon fan. I hope to be reading her for years to come.”
-Dave Gant, 5-star Amazon review
“A Genre-Bender in the Best Sense”
“Okay, I'm not so much into mysteries and thrillers. But this book is a "genre-bender" in the best sense. It offers so much, in both depth and edge-of-seat storytelling. If you like to be simultaneously entertained and challenged, this book is for you. I enjoyed the HECK out of it.”
-Doni Tamblyn, 5-star Amazon review
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