by Shutt, Tom
His feet carried him off to the side, beyond the altar and into one of the wings of the cathedral where the more private chambers were located. He passed the kitchen where the Eucharist was prepared, then turned into Father Dylan’s office. It was the only one that had a door to it, a privilege of being the most senior priest.
Brennan knocked on the door as he pushed it open, and Father Dylan looked up from the papers on his desk. He was a small man, roughly sixty years in age and as active as anyone within the community. His hair had long since gone gray and thin, but his eyes were clear and alert. A toothy smile breached his lips as recognition raised his thick eyebrows. “Arthur,” he said. “Please, come, sit down.”
The old priest’s enthusiasm made it easy for Brennan to return his smile. “Thank you, Father.”
“How are you?” The last time he had seen Father Dylan, he was burying his sister. Before that, their last face-to-face interaction was when Brennan had been just a boy, still doe-eyed and attending mass with his parents. Still, Father Dylan spoke warmly, with the kind of casual familiarity that all old priests seemed to possess.
“Good,” Brennan said automatically. “How has the church been? Bishop tells me good things.”
“Noel is a good Christian, and her presence here is a blessing to all of us. You didn’t come here to ask about my congregation, though. Noel gave you my message?”
Brennan nodded. “The homeless guy. How is he?”
“Harold is doing fine. He told me what you did for him. I’m impressed and touched that you thought to send him here,” Father Dylan said. “I have been reaching out to the local community to help him find work, and meanwhile he has been sleeping on one of our cots downstairs.”
“In the crypt?”
“Heavens, no. We have extra chambers for visiting bishops and priests, as well as temporary quarters for the less fortunate.”
“I just wanted him out of the tunnel before a uni came by and threw him in a cell.”
“I’m sure that was the reason.” Father Dylan’s eyes twinkled, and he leaned forward confidentially. “You have a good heart, Arthur. There is no shame in letting it show.”
You don’t know everything I’ve done. Brennan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not the man everyone thinks I am.”
“What you did for Harold was the act of a good man. It is obvious that Noel sees the same quality in you, or you would not have won her respect. Why do you not see it in yourself?”
“Modesty is a virtue.”
“That was not a rhetorical question, my son. Tell me, really, why you feel so undeserving of our praise.”
“We don’t have to sit in those screened boxes to speak confidentially, do we?”
Father Dylan spread his hands. “Anonymity would be pointless now, don’t you think?”
“Fair enough.” Brennan’s throat felt dry. “I guess my story starts with my father.”
“Your father?”
“He was not a good man. He brought a lot of pain to those he disagreed with, and passive misery to everyone around him. I was young, and I didn’t recognize what he truly was until it was too late.”
“What did he do for a living?”
“As a job? He was a financial consultant. But that was just a front for his real position within the mafia.”
Father Dylan’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
“For years, he was taking money in exchange for information. One day, he was the one calling the shots. Like I said, I was too young to realize then what my father had become.”
“Perhaps he was making the best of a bad situation.”
“You weren’t there,” Brennan said darkly. “He became distant, but we pretended not to notice anything because the bills were getting paid and Maddy and I were going to private school. We attended mass every Sunday like a normal family. It was actually kind of…nice.” His face darkened. “Except for when he was home.”
“I remember him,” Father Dylan said. His eyes gained a faraway look. “Joseph was always polite, courteous, a quiet man. It is hard to imagine him as you describe. Did he ever raise his hand against you?”
Brennan shook his head. “He was a hard ass, a liar, and a murderer. But he never struck us.” He stared hard out the window. “The best thing I can say about him is that he wasn’t a wife beater.”
Father Dylan stared silently until Brennan finally met his eyes. “It can be easy to find fault in others, especially when we ourselves are feeling guilty.”
“I don’t feel guilty about anything.”
“Oh? Perhaps you misunderstood the meaning of confession.” Father Dylan leaned back in his seat. “God helps those who help themselves, Arthur.”
“I don’t believe in him anymore.”
“Children often lose faith in their parents as they get older.”
“I wasn’t referring to my dad.”
“Neither was I.” Father Dylan smiled faintly and clasped his hands over his stomach, the perfect picture of patience.
Brennan sighed. “You know how the government has the witness protection program?”
“I am familiar with it.”
“That’s what happened to my father.”
Father Dylan nodded sympathetically. “That explains his sudden disappearance from our congregation. Still, I don’t understand why you would feel guilty. His leaving was not at all your fault—”
“He didn’t turn state’s evidence,” Brennan interrupted.
“I don’t understand.”
“I told you, I realized what a monster my father had become, and I couldn’t live under the same roof as him anymore.”
“So…you gave the police what they needed to know to arrest your father?”
Brennan swallowed hard. “Not exactly.” He had kept the truth buried for so long, a secret locked away in a vault in his mind. The memory still held a great deal of pain, and it was not a freshly scabbed injury anymore; this was a scar upon his soul, an irreversible act that had the opposite effect from what he had wanted. To reopen that wound would be to reveal a part of himself that he had secreted away for decades. “I gave information to another boss, another crime outfit. They killed him.”
“Oh, Arthur…why did you not go to the authorities?”
“They would have seized everything! It would have left my mother and sister and me without a home, without any way to survive.” His voice was raw with emotion as he spoke. “And beyond anything else…I wanted him gone. Not in prison, not on the run. Gone from this world and from our lives, so that he couldn’t hurt any of us again.”
“Arthur.” Father Dylan’s voice was soft, his gentle prompt pulling Brennan from his reverie. “We don’t have to talk about this if you are not ready. I didn’t mean to push.”
Brennan felt something warm trickle down over his cheek. He brushed at it, and the sleeve came away damp. His eyes had moistened without him realizing. “He’s dead, and I’m not sure I did the right thing,” he said quietly.
Calm contemplation crept into the silence that followed. Brennan willed his eyes to dry as he stared resolutely out the window. Skyscrapers cast long shadows on the busy streets. In the distance, a fire engine started to wail. The city carried on, heedless of his inner turmoil.
“There are few moments in my life,” Father Dylan began, “where I can say I truly believe I did the right thing. Oh, many times I felt that what I did was just, but in the end those actions were the result of petty needs. Lust in the form of love. Greed masquerading as ambition. Vengeance under the guise of justice. When I search within myself, these moments are the source of my greatest shame.”
“Do you practice small speeches like this?” Brennan asked. “This isn’t the best pep talk I’ve heard.”
Father Dylan gave a small smile. “You are a good man, Arthur. I know it, even if you do not. Your actions were misguided, but I believe your motives were pure.”
“Good intentions…I hear the road to hell is paved with those.”
Brennan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “For a Catholic priest, that sure had a lot of Buddhist undertones.” He was rewarded with another enigmatic smile.
“I am a man of faith,” Father Dylan stated simply. “My faith is twofold, in both God and His creations. I believe in my fellow man; I believe that if you live harmoniously with others and improve the world around you when you can, then you can’t be too far from God’s plan. I can’t ask for more than that.”
“So if a good man goes down a dark path…?”
“He can be redeemed.” Father Dylan looked amused as he spoke. “The Bible is an object lesson in the power of redemption. All humans were redeemed for their sins when a good man allowed himself to be nailed to a cross; you would be an arrogant fool to think of yourself as an exception to this. Whatever dark deeds you have done in your past, you can be absolved of them.”
“Bishop has been keeping me away from the case,” Brennan said suddenly.
“Noel?”
“She isn’t stonewalling me for no reason.” He wiped a hand across his tired eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stood quickly. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier. Sorry, Father, but I need to go.”
Father Dylan rose from his seat. “Is everything all right?”
“Just peachy,” he replied gruffly. “But I just realized that Bishop is making one of those judgment errors we were just talking about. I’ve been working in the shadows because she’s holding me back. Now it’s about time I found out why.”
“She must have her reasons.”
“Sure she does. Like she realized her boyfriend is cheating on her and that I knew about it?” Brennan frowned as Father Dylan’s jaw dropped slightly. “Yeah. I keep a lot of secrets, and not all of them are mine. But her personal grudge is throwing a monkey wrench into this investigation, and there isn’t much time.”
“The serial killer on the news?”
Brennan nodded. “Someone else is going to die in about thirty hours unless we stop him.” He watched the blood drain from Father Dylan’s face.
“I will speak to Noel for you.”
“Thank you, Father, but I don’t think—”
He cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Arthur, trust me. I know her. I can help her see reason.” His pale blue eyes held something fierce in them.
Brennan thanked him again, this time with sincerity. He felt a vibration, and he pulled his phone from his pocket. It was Sam. “Excuse me, Father.”
“Of course.”
“Sam,” he said as he walked into the hall. “What’s up?”
“The Regent, eight fifteen tonight.”
“What?”
“Your dinner reservations. And do not ask what I had to do to book a table for you on such short notice.”
“What did you have to do?”
“You nonconformist, you.” Brennan could hear the grin in Sam’s voice. “Where are you now? Back at your place?”
“On my way there now. Did you find out any more about The Tap?”
“I figured the date took more immediate precedence.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t worry, partner, I work quickly. I’ll have something for you by the time you return from dinner. Scout’s honor.”
“You’re not a scout,” Brennan reminded him.
“As far as you know.”
“Nor do you have honor.”
“Now that’s just mean. Wear something nice tonight, and when the server comes to take your drinks, order a Cabernet Sauvignon or some sort of red blend.”
“Isn’t this all a bit much for a first date? I would have gone for something simpler.”
“Brennan,” he said sharply. “It’s not about what you want. Cater to her interests. Sheesh, a few years off the dating scene and you’ve gone completely senile. All right, just show up and I’ll take care of the rest.”
He considered saying a few choice words to his friend, but he was about to get on the shuttle, and he still needed to send the dinner details to Clara. “Fine,” Brennan said. “And…thanks. In the meantime, find out everything you can about The Tap. It’s our only lead at the moment.”
There was a pause before Sam spoke. “Have you brought Noel in on it?”
“You know I can’t. She has been keeping me on ice for this entire case, and it isn’t helping anyone.” He overrode Sam as he began to protest. “I just spoke with her priest, Father Dylan. He has agreed to talk to her about it, all right? But we have just over a day left and I can’t afford to spend any more time on the bench.”
“I don’t like the idea of keeping this from her,” Sam said. “It could be even worse for you if she finds out you kept her in the dark.”
Despite the cool air, Brennan suddenly felt heat flush his face. His voice was hoarse as he thought back to their night of playing pool. When Sam had left him, he had lied about going to meet up with Bishop. “I think we all have our secrets to keep,” Brennan said. He was being purposefully cryptic, and he hoped Sam understood enough to let the issue rest for now.
Another pause. “I think we should talk about what happened at the hospital,” Sam said eventually, his voice equally subdued. “You still haven’t told me a lot of things, actually, and I feel I have a right to know.”
Dread sunk its claws into Brennan’s back, and he stood stiffly as he boarded the shuttle that would take him home. He had never told Sam about his past as a Sleeper. He had never told anyone about his particular power, the one not even other Sleepers possessed. The entire rescue operation three months ago had hinged upon him implicitly trusting that Greg could find Bishop by using one of the patches laced with hallucinogenic Chamalla. If he revealed who he was and what he could really do, Brennan had no clue how Sam would react. He was his best friend, but even the strongest of friendships had their limits.
“I’m on the shuttle now,” he said, his voice low. “We can talk about this after we catch our serial killer.”
He heard Sam sigh heavily. “Right. I’ll find The Tap and send you an email tonight.” Some of the familiar joviality crept back into his voice. “Good luck on your date tonight, lady killer.”
ф ф ф
“It really shouldn’t be this hard of a decision.” Greg was looking on in amusement as Brennan held up two different ties in front of the mirror. “The red one,” Greg said wearily, drawing out the syllables as if Brennan were hard of hearing—or particularly slow.
“Red?” Brennan held it up again, unconvinced. “Isn’t that too aggressive of a color?”
“Come on, the blue doesn’t even go well with your suit—which, by the way, is probably too dressy for a first date.”
Brennan shrugged and looped the red tie around his popped-up collar. “If I show up in a golf shirt and jeans, I won’t even be allowed into The Regent.”
Greg let out a low whistle. “That place is a little outside of your price range.”
“Said the unemployed high school graduate.”
“Touché.”
Brennan pulled on the tail of the tie, tightening it until it formed a knot over the hollow of his neck. It hung just left of center, and Brennan fiddled with it for a few seconds before releasing a sigh of resignation. He started the process over again. “It’s all about making a good first impression,” he said. “The restaurant staff will be expecting me to dress a certain way. Clara will, too.”
“Are we addressing her on a first name basis already?”
“We aren’t doing anything. I’m going on a date thanks to you—”
“You’re welcome.”
“—And you will be scouring
the Internet for jobs. I don’t care if it takes all night. I want you to have something lined up by tomorrow, even if that just means walking into the corner store and asking for an application.”
Greg wiped a hand over his face, causing Brennan to smile faintly. It was a ghost of the very same gesture Brennan made when he was frustrated. “Look, Uncle Arty, I wasn’t totally acting in good faith when I made that deal. I mean, I never actually expected you to go on a date with this woman. Or any woman anytime soon, in fact.”
Brennan paused in his tie adjustment. His eyes, gazing into the mirror, fell to the ring that still encircled his finger. A long minute passed before he spoke, and his voice broke slightly as he did. “It was a surprise for me as well,” he said. “Your aunt was the love of my life, and I don’t think anybody can replace her in my heart. But you and Sam are right; I can’t keep living in the past.”
He was unsure of when it had started, but Brennan found himself slowly turning his wedding ring with his free hand. The silk tie hung in a loose noose around his neck. He felt Greg staring at him from behind, and he quickly dropped his hands. “Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t talked about Mara with many people ever since her death.”
“It’s fine,” Greg said compassionately. “I didn’t mean to bring it up—”
“You didn’t, I’m just being—”
“—It was stupid of me to—”
“—You don’t want to hear about any of that.”
The two of them broke off simultaneously and stared at each other. After a moment, Greg let out a nervous chuckle. “Can we go back to deciding the color of your tie?” he asked.
Brennan smiled wanly. “I’ll keep the red. Thanks.”
A long exhale escaped Greg’s lips. “So you’re going to order the steak and lobster? With an extra bottle of champagne?”
“I’m looking to relax for once,” Brennan said. “Not take out a mortgage just to pay for dinner.”