by mike Evans
The two boys didn’t turn around they simply nodded their heads. One hour later, and the deacons were looking to the two boys, nodding and motioning for them to come and get the crosses for the exit. Billy thought that his stomach was literally going to eat itself the longer he sat there and wished more than anything to be able to go to James’ house for Sunday lunch. When he stood, he looked around, catching his mother’s eye and trying not to smile. She beamed watching him and had an exhausted Tony in her arms. After the service, they were changing and Father Michaels came in, carrying a brown paper bag. “Well boys, how’d I do out there. You think I scored a touchdown?”
Billy nodded eyeing the bag. “Yeah, father, you did a great job, thank you.”
Michaels saw him watching the bag that had more food than his family had probably been able to consume in the last week filled in it. “You think that you might be able to do me a bit of a favor?”
“Sure, but what could I do for you?”
“Don’t ever underestimate yourselves, boys. Mrs. Baker brought in food this morning, and so did a few of the other women. Well, there’s no way that we are going to be able to eat most of this, if any at all. You know that we usually have lunch with someone after mass. Well, leave it to her to bring in a giant pot of chili, crackers, and bread when all of us have plans going on afterwards. It’d be a sin if we let it go bad, wouldn’t it?”
Billy did his best to stay calm and not rush to the bag of food. “I think you asked the right man, Father Michaels.”
“That’s fantastic, just don’t let Mrs. Baker know that you are taking this and please return her pot when you boys come to Wednesday mass. Who knows what we are going to have for food on that day, might be something you need to do a little more often, so long as you think you can handle some of the other ladies cooking?”
Billy pulled off his Cassock and caught his shirt while doing it. Father Michaels walked forward immediately, catching the shirt before it fell. Father Joseph was entering at the same time and saw the strange looking bruise as well. Michaels could not stand any sort of child abuse, regardless of whether they deserved it or not in the parent’s minds. “What happened to your back, Billy? Has your dad been hitting the bottle again, harder than usual?”
“No, he’s been taking it easier, Father Michaels. We haven’t had the money, so I think he’s down to three or four days a week.”
“That isn’t cutting down, son.”
Billy didn’t mean to laugh, but said, “Well, it is when you are at my house.”
Father Joseph stepped in, pushing politely past Michaels, looking at the bruise. “You sure that came from your father, son?”
“I don’t really know, sir. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know it was there until he noticed it.”
Father Joseph nodded lightly, and a memory hit him like a brick to the face.
Chapter 5
New York, 1945
St. Patrick’s Cathedral
Father Joseph sat in the pew, head down and praying, he had a five o'clock shadow which he usually did not carry, and his hair was a few weeks past needing a good buzz.
A voice from behind him cleared their throat. He turned around; his eyes were tired, and he felt like he’d been going for days on end. When he thought about it, it didn't feel like it, but it was because he had been. His mentor, Father Andrew, leaned against the pew. He was in his sixties, but looked like he could have been in his eighties after their recent time together.
Father Joseph said, “Hello, Father Andrew. You aren’t here with good news, are you?”
“Anytime we are going somewhere to help someone, it is good news. We have another case, Joseph, I don't know what is going on.”
“How many cases is this in the last three weeks, Father Andrew?”
He was nodding his head side to side, trying to think of everything they’ve dealt with. “I can’t say, Joseph, the reports are still coming in and updating from all over Europe, it is taking ten times as long as it should, with the war, the communication streaming is horrible. There’s something going on though.”
“You mean there is something trying to get out. The Devil has plans, but I can’t figure out what they are trying to do. I just don’t understand, why now?” Joseph said.
“There are wars going on. There is blood running through our streets and hate in the air, Father Andrew. Now is probably the smartest time that the demons can try to do whatever it is that they are trying to accomplish.”
Father Andrew looked to the Jesus up on the cross smiling. “Why couldn’t you send some of your own reinforcements down? We could surely use some of them.”
Father Andrew patted him on the shoulder. “Matthew 7:1 - 5 do not judge, or you too will be judged. When I was in my twenties—like you—I too was in a hurry to change the world.”
“What did you learn that made you stop?”
“Simple, Father Joseph; we are on this earth for a short time, and we can only do as much as we possibly can in that time. But once that time is over, those that are unholy will still be here long after we are gone. We need to make sure that we worry about those things that we have some control over.”
“And what about those things which we can’t change?”
“We put our head down and do our best to keep them from doing as much harm as possible,” Father Andrew said.
“Anything else I should worry about doing?”
Father Andrew patted the much younger man’s shoulder. “Yes. That when you are old enough to mentor someone, Father Joseph, that you try to do half as good of a job as I did.”
“I hope that I can do something to make a difference, sir.”
Chapter 6
They walked out of the cathedral to a woman that had claw marks down her face. Joseph looked to Andrew, less than happy over the fact he hadn’t been given a warning. He knew that one day, he would not have Andrew by his side to show him the light and the way to achieve what needed be done.
The woman smiled, speaking in Italian. Andrew took over the speaking duties. Joseph had only been at the New York Cathedral for training for four months and—being from the Midwest—had quickly learned not everyone knew the language. Joseph asked, “What happened to her face Father?”
“It was her son, that did this.”
Joseph looked intently at her. “How old is the son?”
Andrew looked gloomily back to him. “He’s four.”
“A four-year-old did that? You’re joking right?”
“A four-year-old, with a demon that might be as old as time within him.”
“Well, should we go and see if we can give them some peace in their lives and send the demon back to hell, Father Andrew?”
Father Andrew said, “Ci aiuterà tuo figlio.”
The woman put her hands together, saying something that Joseph could only assume was meant for her and God to know what they were saying. She looked at Father Andrew, giving him a hug and a kiss on each cheek. Father Joseph smiled awkwardly, not ignorant that people showed affection, but the bloody wounds that had not had time to scab yet, left strips of blood on his face. The older father knew that, but did not wipe them off, it was not the family's fault that the darkness had entered their home.
They followed the woman the few blocks to her house. A line of locals stood around the home and candles had been lit. They were saying prayers for her son Michael. When they saw the two priests coming, they dropped to their knees, raising their hands above their head clasped together. Joseph knew the simple things behind Italian and that they all felt hope when they started chanting Grazie Dio, Grazie Dio, Grazie Dio.
Father Andrew checked his pockets, making sure there was his bible and rosary next to it, in his other pocket he found the holy water. Father Joseph walked up to the door, holding it open, and let Father Andrew and the mother enter before himself. He did the sign of the cross and ran a line of salt across the doorway. Someone from the group outside praying asked, “Father, what are you doing?”
>
“It keeps the demons on the inside. They aren’t able to cross the line once we put this down. Do not move this salt, whatever you do.”
The woman looked shocked. “You... you want to keep the demons inside?"
“No, we want to send them back home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, to hell, where they belong,” he smiled, shutting the door slowly.
Chapter 7
Chicago, 1972
Father Michaels shook Father Joseph’s shoulder lightly. “Father Joseph, are you okay? Is everything all right? You looked like you went somewhere… somewhere else.”
He patted his pockets, the tools of his trade were still there, long ago, he’d sworn to never leave them behind as long as he was able. Father Joseph smiled. “Old brain, Father Michaels.”
The two boys were finished dressing and watching the two in awe. Billy said, “Like I said, I really don’t know what happened, it could have been my dad, I could have gotten it falling down and not remembering, I really don’t know.”
Father Joseph pulled out a pack of smokes. As he walked out he said, “You two boys get home and let me know if that bruise doesn’t get any better, will you?”
Billy nodded and the two of them carried the two sacks full of food from the changing room. “Thanks for the food, Father Michaels. I’m sure it’s going to be wonderful. Not too hard to beat water, right?”
Michaels waited for the two boys to leave before saying: “Father Joseph, was there something that you need to talk about? You had me worried there for a minute, sir. I thought you might be having a heart attack or something.”
“No, God isn’t done with me yet, son. I fear that there are a lot of demons left for me to fight in my life.”
“You mean helping those that have gone down the wrong path, right?”
“Something like that, come on, let’s go see what is left for lunch, since you gave away our only thing to eat.”
Michaels said, “Worst case scenario we go down to Chicago Pizza. You probably haven’t been there since you came to the cathedral.”
“Chicago pizza, huh? I’m from New York, son; I don’t know if it’d be the same, but I didn’t get this waist line by turning down free pizza.”
“How long were you in New York for?”
“I was there until I was thirty five and that was when I started a mentorship program with my mentor, Father Andrews. We travelled the United States, helping anyone that needed it.”
“Where is he now, sir?”
“Oh, he’s been gone for a very long time now, Father Michaels. He was quite old when we began.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t have reason to know, son. We had many good times working together, he taught me everything I know,” Joseph said reflecting on a mentor he missed still today.
“You didn’t meet him until you were in your thirties, when did you join the priesthood?”
“I’d spent a few years in the army during World War I. I joined once I was discharged from service.”
“What made you go to the way of the holy, instead of war?”
“I wanted to help others, but I’d seen enough blood to last me a lifetime in those years.”
Michaels pulled out his pack, and the two made their way in quietly to the back of the church.
Chapter 8
Billy and James made their way through the front of the church back to their bikes. Billy checked the food, making sure it wasn’t leaking before putting it in a pew. “Uh, we aren’t supposed to eat it here, Billy, I am pretty sure Father Michaels wanted you to take it home and eat it... you know with your family.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Holmes, I appreciate that. I need to light a candle real quick.”
“For who?”
“My dad, and my family; that man can use all of God’s power on his side that he can get. You go home and pray for a side dish you like with the giant piece of meat, and I go home and pray that I’m not going to wake up in a hospital one day. Home is supposed to be a safe place. I’m not going to lie, that being respectful of your parents thing; can only last so long in my house. One day it will get to the point where I have to stand up and become the man of the house.”
James patted his friend on the shoulder. He knew it got bad regularly in the Parker house. He wasn’t stupid or ignorant to why Billy would have a black eye every so often, or a bruise that went without an answer. Teachers at school stopped asking because they knew they would only get one answer, and that there wasn’t anything the police were going to do if someone laid a hand on their child every so often, so long as the kids weren't lying in the street bleeding.
Billy knelt his head forward, lighting a lone candle, and closed his eyes for a minute, saying a short prayer. He rose, and the two headed home. Billy was thankful for the food, but the long walk home almost made him feel like he’d earned it. The paper bag was not something he trusted with the heavy pot and couldn’t stand the idea of seeing the family’s lunch splattered across the dirty streets of Chicago. When they made it to his house, James patted him on the shoulder, wishing Billy good luck, and he sped off home.
Billy carried his bike up to the small porch and returned to carry the food up. He could hear shouting before he ever got the front door open. He took a long, deep breath, thinking of a day when it might not be like this and it didn’t break his heart.
He entered slowly, seeing a few plates broken, and saw a new bottle of malt liquor—that had more than a few drinks already poured from it—resting on the table. He looked to the top of the stairs, already knowing what he’d see. Tony had his small hands clenched around the railing, with his pudgy face pressed up against it. It was his safe spot, as long as the monster didn’t come up the steps. Tony saw his brother and motioned for him to come up the steps, but Billy shook his head no.
His mother’s face was beet red, and he knew she was steaming as well. She screamed, having no clue her son had entered the house. She knew better than to take her eyes off of her husband David for even a second, because that was all the time he would need if he decided to throw a fist or slap towards her. She had a cast iron pan gripped tightly and looked like she was ready to use it.
Billy, who figured it was a long shot at this point yelled from the doorway. “Is anyone hungry? They had too much food at the church. Father Michaels said that we could do them a favor if I brought this chili home to eat. My stomach's been rumbling since I first smelled it. There’s bread and crackers, and it’s gotta weigh like ten pounds. There’s probably enough here for two meals, maybe three.”
David looked over, not in the least bit excited about the feast Billy had brought home, which was more than he could provide for his family. “Oh look, honey, Billy's home. You spend enough time at that church, you probably think God is looking out for you. Well, do you feel holier now?”
Billy ignored his dad’s taunting. He wasn’t stupid, and he knew that poking the bear would only end badly for the stick. “I got all kinds of food, Dad, you hungry? Mom you wanna get some bowls?”
His mom loosened her grip on the pan for a second, which was all it took to invite his dad who’d been staying a few feet back because of that.
When she let go, David rushed her, gripping her by the neck and slamming her back into the counter. Her head cracked against the glass-fronted cupboard; the glass splintered, sending spider webs throughout it when her neat brunette hair slammed into it. She winced, waiting for the blow, but Billy had dropped the meal sprinting to her aid the second his dad went for her. He wanted to punch his dad, but knew it wouldn’t stop him. The only thing he could do is knock him off balance. He’d played enough football with his friends to know that if you wanted to take out a bigger opponent, that you took them out where they’d have no advantage on you. Billy lunged wrapping his arms around his dad’s knees. The two of them went down, and his dad struck his head on the side of the sink as he fell.
Billy rolled away quickly, backi
ng up away from his dad. David stayed on the ground with his eyes shut. A slow stream of blood was starting to trickle from his head onto the yellow tile floor. His mother looked to Billy with eyes full of fear. Joan wasn’t worried about her husband; she was worried about Billy if her husband wasn’t seriously hurt.
Billy whispered, “I didn't mean to hurt him, mama. I was just trying to protect you. I just didn’t want him to hurt you no more. It was the only thing that I could think of to do.”
“I think he knocked himself out, or passed out?” Joan said as she was touching lightly to the back of her own head, trying to gauge how badly she was hurt, if at all.
She leaned over him cautiously, shaking his arm. “David... are you all right? David?”
His eyes opened, and a hand came from nowhere, holding her by the hair. “What are you trying to do, woman, fucking kill me?” He held tightly to her as he pushed up off the ground with his free hand. Joan fought desperately punching and scratching at his weathered arms full of muscle. He spun her in a circle, letting go and let her fly into the oven head first. When she tried to get up, he kicked her in the gut, sending Joan back up against the oven. David spun around to stare wide-eyed at Billy, who was breathing heavily from fear, and worried for all of their lives.
A normally small voice screamed from upstairs. “Leave them alone, Daddy, now! Leave them alone, leave them alone! They didn’t do nothing!”
David walked out of the kitchen, wiping at the blood dripping down the side of his face and onto his well-worn, white shirt. He looked up the steps to Tony. “It’d be nice if one of my children, just one of them, was smart enough to keep their mouth shut. It sure as hell isn’t going to be your bible-loving brother.”