Death's Intern (The Intern Diaries Book 1)

by D. C. Gomez

  “Not my fault. You should be paying more attention to your surroundings. What if I were the bad guys?” Constantine was too happy with his own skills.

  “I’m sure they would have shot me instead of sneaking around trying to scare me. You’re just mean.” I was at least breathing normally now.

  “Oh, please. It wasn’t that big a deal. But back to you. How long have you been here?”

  I did a quick check of my watch. “Almost an hour. I woke up with tons of energy.” I really wanted to knock the teeth out of that crazy witch who’d hit me the night before, so technically, I was pissed.

  “I like the motivation. Isis, remember, these witches are good. They’re powerful and well prepared. They’ve been evading us now for over a year. You’ve been doing this two days. You need to be careful.” Constantine jumped on the bench to have a better look at me. “You’re looking better.”

  “So you’re saying I have no way of beating them?” My hopes were crumbling.

  “That’s not what I said. Trust me, a few crazy witches are not going to stop us. We just need to be smarter than they are. Unfortunately, they’re pretty smart.” Constantine had moved over to the punching bag and other weird artifacts as he talked.

  “How is it possible they are able to do this? Why can Death sense it?” I was feeling pretty good. I walked over to one of Constantine’s torture machines and started doing inverted sit-ups. The blood quickly rushed down to my head in the odd position.

  “That’s what we wanted to discuss yesterday. Bartholomew has been running all possible scenarios on his computer. The only thing we could conclude was they’re killing them in a place where Death cannot enter.”

  I stopped mid sit-up, with my body perpendicular to the floor. I had to turn slightly left to look at him. “What does that mean?” It was one thing to be working out for an hour, but I was not awake enough to follow Constantine’s theories today.

  “Think about it. If a person dies here on earth, Death senses it and appears before the final breath. But what if they were taken outside, to a place where nobody ever dies? Death would have no access or jurisdiction there.” Constantine looked at me, waiting for me to make the connection. I was silent for a minute. This wasn’t possible.

  “Constantine, are you suggesting they are taking them to heaven to kill them?”

  “Don’t be silly, child. The Big Guy and every angel would have pulverized them. We would have seen a hard-core meteor shower or some other crazy phenomenon. Access to the promised land is guarded very well. No, not heaven, but you’re on the right track.” That was a lovely mental picture. Thanks, Constantine.

  “Oh, no. Not hell.” I really didn’t want to go to hell, alive or dead.

  “Hell is another one. And your own personal favorite, purgatory.” Constantine sat on another bench, this time in his sphinx pose. We were both silent for a minute.

  “Hell or purgatory—those are our options. Great! Why couldn’t they be hiding at the Golden Corral or Walmart? So, what now?” And my day had started so well.

  “You want easy? Please! Isis, we work for Death.” OK, so Constantine had a point. “First thing we need to do is narrow down locations. We have less than four days, counting today, to find these witches and stop them before they move on.”

  “How do we know they haven’t left yet?” With my luck lately, anything was possible.

  “Why waste their time beating you up? Besides, if they’ve left, they’ll need to find another location, and they don’t have enough time. And it would be really hard to travel with kidnapped people without drawing attention.” Constantine was pensive as he spoke. “Isis, you’re going to have to make some house calls. When was the last time you went to church?”

  “Church? Like a Catholic church?” Constantine nodded. “I’ve been to Saint Ed a couple of times.”

  “That’s a great place to start. On Wednesdays, Father Francis holds confession at eleven in the morning, before the Mass. You should stop by. Tell Father Francis that Constantine says to keep it real.” Why was I surprised that Constantine knew the priest? Why did anything ever surprise me anymore? Oh yeah—because he was still a damn cat.

  “Do I want to know how you know the priest?”

  He actually smiled at me. I was not getting an answer out of him.

  “So I need to go to confession. Great.” I hadn’t been to confession in over a year. It was painful to me.

  “Hey, some discussions need to be done under strict parameters. For your protection and Father Francis’s as well. We all know the power and binding laws of confessions.”

  Constantine was right. I didn’t want this crazy secret to get out to anyone. Under confession, anything I said to Father Francis could not be discussed with anyone, regardless of who. One of the strongest vows that was ever made. It was the reason people still flocked to confession to clear their conscience and received absolution.

  “How is Father Francis going to help us?” I was hoping this would be an easy answer.

  “Unlike heaven or hell, purgatory is a transition place. So nobody is actually guarding it from the other side. Normal points of access to it are Catholic churches.” Constantine read the confused look on my face. “Catholics are the only ones who believe in it and created it. Father Francis should be able to tell you if anybody has tried to cross from his gates.”

  “The job of a priest always seems so lonely and odd. This is not helping their case.” On top of watching over congregations filled with all sorts of weird people, they were also responsible for the passage to purgatory. That job was awful.

  “It is a calling, not a career; remember that. Now let’s discuss your powers. I’m glad you were able to tap into it, but we need you to think lullaby, not suicide.”

  “What are you talking about? What suicide?” I had obviously missed something.

  “You’re playing last night. It was haunting, full of pain and sorrow. Bartholomew and I had to put on headphones before we killed ourselves. A bit too powerful.” Constantine shook his head like he was trying to clear the memory away.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I just got carried away when I saw my mother’s old flute.” Last thing I wanted was to hurt either of them.

  “Relax, Isis. We were not hurt. But remember, music has power. Your emotions will drive the magic. You need to focus on putting people to sleep, not to death.” I didn’t like the idea of my feelings translating into actions that could affect others. That could get messy.

  “OK, so I need to play a lullaby.” I didn’t remember the last time I played a lullaby, if I’d ever played one.

  “Yeah, like ‘Rock-a-Bye Baby.’ That kind of stuff.” He flicked his paw as he spoke, in a nonchalant sort of a way.

  “You do know that ends with baby and cradle falling from the tree.” Such an odd song to sing to a sleeping child. I was disturbed.

  “It was not my idea to put the cradle in the tree to begin with. Besides, you get the idea. Nothing fancy but sleep-inducing.” Constantine was right; I needed something sleep-inducing. I needed to do some research now. “Have you figured out how you are going to use it? I doubt the witches will give you time to pull out your flute, tune it, and then play. It also doesn’t make for a very practical weapon.”

  “Baby steps now. Let’s cross that bridge when we get there. Besides I was a paratrooper band member, not that different.” This got more complicated by the minute.

  “Yes, my little paratrooper, but you were not jumping out of a plane carrying a musical instrument. If I’m not mistaken—and I know I am not—you dropped down with an M16. Big difference.” I really did not want to know how Constantine knew so much.

  “Got it; adding it to my list.” My to-do list was increasing exponentially. It didn’t look like I ever got anything done.

  “What time do you have to report to Abuelita’s this week?” Constantine brought me back to reality instead of my never-ending list.

  “Oh, I do
n’t.” I started stretching my arms as I looked at him.

  “Did you get fired? Nobody fires an intern, not even Abuelita. I’ll make a call and get this sorted out.” Constantine was up on all fours, and he looked like a giant fur ball.

  “Hey, tiger, slow down now. Nobody got fired. Abuelita gave me the rest of the week off to solve this case. She was afraid I might get killed if we don’t fix this soon.” I normally talked fast, but those last sentences flew out of my mouth. Constantine unruffled himself and sat back down.

  “Well, nice, that was a really good call on her part.” Constantine yawned and stretched himself at the same time. “OK, now that you are all warmed up, let’s get started.”

  “Started? I thought I was done.” I was going to die. Constantine was a cruel cat.

  “Isis, I have seen your fighting moves. Girl, you suck. If you take another beating like you did last night, you will break something important. So stop whining, and grab the boxing gloves. We need to start with jabs and kicks. Your upper body is weak, but we can work on it.” Constantine walked over to the gloves and waited for me. I was not getting out of this so easily. I was pretty sure I did not know how to throw a punch.

  Constantine proved my theory. I couldn’t throw a punch to save my life. By the wall near the corner of the building, Constantine had installed one of those suspended punching bags. The types boxers used on TV. They made that look easy. I threw three punches, and the thing almost knocked me down. I had no rhythm when it came to boxing. After an hour of my horrible display of skills, Constantine called it quits.

  “I need to find you a partner. This is not working out. Go shower and eat breakfast. We have a long day today. You need to be on time to church.” Constantine looked defeated, and I was the one getting beat up by the bags.

  “Yes, Drill Sergeant.” I snapped to attention, with my legs together and arms at my side, head straight. To add insult to injury, I even saluted him. Constantine glared at me.

  “Move. Out.” He was not a happy camper. I was sure with his fifteen pounds, he could produce a quick death. I ran toward the loft before he could execute me.

  Chapter 17

  I was getting old and slow, because my showers were taking longer and longer. By the time I finished getting dressed, I had just enough time to get a shake. Where did the shakes come from? More questions that I was sure Constantine would have a bizarre answer for.

  Bartholomew was up checking for more missing people. It didn’t take a lot to make a growing boy happy—he had a plate of sausage patties. He was munching while he typed.

  With the Whale out of commission, Constantine let me borrow his car. The cat had a car. And not just any car—he had a yellow Camaro. Of course, he had named it Bumblebee. I was pretty sure that name was copyrighted, but I was not discussing that with him. Besides, he was letting me borrow it. I did get a lecture on the proper maintenance and care of Bumblebee. With my luck with vehicles, Constantine had a right to be worried. God, I was worried.

  Saint Edward Catholic Church was on the back side of the block from the outreach. While the outreach sat on Ash Street, the church itself was on Beech Street. The church had recently turned one hundred years old, and it was beautiful. It was more in tune with traditional churches up North and not with the stadium-seating style you saw in the megachurches in the South. The church even had stained-glass windows on all sides.

  I parked across the street from the church, in front of the church’s office. It was a little past eleven in the morning, and I needed to catch Father Francis before he stopped confessions to get ready for Mass. I quickly climbed the steps leading to the main entrance of the church. The church had a small vestibule separating the main entrance from the sanctuary. Like most Catholic churches, holy water was placed by the door to bless yourself with. I dipped my right index finger and did the sign of the cross. I slowly pushed open the next set of doors and walked in.

  The interior of the church was beautiful. Churches and places of worship had a sense of calmness to them that was breathtaking. If you found the right one, it felt like coming home. As I walked in the door, I noticed the large crowd. The church could easily hold four hundred people, with sets of pews separated by an aisle in the middle. Most Catholic churches had daily Masses. Normally senior citizens, retirees, or the church staff would attend. In cities with larger Catholic populations, you could have a few dozen show up. I had been to daily Mass at Saint Edward’s before, and the number of attendees was fewer than ten.

  Today we had at least 150 people. They were mostly sitting at the back of the church. If they were all waiting for confession, I was screwed. I stood at the entrance looking for a place to sit near the back. In unison, the entire row sitting in the ushers’ pew by the wall stared at me. It was a sickening sensation, as if all those eyeballs could see into my soul. I swallowed and tried to look away. A lady in her forties dressed in a long green dress got up. She beckoned me over. She was the next person in line to enter the confessional.

  “Ma’am, you don’t have to. I can wait.” I couldn’t cut in front of all those people in line.

  “We have all the time in the world dear; yours is short.” Before I could protest, the confessional’s door opened. A young man, maybe in his twenties, walked out. He was wearing a white suit, like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. “Dear, go in. He’s ready for you.”

  The lady almost pushed me inside. By the time I turned around, she had closed the door.

  People in this church were serious about their confessions. Father Francis sat behind the kneeler. Unlike most TV shows, Catholics faced their priest for confessions instead of kneeling behind the weird screen. A chair was in front of Father Francis. He wore his priestly clothes and was holding his Bible. Father Francis was in his late sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair and green eyes. He had a warm smile that made you want to talk. I guessed that was a good thing in his business.

  I took the seat and made the sign of the cross. I looked around the small room, nervous. I noticed on the wall the prayer of contrition, the normal prayer people said after confession. It was in Spanish and English. I was impressed. This meant I wasn’t the only person who couldn’t remember the prayers. Father Francis just smiled at me. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

  “Father, this might sound weird, but Constantine said to keep it real.”

  Father Francis nodded at me, made the sign of the cross, and said, “Tell him to keep it low.” Either the priest and that crazy cat were in a gang, or I had just witnessed a challenge and password take place. I might need to explain to Constantine that in order for this to be effective, he should let me know what the password was supposed to be.

  “I will do that. By the way, how do you know Constantine?” My curiosity always got the best of me.

  “Constantine gets around. He’s been busy lately. But I’m sure that’s not why you’re here. So what brings you to church, Isis? I haven’t seen you in a while.” Wow, Father Francis had a way of making you feel welcome and guilty all at once.

  “You know my name. Can I assume you know who I work for?” I was not blending in very well.

  “A lot of people know your name, child. It’s been years since Death has had a Catholic intern. Granted, I doubt that he did that on purpose. Death tends to be fair in his choices.” For the priest, Death was a man, which was interesting. No wonder nobody had a clear picture of Death. It was different for everyone.

  “Father, I have a horrible feeling Death made a mistake with me. I suck at this. Honestly, I’m completely unqualified for this weird job. I don’t even get all this magic stuff.” Without fail, every time I went to confession, I started whining. Probably because it was the only place somebody had to listen without judging me.

  “God doesn’t choose qualified people to serve him. He chooses imperfect people to do extraordinary things.”

  “That I believe, Father. But God didn’t choose me. Death did. Not the same thing.”

  “You have a vali
d point, but do you honestly think that if this weren’t part of your divine plan, God would have permitted it?” Priests always got you with their theological questions.

  “My heart wants to believe this is all part of my destiny, but my brain has a hard time processing it. All I know is people are missing, and I want to help.” I was staring at the floor as I spoke.

  “In that case, my child, have faith. Know you are exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

  I felt the pressure in my chest lessen. Deep down, I was looking for validation that I wasn’t crazy.

  “Thank you, Father. Now, have you seen anything weird around the church?” I sounded childish, but Constantine hadn’t prepped me on how to broach the subject.

  “Everything around the church has been quiet. The souls, on the other hand, have been restless. They’ve been coming in more often. Something is bothering them; I can feel it.”

  My mouth dropped.

  “You can see them?” Father Francis sounded astonished.

  I nodded slowly. “You can’t?”

  He shook his head. This was way too creepy for me.

  “Father, if you are correct, your church is currently filled with the souls of purgatory.”

  “Priests are not blessed with that gift. We’re responsible for praying for the souls to move to the next life. I didn’t realize interns could see them.”

  “No offense, Father, but I don’t consider seeing dead people a gift.” I took a breath to calm myself. I needed to get focused again. “So nobody—alive, I mean—has been around here asking questions? Or trying to use the property?”

  “You’re the first one, Isis. We’re a small congregation in comparison to other churches, but our members are active. The other two associate priests and I live next door. Hard to sneak around when you have priests walking the grounds at all hours.” Father had a really good point there.

  “Thank you, Father, for your time. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” I tried to get up, but Father Francis grabbed my hand.