“Ma’am, please,” the nurse said. “Don’t do that. You will pull your IV out.”
Sylvia began thrashing wildly on the bed, her feet kicking the tightly tucked sheets loose from the bottom of her bed. “Damn you! Let me go! I must get to Billy! Billy! BILLY!”
As the nurse bent down to prevent Sylvia from getting up, Sylvia pulled back her fist and with all of her might slammed it hard into the nurse’s jaw. The nurse's glasses fell to the floor, along with her clipboard, clattering against the tiles with a great shattering clack.
“Code Grey! Code Grey! Room 312 — Code Grey!” the nurse screamed into the intercom.
*****
“John, you know we will do everything humanly possible to help,” Christopher Perry, administrator of New York Presbyterian Hospital, said. “You and Sylvia have been such good friends with Gloria and me over the years. I am just glad I could help out in this crisis. Sylvia can stay here as long as she needs to, so at least you don’t need to worry about that.”
John sighed as he leaned forward in the overstuffed wingback chair in Christopher’s office. He put his head in his hands and said, “this is such a nightmare. Just a nightmare! If you hadn’t agreed to let Sylvia stay here, I don’t know what I would do. I couldn’t have her taken to Bellevue, Chris. I just couldn’t.” With tears welling up in his eyes, he said, “I really appreciate you allowing her to stay here, especially after what she did to that nurse.”
“Our staff is very professional, John,” Christopher said. “No doubt, Nurse Johnson has seen much worse. And luckily, it appears the doctors have Sylvia fully sedated now. She will sleep for the rest of the day, and perhaps even tomorrow too. That is what she needs — rest.”
“Yes, definitely,” John said. “I don’t know what I am going to tell her when she wakes up, though. I can’t imagine what is going to happen when I have to tell her about—”
“—You don’t need to think about any of that now. These panic attacks can look much worse than they really are. But…, it should pass soon, and once she is in her right mind again, it will be all right.”
“But what if it doesn’t pass?” John said. “What if this is it?”
“It will pass,” Christopher said. “After all you two have been through today, it is no wonder she had a breakdown. It is completely understandable. Although I am no psychiatrist, my people in this field assure me her condition is temporary. The brain is a highly complex organ. It sometimes reacts defensively like this to protect itself from pain.”
“It has been so horrible — horrible!” John said, his voice trailing off as he choked up. “I, frankly, don’t know what I am going to do. I feel like I am at the end of my rope, and that rope is fraying pretty badly, right now. The police are starting their search for Billy, but…”
Christopher got up from behind his desk and walked over to John, putting his hand on his shoulder. “No doubt they will find him. I know a lot of those guys over in the missing persons department of the NYPD, and they are top notch. I am confident they will find Billy.”
“I am not,” John said. “I was confident until I saw Sylvia’s reaction to the police sketch. She clearly recognized the man who took Billy before she…. Since then, she has been unable to make any sense. Your staff has to keep her drugged just so she doesn’t get violent. I just…, just…”
“This is a horrible time,” Christopher said, “and I am sure the shock of Billy going missing just caused her to…, to…,”
“—Snap?” John said, finishing Christopher’s thought. “Yes, but what if she never unsnaps? What then? How am I going to cope with losing my wife and my son on the same day?”
“You aren’t going to lose either,” Christopher said. “Trust me, this is going to work out.”
“And how are the police going to find Billy without knowing who that priest was? I need to find out what Sylvia knows! She knows something! She recognized that face!”
“But, surely the police are—”
“—They are worthless,” John barked.
“John,” Christopher said, “they are professionals. I am sure they know what they are doing. You must try and stay positive in your—”
“—This is my son we are talking about, Chris!” John said. “This is my little boy, and he is out there, with this…, this priest, or whatever the hell he is, and no one is doing a damn thing about it! I can’t stand it! I have to do something myself — something, anything!”
“The sketch must have been of a Priest Sylvia knew in the past,” Christopher said. “I know you two aren’t very religious, but you told me her parents were. There must be a connection.”
“Oh yeah, they were very much so. Sylvia’s folks were incredibly strict super Catholics,” John said. “You know the type.”
“I do,” Christopher said. “But…, who knows? Maybe one of the churches up in her old childhood neighborhood might recognize this guy. He might even be working up there right now. After all, like you told me, the police said it is probably someone with a connection to the family. Stranger abductions are extremely rare. You should pay a visit to her old parish.”
“That is an excellent idea, Chris,” John said as his face brightened a bit. “Frankly, it’s the first decent idea I have heard yet.”
“And who knows, John,” Christopher said. “This may still turn out to be some sort of mammoth misunderstanding. Maybe this priest knew Sylvia’s parents or someone else in the family. Does Sylvia have any brothers or sisters? I am sure they could tell you where they went to church as children.”
“No,” John said. “Sylvia is an only child.” He paused before adding, “But…, I do remember something now. Back when Sylvia’s parents were still alive, and Sylvia and I were just dating, they dragged us out to Christmas Eve Mass one year. It was in some big old church on the Upper West side…,” he said as he closed his eyes. “I can almost see it in my memory. I also remember it was a huge struggle to get Sylvia to go. Eventually, I convinced her it was the right thing to do. Life is too short to always be in battle, especially with your parents.”
“Very true,” Christopher said. “What else do you remember?”
“It was a long service, but, Sylvia’s mom was very happy we went. That is why I remembered it. I just wish I could remember the name of the place.” He closed his eyes again and scowled as he concentrated. “The church was somewhere up in the 70s. I can see it in my mind’s eye, but…”
“I bet it was the Church of the Holy Sacrament, up on West 71st Street.”
“Yes! I think that’s it, it sounds right,” John said. “How did you—”
“—Confirmation class of 1972,” Christopher said as he held up his hand. “My parents lived just around the corner.”
“Small world, even here in New York,” John said.
“Look…, you need to keep busy,” Christopher said. “I understand. It is a terrible situation. I am sure if I were in your shoes I would be crawling the walls.”
“I am fighting the urge to leap out that window behind you right now,” John said as he pointed over to a large plate glass window with a spectacular view of the Hudson.
“Don’t do that,” Christopher said. He grinned as he added, “I only have room for one Delaney at a time in here, OK?”
“OK,” John said as a faint smile appeared on his face.
“But, you need to go check this church out for yourself. Ask around. Sylvia is in good hands here. There is no reason for you to just sit around and watch her sleep. Trust me, they have her so sedated she will be out for the rest of the day.”
“You are a good friend, Chris,” John said. “And you will let me know the moment anything changes with Sylvia?”
Christopher nodded and said, “I will leave a message with your service. You still have your pager, right?”
“I do.”
“I will call as soon as there is any change in her condition.”
*****
John walked the half a block from the subway
stop to 152 west 71st street in a daze. He felt as if he were trudging through a sea of syrup, everything around him moving in slow motion. People passed in a swirl of pointless busyness — chatting, yelling, laughing. It took all his strength not to stand in the middle of the street and scream at the top of his lungs.
He had a mission now. Having a task helped tamper the cauldron of rage and panic bubbling up in his gut. When he reached the address, he stopped and looked up at the enormous stained-glass rose window fifty feet above his head. The general appearance of the building, all grey stones, gargoyles, and nouveau-gothic architecture, made him uneasy. It was as he remembered, but, somehow seemed different now. It seemed out of place, like some anachronistic, white elephant jammed unceremoniously between two nondescript, modern, all-glass office buildings. He looked down at his watch — it was 10:30 AM. He had better go inside now. Noonday mass would be starting soon.
When he walked into the church, his eyes were drawn to the large altar in front of him. Various carved statues of saints flanked either side, and numerous stained-glass windows lined the walls of the nave. The church was mostly empty. His ears rang in the silence. Despite the hustle and bustle outside of a busy New York morning, inside this sacred space, everything was quiet. There were a few parishioners praying in the pews, a janitor up to his left running a buffer over the stone floor, but otherwise — silence.
A woman, dressed in blue, passed in front of him. He noticed her name tag indicating she was an employee.
“Excuse me, Miss, but, where do I go to see a priest?”
“We have several priests on staff here, sir,” the woman said. “Perhaps if you told me the nature of your visit, I could help direct you.”
“It is a rather personal matter,” John said. “I am particularly interested in speaking with one of the clergy who has been here for a while. I do not exactly know how this works, but, I assume priests stay put in their parish?”
“Some do,” the woman said as her eyes narrowed. “But, it really would help if you told more about your concerns. If this is a counseling issue, we have quite a few—”
“—No, this is not about counseling,” John interrupted. “But it is critical. A matter of life or death, actually, and perhaps a priest who has been here for a while can help me. I really do appreciate your assistance in this matter, Miss…” He paused to read her nametag. “Cavalero.”
“Father Zimmers has been here for quite some time,” she said. “In fact, he had been here for decades when I started, and I have been working here for twenty years.”
“Perfect,” John said. “So, is he in? Is he available to speak with me? I promise not to take too much of his time.”
Miss Cavalero glanced John up and down once more, her eyes darting from his face to his hands. It was apparent he was distressed. His eyes were red and bloodshot and, most telling, he was wringing his hands. She surreptitiously sniffed the air and could not detect any alcohol. Still…
“Please, Miss, I am begging you,” John said, his eyes pleading.
“I will see if he is in,” she answered. “Follow me. You can wait in our office conference room.”
“Thank you so much,” John said as he followed Miss Cavalero through a side door.
For the next few minutes, John sat alone in the long, rectangular oak-paneled room. The furnishings were sparse — a simple conference table, a few well-worn green leather chairs and, of course, hanging over the fireplace a large imposing crucifix. He could not help spy signs of disrepair scattered throughout the room. The sight of a chipped wood panel here, a bit of threadbare carpeting there, showed that times were apparently not good at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament. He looked down at his watch and grimaced. It was fast approaching eleven o’clock. He stood up when the woman came back into the room.
“I am so sorry, sir,” Miss Cavalero said. “But I am afraid Father Zimmers’ calendar is completely booked today. He has mass coming up in a few minutes and confirmation classes to teach this—”
She stopped speaking when John sat down and put his head into his hands and leaned his elbows onto the table. He mumbled, “I am begging, literally begging you. I must speak with Father Zimmers, and I must speak with him today. It is urgent in the extreme. This isn’t about me. It is about my wife, who was the only child of two very loyal parishioners who attended here years ago.”
“Who? Who did you say you were again?”
John looked up and said, “I didn’t say. I am John Delaney, husband of Sylvia Delaney. The Father might know her by her maiden name, Sylvia Padovano. She is the only daughter of the late Vincent and Marie Padovano. Please, I need your help. I am pleading with you with all my heart, please, just go tell him that.”
“I will tell him, sir,” Miss Cavalero said. “But, I do know when he celebrates mass he always likes to have a moment of private reflection before the service. I cannot promise you that—”
“—Just tell him what I said, please. Sylvia is in real trouble. I promise it won’t take too much of his time, but it is crucially important I speak with him today.”
She left. A few minutes later the door to the conference room opened. A tiny, stooped, and quite ancient man shuffled inside. John studied the man’s face carefully as he entered, desperately hoping it was the man from the sketch. It was not, and this fleeting hope was dashed. The priest in the drawing was in his mid-thirties at best while the man before him looked as if he could have personally participated in the crusades. But…, perhaps he knows this other priest, John thought.
“You are Sylvia Padovano’s husband?” the priest said as he entered. “It is hard to fathom. It still seems to me like she should be twelve years old.” Father Zimmers chuckled and said, “time marches on, I see.”
“Yes, it does,” John said as he rose from his chair. “I apologize for taking up your time this morning, but, I need your help.”
“It seems like only yesterday little Sylvia was preparing for her first communion,” Father Zimmers said as he looked wistfully upwards towards the ceiling. “Marie was so proud. I remember blessing her rosary the night before the ceremony.”
“Her parents were both very devout, weren’t they?” John asked.
“Oh, yes,” Father Zimmers said. “It is a shame Sylvia and her parents had a falling out. I prayed with Marie about it many a night before she passed. It was the biggest regret of her life.” He shook his head, “Marie was such an exceptional lady.”
“Yes, they did not see eye to eye on matters of faith,” John said, his legs becoming restless as he shifted back and forth.
“Sadly, they did not,” Father Zimmers said. “But…, you said you needed my help with something? Sylvia is in some sort of trouble?”
“Yes,” John said. He pulled a copy of the sketch from his sport coat and spread it out on the conference table. “I was hoping you could possibly tell me who this is?”
Father Zimmers put on his reading glasses and picked up the paper from the table. He furrowed his brow and asked, “what is this all about?”
“Do you recognize this man?”
The priest studied the paper before shaking his head and placing it back down on the table. “Cannot say that I do. I have never seen him. Although…, it is only a sketch so I could be mistaken. It isn’t the same as a photograph, but this man doesn’t look familiar to me at all.” He took off his glasses and stared at John. “What exactly is going on here? Who is this supposed to be, and why is his picture only a sketch?”
“You are sure you have never had this man as a priest here before?” John asked. He pushed the paper forward again and said, “please, look again. I need to be sure.”
“I am positive,” Father Zimmers said. He pointed down at the sketch to the sideburns on the man, and said, “I would certainly remember those. Quite distinctive.”
“Is it possible he worked here in the past before you came here?”
“Doubtful,” Father Zimmers said. “I have been a priest here nearly forty-five y
ears and have hired all of the priests here personally. I never forget a face, and his I certainly would remember.”
John sunk into his chair and sighed.
“Now, I answered your question, so, you need to answer mine,” Father Zimmers said. “What is this all about? This looks like a police sketch. Did this priest do something wrong? Miss Cavalero mentioned Sylvia was in some sort of trouble, and in fact, she said it was a matter of life or death. I think you owe me an explanation.”
John breathed in deeply and said, “Our little boy was abducted from Central Park yesterday. A witness saw this man talking to our son. This is a copy of the police sketch made of that man.”
“Oh, my,” Father Zimmers said as he crossed himself. “That is terrible. Just terrible.”
“You can see why I came here, then,” John said. “The police told me stranger abductions are very rare, so, on a hunch, I was hoping it might have been a priest Sylvia knew from her past.”
“I completely understand,” Father Zimmers said as he sat down and studied the picture again. “I wish I could help. I really do! Have you checked your own parish?”
“We don’t attend a church, Father,” John said.
“I see,” Father Zimmers said as he shook his head. “Such a shame. I will certainly pray for your little boy at Mass today.”
“I am sorry I wasted your time, Father,” John said as he stood up and started to leave.
“No, don’t leave yet, son,” Father Zimmers said. “Please…, Mass will be starting soon. We shall both pray for your son. God is merciful and will provide.”
John frowned, and his eyes started to dart around the room. This was uncomfortable. Now that his theory had been disproven, he needed to move on somewhere else. He knew sitting in some pew mumbling nonsense would not help find Billy.
“Oh, how Marie and Vincent would be so distraught right now. Their only grandchild! I am just sick to think of it. They loved children so much. They both loved Sylvia as much as if she had been their own. I cannot imagine what they would be thinking now,” Father Zimmers said. “I suppose it is a blessing they have passed.”
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