Catee's Grace

by Keith Holmes

  Asa paid the cabby and walked toward the front door of his tiny south side home. He paused as he opened it, turned to have one more look, then went inside. He took a soda from his refrigerator and then put it back. Then he paced his kitchen for a bit, moving from window to window, door to door, looking out. Finally exhaustion began to get the better of him. He told himself that Elihu would be along shortly, that his worry was no use, and then he moved to the living room and fell into his couch.

  He clicked on the television, rifling through the channels. It wasn't time for the news and there weren't any special reports. He was thankful for that. He channel-surfed for a moment before coming to rest on an infomercial, his eyes growing heavier. And then he fell asleep.

  "Elihu!" His home was dark when his eyes popped open. He gasped and sat upright. "Elihu?" he questioned, standing and walking through the tiny home once more, flicking on lights as he went. But Elihu hadn't come. The clock caught his eye, 6:00p.m., and then he darted to his living room and flipped the channel until he found local news.

  Our Top Story - The Santa Miracle, a Ruse! Chicago Police have confirmed that the production was all a part of a media campaign for the re-release of Miracle on 34th Street. Drake Media Productions affirmed that the Moyers were paid for their part in the campaign. The media company apologized for any hysteria they might have inadvertently caused. Channel 5 was unable to reach Drake Media or the Moyer Family for comment.

  Asa was momentarily relieved. He wasn't sure who told the lie. The church had been known to pull strings when they needed something glossed over, but then so did the enemy. He smiled, knowing neither of them had Catee just yet and they were both likely about to blow a gasket because of it. He clicked the news off and moved to his computer, then logged into his secret network.

  First leg completed. Vigilant missing. Seeking.

  Quickly he logged out and shut down the computer. When 'seeking' he was expected to report every two hours and he had a lot of ground to cover. Grabbing his heaviest winter coat, he stepped through his door and locked it. Then he paused. If Elihu was badly hurt, injured enough that he couldn't make it to Asa's, he'd seek food as quickly as he could. It helped him heal. The monk shoved his hands in his pocket and walked quickly down the street to the bus stop.

  An hour had passed as Asa made his way through the Moyer's neighborhood, careful to avoid the apartments. He'd checked the local soup kitchen and was making his way to the shelter when the fear built in him again. An ambulance was parked at the entrance. He paused near a lamppost and looked on as three EMT's struggled with a massive, prone frame atop their gurney.

  "Big bastard for a homeless guy," one announced. "What do you think did this?"

  Asa took hold of the poll to keep his feet.

  "Coyote's man," another answered matter-of-factly.

  "In the city? Fuck you," the third said as the three lowered the gurney down the stoop.

  "No, seriously man. They're a real problem. My cousin's boyfriend got bit by one. Poor bastard probably got hammered and passed out and they just..."

  "Shut up man," the second EMT silenced. "Let's just get him to the morgue."

  "I don't know what's worse," the talkative EMT continued. "Going out like that, or going out with no name."

  Asa watched as the trio loaded his friend into the ambulance and then slammed closed the doors. He kept his feet as they drove by, but once they'd passed he couldn't take it anymore. "Elihu," Asa muttered before bowing his head. "His name was Elihu."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ethan was fast asleep. Catee was napping. But Tara was wired. Slipping from her seat, she paced the small plane's aisle looking for entertainment. She'd helped herself to a soda, visited the tiny bathroom, and read everything she could find. In a storage area she even found a stack of magazines but none that she was interested in. No Vogue. No Cosmo. No People. No Stars.

  Giving up her search, she took a seat on the front row and began to stare out the window. It had been an amazing view for several hours, a full moon causing the ocean's waves to glisten. But she was beginning to see tiny grids of light on the darkened Earth below. She peered off into the distance and began to daydream. Soon, any moment now she figured, Paris would come into view and she'd be one step closer to the life she'd always dreamt of.

  "If only your mom could see you now," Ethan chided sleepily. She turned quickly to the sound of his voice and smiled.

  "She'll kill me when she finds out."

  Ethan shook his head at what he thought was naivete'. He wondered if she'd even see her mother again.

  "She knew I'd make it here someday," she said, turning back to her porthole to gaze out. Her mother had pushed Tara into modeling when she was younger, filled her head with myriad dreams. But her mother was notoriously flighty and more than a bit selfish. Although Tara had the face and the talent to pursue the career, her mom never had the money or drive to put in the work necessary to do so. Instead Tara's young life was spent being introduced to a hundred potential step-dads and left to her own devices.

  "ETHAN!" she squealed, running back to leap into the seat beside him. She thrust her finger toward his window and watched with baited breath.

  Slowly he turned, remembering his dread. There in the distance arose a spire that could only be the Eiffel Tower. "Welcome to Mars," he mono-toned, a bit disappointed in the wide smile that split his wife's face. He wanted for her to share his anxiety.

  "Do you think we'll get to go shopping?" she giggled. It was all he could take.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  She knew the inflection in his voice. It was 'serious time', and she was having too much fun. She wiped the smile from her face and sat down beside him, putting both hands on his arm.

  "This isn't home. This isn't fun. We're running for our lives Tara... for Catee's life," he seethed, teeth gritted.

  "I know," she said, scolded, "but... we're here.... we're in Paris. I've always..."

  "Dreamed about it? Tell me, in your dream were you chased out of your home by a bunch of slimy friggin' shadow-monsters because you're little girl healed a Santa Claus?" he asked sarcastically. "I need for you to wake up. Because we have no clue what's coming next."

  Tara pouted and pulled her hands away, then stood and plopped down in the seat across the aisle. He watched as she averted her eyes, twisting to look through the window of the seats in front of him so that she could see the city. He sighed a big, intentionally loud sigh before he spoke.

  "Please baby. Let's just figure this out first."

  She considered for a moment before softly nodding.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The plane taxied into the hangar and stopped with a jerk. The family looked between each other, unsure of what to do next. Tara stood and then sat down again as the pilot emerged from the cockpit and quickly exited the plane. Ethan arose and stepped into the aisle when an aging Japanese man boarded and made his way to them.

  The man was dressed better than Asa or Cyrus and seemed much more rigid and disciplined than either. His black pants were pressed and neat, his shirt a crisp, banded-collar, white button up. His dark hair was cropped short to his head, his body slim and athletic; in fact the only tell-tale sign of his age was in the pattern baldness that had claimed most of the top of his head. He smiled as he nodded to each of them and spoke.

  “Hello Ethan, Tara, and Catee. I am Salim. If you would be so kind, please quickly come with me.”

  Reliably, Ethan provided resistance.

  “Hold on. Where are we going? How do we know you are who you say?”

  Salim turned to Ethan and nodded once more. “You are wise Mr. Moyer, but regrettably we do not have time for explanations. Customs officials will be here in a moment to inspect this plane and unless I am wrong, you do not have travel papers. I don't wish to see you and your family detained by the French Authorities.”

  Ethan’s cheeks flushed red for a moment, tired of everyone telling him what he did and did no
t want but he’d been in jail a time or two. It was fine for him but not for his family. Nodding, he placed a hand on Tara’s shoulder to usher her forward as she picked up Catee.

  Salim lead the group quickly from the confines of the plane into the hangar where another man - obviously a knight - waited beside the opened door of a service van marked, “Entretien d’Avion”. Ethan rolled his eyes and huffed.

  “Don’t you guys own anything with seats?” he asked snidely as Salim paused at the other side of the door.

  “My apologies Mr. Moyer. This was the best way to get your family out of the airfield without notice,” Salim offered, sincerely apologetic for the discomfort.

  “Forget it. What now?”

  “This is Jahleel, the Vigilant of Paris. He will take you to the safe house.” Jahleel nodded and offered an “Ayup” as Salim introduced him.

  Ethan took another moment they didn't have to eye the new fellow. Jahleel was young, far younger looking than any of the knights he'd met so far. He was born a “Pikey” whose family had roamed the British Isles for decades. He wasn’t much taller than Salim though his presence evoked the same intimidating feeling that the other Knights had. He was small and wiry, unshaven and rather unkempt as dark hair jutted skyward in a conglomerate of 'cowlicks' and 'chicken feathers', his eyes wild yet laser focused, as though they were meant to fool others into believing him aloof. His hands were shoved into the pockets of a worn, brown leather jacket that he’d layered over a black hooded sweatshirt, his legs covered in denim jeans the cuffs of which rested atop the brown work boots he wore.

  “Please, hurry,” Salim urged glancing out of the large hangar doors nervously. Ethan and Jahleel exchanged nods before the family piled in.

  “You’re not coming with us?” Ethan asked.

  Salim’s eyes met Ethan and he offered a wink. “Someone has to have gotten off of this plane Mr. Moyer,” The deceptive plan made Ethan grin a bit as he stepped up into the rear of the van.

  Jahleel slammed it closed and headed for the driver’s seat. Thrusting the van in gear brought a chirping of tires and with that the Moyers began their European Journey. The next few minutes were tense and jostling but Jahleel knew the airport well and, using a service entrance, had the van out of it without so much as a nerve-wracking checkpoint to drive through.

  As soon as the quick turns smoothed, Ethan looked to Tara. She was craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the city she’d dreamed of. Unfortunately, thanks to a number of aircraft tools, site seeing was nearly impossible. Tara pouted as she looked to Ethan. He shook his head at her and managed a grin.

  “We’ll see it later baby. I promise.” He wanted for her to be as serious and homesick as he already was but he knew that she wasn’t. He knew this was her dream and for his entire gruff, curmudgeon exterior, he loved her completely.

  His words caused her to smile, embarrassed for being so childlike in her enthusiasm for the place. To remind herself of the fact that she wasn’t a child, she lifted Catee into a hug from behind and kissed her atop the head. “I know we will," she said and reached out to touch her husband’s hand.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Beautiful, well lit streets gave way to darkened, dirty ones as the van twisted and turned through the City of Lights until finally it whipped into a parking space. Jahleel quickly opened the door and nodded to the family as he spoke in his Pikey-born lilt. “This way."

  Ethan was the first to exit, taking Catee into his arms then offering a hand to his wife. She'd renewed her tourist's enthusiasm, her head twisting to and fro, looking for anything she’d seen in a picture book or on the Travel Channel. But where she stood looked more like a documentary on her old neighborhood; lined with run-down buildings and eyes-forward faces lacking in smiles.

  A sigh filled her chest as Ethan took her hand and coerced her into following him into the arched doorway of a three-story apartment building. The interior of the building smelled like old cheese, no wonder given that it seemed half rotted. Catee was the first to unceremoniously point out the smell.

  “Ew… Mommy this stinks.”

  Jahleel turned his head to regard the family over his shoulder as he began the climb up a dark wood staircase. “No problem. The apartment will smell a right bit better,” he said, turning and silently hoping he hadn’t lied.

  The Safe house was located on the top floor, three flights of dilapidated stairs up into a hallway of bare wood that hadn’t been cared for in ages. A glance overhead revealed a remarkably high ceiling with paint literally chipping from it in large chunks. Those that hadn’t fallen to the floor were still dangling precariously from the ceiling. Tara’s face grew steadily more disappointed. Jahleel paused a few steps down the hallway before an unmarked door. They watched as he worked each latch before finally opening the door, stepping aside to let them in.

  The tiny apartment; one bathroom, one bedroom, one common room with kitchen, was a contrast to the rest of the building though only slightly. It was apparent that it had been cared for, cleaned regularly and kept up. The ceiling was freshly painted. The floor - while still bare - held a dull shine and furnishings, though old and a bit dusty were at least comfortable.

  Jahleel watched as the family gathered in the living area, looking it over, knowing it wasn’t what they’d wanted or deserved. Stepping in, he attempted to console them. “Sleeps all right, quiet enough and safe. Neighborhood ain’t so great but you won’t be leavin’ for a bit…. Not until Salim can give you the go ahead.” No one acknowledged his words as he toyed with the ring of keys in his hands. The silence compelled him further. “S’only temporary,” he offered. Finally Tara turned to him with a renewed interest.

  “Can you see the Eiffel Tower from here?” she questioned.

  Jahleel was quick to nod, excited by the fact that at least something she wanted could be given.

  “Yeah, I think so.” The words shot from his mouth as he quickly made his way to the kitchen window. Tara followed. Throwing back a blind, he twisted to one side and pointed as he spoke. “Just there, over top o’ that buildin’. There it is. You see it?” Tara craned her neck, mocking Jahleel’s stance as she strained to see the tower.

  “Oh…,” she said, disappointment returning to her voice. Empathy filled Jahleel’s stature as he straightened and let the blind fall from his fingertips to smack gently against the window.

  “Might be able to see it better from the roof,” he offered. Tara thanked him with a polite smile and sad eyes.

  Jahleel made his way to the refrigerator and popped open the door glancing inside to check its stock. Aside from a few bottles of water and a jar of Mayonnaise that needed to be discarded long ago, it was empty.

  “Salim will bring you folks some groceries,” he said, glancing to Ethan who’d let Catee down to have her own look around the place. The statement served as an unintended reminder to the little girl who paused at her father’s side, took the tip of his finger in her hand.

  “Daddy I’m hungry.”

  Ethan looked to Jahleel for answers who replied with a nod, apparent that the new task wasn’t a part of his original plan.

  “Right. Somethin’ to eat then. I’ll take care of it.” Heading toward the door, Jahleel paused and turned to the family.

  “Please if you’d be so kind; don’t leave until I or Salim have returned. Don’t even go outside.”

  Ethan didn’t feel like arguing. He just nodded. With that, Jahleel disappeared through the door.

  “Ethan let’s go!” Tara’s voice took Ethan’s attention. His eyes found her still at the kitchen window squinting and twisting to try to get a better look at the tower. Catee ran to her side, looking through the window and trying to match her mother’s concentration as Ethan shook his head and grinned.

  “Not tonight,” he said in a tired tone. Tara turned to him and pouted.

  “Ethan!” she exclaimed, “It’s Paris!”

  Ethan crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “We’re not goi
ng anywhere until somebody tells us what’s going on around here.”

  A more heartfelt pout saddened Tara’s features but she understood.

  “Okay,” she relented, “but soon… tomorrow maybe.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes as he took a seat on the couch, his hand instinctively finding the television remote by his side. “We’ll see,” he said, and then clicked on the tiny TV.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  In London, Brother Isaacs was manning the phones, a generally quiet job that allowed for a great deal of reading and meditation. He was in the midst of catching up on some of his course studies when the phone rang. Bothered a bit, he picked it up.

  “Priory of the Occulus Dei," he greeted. “This is Brother Isaacs.” Ordinarily he’d have blessed the caller with something appropriately Catholic but he was a bit put out by the call.

  “This is Brother Salim. I would like to speak with Father Helforde.”

  “I’m sorry, but Father Helforde is in Rome. May I take a message or offer his voice mail?”

  Salim paused for a moment, looking across the street at the apartment building that housed the Moyer’s.

  “Patch me through to him. It is most urgent.”

  Brother Isaacs didn’t even consider the request. He’d been given instructions that no one was to bother Father Helforde as he was sequestered with Vatican Council to the Pope himself.

  “No… I’m sorry brother. Father Helforde can’t be reached right now. He is in council for three days.”

  Again Salim paused, frustrated as he considered the situation.

  “Can you get a message to him? It is of the utmost importance that he receives this information right away. I have a code for him.”

  Brother Isaacs had already opened his mouth, intent on cutting Salim off when the code was mentioned and his voice caught in his throat.

  “A code you say?” he asked, his mind racing to instructions he’d received months before directly from Father Helforde… instructions that he’d been told were vital communications between the Occulus Dei and the mysterious Knight's Vigil themselves. Excitement filled his throat and threatened to choke him. “I’ll do my best to deliver it post-haste.”