Sister Robert-Claude is smoking a cigarette. Sister Amanda is shaking her head. Brother Ignacio throws his muscular arms in the air, flexing the veins in his neck.
“Poker game?” Mary Margaret guesses.
Norbert slumps against the cold bricks, sliding until he is sitting down in a pile of peat moss. “This baby is heavy.”
Mary Margaret glances into the next window. “She’s not in there.”
“What if we never see her?”
Mary Margaret readjusts her stance. “She’s in one of those rooms. We’ll find her.”
They cross the courtyard to look into a few more windows. Norbert leans so close he leaves a purple kiss stain on every pane of glass, accidentally squishing the baby, who falls silent under the comforting pressure.
“Not in there.”
The next four windows are dark. A lone light shines near the far end of the building.
Mary Margaret leads the way.
At the window, she stands on tiptoes, Norbert breathing onto the glass from behind her. “Cee-Cee! There she is!”
Their friend sits at a small wooden desk, face set in concentration, surrounded by cats.
“I knew she wasn’t sick!”
Norbert taps at the window, lightly at first, until Cee-Cee looks up from her notebook. She brightens and goes to the ancient window, chewing her favorite pink gum. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” Mary Margaret presses her lips through a small crack of window.
“Can I touch those kitties?” Norbert says.
Mary Margaret cuts him off. “I brought Norbert for protection.”
A doubtful look crosses Cee-Cee’s face. “Against what?”
“Kidnappers, of course!” Mary Margaret is exasperated.
Cee-Cee recognizes it. “Norbert, these cats sleep with me every night.”
Norbert looks down at the baby, smiling and thinking about the kitties.
“No time for that now,” Mary Margaret says. “Come out here, please.”
Cee-Cee cranks the window closed and shuts off the light. Norbert and Mary Margaret wait in darkness.
Thrashing around to the end of the building, Mary Margaret ignores Norbert stepping on her heels. When Cee-Cee opens the emergency door, they pull her into the bushes with them. “The Sisters are up to something,” Mary Margaret whispers. “We have to be careful.”
Cee-Cee hugs Mary Margaret. “I have things to tell you: I saw the missing girl. I saw her right after Nonna died.”
“Sorry about your grandmother, Cee-Cee.”
“Do you like my lipstick?” Norbert jumps up and down on his good leg, jostling the baby a bit. “Do you like the color? Isn’t it pretty? It’s Heavenly Mauve!”
Cee-Cee bends him down to look at the wide band of purple he has painted over his mouth. “I love it, Norbert. You look handsome.”
Norbert holds out the baby. “We’ve got Tiger with us tonight!”
“I see that,” Cee-Cee says, holding the baby’s little hand.
“Never mind that; we’ve got business.” Mary Margaret leads them back to the front of the building. “You saw Eileena Brice Iaccamo for real?”
“Yes, in the chapel.”
“What did she say?”
“She ran off before I could talk to her.”
“What else?”
“That girl, lying on the forest floor?” Cee-Cee says. “I think she was me.”
“That’s bad.” Mary Margaret mulls it over. “It could have been any of us.”
Cee-Cee looks at her, grateful to not have to say another word.
“Let’s go,” Mary Margaret takes a deep breath. “It’s time to save someone.”
Just then, a violent sound of rubber crunching gravel slices the air—a car squealing into the parking lot.
Mary Margaret throws her arms out to keep her comrades safe. “Watch out!”
A second car screeches forward from the dark end of the parking lot, red light flashing.
“Cops!” Norbert shouts.
The first car’s back doors burst open. Two girls jump out, taking off full throttle in separate directions.
Mary Margaret points at the car. “They’re here!”
Behind them, six Sisters and a Brother press their faces to the Manse’s main window, looking out into the night, blind as bats.
In a matter of seconds, the parking lot of Our Lady Queen of Sorrows erupts into mayhem. A crowd circles the cars: religious women, children, cops, and somehow a screaming baby. Vinnie sees nuns appearing from nowhere. They form a protective circle around the girl he’s determined to rescue. Keeping his eye on her, he has already lost track of the second girl, ugly Miranda—not to mention the driver of the Pinto, a surprisingly large black man, who seems to have disappeared into the night.
Pretty Miranda is his missing girl, he knows: Eileena Brice Iaccamo. He can feel it in his bones. She is the person who can still save his botched career and his ailing pride; she can restore order to the world.
This is his one chance to make things right. No room for mistakes.
Vinnie must take hold of the situation.
The girl makes a sudden break for the woods behind the chapel, but Vinnie manages to dodge three nuns and grab hold of her arm, twisting her around to look into her face. He inhales her sweaty smell, salty and innocent as any daughter on earth. He’s very happy she’s not dead.
“I’m one of the good guys, Eileena,” he tells her. “I’ll get you home safely.”
He cuffs her wrists together and smiles.
All around him nuns and children make noise, distracting him, moving in closer. A large boy with a purple mouth shouts, pointing to the middle of the parking lot. His Sister—Sister Edward—moves steadily toward him, eyes down, hands tucked into her sleeves. Vinnie is so glad to see her he wants to call out her real name, but realizes he doesn’t know what it is.
She says something he can’t hear, pointing at a small shadow stumbling around in the middle of the parking lot gasping for air.
“Cee-Cee!” Sister Edward shouts. “Cee-Cee Bianco!”
Vinnie watches the shadow in the distance, trying to reconcile that this is Cee-Cee, the girl he knows, his guide of sorts. She seems to be performing a bad parody of getting shot in the neck.
Sister Edward insists. “She needs help! Something is wrong!”
Why is the girl everywhere Vinnie is? What does it mean? He should drop everything and go to her, but he hesitates. The rest of the nuns move into a tighter knot around him.
With a great clap of thunder, a flash of lightning brightens the sky.
Drawing his gun, he points at his captive, Eileena Brice Iaccamo. “Move back!”
The nuns back away, giving him room.
“Take it easy, Buddy,” Al says from beside the squad car that holds Liam Iaccamo and the Bianco boy. “Everything’s under control.”
Is it?
As if miles away, Vinnie’s partner talks loudly over the radio, reporting the situation. The Sisters’ habits ruffle, their empty stomachs grumble, the soft April breeze rustles with moisture.
Vinnie swallows.
Out beyond his peripheral vision, Cee-Cee is collapsed in a heap on the pavement in the center of the parking lot. He should help her, but he cannot let go of the girl he has handcuffed, Eileena Brice Iaccamo, who is going to save his life. She just needs to let him save hers.
“Cee-Cee’s not breathing!” someone shouts.
Vinnie’s partner Al takes action, releasing Liam Iaccamo and the Bianco kid, who run across the parking lot toward Cee-Cee.
Vinnie’s focus returns. Iaccamo and Bianco will take care of Cee-Cee, and he, Vinnie, will take care of Eileena. This is the kind of understanding he and Cee-Cee have always had, mutual. He will bring Eileena Brice Iaccamo back to the station and find out what happened, why she ran away. He will unravel all the mysteries of all the girls gone missing in Romeville. He will find out who hurt Cee-Cee Bianco out there in the wood
s.
“Officer, I am Mother General at Our Lady,” a woman says. “We met the other day under unfortunate circumstances.”
“I know who you are,” Vinnie says.
“I can vouch for the young woman in your custody.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think you can.”
“The girl you have handcuffed is named Miranda Pax White. She’s an orphan from the Holy Child Parish in Ontario, Canada, which is run by an affiliate order of Sisters. Miranda is here with another young woman, who is also considering joining our religious community. Our very own Brother Joe has been showing these unfortunate orphans around.”
“I don’t know how you’re involved in this, lady,” Vinnie says. “But I think you’re dead wrong.”
“How come I’ve never seen them before?” Sister Edward is standing nearby, addressing her superior defiantly. “If they’ve come to join our community, how come I’ve never met them?”
“They’ve only just arrived,” the Mother General tells Vinnie. “You can check the registration of the car if you’d like; it belongs to Our Lady. We use it for official church business—to run our errands and do good deeds.”
“Like robbing diners?” Vinnie’s throat tightens. “Like carrying guns?”
“No, Officer Golluscio, you are mistaken.”
“I know all about your radical activity, lady. And I know who this girl is.”
“I don’t think you do. Let’s go inside and talk this over.”
Done with talking, Vinnie points his gun at Eileena Brice Iaccamo again.
Her angelic face, now shaded with fear, matches the photograph he’s carried in his wallet since her disappearance.
True, maybe her hair is shorter and dyed a different color. And maybe she’s grown a few inches in the time she’s been missing. But that’s normal, isn’t it? That’s what girls do: they dye their hair, they grow taller.
His own daughters are barely recognizable to him when he visits.
“Strange how she shows up here with you.” Vinnie’s voice sounds hollow. He’s clammy now, unsure of himself. What if this isn’t Eileena Brice Iaccamo? What if he’s made a terrible mistake? “Seems like she’s gotten in deep with you radicals.”
The religious women around Vinnie start to murmur.
“Officer Golluscio, how can I impress upon you that this poor orphan is our friend?” The head nun is standing so close that she could reach out and touch his face. “This girl has come in peace from Canada to find out if she’d like to devote herself to teaching the catechism and living here with us as a member of our community.”
The Sisters separate slightly; whispers travel around their circle.
Vinnie begins to sweat. “Stop talking.”
He needs to think. What if he’s gotten it wrong?
Two stocky Sisters flounce their skirts loudly. Miranda White—this girl he has captured, this person he’s sure is Eileena Brice Iaccamo—twists from his embrace, letting loose a string of obscenities as she tries to get free, but fails.
“I’ve got you,” Vinnie says. “It’s all right. Calm down.”
Defenseless in handcuffs, she spits in his face.
Across town at All Saints Rehabilitation Center, Frank knows what he is going to do the minute he walks into the sour-smelling hospital room.
“It’s time.”
“Frank, don’t,” Moonie says.
Human being. The words pop into Anthony’s head. Something bad is about to happen.
Frank feels strangely light, optimistic; he’s not completely powerless, not a loser. All he has to do is stop the machine from pumping life into his dead son. All he has to do is take control of his family, his future.
He bends to the electrical outlet, putting his hands on two enormous black plugs.
“Glory will have a fit,” Moonie warns.
Fuck Glory. Frank pulls as hard as he can.
The ventilator goes silent; the monitors no longer beep: Baby Pauly is free. He lies without moving, eyes taped shut like a baby bird’s, as if the nurses didn't want him to see what he has become. There is no stirring, no air, no life. Just the stillness of his ribs. Whatever existed inside his body seems to have fallen out of its frame.
He is nothing now.
Frank holds the electrical tails of the terrible machines, stunned that he has taken this step. He misses their noise, their comforting presence.
Anthony quivers, fingers jerking like minnows leaping out of water. He stiffens, relaxes, stiffens again.
“Is he dead?”
Frank takes on the somber mood of the room. “He’s been dead for three and a half months.”
According to their noisy machines, only the three other coma patients in the room are alive.
A nurse walks by briskly.
Down the hall, on the other side of the white curtain and half-closed door, a phone rings. All three Bianco men have the same thought: Glory calling to check up on them.
Frank will find a nurse and deliver a story about the machine plugs coming loose from their sockets. But when he turns to go, it’s worse than he expected: Glory is standing there.
She looks around, suspicious. “What?”
Frank, Anthony, and Moonie stare at her.
In less than a heartbeat, Glory understands what’s happened, and lets loose a sound so broken that all three men have to look away.
“What have you done to my baby!?” she howls.
Lying flat on her back in Our Lady Queen of Sorrows’ parking lot, Cee-Cee opens her eyes. Beneath her the pavement is a hard surface that smells like fresh tar. Her cheek absorbs the heat stored there from the day’s sun and the humid air.
A voice in her ears whispers, Enter me and you shall…
She lifts her head: “Baby Pauly.”
Roadie touches her shoulder. “He’s in the hospital…”
Without warning, Cee-Cee’s diaphragm expands sharply, and Roadie shrinks back. Cee-Cee’s lungs fill with air until she feels the pressure like a stabbing pain. In her chest, intercostal muscles tighten like she is going to explode. But then everything loosens. Tissue and muscles and matter go lax, vessels grow spongy with blood, bright and red with oxygen.
Her jaw unhinges in a long noisy exhale. “I’m breathing for him.”
One complete breath: the difference between life and death.
Across town Frank and Moonie lean in as Glory lies on the hospital bed sobbing. The nurses have come running. They have untaped Baby Pauly’s eyes, called for an attending to pull out the breathing apparatus to deliver mouth-to-mouth with a hand pump.
Wait! Anthony says.
As if on cue, Baby Pauly’s tiny chest heaves.
Glory lifts her head.
Baby Pauly breathes in, and miles away, in a church parking lot, Cee-Cee breathes out. Roadie reaches for Cee-Cee’s hand. “What’s happening?”
Baby Pauly sucks in another plug of precious hospital air, and Cee-Cee pushes it back out through her own mouth into the wet spring evening.
Glory is amazed. “Is he breathing on his own?”
Moonie puts an ear to Baby Pauly’s lips, which exhale the gentle evening breeze of springtime, the smell of grass and the April moon.
“He is,” Moonie says.
Anthony counts eight inhales per minute, each breath stronger than the last. It’s not quite enough to make Baby Pauly pink, but it’s enough to erase some of the blue in his lips.
Life in its most basic form: one breath, and then the next, and then another.
“Shit,” Frank says.
“Thank you!” Tears slide down Glory’s face. “Thank you. Thank you!”
Back across town in the parking lot, Cee-Cee bolts upright like something out of a horror movie.
She opens her mouth and draws in a long ragged breath, greedy for oxygen. The nervous crowd gasps and takes a collective step backward. Sucking in with a rattling inhale, she expels her next breath with a hiss.
“Are you okay?” Roadie says.<
br />
“Air,” Cee-Cee says.
“Move back!” Norbert pushes Roadie aside. “Cee-Cee needs to breathe.”
Norbert crouches beside her, smelling of meatloaf and dirty diapers.
The sky emits a burst of lightning, so close that the crowd around Cee-Cee flinches. From above, a second great light breaks; this time, miraculously, it’s a vision. A beautiful lady appears, wearing a white shimmering gown and a gossamer veil. There are so many bright stars around her head that Cee-Cee has to shield her eyes.
She rolls three perfect somersaults away from the crowd and lands on one knee in a sweeping gallant motion. Ta-da, she thinks so the lady can hear.
But the lady is sad. She doesn’t even smile at Cee-Cee’s acrobatics.
Like a dream then, the snowy afternoon returns: A circle of trees. A circle of brothers. The choir of teenaged virgins are there. And Jesus too, holding her up above the shit of the world.
It comes back like a movie.
Everything is silent. The trees stand still. In the thicket overhead, the branches are picked clean as bones, no longer swaying.
Anthony pushes Roadie toward the oak. “You go first.”
“Leave her alone!”
There’s a scuffle. “Faggot.”
Roadie is paralyzed. Jeremy Patrick can’t help him get up off the ground. Tears stream down both their faces.
The little girl is there, but not there. She steps back, butting her heels against a fat oak tree. Above, the sky is flat and gray.
Anthony grabs Jeremy Patrick. “What about you? Or are you one too?”
Jeremy opens his mouth and starts to shout at Roadie.
“Do something!” he cries.
Roadie covers his face.
Prying the little girl’s fingers loose from the bark of the tree, Anthony pushes her onto the watery ground. He lifts her dress and pulls down her tights. He unzips his pants and breaks the little girl in two.
Part of her floats up to the trees; part of her dies right there. Something tumbles and hits the ground, scattering into a million pieces on the forest floor.
Off to the side, Roadie and Jeremy Patrick are still as statues: Jeremy Patrick turned away. Roadie making a terrible choking noise.
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