Father Figure

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I tried to kick his legs, but then I felt the prick of a knife point at my neck and froze. My own knife was in my purse on the floor next to Neeta—out of reach. But if I could hook my foot around the handle...

  The sound of his zipper broke through my paralysis and I tried to twist away from him, feeling the cold steel cut into my skin and warm blood trickle down my neck. But it wasn’t a deep cut and I knew it wouldn’t kill me. Staying in reach of Cornelius, on the other hand, that could get me dead very fucking quickly.

  I kicked back as hard as I could, the heel of my sneaker meeting his shinbone. He grunted—it wasn’t hard enough to hurt him, but he did loosen his grip. I threw myself toward my purse catching the strap on my foot, but he caught my hair again, tearing me backwards as I shrieked. A clump of hair had been pulled out and pain seared through my scalp. He grabbed another handful of hair, dragging me closer.

  Somewhere outside, I could hear shouting and yelling, and I prayed that Gabriel was safe. How many gangbangers had been in that car? Four? Five? Could an unarmed ex-SEAL handle that many armed gang members?

  Cornelius punched me hard in the stomach, making me gag, winding me at the same time. I fell to my knees and he slit my t-shirt from neck to waist, then flicked the razor sharp knife through my bra so my breasts spilled out. Licking his lips, he grinned at me with stained teeth and pushed the point of the knife to just below my left eye. I stopped breathing.

  “You gotta pay your debts, Blue, and your mama owes me, which means you owe me, seeing as she sold her debt—with you as collateral. I’ll let you pay it off, but fuck with me and it’ll be an eye for an eye. I seen one-eyed ho’s, but I ain’t never seen a no-eyed ho. You wanna be the first?”

  With one hand holding the knife and the other in his pants, I told myself to do what I had to do to survive. Gabriel was near. Please God! I just had to stay alive.

  He grabbed his dick and jerked it a few times then pulled my head down so I was forced to take it in my mouth, the knife now pressing against my cheek. He smelled bad, tasted bad, unwashed and stale, and as he fucked my throat, tears came to my eyes.

  But my purse strap was still caught on my foot, and slowly I pulled it nearer, even as I worked his stinking cock. He was chanting now as he got closer to coming: “Oh yeah, that’s it, baby. Take it all. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You love it, doncha, Blue?”

  I inched my purse closer, one hand scrabbling on the floor to reach for my knife or my iron bar, anything I could reach.

  Where are you, Gabriel? And for the first time in my life, I prayed to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in.

  Dear God, I can survive this, if this is your plan for me, but please keep Gabriel safe. He’s a good man and I love him. Please, God.

  Do you believe in miracles? Do you think that God watches every move you make? Do you think angels sit on your shoulder, protecting you, guardians of your immortal soul? Or do you think it’s all a children’s story to lead them away from the brutality of the playground?

  When Gabriel thundered through that door, I flung myself backwards and gripped the iron bar beneath my hand, swinging it like a baseball bat at Cornelius’s shin, enjoying his scream of pain.

  Gabriel’s eyes were dark as hell and his lips peeled back like a wolf. His fist slammed into Cornelius’ face, sending him crashing to the floor with one shattering punch. At last, I believed in the power of prayer and I believed in miracles.

  I saw the murderous rage on Gabriel’s face, his nostrils flaring as he towered over Cornelius’ prone body.

  Oh my God! I think he’s killed him!

  I didn’t dare look at Cornelius, and my frightened eyes turned to Gabriel. I saw the beast in him return reluctantly to its cave, the blood haze slowly dimming, and his face softened as he gazed at me.

  “Blue,” he whispered, pulling me into his arms. “I’m so fucking sorry. Are you okay? Please God, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I gasped, tears spilling down my cheeks as I huddled against his broad chest.

  “You’re bleeding,” he said softly.

  I shook my head. “It’s n-n-nuthin’.”

  Then he seemed to notice my nakedness and whipped off his own t-shirt, slipping it over my head as if I was a small child.

  “Holy shit! Look at this, dude!”

  Over Gabriel’s shoulder, I saw Diego saunter into the room, followed by some of the older gangbangers.

  “Man, that is fucked up!” said another. “Yeah, man! Lethal Weapon!”

  I turned to see what they were looking at—Cornelius laying on his stomach ...with his head facing the ceiling. His neck was completely broken and twisted around 180o.

  I stared, fascinated and appalled—Gabriel had killed him with a single punch.

  As the gangbangers crowded into the kitchen, shouting and whooping and slapping Gabriel on the back, my stomach heaved. I turned away and puked, the hot acid pouring out of my mouth.

  “Ho’s can’t take the heat,” laughed one of them, pulling out his phone and photographing Cornelius’ mangled body. “Not even in the kitchen!”

  But then we heard the sound of police sirens in the night, and the gangbangers faded like mist, only the screech of car tires giving them away.

  “We have to go,” I whispered to Gabriel, tugging on his hand.

  “No, Blue. I’ve got to stay. I can’t run from this—I killed a man.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t worry about me, honey,” he said, cupping my cheek with infinite tenderness. “It’s going to be okay. There isn’t a judge in California who’ll indict an ex-SEAL-turned-priest for killing a pimp in defense of a beautiful woman, or in self-defense.”

  My experience with the police was a lot less certain, and when four armed cops busted into the kitchen and saw us with a dead body, it was only seconds before the cuffs were out and they read us our rights.

  “It’s going to be okay, Blue,” Gabriel said to me as they led us away in separate cop cars.

  I prayed that he was right.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Gabriel

  I stared at the dried blood on the knuckles of my right hand, incredulous that I had killed a man.

  Again.

  I needed some whiskey stat. After I left the Navy, I had vowed never to kill again.

  I was going to save lives, not take them.

  What vows hadn’t I broken lately?

  What shocked me most wasn’t the fact that I’d done it—but that it was so easy. Ten years of hiding myself under a priest’s uniform hadn’t erased the killer inside. I’d killed that pimp. And I would do it again in a heartbeat to protect Blue, the woman I loved. Like the trained killing machine that I was, I ended his life with a single punch.

  And the worst part of it was that I didn’t have an ounce of remorse.

  I’d enjoyed it.

  The power to end this scum’s life. Playing judge, jury, and executioner. Playing God.

  But I was a mere mortal. A flawed man. A sinner.

  Back in the day, we SEALs would sit around and discuss whether we were true serial killers. Was it different if it was government-ordered or just the masked man on the street? Over a bottle or two of whiskey, several of the older guys had concluded that the men with sociopathic tendencies joined the SEALs so they could kill legally.

  I had fought that idea. Arguing that killing was not the reason I’d joined; I’d wanted to serve my country and I’d wanted to be the best while I did it.

  Who had I become? Or would I always be this monster?

  As I was led to the interrogation cell, I was eerily calm. My cocky ass knew that I would get off in a second. Navy SEAL. Priest. Self-Defense. Unarmed. All of that. They didn’t have a shot in hell of getting the DA to press charges.

  A male detective with a stern look on his face sat in front of me.

  “Father Thorne. I have to get a statement about what happened tonight.”

  “Of course, Detective Corsa. One of our parishioners receiv
ed a call from a friend who was in trouble. I drove her to help her friend, but I saw another parishioner in front of the house. His grandmother had been worried that he’d joined a gang, so I went to talk with him. The girl went inside. I followed behind a few minutes later and she was being sexually assaulted at knife-point. Fearing that her assailant would kill the girl, I acted to save her life. I was unarmed.”

  The detective’s eyes widened. “Well Father, you saved that girl’s life. May I ask you what your relationship is with the girl?”

  “She’s the assistant to our housekeeper at the rectory. We’ve been trying to ease her transition from the streets.” I sighed. “That’s how she knew the deceased—the other girl was her friend. But … we were too late.”

  The detective nodded his head. “I understand, Father. Cornelius Brandt has been a thorn in our sides for a long time, no pun intended. There’ll still have to be an inquiry, of course, but off the record, you have nothing to worry about. I’d like to thank you for what you did tonight.” He handed me his card. “If you ever need anything for me, please call. It’s been an honor, sir.”

  And just like that, I was let free.

  But there was no coming back from this, this darker mark on my stained soul. I’d made my decision. I would leave and go to work for Wes’s charity in Mali with or without the bishop’s approval. I knew that Wes would help me. I’d leave tomorrow—and I’d spend what was left of the night on my knees praying for forgiveness.

  There was a lot to forgive.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mariana

  It went against my entire upbringing, but I figured Gabriel was right and that the police wouldn’t toss away the keys for clearing scum from the streets. I talked for hours, answering the same questions over and over again. I probably should have asked for a lawyer, but Gabriel had been so certain that it was going to be okay. But now, as the hours dragged past, I wasn’t sure of anything.

  The cops brought a doctor to sterilize my cheek and neck and put bandages on them, but there was nothing he could do about my loose tooth except give me a bag of ice chips for the swelling. He said there was a good chance it would tighten up by itself in time … or I’d lose it. He couldn’t tell for sure but advised me to see a dentist. Yeah, right. Like I had dental or medical insurance.

  But that was the least of my worries—no one would tell me what was happening with Gabriel.

  I was tired, so tired. So tired of living this life, of beginning to believe in something good, only to have it taken away from me again. I slumped over the desk in the interview room and let my head rest on my arms. I dozed uneasily for several hours until a woman police officer shook me awake.

  “You can go now,” she said, her voice indifferent.

  “Go where?”

  “Home. You’re free to go.”

  “Is Gabriel…?”

  “Waiting for you,” she said, a small smile on her face.

  Outside, Gabriel was standing with Father Neil who looked exhausted, stress and worry aging him, but my eyes were only on my fallen angel, my savior.

  He glanced at me and gave a tight smile, obviously warning me from trying to touch him in front of everyone.

  Even though it hurt, I nodded and looked away. Father Neil had brought him a black shirt to wear but he hadn’t slotted the clerical collar into place; it was still dangling from his long fingers, and I saw that the knuckles on his right hand were covered with a bandage.

  As I watched, he snapped the clerical collar into place, transforming himself from Sergeant Gabe Thorne to Father Gabriel.

  And once again, I was on the outside, but at least he was safe.

  Thank God.

  Gabriel’s car was still outside the meth house, so Father Neil had come to pick us up. We walked up to a Volvo that was at least 30 years old. Did all priests drive beaters? Maybe only the Pope had a nice car.

  Stupid, trivial thoughts plowed through my brain with the speed of treacle. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think clearly.

  In the front, Gabriel and Father Neil talked in low voices as I sat by myself on the backseat, letting my eyes close, easing the throbbing in my skull and my swollen cheek. I heard enough to know that Father Neil was saying that the bishop had been told and that this was going to hit the local news channels within the next twelve hours.

  “Can you take me to my church?” Gabriel said to Father Neil. “I need to pray, and Mass is in an hour, I may as well not go back to the rectory until after.”

  “If you’re sure, Gabriel? No one would blame you for not performing Mass this morning.”

  “That’s okay, thanks, but I need to pray,” Gabriel said firmly.

  Father Neil sighed but didn’t try to argue again. But when we reached the church, I slipped out of the car, too.

  “Blue, you should go home and rest,” Gabriel said sharply.

  I shook my head slowly.

  “I’ve lived at the rectory for months, I’ve been to a dozen or more Masses, I’ve even been to confession,” I said with a tremble in my voice, “but last night, for the first time, I prayed to God, and the big guy came through. So yeah, I need to pray, as well. I should at least say thanks.”

  Gabriel’s smile was huge, as if he’d won the Lottery, and even Father Neil looked happier.

  As the ancient Volvo disappeared into the dawn with a cloud of smoke, Gabriel slung his arm around my shoulder and gently kissed my hair.

  “I’m so glad God answered you, Blue,” he whispered. “I’m so glad he saved you because…”

  “No,” I interrupted him. “I didn’t pray for God to save me.”

  “Then what?” he asked, puzzled.

  “I prayed for God to save you.”

  For a second, he was utterly speechless, and then his eyes closed with that familiar pained expression.

  “I don’t deserve you,” he said, and the sound in his voice battered my bruised heart.

  I pressed my lips to his, silencing his doubt, and as I pulled him into the shadowy church, darkness clung to us, hiding us, protecting us.

  His lips were hot against mine, his words mumbled as his hands swept through my long hair, snagging in the tangled mess.

  “I was so scared I’d lose you,” he said, his lips pressing against my unbandaged cheek, my neck, teeth tugging on my ear lobe. “I’ve never been so fucking scared in my whole life. And when I saw his disgusting hands all over you, his dick in your mouth, I just wanted to kill him, and I’m not sorry. I’m a priest and I should sanctify life…”

  “Cornelius has been judged and he’s on his way to Hell right now. Can’t you hear the screams?” I hissed. “He deserved everything he got. He made Neeta OD just because he knew I’d come for her. He was evil, Gabriel: you know it, I know it, and God knows it. Now the Devil knows it, too.”

  He looked at me doubtfully, but once again I silenced him again with my own hungry kisses, pushing up his black shirt and pressing my mouth over his heated flesh. He groaned and dragged me further into the church. I tripped on the steps leading to the altar and Gabriel fell on top of me, his heavy weight pinning me down. I felt the hardness of his dick against me and massaged him through his jeans, watching his mouth open and his eyes close. I released him quickly, the zipper sounding loud in the echoing church, Gabriel’s groans rougher now, and pushed aside the strip of thong I was wearing, until he was pressing hot and heavy against my wetness.

  When he slid inside, we both gasped with need and desire and heat and fear, relief and the feeling that we were about to live again.

  He thrust into me over and over again, chanting my name like a prayer.

  The cheap carpet of the altar steps burned against my bare back as his over-large t-shirt rose up with his rough, stabbing momentum. My nails scored tracks down his spine and the globes of his ass, my ankles locked around his waist as he poured himself into me and I came with a shriek.

  And even as Gabriel’s seed pulsed inside me, I heard a shocked gasp behind us.
<
br />   “What work of the Devil is this?”

  I opened my eyes to find Father Miguel Angel glaring down at me, a blazing light of hatred twisting his entire face. He pointed a shaking finger at me and his voice thundered through the church:

  “Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and of the vile things of the Earth!”

  Gabriel sat up slowly, his face carved from marble like the angels who watched silently from the church’s pillars, grief in his eyes. Father Miguel Angel rounded on him, spittle flying from his lips.

  “‘He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.’ How dare you? Vile, vile, filth! Beasts! ‘Yet she increased her prostitution, remembering the days of her youth.’ Monstrous whore! And you! Priest! You have betrayed your vows, you have betrayed our Lord and defiled His House! Out! OUT! GET OUT!”

  Without a word, Gabriel rose fluidly to his feet, dragging me with him as I breathlessly rearranged my clothes.

  Father Miguel Angel was pacing up and down the aisle, his black cassock flowing behind him like a crow’s wings as he continued to spout the Bible’s cruelest words. I could see that he’d never, never forgive us. I was the Whore of Babylon, Lilith, the Snake in the Garden of Eden, and Gabriel was fallen, fallen, fallen.

  We walked to the rectory in bleak silence, our moment of lust, of life-affirming union, had scorched us both.

  “What’s going to happen now?” I asked in a small voice.

  “Laicization—I’ll be removed as a priest,” he murmured, his face grim and gaunt.

  “Is that … is that the same as being excommunicated?”

  “No, believe it or not, fucking in front of the altar isn’t an offence you can be excommunicated for.” His mouth tightened. “But I’m finished here, Blue. The bishop will take away my church; he’ll take away my ability to give Holy Communion—I’ll no longer be a priest. I can’t stay at the rectory.”