by Logan Fox
“Who do you think brought him down here, to the dark?”
“N-No…”
“Wasn’t me,” Gabriel whispers furiously. “I refused. I told her I’d have no part in it.”
“Please.”
“But she loved him so fucking much. More than life itself. More than that boy’s life.”
He shakes my head. Twists. The fabric is cutting into my flesh. It feels like it’s compressing my lungs.
Or maybe that’s fear.
Panic.
Denial.
“He didn’t last very long down here in the dark. Keith said it was because he didn’t have any friends to play with.”
I close my eyes.
Our father, which art in heaven.
“But there wasn’t enough room down here, was there? Monica tried to reason with him. Not enough room for another boy, Keith. Where would he sleep?”
Give us this day, our daily bread.
“So they had to find somewhere else. A bigger house. Someplace out of the way.”
And forgive us our trespassers, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
“And they did. They found a lovely, big old house out in the country. A place no one would suspect. And they had to, because Keith had found himself some friends. Believers of his cure.”
And deliver us from evil.
“Nice big house. With a nice big basement. And then the boys could have friends to play with. And there was more than enough space to put them, when they were dead.”
“You’re lying,” I whisper. “Mom had nothing to do with this. She couldn’t have. She’s not—”
“Oh, you’d be amazed, child. You’d be fucking amazed.” Gabriel releases my shirt and absently smooths the fabric down over my chest as he stares into my eyes.
“Who do you think washed all that filthy money they earned?”
“No. They didn’t have money. We weren’t rich. You’re lying!”
Gabriel’s lips quirk up in a smile. “No, you weren’t rich. Monica was clever. She made sure not to raise any suspicions. But as soon as you were eighteen, they were going to disappear.”
He stands, leaving behind the ache where his fingers had been gripping my face.
“But then God struck them down. Now they’re in hell, Trinity. Right where they belong.”
“And what about his friends?” I ask, my voice hoarse, broken. “What about the boys?”
“Dead. They hid them well. His followers…?” Gabriel shrugs as he purses his lips and glances away. “They’ll find other cures.” Then his eyes are back on me, fiery and determined. “But God will seek them out, one by one, and he will strike them down.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve been praying, Trinity.” A smile crawls onto his face. “I’ve been praying for each and every one of them.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rube
“This is it?” Cass says through a mouthful of smoke. He tips back his head and then shakes it as he flicks away the butt end of his cigarette. “What a dump.”
“Still can’t believe this didn’t come up before,” Apollo says. He’s got his hands in his pockets as if it’s cold outside, but the sun is shining and I’m in short sleeves.
Could be the damp. It must have rained here last night, because the ground is still soggy in some places.
“Too close to home,” I tell Apollo. “He made sure nothing led back here.”
I head for the church, leaving them standing on the sidewalk.
Cass strays away down the road and Apollo hurries after him. Maybe Cass is worried he’ll run into a priest. His hatred of the clergy borders on psychosis.
I let myself in and wander down the aisle toward the chancel. The nave is empty, which is no surprise for a Friday morning.
There’s a sister near the altar, replacing some of the gutted-out candles. She turns when she hears my footsteps and does a double take.
“Can I help you?” she calls out, hugging herself and grabbing hold of the blatant crucifix around her neck. Seems this is one of the dioceses that don’t require sisters to wear habits. But the big cross was still a dead giveaway.
“Morning, sister…?” I stop a few feet away, keeping my distance and hoping it’ll help ease her mind.
“Vicky,” she says reluctantly, giving me a small nod.
This isn’t the greatest neighborhood, but why is she so spooked?
“Reuben.” I lift a hand to shake, but she ignores it, instead watching me with wide eyes as if willing me to get to the point.
Chances were slim to none that anyone would hand over baptism records to a non-relative.
We’d stopped off at the mall on the way here and picked up fresh clothes for me. Not really something we could afford, but we all looked like a bunch of degenerates in our Salvation Army getups.
I bought a pair of dark jeans. Thankfully, it’s warm outside, so I didn’t have to get a jacket. Instead, I’m wearing a branded athletic shirt that looks a lot more expensive than it was, thanks to their 50% off sale. A little deodorant to mask the smell of new clothes, and I was set.
Ask, and ye shall receive.
“I’m sorry to drop in unannounced like this, but I only just got the address and, well…” I throw her a sheepish look. “I just couldn’t wait to see it.”
“See what?” Vicky asks, but at least she’s not holding herself rigid anymore.
“The chapel.” I glance around. “She wasn’t lying. It is beautiful. And I think we’ll just about be able to fit everyone in.”
“Excuse me?”
I glance at her from the corner of my eye. “The wedding party?” I wave at the rows of pews. “I think we’d just about be able to fit everyone in.”
“Wedding? Here?” Vicky’s eyebrows dart up. “When?” She shakes her head.
“Our wedding.” I let my voice get a little deeper.
Vicky takes a step back.
I immediately hold out a hand. “I’m so sorry, but are you sure you’re booked here?” I look at the ground, my jaw bunching. “I knew that wedding planner was full of—” I cut off, and hurriedly make the sign of the cross, ending off by lifting the metal crucifix around my neck and kissing it.
Another purchase, since Cass said the black crucifix Zach got me was ‘too intense.’
I turn back to Vicky, who’s wide-eyed now.
“I’m sorry. My fiancée tossed out the last wedding planner we had, so we have a new one, and I didn’t like her from the get-go but…” I lift my hands, shrug. “You don’t want to mess with a bride-to-be.”
Vicky shakes her head. “When is the wedding?”
“In three weeks,” I tell her. “Wedding planner was supposed to call. I just stopped by because I was convinced from the way Trinity described this place that it might be too small for all the guests.”
Vicky holds up her hands. “Trinity?”
“Malone.” I move my chin to the side. “Daughter of Keith and Monica?”
Vicky puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh my…I…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t even know she was old enough too—” But then her jaw clicks shut. “I’m going to check the register straight away.”
I let her walk a few paces before following. She leads me back through the nave, to a small office beside the foyer.
“If we decide not to get married here, would you send her baptismal records over to Father Kennedy? I’ll give you his email address.”
“Oh, we don’t keep electronic records,” Vicky says. “But I can always fax the certificate through to him.”
I take my phone out, put down her details as a new contact even though the certificate is useless to me. I need the record the parish keeps where they note the parents’ names and, usually, an address. It’s a long shot, but right now it’s all we have.
She motions to a chair, and we sit in stuffy silence as she opens a big ledger and makes a note of the impending wedding in three weeks.
“Wher
e were you baptized?” she asks, peering at me over her glasses.
Some things you don’t lie about. “I wasn’t.”
The temperature inside the room drops a few degrees.
“Do you have any of the documents with you?”
The sudden chill in the air spreads right to my lungs. “Documents? Like my social security number?” I reach for my wallet, but she shakes her head.
Ticking off on her fingers, she starts up, “I need your Freedom to Marry letter, your dispensation form, your civil marriage license, and the information for marriage form.”
Christ.
I almost cross myself again hearing that list.
“Guess I have another wedding planner to fire,” I murmur, as if to myself. “Is there still time for me to get those, or do we have to postpone? I hope not. I’ve already lost the deposit on a cake because the previous planner had the dates wrong. And don’t even get me started on the flowers. Did you know that, apparently, peonies are only beautiful if they haven’t opened all the way?”
I’m not an actor like Cass. Hell, even Apollo could have done a better job convincing this woman that I’m a groom in a pickle. But I got the gig because any sister of the cloth would be too shocked Cass didn’t catch flame when he walked into the chapel to deal with him, and Apollo…well…he gets distracted sometimes.
Also, I had sisters. Which apparently makes me the closest thing to a wedding expert we have.
Thankfully some of my frustration comes through because, even though I’m not Catholic, Vicky softens a little to my plight. “No dear. If you go down to the courthouse today, you should have everything you need in a week or so.”
“Can you…” I stop for a second, make it look like I’m calming myself. “Can you please just check if you do have Trinity’s records? With my luck, I’ve come to the wrong church.”
“Oh, you’re in the right place,” Vicky says, mothering mode now fully engaged. “But it’s a good thing you ask, because some of our records were destroyed in a fire a few months ago.”
And there it is. That’s why she was so uneasy seeing a stranger in the chapel. There’s a shadow in Vicky’s eyes that wasn’t there before.
She goes over to a metal filing cabinet and opens it, her back to me. “What is her date of birth?”
I check on my phone, give it to Vicky.
I’ll be pushing it if I ask, but it’s burning me up. No pun intended. “A fire?”
At first I don’t think she’s going to answer, but then she lets out a sigh and closes the cabinet. I already have my suspicions before she starts talking, and when she’s done, they’re confirmed.
“Terrible thing,” she murmurs. I can’t help but notice she’s empty-handed as she adjusts her glasses and takes a seat. “The police ruled it as a botched robbery or something.” Vicky purses her lips. “Father Quinn was here that night. He often stayed late. Said he liked the quiet in the chapel. He lived close to the railway tracks, so I understand why.”
“Father Quinn?” I say. “Trinity never mentioned him.” The next almost sticks in my throat, but I force out the words as smoothly as I can. “She only ever spoke about Father Gabriel.”
Vicky lights up like a billboard. “Oh, Gabriel.” She nods a few times, a smile deeply etched on her face now. “Yes, they were close. He loved the Malones.” The smile fades a little. “But no, he’d left years before that. Father Quinn took over the flock from him. Good man, if a little…studious.”
An introverted priest? Downright unnatural.
“So Father Quinn was here when they broke in?” I nudge her, seeing as she’s no doubt still daydreaming about Gabriel. I get it, the guy’s good looking. But if she knew a shred of what his rotten heart was capable of, she’d be shitting herself right now.
“Yes.” She drops her gaze, takes off her glasses. “They came in, shot him, searched the place, and then…” She shrugs. “They said it wasn’t arson. The police. Said a candle had fallen on some papers. But this isn’t the eighteenth century.” She laughs a little, but it’s sad and hollow. “It’s not like Father Quinn sat here reading by candlelight.”
I let a little silence pass. But I have to be on my way, because her empty hands mean I was right.
“So…those records?”
She looks up and blinks like she forgot I was sitting here. “Oh. Sorry. No.” Shakes her head. “They must have been—”
“Destroyed.” I cut in. “In the fire.” I rub my eyelids as I let out a heavy sigh that’s not nearly as much acting as it should be.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I know Trinity. We can recreate the records. Most of the congregation still lives around these parts. Miss Langley was there. I know that for a fact. She comes to all the baptisms and first communions.”
“Miss Langley,” I reply, nestling that bit of information in my head. I’m not exactly planning on canvassing the town, but who knows what a name could—
“She babysat for Trinity,” Vicky says, beaming as she gets lost in a past that I’m guessing was much more bearable than the present. “Not often, of course. Just when her parents went out of town.”
My hackles rise up like a motherfucking rebellion.
“Out of town?”
“Oh, Trinity didn’t tell you?” Vicky cocks her head a little.
“She…doesn’t talk about them very much.” And thank fuck I can even think clearly at all with how my mind is scrambling.
“Yes, of course.” Vicky’s brow creases. “Terrible thing, that.”
A lot of terrible things happen around these parts. If I didn’t know any better, I’d tell her to go looking for the Indian burial ground this town was built on.
I mentally plead with Vicky to carry on talking.
For once, the Universe is on my side.
“Her father was a missionary,” Vicky says. “Her mother went on one or two missions with him, but then she stayed at home after that. The missionary life isn’t for everyone.”
Oh no, it most definitely isn’t.
“And Miss Langley sat for them?”
“She did. If I can get another two or three witnesses, then I can have those records ready by next week.” Vicky looks proud of herself, and I almost feel sorry that her hard work will be for naught.
“Well, I do hope you find her.”
“Won’t be that hard,” Vicky says with a laugh. “She’s Trinity’s next-door neighbor.”
I have to stop myself from jogging back to the car. Cass and Apollo are already inside, Cass at the wheel.
What the hell were they expecting? That I’d come running out with a file under my arm like they’re the getaway car?
I slam the truck’s door, turn to Apollo. “Find Maude Street.” Then to Cass. “I have the address to her old house.”
Cass puts the car in gear, staring at Apollo in the rear-view mirror.
I don’t know why we’re all so strung out, but I can feel the seconds streaming by as Apollo searches.
“Turn around,” Apollo says. “Then take the first left.”
Cass stomps on the gas and throws the car into a wide arc that leaves tire marks on the road. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I’d told him not to rush. But maybe it’s a good thing. If Vicky calls the police and sends them to Maude street, they might get there before we do.
I don’t know what we’ll find there, but something’s telling me we have to hurry.
“Faster,” I tell Cass.
He doesn’t say anything, but he skips the next light regardless of the fact that it’s been red since it came in sight.
I guess it’s a good thing this is a quiet part of town and there weren’t any cars on the road. The only one in sight, in fact, is a white Hyundai.
But I don’t think it would have mattered.
We’re on a mission from God.
Chapter Sixteen
Trinity
The urge to start feeling sorry for myself is back, and twice as strong as before. Honest to God, I don’t know
how the Brotherhood did it. I’ve been tied to a rusty bed in my family’s basement for what feels like days, and I’m about ready to lose my mind.
The rats don’t help. I can’t see them, only hear them, and that makes it worse somehow.
Gabriel turned the lights off before he left. Something about the dark helping me find the light I was so desperately seeking.
I should have known he had me figured out. I mean, he’d told me so himself. I’d never considered myself an optimist, so I guess I’m just naive then. A hopeless romantic—
Gah!
I cut off the thought with a grimace. That’s what he’d said when he’d been talking about my parents. And God he’d even sounded a little lovesick.
Which makes me feel sick.
I test the ropes again, rattling the metal bed frame, but they’re as tight and unyielding as the previous thousand times.
All this time I was living right above this room, and I had no idea.
Rattle. Squeak.
He’s coming back. And soon. He doesn’t have to—I’m sure he thinks I’m pretty secure—but it was the way he said those words.
You should pray, Trinity. Pray to God for forgiveness.
Forgiveness? How fucking dare he? I don’t believe for a second he wasn’t a key player in this whole thing. Of course he’d try and shift the blame—he’ll die a horrible death in prison. And it’s not like my parents can testify against him.
Rattle, rattle, SQUEAK.
I stop moving. That last squeak sounded different. Like something was giving.
Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle—
The part of the bed frame designed to hold the mattress collapses under me. Pain dashes through my wrists and ankles as I’m suddenly suspended limb from limb in the air. I gasp, let out a breath, inhale deep. When I squirm, my butt barely brushes the mattress under me.
Fuck.
My wrists ache and burn where the ropes are cutting into me. My left hand especially—there’s a dull, thumping ache coming from the base of my thumb, as if the sudden tensing on the ropes did some serious damage.