And Blue Skies From Pain (17 page)
Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
He felt more than heard someone walk across the room. Opening wet eyes, he sat up in time to see a frowning Father Murray lift the needle from the record.
“Is there a problem, Father?”
“I said turn it down,” Father Murray said.
“Sorry. Didn’t hear you.”
“You’ll not make me regret this, will you?”
“You’re going to tell me you don’t care for the Stones?”
“I don’t care for anything at that volume.”
“Ah, now, that thing, good as it is, doesn’t put out nearly the sound the speakers at The Harp and Drum did,” Liam said. “I know you survived that.”
“This isn’t an underground bar.”
“Well, we are underground.”
“Liam—”
“—and I don’t think the sound travels upstairs from here much. Do you?”
“Promise me you’ll keep the volume to a manageable level.”
Liam nodded, knowing full well that their definitions of manageable might differ. “Of course, Father.”
“I need some tea. Join me?”
“Aye.” Liam slid off the bed and followed Father Murray to the kitchenette. “Where did you find the records?”
“Don’t you recognize them?” Father Murray started the kettle and then sat down at the table. He produced a pen from a pocket and began writing on a yellow legal pad.
“They’re mine and Mary Kate’s.” Liam went to the refrigerator, got out the milk bottle and placed it on the table next to the sugar. “But everything was gone after—after I got back from Ballymena.”
“While you were away your mother and I salvaged what we could. She’s been holding on to the things she felt you might need or want. I asked her to send the records while we were at my sister’s. I thought they’d bring you some comfort.” Father Murray indicated he should sit in the chair on the far right side of the table. The pad of paper was resting in front of it. A message was printed on its surface in Father Murray’s careful handwriting.
There are blind spots. Places the cameras can’t see,
it read.
The right side of the kitchen table is one. Security can record the conversation, but at least we’ve this. I want you to talk about the things you need to say without feeling judged.
it read.
The right side of the kitchen table is one. Security can record the conversation, but at least we’ve this. I want you to talk about the things you need to say without feeling judged.
“
An bfhuil aon Gaeilge agat?
” Liam asked, keeping his voice low.
Do you have any Irish?
It was the first solution to come to mind. Irish had long been used in the prisons whenever the Nationalist prisoners didn’t want the screws to understand.
An bfhuil aon Gaeilge agat?
” Liam asked, keeping his voice low.
Do you have any Irish?
It was the first solution to come to mind. Irish had long been used in the prisons whenever the Nationalist prisoners didn’t want the screws to understand.
Father Murray got up and went to the cabinet next to the sink, returning with two cups. One corner of his mouth twitched upward. “
Tá. Beagán.
”
A little.
Tá. Beagán.
”
A little.
“
Maith thú.
”
Good.
Liam smiled. It was obvious Father Murray had more Irish than he’d started with. While passing notes was certainly a good solution to the problem, it wasn’t optimal. Liam’s ability to read had improved, but he was still slow at it, and the state of his handwriting was embarrassing. He continued in Irish at a whisper. “Do
they
have any Irish, do you think?” He had to repeat it slower before Father Murray understood.
Maith thú.
”
Good.
Liam smiled. It was obvious Father Murray had more Irish than he’d started with. While passing notes was certainly a good solution to the problem, it wasn’t optimal. Liam’s ability to read had improved, but he was still slow at it, and the state of his handwriting was embarrassing. He continued in Irish at a whisper. “Do
they
have any Irish, do you think?” He had to repeat it slower before Father Murray understood.
Shaking his head, Father Murray reached for the notepad.
“That’ll be useful, then,” Liam said, watching as Father Murray gently tore the note free, folded it and then dropped it into the sink.
Father Murray returned to making the tea. “Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take long to find a translator,” he whispered. “Even with relations between the Church and the Nationalists the way they are.”
Liam sighed.
Father Murray wrote,
There are ways of getting around the surveillance. It’s not impossible.
He waited until Liam finished reading and then proceeded to rip both notes into tiny pieces and drop them into the sink, rinsing them down the drain. He picked up a dirty plate from breakfast and began washing it. The sound of his voice wasn’t quite loud enough to be heard over the running water. “I’ve done it many times, myself.”
There are ways of getting around the surveillance. It’s not impossible.
He waited until Liam finished reading and then proceeded to rip both notes into tiny pieces and drop them into the sink, rinsing them down the drain. He picked up a dirty plate from breakfast and began washing it. The sound of his voice wasn’t quite loud enough to be heard over the running water. “I’ve done it many times, myself.”
Liam moved to Father Murray’s side and blinked. “Why would you know how to do a thing like that?” He grabbed a kitchen towel.
“You think you’re the only one who’s ever been under observation?” Father Murray asked, handing off the plate and starting in on a dirty mug. “Everyone who joins the Order is screened. Not only at the start, but every time there’s thought to be just cause.”
“Oh.”
“However, we must let them think they’re getting everything even if they are not. Do you understand?”
Liam nodded.
Chapter 8
Belfast, County Antrim, Northern Ireland
December 1977
December 1977
“ H
ope you don’t mind my saying,” Father Stevenson said inin his slow Texas drawl made stuffy by a head cold. Sitting hunched over a cup of hot cocoa in a buttoned overcoat and wool neck scarf, he was overdressed for an indoor table at the commissary. Father Murray assumed it was because of the illness. “You’re taking a mighty big risk with that kid. Have you given any consideration to what happens if he cracks?”
ope you don’t mind my saying,” Father Stevenson said inin his slow Texas drawl made stuffy by a head cold. Sitting hunched over a cup of hot cocoa in a buttoned overcoat and wool neck scarf, he was overdressed for an indoor table at the commissary. Father Murray assumed it was because of the illness. “You’re taking a mighty big risk with that kid. Have you given any consideration to what happens if he cracks?”
Father Murray looked up from his own cup and tried not to show his unease. In an attempt at holiday festivity, someone had decorated the room using red and gold ropes of tinsel. It only made the white walls and empty plastic chairs appear more desolate.
In his rush to architect the peace agreement, he hadn’t considered what might happen if Liam was diagnosed with a personality disorder. He hadn’t pried, believing that Liam deserved at least that small amount of dignity.
Maybe I should have. If I’d been the one to find a problem it wouldn’t have had so many repercussions. Why didn’t I consider that?
Sipping his tea, he swallowed a feeling that he may have let Liam down at the expense of his own ambitions.
So many lives in the balance, God help me.
“I warned you that he had some… unusual traits. Quirks.”
Maybe I should have. If I’d been the one to find a problem it wouldn’t have had so many repercussions. Why didn’t I consider that?
Sipping his tea, he swallowed a feeling that he may have let Liam down at the expense of his own ambitions.
So many lives in the balance, God help me.
“I warned you that he had some… unusual traits. Quirks.”
Father Stevenson lowered his voice. “I saw the tape. He was talking to thin air. That’s quite a bit more than a quirk, Joe.”
“Then it’s to be a psychotic disorder diagnosis, is it?”
It was late, and the commissary was empty of anyone except for the janitorial staff. The kitchen was closed, but hot beverages were available for those working through the night. A faint ghost of the roast beef that had been served for the dinner haunted the air. The commissary had the advantage of being free of cameras or listening devices, and as such, this had been the main reason he’d chosen it as a meeting place. If he’d elected to meet off the grounds, reports would be filed, and he wanted to hear Father Stevenson’s conclusions without the worry of interference.
“He displays symptoms, but that isn’t what’s bothering me,” Father Stevenson said with a sniff. “We’ve discovered physical anomalies—rapid healing, elevated heart rate, metabolism, kinesthetic responses and the lower body temperature that Father Conroy discussed with you earlier. The good news is he passed all the usual tests without complications. Hell, I watched him drink three glasses of holy water with no hesitation and no ill effects. As far as I can determine, he’s not one of the Nephilim as Father Conroy suspects. If he is, he’s of a type not on record. Sure, he exhibits high levels of aggression. But hell, antagonism toward authority is a natural psychological reaction to abuse. You say it was his stepfather?”
Father Murray nodded. “One of the reasons why I hesitated to act when I was first given the field assignment. If a demon spawn is injured or harmed in anyway, the perceived perpetrator is killed or injured instantly. Patrick Kelly was never harmed.”
“Interesting.” Father Stevenson blew his nose.
“Have you come to any conclusions in regards to his… status, yet?”
“Frankly, he’s either a human with unusually fast reflexes and a few physical anomalies or another type of preternatural creature. Although, I need more evidence to support the second theory.”
“In your professional opinion?” Father Murray asked with a certain amount of relief.
“I’m absolutely certain he’s not a full-fledged demon. As for a Nephilim? Nephilim have been known to get past the holy water test, but never in that quantity. Not without discomfort and not voluntarily. They certainly sense its presence. The kid had no idea. I was watching.”
“He’s been Confirmed.”
“No shit?” Both of Father Stevenson’s eyebrows shot up.
“First Communion and Confession,” Father Murray said. “I checked the records. He’s never had a problem with any of the sacraments.”
“Well, how about that?” Father Stevenson wiped under his reddened nose and pocketed his handkerchief. “Must say, as charming as the Nephilim can be, I’ve yet to meet one I’ve actually liked.”
Father Murray smiled.
“Also, the tests indicate he carries far too much anxiety. I’ve yet to see a Nephilim clever enough to fake that,” Father Stevenson said. “By the way, is there some significance to that cigarette lighter he carries around?”
“It belonged to his wife. Other than that, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Seems to touch it when upset or antagonized.”
A twinge of guilt surfaced.
He needs real help. You should be paying attention, Joe. It’s not like the lad has anyone else to look out for him outside of his mother.
He remembered Bran and reconsidered.
Well, no one mortal, anyway.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
He needs real help. You should be paying attention, Joe. It’s not like the lad has anyone else to look out for him outside of his mother.
He remembered Bran and reconsidered.
Well, no one mortal, anyway.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“The test results indicate he is highly intelligent. However, he is suffering from depressive neurosis as you suspected.” Father Stevenson flipped through his notes. “There are indications of obsessive compulsive disorder, phobic or anxiety neurosis, hysterical disassociation, aggressive personality, drug dependence, psychophysiological symptoms, sexual trauma and transient situational disturbance.”
“That’s a long list.”
“Take it easy. I’m sure you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone around here who didn’t exhibit quite a few of those symptoms. That said, we should give serious consideration to cognitive therapy if you think he’ll respond. Medication too. As soon as the biological data is complete. We’ve got to get him stabilized before he does something stupid. And trust me, he will do something self-destructive—maybe even suicidal if he hasn’t already. He’ll use whatever is at hand. And that means—”
“The guards.” Father Murray felt a chill settle into his stomach.
Mary, Mother of God, what was I thinking?
“I’ll watch him.”
Mary, Mother of God, what was I thinking?
“I’ll watch him.”
“He sets his mind to it, well… I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop him.”
“I know.”
“One more thing,” Father Stevenson said. “You understand if that kid is declared human, he’s in deep trouble?”
Father Murray blinked. “Why?”
“You might not hold a grudge over Waterford, but one thing is for certain, the Grand Inquisitor sure as hell does.”
“Do you think that’s why he’s here?”
“What do you think?” Father Stevenson whispered. “He’s gunning for you.” He blew his nose into a white handkerchief again.
“He was running experiments on children.”
“Spawn of the Fallen.”
“The administrative staff were contaminated.”
“That wasn’t his fault.”
“Are you telling me that you believe Monsignor Paul wasn’t aware of what they were up to? He had full medical records on every one of them. They were running child prostitution—”
“The records were lost in the fire. You’ve no proof.”
“I was right about Father Davidson,” Father Murray said. “Father Jackson and the others would still be alive if someone had listened to me.”
“I know.” Father Stevenson sighed. “Look, I’m on your side in this. I saw what Father Davidson did. I was there.”
“Why now?” Father Murray asked. “It’s been years.”
“I wish I knew,” Father Stevenson said. “But I gotta warn you. That kid gets declared human and stays here? He’s headed for hard time in the pokey for membership in an illegal organization first chance Monsignor Paul gets. You damn well know which illegal organization I’m talking about. You won’t be looking at much better. You get my drift?”
“There’s no proof.”
“The kid’s word against theirs. Even I know how that one comes out.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Not a problem.” Father Stevenson closed his little black notebook. “Now, I’ve told you everything I know. It’s your turn.”
“You haven’t told me all of what is bothering you.”
“We’ll address that after you tell me what’s going on.”
Father Murray stared into his tea again. He’d known Father Thaddeus Stevenson on and off for five years. They’d met shortly after Waterford. In spite of the risks, Father Stevenson had taken his side against Monsignor Paul’s allegations and had given a solid recommendation as well. Father Stevenson had eventually been transferred to South Africa as a result. Father Murray knew he needed to trust someone. Father Stevenson was worth trusting. “You said Liam was talking to someone who wasn’t there. Were there indications of another presence?”
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