Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online

Authors: Stina Leicht

And Blue Skies From Pain (7 page)

BOOK: And Blue Skies From Pain
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“Is there a problem?” Father Murray asked.
Liam swallowed a spike of terror.
Is it something everyone else missed? Something else I wasn’t told?
“The creature’s blood pressure and heart rate are unusually elevated. I mean, compared to a human at rest—that is—”
“Is
his
blood pressure at a dangerous or abnormal level?” Father Murray asked, clearly angry. “For a
human
under any circumstance?”
“Ah. No, but I—”
“Are there not perfectly logical and normal reasons for a human being to exhibit a rapid heart rate and high blood pressure? Strong emotion, perhaps?” Father Murray asked.
“Ah.” Father Conroy blinked several times. “In cases of—of undue stress—”
Relieved, Liam kept his expression blank.
“Yes,” Father Murray said. “In cases of undue stress. Yes.” He paused. “You and I both know the Order accepts only the best, most qualified, highly intelligent and skilled for service. You’ve been entrusted with a grave responsibility. As such is the case, I assume you are good at your job. What is your specialty, by the way?”
Father Conroy looked confused. Liam couldn’t blame him. It was as if a mask had been lifted. He hadn’t seen this side of Father Murray before and couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to witness a dressing-down.
“Medical research focusing in hematology and genetics with an interest in biochemistry,” Father Conroy said.
Nodding, Father Murray said, “In case you were curious, my specialty of expertise is psychology and medical biology. It is my duty to observe others—my brothers within the Order as well as those outside it—for certain mental influences and…” He paused. “…weaknesses. In the case of my brothers, this includes weaknesses which might affect the accuracy of their work. Ours is a hazardous calling, after all.”
Liam thought he perceived a minute shift in Father Conroy’s careful expression.
“You’re familiar with the scientific method?” Father Murray asked.
Father Conroy frowned. “Of course. I—”
“Of course,” Father Murray said. “It’s a basic concept and employed across multiple scientific disciplines. In your experience, have you witnessed an instance of an observer’s bias effecting data outcome?”
Father Conroy blinked but didn’t answer.
“We all have. To disastrous results,” Father Murray said. “So. With all these things in mind, wouldn’t it best serve the Order to make observations from a less assuming, perhaps even neutral, position?”
Swallowing, Father Conroy said, “Well, perhaps.”
“Good,” Father Murray said. “I’m sure Bishop Avery and the Grand Inquisitor would both be reassured by your devotion to accuracy.”
Father Conroy nodded and returned to his work with an altered attitude. As Liam was weighed and measured in more ways than he thought necessary, Father Conroy filled in several pages of forms and charts. When that was done he picked up an empty syringe and said he needed to collect a blood sample. Liam looked once more to Father Murray who nodded encouragement.
Liam sighed and gave the Inquisitor his left arm. The man gazed down at Liam’s inner elbow and paused.
“You’ve scar tissue here.”
“Aye. A fucking Peeler got fucking careless with his fucking questions,” Liam said. “What the fuck does it matter to you?”
“May I have the other arm?”
Liam gave Father Conroy his right arm and gritted his teeth. Father Conroy took the blood sample, taped the puncture wound, gathered his paperwork and left.
Slipping into his jeans, Liam said, “Thanks.”
“For what?” Father Murray asked.
“For taking a stand with that fuck. But what I don’t understand is why he took a tongue lashing from you?”
“I reminded him that while he may be an Inquisitor, I am a Guardian. Which means that it is not only my duty to spot and report demons and Fallen outside the Church. It’s also my responsibility to watch for suspect behavior from within the Order as well. In case of demonic influence.”
Liam felt his mouth drop open. “You threatened to report him for one of the Fallen?”
“I merely pointed out that it might best serve his interests to be cautious in his conclusions. Otherwise, it could bring up certain doubts.”
Fucking brutal, that is.
Pulling on his socks, Liam said, “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Will there be more of that shite? The needles and such?”
“I’m afraid so,” Father Murray said. “But that’s all for today.”
Liam finished tying his boot laces and grabbed his sweater and shirt from the desk. “Let’s get out of here. It’s fucking late. I’m knackered.”
“The Bishop arranged for accommodations. A suite of rooms. Should be comfortable enough.”
Jamming his arms into his shirt, Liam said, “As comfortable as a prison can be.”
“This is a research facility. They are trying to make this as easy on you as they can.”
“Sure, Father.” He pulled his sweater on over his unbuttoned shirt. The layer of scratchy wool between the chilly air and his bare skin did its work. “As long as you’re here to witness it.”
Notably, Father Murray didn’t argue the point. He brought out a set of keys from his coat pocket and opened the door. An armed priest in a guard uniform stood in the narrow hall nearby. The guard waited until they passed, tugged on the doorknob to see that it was secure and then stepped in place behind them. Father Murray stopped and turned to confront him.
“There is no need for an escort,” Father Murray said. “I know where our rooms are.”
“I’ve orders,” the screw said, one hand on his pistol. “He’s not to roam free.”
Liam opened his mouth to object, but Father Murray spoke first. “Are we in danger, then? From whom?”
An uneasy expression passed over the guard’s grim face. “I’ve orders—”
“Prison,” Liam whispered.
Father Murray sighed. “Come on, Liam.”
As Liam followed Father Murray down the hallway lined with sealed doors, the claustrophobic feeling worsened. Liam didn’t like the smell of the place. Something somewhere was rotting. It was faint, but very much present. In spite of the late hour, medical staff passed by with a businesslike air—all of them priests of varying ages dressed in lab coats or guard uniforms. All of them carrying weapons. A number of them carried on animated conversations in Latin. There were no female nurses—no nuns—anywhere to be seen.
It wasn’t long before Father Murray stopped at a grey door with the label “Observation Room” bolted in the center. Liam attempted to suppress a shiver. Father Murray produced the key ring again and after searching for the correct key, unlocked the door. To Liam’s relief, the guard didn’t follow them inside.
The furnishings weren’t much different from the rectory in Derry. The sitting room furniture was well-worn but tasteful. An overstuffed sofa was arranged to the left. A thick rug covered the floor, and a landscape painting hung on the wall over the sofa. A large crucifix was tacked up next to the door. Liam noted the lack of a television or record player and considered asking Father Murray if a radio might be arranged.
Can you get a radio signal underground?
Shelves lined with books provided some potential relief from boredom. A kitchenette branched off the back of the sitting room. There were two doors—one on either side of the kitchenette.
Father Murray motioned to the door on the left. “Your room is there. I’ll be staying over here.”
Liam peered through the doorway into his room and saw it was furnished in a similar fashion as the rest of the suite. However, unlike the rest of the underground floor, the builder had left a window. Liam entered the room to have a closer look. When he pulled back the curtains he was granted a view of blank wall and a fluorescent light—currently off. Whether it was intended to reflect the time of day, he wouldn’t know until dawn. He took a deep breath, scenting the air. All in all, it would’ve been welcoming, but for the cameras mounted in the ceiling and the underlying reek of old blood not quite concealed by furniture polish, mold, and pine-scented disinfectant. The cocktail of smells did nothing for the knots in his stomach.
Pointing upward, Liam asked, “Is that necessary?”
“You should know you’ll be filmed. Sound will be recorded as well.”
“On second thought, this is worse. At least a prison doesn’t pretend to be something it isn’t.”
“Your things are on the bed. You’ll find everything you need in the washroom and the kitchen. If you want extra blankets, or if they missed something, let me know. I’ll make the arrangements.”
Liam went to the old laundry bag resting on top of the bed. Loosening the square knot in the drawstring, it became obvious that someone had searched its contents. He’d been angry when he’d packed—more like terrified, not to put too fine a point on it. As a result, he’d stuffed his clothes in the bag without bothering about the wrinkles. Now they were neatly folded. He considered complaining, but nothing appeared to be missing. Retrieving the light blue flannel pajamas Father Murray had provided, Liam left them on the bed, tightened the drawstring on the bag and tossed it onto the floor. There was a chest of drawers made of a dark wood, but he wasn’t about to use it.
He straightened and took a long, deep breath to clear his head. Once again the scent of old blood haunted his nose. That’s when he noticed that Father Murray hadn’t moved from the doorway. Glancing over his shoulder, Liam wondered if the priest smelled it too, but it was clear by his expression there was another reason he was waiting.
“I must leave you here. Only for a little while,” Father Murray said.
“If I’m staying, so are you.”
“I’ll be back. I’ve a short conference with Bishop Avery.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed.
“It’s nothing. A briefing. Mere formality. He wanted to see me before tomorrow. While I’m there I’ll ask for a copy of the examination and testing schedule. It’s better this way. I don’t trust Father Conroy will take such requests seriously.”
“You’re going to leave me in this stinking place?”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Can’t you smell the blood?”
Father Murray’s eyes narrowed. “Blood?”
“Aye. Was quite a lot too.” Liam took another deep, slow breath. “Was some time ago. A month? Maybe two. Hard to tell, given what they cleaned it up with. Bleach. Something that smells like pine to cover. Doesn’t help much.”
“Interesting.” Father Murray looked uneasy. “I’ll keep it short. Less than an hour.”
Liam felt his jaw and shoulders tighten. His eyes burned from exhaustion, and he stifled a yawn. There were no clocks that he could see, but they hadn’t taken his watch from him, and he knew it was close to two in the morning.
“You look exhausted. Try to get some sleep,” Father Murray said.
“And if you don’t come back?”
“Stop your worrying.” Father Murray smiled but Liam sensed nervousness beneath. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then Father Murray shut the door.
Liam listened for the lock and didn’t hear it. To be sure, he went to the bedroom door and opened it in time to see Father Murray exit the suite. Liam caught a glimpse of the guards in the hallway outside. Keys jangled, and the loud click-thump of the locking mechanism spiked Liam’s anxiety. Tired as he was, he didn’t think he could sleep. There was no television, no radio. Walking to the bookshelves in desperation, he examined the titles. All appeared to be of a religious nature. So, he returned to his room, defeated.
The only lock on the bedroom door was a deadbolt that required a key which he didn’t have. He considered jamming a chair under the bedroom doorknob for privacy, but neither the chairs nor the doorknob were designed in a way that would make that feasible. With nothing to serve as a distraction, he put on the pajamas, brushed his teeth, climbed into bed and tried not to think. Lying in the dim light emitted by security lamps, he rolled over on his side and turned his back on the camera’s staring red dot. With his face to the wall, it wasn’t long before he grew tired of the flowered wallpaper. He turned on the bedside lamp and searched through the laundry bag.
A cup of tea would be nice, but he didn’t trust that the kitchen’s stores hadn’t been tampered with. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out an old photograph of his father and mother. The photo was, along with his wedding ring, one of his few remaining possessions. He supposed he should’ve left it with his mother in Derry where it would have been safe, but for now he was glad to have it with him.
Studying the black-and-white image, once again Liam noted that although Bran was immortal, he’d aged. In the photo, he could’ve been twenty years old at the most. Liam thought his father now looked to be around forty—only slightly older than Liam’s mother. His uncle Sceolán was Bran’s twin brother. Bran had said as much. However, Sceolán could’ve easily passed for twenty or twenty-five. What all that meant, Liam couldn’t have said.
BOOK: And Blue Skies From Pain
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