The Fall(2)

“There’s no time for an ambulance. Sister Mary, bring the car around. I will keep him breathing if needed.” Sister Catherine’s resolve kicked in. He would live. He would not die on the cold stained floor of the church.

“Go.” Mother clutched at the crucifix that hung close to her breast and slowly removed it from her neck. “I will care for the mother.” The gold chain placed gently upon the lifeless body of the mother who would never know the child she had birthed.

Sisters Catherine and Mary wasted no time; the boy’s breaths shallow as they ran out of the church into the courtyard toward the old used sedan. The rain soaked their clothes in minutes, the doors closing quickly behind them as the engine roared to life. Thankfully the hospital was not more than a few miles away.

And while it had been Sister Catherine’s previous expertise that had kept Michael alive, Sister Mary’s reputation for her lead foot was exactly what they needed now. The church and the convent quickly faded in the rearview mirror as they sped away.

Catherine and Mary’s attention had been about reaching the hospital, while Mother knelt beside the woman whom she hadn’t known nearly long enough, but had loved like her own child. She remembered the very day she had come to them, the day they had accepted her as one of their own.

She had been so brave; even as the end came her strength had not waned. Fearless, even in the face of her own death. She was safe now, seated with the Father, free from pain and sorrow. The Lord would protect her and do what Mother had been unable to do. God forgive her, while it had been Sister Catherine’s hands that had been bloodied, it had been Mother’s who had worn the biggest stain.

Had her vow of silence been responsible for the death?

“Should we call the police?” Sister Bridget offered, her bright eyes blinking away tears they all felt welling. “Mother? What would you like us to do?”

It was a question Mother had been contemplating for weeks. What she would do when the time came and the child was born. Had she done the right thing? They should have taken her to a hospital. It was insanity to try and handle this within the walls of their sanctuary, and yet it was exactly what she had promised. No one would ever know about the child. Not how he came to be in this world or who his parents had been, his existence hidden by not only her resolve, but that of her devotion to the mother.

No. No one could know.

The plan was set.

The boy was to be reported as abandoned, left in the church’s vestibule with no indication of who the mother was. It was a lie and one she would take to her grave. Her father would judge her, but when that time came she knew he would understand.

“No. No police.” Mother’s voice was hoarse as she removed the veil from her head and covered the body. “Our sister is gone. We will see that she is buried with the faithful at the back, but there can be no record.”

“Mother?” There was a collective gasp, the very fabric of their lives called into question as she told them her plan.

“We must honor her. We must give her the peace in death she was unable to gain in life. I have prayed on it and it is the only way. In this you must trust.” Her voice maintained its steely resolve, even if underneath her heart was breaking.

Did she do everything she could?

God help her, she couldn’t be sure she had.

“Save him.” Mother’s eyes rose to the crucifix mounted on the wall, the words more a prayer than a request. “Please, Lord. Save him.”

Her thoughts returned to the boy, his mother giving her own life so that he might live.

Only time would tell whether it had been enough.





Thirty years later

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The blood hit the cement floor one drop at a time. The slow rhythmic splat not in any way gratifying as I watched the * cry in front of me like a little girl.

Oh, and look at that. He’d pissed his pants. Fucking awesome. At this rate it would take him a year to bleed out. And if I had to listen to his whine any more, I was going to stab myself.

The thug routine was not my favorite.

Despite my willingness to play it on a usual rotation, tying up grown men and watching them beg for their life didn’t get me off. Actually, it disgusted me. Seeing them tap out the minute any real pain was inflicted was embarrassing, and half the time I had to fight the urge not to slice their balls off purely because they didn’t deserve them.

Pussies.

All of them.

Tough talking douchebags with shit for brains who couldn’t man up and take care of their end of the deal. Whatever that deal was. Like this * whose love for the ponies saw him get in twenty-five large with a less than honorable bookie. Of course, the dude who ran numbers didn’t like to get his hands dirty which is why he hired me.

Me, and my lack of give-a-shit, meant that I’d cut off a finger or a toe if it secured the payment. Earned me quite the reputation and a steady stream of business, which is why I was sitting in the downtown storeroom of Lou’s Meats while Lou’s arms and legs were secured to an office chair with cable ties.

“Please. I’ll pay. I just need a few more days.” He gave me the line I’d heard so many times before, his eyes wide like it made a difference if he was being sincere or not.

No, really. Did he honestly think I gave a shit? If he paid or he didn’t had no effect on my bank roll, so why these *s felt the need to give me the song-and-dance was beyond me.