Battle the Dark: Chapter 8

Days passed.  McBain had gathered nothing new regarding the whereabouts of Sister Rebecca Katherine and whoever was holding her.  With several men deposed to help find her, he felt they were on a wild goose chase, not knowing where to begin or end each day in the search.  No demands had been made.  McBain was desperately trying to reach or locate Timothy Broderick, her brother, to try and find some semblance of hope.  He did this with caution, as not to alert Irish authorities who, Manning could verify, might very well be part of the very group they were against.  Nothing seemed to be working.

Sister Rebecca Katherine had been moved four times in three days.  The plan, Walnut had told her, was to keep them moving so they had little chance of being found, and, she noticed, it was working.  They settled in to a destitute rooming house in Angel Square, and she was disgusted by the filth.  "My goodness, Mr. Walnut, this place gives me the heeby jeebies, I say it does."

"All right, I know, it's pretty dirty."

"It's filthy I tell you, and cleanliness is next to Godliness, dear."  She had learned he was not a entirely evil person, like anyone else, he had both bad and good in him.  Somewhere along the line, his good had taken a back seat to the evil side.  She recognized it, and continued to preach to him and try and convince him to save his soul and do right.  It was slow going, and thus far, she had not made him see the light.

"Quiet," he said, and this time it was because his cell phone was ringing.  He answered, "Yes?"  He looked at her, and continued, "I understand."  Hanging up, he sat at the small table by the window, and looked at his cell phone as he held it in both hands.

"I know, boy, what's going on.  It's time for you to kill me, eh?"

"No.  It's not.  It's time for me to get you to do what you're here for."

"And what that might be, ay?  I might be able to do it, without any problem, as long as it's not going to hurt someone else.  So tell me what it is, lad."

"I need to know where your brother is.  He's in a vigilante group that opposes another one.  I have to get you to tell me where he is, so that they can get him before he gives information to the wrong people.  They also want you to tell me what Todd Manning knows."

"Well, then, lad, you have a problem on your hands."  She walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, "Have you killed anyone before, lad?"

"No.  I've never killed anyone before, Sister."

"Well, this will be your first time then, because I'm not afraid of death.  Dear, I am a little frightened of losing life, but not of facing death.  I know what's there for me, and I have no fear.  So if you're trying to get me to talk, you may as well kill me right now.  I've nothing to say to you about my brother Timothy or Mr. Manning."

He studied his hands.  She knew she was taking a gamble, but she did it any way, and it was "much bigger than bingo," and she knew it.  But, her constant talking to him, about The Lord, about life, about his chances and saving his soul were not totally unheard by him, that she knew.  So, she took the chance.

He looked up from his hands and moved toward her.  She held her breath and began reciting the Hail Mary softly.  She closed her eyes, and then felt him put tape over her mouth and shove her onto the bed.  "I asked you to be quiet, now be quiet."

She lay there in the dark, on the filthy cot, and her tears came.  They were not tears for herself as much as tears for her brother, Timothy, and The Mannings, especially wounded Todd, who really didn't need more guilt in his heart.  He saw her crying, and put his hand out to her.  She took it and he helped her up, keeping the tape on her mouth, and put a clean sheet and blanket on the cot.  Then, he let her hand go.  "If I take that tape off, will you stop talking to me?"

She nodded.

He undid the tape, and then she lay down on the bed, and pulled her knees up.  She was in layclothing now, and had been for about three days.  It felt strange and she missed her habit and headpiece.  She especially missed her glasses, not that there was anything to read or see.  Except Walnut.  If he were going to be the person who took her out of this world, she would have liked to see his face.  She also would have liked to see his expressions when she was praying for him, or telling him Bible stories, or relating old Irish tales.  Those he seemed to interrupt the least with his bellowing, "Shut up!" or "Stop talking already!"  In fact, those he never interrupted once in the many hours she had been held by him.

Hours passed.  She wanted sleep, but before giving in to it, she noticed him poking through her things and finding her rosary.  He fingered it carefully, and put it by her bedside.  She had remained quiet, as he asked, the whole remainder of the evening.  When he placed the rosary by her bed, she said, "Am I to pray my last prayers?"

He looked at her with a strange expression on his face.  "No."

"All right then, I'll say my rosary tomorrow, then."

"Will you say one for me?"

"Did you just ask me to say a rosary for you, my boy?"

"Yeah, I guess I did.  Can't you hear?  Your talking works perfectly, we know that."  He was frustrated, but she wasn't even sure it was about that.  She thought it might be with himself or his bosses.

"All right, and why am I saying it?  The Lord is not going to give you the strength to kill me.  And he's not going to absolve you from it.  At least, not in my book."

"You're saying it for me, for my...for my soul."

"You were Catholic, weren't ya?"

"Yes, we grew up Catholic."

"So you want me to pray for your soul before you send mine to The Lord.  All right, lad, I can do this.  Now I want to get some rest, is that all right?"

"Yeah, I guess it is.  Think this over.  You can tell me where your brother is, and that's not a death sentence necessarily.  They'll still have to find him."  He was reasoning with her.  Negotiating.

"You're afraid now.  If you kill me, you won't live with yourself.  You're searching a way out."

He didn't answer. 

She continued, "You're hoping for a miracle.  I know about them.  Been around for a few in my day.  What miracle do you want?  Might it be the one where God delivers you from evil and you let me go, lad?"

"I can't.  They'll kill me.  They'll kill my mother.  They'll kill anyone I love.  They'll make me watch."

"That's pretty terrible in itself, isn't it, boy?  I know how scared you must be feeling.  But, you're going to have to kill me.  And if you do that, how will you face your mother?"

He didn't answer, but got up, and taped her mouth again.  "I'm sorry, I just need quiet.  I have to think."

She closed her eyes and attempted to sleep.  It was finally quiet, sans the rustle of something in the walls that she dared not attempt to discover or determine.

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