And Blue Skies From Pain (6 page)
Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
He waited five rushed heartbeats in an effort to hide his anxiety before looking to Father Murray. “Is it to be another strip search, then?” In spite of reassurances that a thorough search was standard procedure when entering a high-security facility, Liam had struggled to get through the pat down without acting on the urge to kill someone.
“This is a medical examination. Undressing is standard procedure,” Father Conroy said with a friendly smile clearly intended for Father Murray’s benefit.
Liam caught the severe lines beneath the Inquisitor’s facade at once.
The Inquisitor set the tray on the built-in desk to the right. The desk, along with the examination table and the wheeled office chair, comprised all the furnishings in the room. “I need baseline vital statistics. A comparison will be made to those of a human’s.”
“Get my records from the infirmary at Long Kesh or Malone, if you’ve the need,” Liam said.
“Liam—”
“Everyone knew me for a mortal until a few weeks ago. Including myself. If there were a difference a surgeon could catch, they would’ve noticed long before now.”
“He does have a point,” Father Murray said.
Father Conroy frowned. “Records can be falsified.”
“Why the fuck would a prison surgeon go to the trouble?” Liam asked.
Father Murray shot him a stern glance, and Liam once more reminded himself to keep his temper in check.
“Father Conroy is due respect,” Father Murray whispered. “He has done nothing to warrant—”
“I know. I know. Sorry, Father.” Liam left it up to interpretation as for which priest the apology was intended.
Father Conroy spoke to Father Murray again. “I must have the data before we begin.”
“Begin what, exactly?” Liam asked.
Father Conroy blinked. “The process of verifying the truth, of course.”
“And what truth is that?” Liam asked.
“Liam, please. This is why we’re here,” Father Murray said, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Again taking in the medical tray with its store of needles, surgical knives and bandages, Liam said, “I didn’t agree to being cut up like a wee lab rat.”
“That isn’t the plan,” Father Murray said. “Why would you think such a thing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. This is only a medical exam at the hands of a priest who calls himself an ‘Inquisitor.’ A man, I might add, who has more than a few scalpels at hand,” Liam said, allowing his anger to seep out in sarcasm. “Why should I anticipate a problem?”
“I must collect samples,” Father Conroy said in a mild tone.
Liam bolted off the examination table and set his back to the farthest wall. He then gave the Inquisitor the two fingers. “Sample this.”
“Liam, calm yourself. This is for the peace agreement,” Father Murray said, his voice acquiring the all-too-familiar tone seemingly reserved for frightened children and out-of-control idiots.
“I won’t be cut up. Not even for the peace.” Scanning the white cinderblock walls, Liam realized the examination room lacked everyday objects one might normally find in a doctor’s office—charts, cabinets, photos of family. It occurred to Liam that the room also lacked anything that might be used in defense.
There’s always a scalpel. If I can get to one of the fucking things before he does.
A surge of panic tensed his muscles.
And the chair. There’s the chair.
There’s always a scalpel. If I can get to one of the fucking things before he does.
A surge of panic tensed his muscles.
And the chair. There’s the chair.
“I’m prepared to drug it—I mean, him.” Father Conroy corrected himself when Father Murray opened his mouth to protest. Reaching for his tray, Father Conroy picked up a pre-prepared syringe loaded with a clear substance.
Liam scanned the room for an escape route. They were underground. There were no windows and only the one door. “I’ll not let you near me with that—”
“Security can restrain the creature if necessary while I drug it,” the Inquisitor said, moving toward the phone.
Father Murray said, “There’s no need.”
“Don’t call me a fucking creature. I’m Liam Kelly. You’d think you could read that off your fucking charts.”
“Liam, this isn’t what you think,” Father Murray said.
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Liam edged to the door with his heart slamming in his ears and his stomach rolling. The door lock was a standard deadbolt. He might be able to force it open with a couple of kicks. The idea of throwing his shoulder against it made him wince, but left with no other choice he’d risk re-breaking his collarbone. Unfortunately, the complex was well designed as far as security went. Located underneath a Catholic Church-owned building near Queen’s University, the examination room was secure. The only access to the surface was through an elevator guarded by surveillance cameras and manned by armed and combat-trained priests.
Aye. And no one above can hear the screaming from here, either. Awful convenient, that, when you think about it.
Liam felt his chest constrict. It became hard to breathe.
Liam felt his chest constrict. It became hard to breathe.
Father Murray said, “You’re safe here.”
“Are you mental?”
Can’t defend myself,
Liam thought.
Can’t shape-shift. Trapped. Was stupid to have come here.
A powerful need to run tightened his muscles. The reasonable part of himself knew he was over-reacting. Why was he so terrified of an Inquisitor and not the spotty boy with the Kalashnikov? Then it came to him. Loyalist hatred was mundane. Terrible as it was, he understood it. Loyalists hated anyone who wasn’t a Loyalist. Every Irish Catholic knew that. He’d grown up with such things. On the other hand, murderous Inquisitors, demons, and Fey were aspects of a strange world he knew little about—a world with rules he didn’t know, a world he’d been dragged into against his will.
Can’t defend myself,
Liam thought.
Can’t shape-shift. Trapped. Was stupid to have come here.
A powerful need to run tightened his muscles. The reasonable part of himself knew he was over-reacting. Why was he so terrified of an Inquisitor and not the spotty boy with the Kalashnikov? Then it came to him. Loyalist hatred was mundane. Terrible as it was, he understood it. Loyalists hated anyone who wasn’t a Loyalist. Every Irish Catholic knew that. He’d grown up with such things. On the other hand, murderous Inquisitors, demons, and Fey were aspects of a strange world he knew little about—a world with rules he didn’t know, a world he’d been dragged into against his will.
Father Murray whispered to the Inquisitor, “Leave us for a few minutes.”
Father Conroy paused and then shrugged. “I’ll be outside with security if you need me. Knock when you’re ready.”
Waiting until the keys finished rattling in the lock, Father Murray took a deep breath. His shoulders dropped, and he seemed to relax a bit. He moved away from the door. “I’m watching over everything they do. I won’t allow them to hurt you.”
“More like I won’t.” In Liam’s experience, it didn’t take strength to wield a knife with deadly force—only the knowledge of where it was best employed. “And I’d be able to see to that for certain if you hadn’t—”
Father Murray shushed him and gave the door a meaningful glance.
Liam pointed to the tray and whispered, “I know what torture looks like, Father. And from where I’m sitting it looks like that. At least, until the bleeding and screaming. And I’m not about to let it get that far.”
“You’re free to go any time. You do understand that was part of the agreement?” Father Murray asked. “Your father is proud of you for volunteering for this. We all are. It’s a brave thing, agreeing to come here. But you’ve lived through a great deal—”
“No more than anyone else.”
“—too much if you ask me. So, tell me you can’t do this. I’ll get you out of here. Right now. But if you can endure it—Liam, think of the lives that can be saved. Remember why you’re here.”
Liam stared at the tray and swallowed. His mouth was dry. His tongue scratched against the roof of his mouth.
“Can you trust me?” Father Murray asked.
Liam pushed a hand through his hair. He couldn’t help noticing the tremor in his fingers as he did so. He told himself it was the chill in the air. “Aye,” he said. “I will—I can.” He wasn’t about to admit to fear within Father Conroy’s hearing. “Scalpels make me a wee bit nervous.”
“I can’t blame you.” Father Murray sighed. “Would it help with the anxiety if you had detailed descriptions of the procedures to be performed?”
“Aye, it might.”
“Then, I’ll see what I can do.”
Resigning himself, Liam slipped out of his anorak, tugged his sweater off over his head and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Within a few minutes he was sitting on the examination table once more—this time, dressed in his underpants and a fervent wish that he were anywhere else. The stomach-churning stench of antiseptic, mold, and cleansers was impossible to ignore. The paper covering the examination table’s brown vinyl padding crackled underneath him. His skin prickled in the cold, musty, recycled air. He’d grown so accustomed to a tingling sensation preceding a shape change that while Father Murray’s back was turned Liam automatically gripped the edge of the steel examination table and was disappointed when the goose bumps on his arms didn’t instantly fade.
Fucking hypnosis.
You can negate the effects any time you wish. Father Murray said as much.
What if I’ve angered the monster? What if it refuses to come when called?
Father Murray signaled for the Inquisitor to return. Upon entering, Father Conroy appeared surprised that Liam had agreed to continue without extreme coercion. With a small nod, the Inquisitor went to the desk and picked up a new Polaroid camera from the tray.
“Stand, please.”
Liam bit back another retort and slid from the table. Under Father Conroy’s intense gaze, Liam struggled with shame.
This is nothing,
he told himself.
I’ve been through worse, so I have. But if he touches me, I’ll fucking knock him flat.
This is nothing,
he told himself.
I’ve been through worse, so I have. But if he touches me, I’ll fucking knock him flat.
Father Conroy snapped photographs while Liam turned, front, sides and back. The Inquisitor took a closeup of the commemorative Bloody Sunday tattoo on Liam’s upper arm and paused when he spied Liam’s back and shoulder. “What is this scarring from?”
“What’s it fucking look like?” Liam asked.
Father Murray cleared his throat and gave him the look he usually saved for unruly school boys—a stare that Liam was intimately familiar with. “Liam was injured by a car bomb. He was hit with shrapnel,” Father Murray said.
Liam noted the half-truth and found it reassuring to see that Father Murray didn’t trust the Inquisitor either.
“It was injured?”
“Please, Father Conroy. His name is Liam.”
“Oh. Yes,” Father Conroy said, pausing. “Was… did Liam sustain severe injuries?” He gave the name emphasis as evidence of his compliance.
“Again, what the fuck—”
“Liam.” Father Murray frowned.
Liam inhaled and held his breath. He waited until he was sure his heart had slowed, and then he spoke. “Sorry, Father.”
Father Murray took over, reciting a list of broken bones and hurts that Liam hadn’t been aware of.
A lacerated spleen? I had a lacerated spleen?
A lacerated spleen? I had a lacerated spleen?
“How long ago was this?” Father Conroy asked.
Again, Liam let Father Murray answer. “Last month.”
“The burns look as if they healed several years ago.”
“He heals fast,” Father Murray said.
“Interesting.” Father Conroy returned to his cart and made some notes on his clipboard. “How fast?”
“Three days. That time. There are exceptions. But I’m at a loss as to the mitigating factor. He suffered a broken collarbone several weeks ago. It’s still not completely healed.”
Liam couldn’t decide if that statement was strictly a lie or not. His father had explained in no uncertain terms that impulsively throwing oneself against a one ton limestone boulder that later turns out to be made of meteoric iron ore anchored in place by powerful druids is not exactly the brightest idea—not that there’d been other options at the time. Liam allowed Father Murray’s half-truths to slip by and focused on the cinderblock wall while the two priests discussed the details of his medical history—that is, the details Father Murray was willing to give. After the conversation ended, Liam feigned patience while his temperature was taken and his eyes, ears, nose and throat were checked. Father Conroy’s movements were precise and professional, but Liam remained vigilant. Everything was going smoothly enough until Father Conroy’s stethoscope made contact with Liam’s naked chest.
Liam flinched with a yelp. “Where do you keep that fucking thing? The icebox?”
Father Conroy leaned backward with an apologetic smile. “I always forget about that. I’m sorry.” He breathed on the end a few times and then rubbed it on his lab coat before trying again. “Is that better?”
Liam blinked at the display of sympathy. “Aye.”
Resuming his professional attitude, Father Conroy parroted standard requests for deep breaths. Then he looped the stethoscope around his neck and made a few notes. “Now. Open your mouth again, please.”
Liam cooperated. Father Conroy swabbed the inside of his cheek and then painted the sample on the surface of a Petri dish. With that done, Father Conroy selected a scalpel from the tray. Liam tried not to shy away from the blade as Father Conroy gently scraped the back of his hand. The results were transferred to a second Petri dish. Next, Father Conroy took his pulse, frowned to himself while jotting down the result and then picked up a blood pressure cuff.
After much fussing with the cuff’s bulb and the chilly stethoscope, Father Conroy sat back. “Interesting. I’ll have to bring this to the Bishop’s attention.”
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