Patient Darkness: Brooding City Series Book 2 (9 page)

I am imagining all of this,
she thought, transferring the idea through the link. She was careful to copy his sentence structure and to keep her tone neutral. It was experimental, but probably the best she would be able to do until she better understood her own power. Alex pushed the tune of the old song into his head for good measure.

Thirty seconds later, Alex saw the change taking place. His eyes strayed from the road less often, and his dome lost its sheen as his heartbeat dropped to a steady rhythm. He bobbed his head slightly from side to side. “I know you like me,” he sang quietly. He was terribly off-key, but the music brought Alex peace. “I know you do.”

She sighed happily as she leaned against the window and receded from his mind.
So he was right,
she realized, thinking of Benjamin. There was more to her power than she had ever known, and in less than a day she had gained a rudimentary understanding of how to use it. Alex had always prided herself on being a fast learner. She smiled smugly all the way to Brennan’s apartment.

The cathedral stood
proudly against the colorful backdrop of the setting sun.

St. Agabus’s was one of the oldest buildings in Odols, having been originally founded alongside the rest of the town during colonial times. Its original purpose had been to convert natives to Christianity and provide traditional services for the frontier settlers. As the country expanded and time passed, it underwent several reconstructions until it became the enormous monument that it was today.

Stained-glass windows soared thirty feet high between thick columns of weather-hardened stone. There were wings off to either side of the main great hall, resembling a giant cross as seen from the air. The pair of staggeringly large wooden doors that completed the building’s entranceway looked like they could withstand a heavy siege from bloodthirsty orcs; Noah could have used them as rafts and still have accomplished his mission.

He could have even saved the unicorns,
Brennan thought as he looked up at the overzealous craftsmanship. He made use of a smaller set of doors that were carved like a mouse hole from the larger pair. Inside were several statues, all of the same young woman. Her face was fair, and a hooded robe concealed much of her hair and figure. In the cupped hands of each statue was a shallow pool of water. Brennan walked past them and into the great hall.

Two columns of pews lined each side of the carpeted central procession walkway, and the rows extended all the way from the entrance to the altar. Thousands of people could fit without ever touching elbows. High above, Brennan saw the crucial arches that held everything together, as well as endless decorative embellishments that served no function.

The cathedral was mostly empty, as it was a Thursday evening, but a few dedicated worshippers still kneeled with their eyes closed and hands clasped. Brennan walked quietly down the aisle. Even though he had abandoned the faith many years ago, his time around Bishop had rekindled a healthy respect for those who at least believed in something. He felt it would be wrong to intrude any more on their privacy than was necessary.

His feet carried him off to the side, beyond the altar and into one of the wings of the cathedral where the more private chambers were located. He passed the kitchen where the Eucharist was prepared, then turned into Father Dylan’s office. It was the only one that had a door to it, a privilege of being the most senior priest.

Brennan knocked on the door as he pushed it open, and Father Dylan looked up from the papers on his desk. He was a small man, roughly sixty years in age and as active as anyone within the community. His hair had long since gone gray and thin, but his eyes were clear and alert. A toothy smile breached his lips as recognition raised his thick eyebrows. “Arthur,” he said. “Please, come, sit down.”

The old priest’s enthusiasm made it easy for Brennan to return his smile. “Thank you, Father.”

“How are you?” The last time he had seen Father Dylan, he was burying his sister. Before that, their last face-to-face interaction was when Brennan had been just a boy, still doe-eyed and attending mass with his parents. Still, Father Dylan spoke warmly, with the kind of casual familiarity that all old priests seemed to possess.

“Good,” Brennan said automatically. “How has the church been? Bishop tells me good things.”

“Noel is a good Christian, and her presence here is a blessing to all of us. You didn’t come here to ask about my congregation, though. Noel gave you my message?”

Brennan nodded. “The homeless guy. How is he?”

“
Harold
is doing fine. He told me what you did for him. I’m impressed and touched that you thought to send him here,” Father Dylan said. “I have been reaching out to the local community to help him find work, and meanwhile he has been sleeping on one of our cots downstairs.”

“In the crypt?”

“Heavens, no. We have extra chambers for visiting bishops and priests, as well as temporary quarters for the less fortunate.”

“I just wanted him out of the tunnel before a uni came by and threw him in a cell.”

“I’m sure that was the reason.” Father Dylan’s eyes twinkled, and he leaned forward confidentially. “You have a good heart, Arthur. There is no shame in letting it show.”

You don’t know everything I’ve done.
Brennan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not the man everyone thinks I am.”

“What you did for Harold was the act of a good man. It is obvious that Noel sees the same quality in you, or you would not have won her respect. Why do you not see it in yourself?”

“Modesty is a virtue.”

“That was not a rhetorical question, my son. Tell me, really, why you feel so undeserving of our praise.”

“We don’t have to sit in those screened boxes to speak confidentially, do we?”

Father Dylan spread his hands. “Anonymity would be pointless now, don’t you think?”

“Fair enough.” Brennan’s throat felt dry. “I guess my story starts with my father.”

“Your father?”

“He was
not
a good man. He brought a lot of pain to those he disagreed with, and passive misery to everyone around him. I was young, and I didn’t recognize what he truly was until it was too late.”

“What did he do for a living?”

“As a job? He was a financial consultant. But that was just a front for his real position within the mafia.”

Father Dylan’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

“For years, he was taking money in exchange for information. One day, he was the one calling the shots. Like I said, I was too young to realize then what my father had become.”

“Perhaps he was making the best of a bad situation.”

“You weren’t there,” Brennan said darkly. “He became distant, but we pretended not to notice anything because the bills were getting paid and Maddy and I were going to private school. We attended mass every Sunday like a normal family. It was actually kind of…nice.” His face darkened. “Except for when
he
was home.”

“I remember him,” Father Dylan said. His eyes gained a faraway look. “Joseph was always polite, courteous, a quiet man. It is hard to imagine him as you describe. Did he ever raise his hand against you?”

Brennan shook his head. “He was a hard ass, a liar, and a murderer. But he never struck us.” He stared hard out the window. “The best thing I can say about him is that he wasn’t a wife beater.”

Father Dylan stared silently until Brennan finally met his eyes. “It can be easy to find fault in others, especially when we ourselves are feeling guilty.”

“I don’t feel guilty about anything.”

“Oh? Perhaps you misunderstood the meaning of confession.” Father Dylan leaned back in his seat. “God helps those who help themselves, Arthur.”

“I don’t believe in him anymore.”

“Children often lose faith in their parents as they get older.”

“I wasn’t referring to my dad.”

“Neither was I.” Father Dylan smiled faintly and clasped his hands over his stomach, the perfect picture of patience.

Brennan sighed. “You know how the government has the witness protection program?”

“I am familiar with it.”

“That’s what happened to my father.”

Father Dylan nodded sympathetically. “That explains his sudden disappearance from our congregation. Still, I don’t understand why you would feel guilty. His leaving was not at all your fault—”

“He didn’t turn state’s evidence,” Brennan interrupted.

“I don’t understand.”

“I told you, I realized what a monster my father had become, and I couldn’t live under the same roof as him anymore.”

“So…
you
gave the police what they needed to know to arrest your father?”

Brennan swallowed hard. “Not exactly.” He had kept the truth buried for so long, a secret locked away in a vault in his mind. The memory still held a great deal of pain, and it was not a freshly scabbed injury anymore; this was a scar upon his soul, an irreversible act that had the opposite effect from what he had wanted. To reopen that wound would be to reveal a part of himself that he had secreted away for decades. “I gave information to another boss, another crime outfit. They killed him.”

“Oh, Arthur…why did you not go to the authorities?”

“They would have seized everything! It would have left my mother and sister and me without a home, without any way to survive.” His voice was raw with emotion as he spoke. “And beyond anything else…I wanted him
gone
. Not in prison, not on the run. Gone from this world and from our lives, so that he couldn’t hurt any of us again.”

“Arthur.” Father Dylan’s voice was soft, his gentle prompt pulling Brennan from his reverie. “We don’t have to talk about this if you are not ready. I didn’t mean to push.”

Brennan felt something warm trickle down over his cheek. He brushed at it, and the sleeve came away damp. His eyes had moistened without him realizing. “He’s dead, and I’m not sure I did the right thing,” he said quietly.

Calm contemplation crept into the silence that followed. Brennan willed his eyes to dry as he stared resolutely out the window. Skyscrapers cast long shadows on the busy streets. In the distance, a fire engine started to wail. The city carried on, heedless of his inner turmoil.

“There are few moments in my life,” Father Dylan began, “where I can say I truly believe I did the right thing. Oh, many times I
felt
that what I did was just, but in the end those actions were the result of petty needs. Lust in the form of love. Greed masquerading as ambition. Vengeance under the guise of justice. When I search within myself, these moments are the source of my greatest shame.”

“Do you practice small speeches like this?” Brennan asked. “This isn’t the best pep talk I’ve heard.”

Father Dylan gave a small smile. “You are a good man, Arthur. I know it, even if you do not. Your actions were misguided, but I believe your motives were pure.”

“Good intentions…I hear the road to hell is paved with those.”

“You truly believe you are destined for Hell?” Father Dylan asked mildly. Brennan remained silent. “You brought pain to your mother. To your sister. You will always live with this, and it will try to harden your heart. Do not let it. There is nothing that cannot be overcome by love, but you must be willing to let it in. When a stone is thrown in your path, be like the river and move around it.”

Brennan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “For a Catholic priest, that sure had a lot of Buddhist undertones.” He was rewarded with another enigmatic smile.

“I am a man of faith,” Father Dylan stated simply. “My faith is twofold, in both God and His creations. I believe in my fellow man; I
believe
that if you live harmoniously with others and improve the world around you when you can, then you can’t be too far from God’s plan. I can’t ask for more than that.”

“So if a good man goes down a dark path…?”

“He can be redeemed.” Father Dylan looked amused as he spoke. “The Bible is an object lesson in the power of redemption. All humans were redeemed for their sins when a good man allowed himself to be nailed to a cross; you would be an arrogant fool to think of yourself as an exception to this. Whatever dark deeds you have done in your past, you can be absolved of them.”

“Bishop has been keeping me away from the case,” Brennan said suddenly.

“Noel?”

“She isn’t stonewalling me for no reason.” He wiped a hand across his tired eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stood quickly. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier. Sorry, Father, but I need to go.”

Father Dylan rose from his seat. “Is everything all right?”

“Just peachy,” he replied gruffly. “But I just realized that Bishop is making one of those judgment errors we were just talking about. I’ve been working in the shadows because she’s holding me back. Now it’s about time I found out why.”

“She must have her reasons.”

“Sure she does. Like she realized her boyfriend is cheating on her and that I knew about it?” Brennan frowned as Father Dylan’s jaw dropped slightly. “Yeah. I keep a lot of secrets, and not all of them are mine. But her personal grudge is throwing a monkey wrench into this investigation, and there isn’t much time.”

“The serial killer on the news?”

Brennan nodded. “Someone else is going to die in about thirty hours unless we stop him.” He watched the blood drain from Father Dylan’s face.

“I will speak to Noel for you.”

“Thank you, Father, but I don’t think—”

He cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Arthur, trust me. I know her. I can help her see reason.” His pale blue eyes held something fierce in them.

Brennan thanked him again, this time with sincerity. He felt a vibration, and he pulled his phone from his pocket. It was Sam. “Excuse me, Father.”

“Of course.”

“Sam,” he said as he walked into the hall. “What’s up?”

“The Regent, eight fifteen tonight.”

“What?”

“Your dinner reservations. And do
not
ask what I had to do to book a table for you on such short notice.”