The Forsaken (5 page)

“A young boy died tonight,” Jude said abruptly. “He died from the bullets in my gun.”

A long pause. Jude hated how the priest’s pauses.

“I killed him, Father. I
killed
him. Was it murder or self-defense?” Jude could only make out the faint outlines of the old priest’s face, his sagging jaw and crippled frown. “He was a scumbag, a street hoodlum.”

“Were you so different the night you walked through our door for the first time?”

“Father, he was going to kill me. I thought he was going to kill a hostage.”

“Each man is a hostage to himself if he places his own life above another. Bullets cannot forgive, and they cannot save a man’s soul.”

“Why don’t you toss some blame upstairs? Where was God?” Jude asked, frustrated. “He didn’t show up to offer me any help.”

“He was there. He is everywhere.”

“If you wanted to stir up guilt, bravo.”

“Did you come here tonight for absolution or repentance?”

“It was an accident. It was like time didn’t exist for that second. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Is that so?” Eliam asked, his palm stroking his silver beard. “Did the young man know what it was
he
was doing?”

“Running—like hell was after him.”

“Hell tries to come for all of us, don’t you know? But you did what you thought was right. You protected the life of an innocent. Hear me. My questions were not meant to judge you, dear boy, only to make you consider the path of all men, to think about what you do before the time comes when you are forced to make a choice.”

Jude grinded his teeth.

“You seem beaten down. What else is troubling you?”

“Regret. I pulled the trigger three times. And maybe, just maybe I felt something for the kid, for a blink. But thinking about it now, I don’t know. I checked his gun after he died. There weren’t any bullets left in the chamber. The idiot was bluffing.”

Eliam sat quietly in the other booth, listening and waiting.

“He had no way out. He was ready to die. I think he wanted to die.” Jude was instantly flooded with images of his brother, lying in a white tub filled to the neck with crimson water. His wrists had been slit open with a shard of glass from the bathroom mirror.

“So is it guilt you feel or shame for giving the poor soul what he wanted?”

Jude hadn’t thought about how sick it all sounded. Fulfilling some stupid gangster’s death wish. What was he, a mercenary?

The priest spoke again. “Perhaps the young man left his home tonight prepared for his life to come to an end. Did you, likewise, prepare your soul to end it?”

“These streets are filthy with drug lords and crack babies and whores. Regret or no regret, maybe it’s just one less problem. One less bad attitude.”

“Don’t be so calloused, kiddo. If it were your brother, would you not mourn for him?”

“What kind of a question is that? Of course I would.”

“Precisely. All lives have a purpose. Like it or not, it breaks the Father’s heart when his creation breeds chaos. A sharp reminder that we are not God. Thus, we should not seek out such horrors, deciding with our own skewed vision when one life is to begin and another is to end. That’s barbaric.”

“It felt good to be back in the game,” Jude replied, ignoring Eliam’s caveat. “I wanted to chase after him. I wanted him to realize it was time to pay. I wouldn’t have even reported it if I knew my conscience wouldn’t get its panties in a twist.”

“Yeah, that conscience can be an ugly fellow.”

“Look, Father,” Jude said, removing the divider from between their faces. “I’ve never been good at this confession thing. Whether I confess or not, I’m gonna be judged. I’m gonna have to pay for what I’ve done in this life, isn’t that right?”

Eliam nodded slowly.

“Well, maybe I’m here to make others pay. What if that’s it? What if I’m just here to lighten the load?”

The priest began to chuckle, his coughs eventually winning out. “Your theory is creative, but I’m afraid you won’t find peace down that road no matter how long you search,” the aged priest noted. “Are you familiar with the Israeli king David?”

“Yeah, puny kid takes down a giant, saves the day.”

“Ahh, but his heroics are only part of the story. King David was a warrior—fierce—true to his nature. In many ways, he fought for his faith, and in others he sought his own glory too much. He fed the cravings of his flesh on far too many occasions. Before the end of his life, David hoped to build a holy temple for the Lord. But the Lord denied him.
He
, King David—an anointed servant—was denied this great honor.”

“Why?”

“Because David was a man of blood. He had far too much on his hands.”

“Sounds like God changed the rules midgame. The king got screwed.”

“Did he? As a young man, David was a shepherd, a protector, a son of honor. He helped others; he had a good heart. But his proclivity for war and bloodshed and sin, they controlled him. In the end, the king, though great, was denied.” Eliam leaned in close. Jude could smell sorrow on his breath; he could taste his sympathy. “Don’t let your heart turn to soft to the darker things, kiddo.”

“Will I be forsaken too?”

“I did not say David was forsaken. I said he was denied the right to build a temple. Young people, they never listen.”

“Same thing.”

“Sometimes your cynicism gets the better of you.”

There was a long moment of silence before Jude asked, “Am I evil?”

“A moment of irrationality, a moment of error, cannot define a human soul,” Eliam replied. “I believe that man’s darkness is not the end, only a doorway. Remember, there are rules. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. There is a balance at work. That darkness must be opposed by a light. Understand that men are not evil. Men
do
evil.”

“But can one
become
evil?”

“I’m a priest. The sum of my life’s purpose is structured around the idea that mankind can change and can become, among many things, better. But there are some who, like David, in moments of weakness, carry proclivities for darkness. That does not mean they are inherently wicked. Misguided, perhaps. Misled.”

“But how long does the good inside someone last? I mean, it can’t be forever. Murderers and rapists, there’s something sick there. They’re not good people.”

“No one except our maker is truly good. But we possess some of his light. Surely you know this. You’ve heard me lecture about it countless Sundays before your incident. Have you forgotten already?”

“No, no, I haven’t. I just can’t always believe so fervently like you do.”

“Believing is a choice, like unbelief. You are human, and thus, you will fall as all men do. But even our Savior came from a line of fallen men.” Eliam stared at Jude pensively. “There is hope and peace, though I fear I have not given you much of either, and for that, please, forgive me.”

“I haven’t had peace for so long.”

“Because of your ex-partner?”

Jude hated how transparent he could sometimes be, hated how Eliam, ever wise, could see right through. “I keep having these dreams. Like I’m back in that church the night I was left there to die. It becomes more real every time. He becomes more real.”

“Morgan Cross was your partner, Jude, but you are not the same man. His sin is not your sin.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it. How do I know what I’m capable of?” His voice echoed beneath the solemn arches of the sanctuary.

“You don’t. No one knows for certain the dark creations their hands might make. But we can choose, as I’ve said before. Man has free will to fall and free will to rise. Second chances are what make us unique in the created order.” Eliam choked back another cough before continuing. “You’re not evil, kiddo…I’m afraid you’re simply human, like the rest of us.”

“You say it like it’s a good thing,” Jude scoffed.

“It may not be what you wanted to hear, but the truth rarely is.”

Jude finally stood up, preparing to leave.

“Oh, I see how this game works. You get what you came for and leave, is that it? No small talk—no actual catching up with an old friend?”

“Sorry. There’s a lot of crap on my mind. I shouldn’t have waited so long to see you. Forgive me for that too, will ya?”

“I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord…you selfish ass.”

“Thanks for hearing me out,” Jude said with a smirk.

“I love you, kiddo. Besides, it’s my job. I’m not a saint. Not yet. Just remember me when you’re casting your vote. Go and be safe, and careful. I’ll be praying for you.”

“Like it’s gonna do any good.”

“Can’t hurt. The Big Guy just got back from Bermuda, I hear, so odds are he’s in a good mood.”

Jude rolled his eyes. “See you around, Father.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later,” Eliam said as Jude left.

7

HOURS SPENT IN TRAFFIC
behind cutthroat drivers wasn’t much of a welcome, but Rachel expected nothing less.

“I hate this place,” she exhaled. The long car ride was wearing on her. The panic seemed to deepen the more she glanced at the wallet-sized photo of her father she kept next to the copy of her police certification. Her visor just didn’t look right without the clutter. Truth be told, it made her feel important. Nothing would change the fact that it was downright cheesy to have a piece of paper that said you finally made homicide cornering a picture of your dad. She was pathetic. She knew it too, and maybe that was worse.

She’d strived to make him proud since before she even knew what Dad wanted from her life. Rachel loved the man, probably more than her mother ever could, and he taught her everything from analyzing sociopaths to plotting out murder schemes with multiple suspects—the real gritty stuff. Getting inside a sick puppy’s mind, that’s where Rachel had thrived ever since the sixth grade, and that’s where she lingered. The few high school peers she remained in contact with thought she was nuts for following in his footsteps. They said she’d die just like him if she weren’t careful. Of course, most of them had become smokers, heavy drinkers, or complacent stay-at-home wives she could only stomach for so long.

Still, the idea of returning here, to the place that had taken her father so many years ago, made her stomach coil into lead. She’d psyched herself out several times, even planned trips with specific routes that would bring her back here, but somehow those trips had never happened.

Rachel stared down at the ring on her finger, the ring her ex-fiancé, a man she didn’t even want to name—not even in her thoughts—had given her as a token of his love. But it was a cheap, noncommittal love that had ultimately resulted in calling off their engagement. She aborted the whole thing after catching him in bed with his ex. But it wasn’t like she was going to give up the three carat diamond just because he’d had a change of heart. She’d put too much into the relationship to be left with nothing.

After a dozen nervous blinks, Rachel’s mind returned to the present, to the city. This bastard child her father seemed to protect more than he’d ever protected her. She remained haunted by some of those terrible memories. It was true, though, that she never had the guts to ask him which he loved more. His actions spoke rather loudly in lieu of meaningless words. Long nights spent in his cruiser, days like eternity used up in meetings and courtrooms opposing low-lives he’d put behind bars time and time again.

Her mother was strong in spite of it all, strong enough to survive a man who may have loved her with young passion once upon a time but who eventually died in the arms of lonely street corners. Rachel’s mom and dad had never resorted to courtroom wars as a means of solving their struggles or ending the marriage altogether. To them, it had been best just to separate for a time. But even back then Rachel wasn’t naïve enough to think her father would ever really come back.

Her eyes fell back into tired, dreary focus. She fought the invasive hues of light that pierced her windshield. The afternoon sun added to the misery of rush-hour traffic. But it was an emergency that brought her back, however reluctantly, to a city at war with itself. In her eight years as a detective, she’d never encountered anything like what Mike Harrison had described to her on the phone. And he’d forwarded a digital image to her cell to convince her he wasn’t bluffing. For an old friend of her father’s, she had to at least hear him out.

She fought to keep sweaty strands of hair away from her face during the drive, and it was easy when traffic was smooth, but the last few hours she’d been sandwiched between taxis, SUVs, and Volvos. Her crappy, rusty Civic didn’t have a prayer.

“Relax, Rachel. You’re almost there. Just a few more exits.” She knew a few more exits could mean another hour, especially when stuck behind a parade of gawkers hoping to catch a glimpse of human remains on the side of the highway.

“Why did you stay here, Dad?” she asked aloud. Normally, that thought always chose to hide in her brain, but today it wanted out. The incessant honking, the pig-headed drivers fighting for their status amidst highway division, the breeding filth of the streets—all of it becoming so relentless she wished she were numb. She never got it. Why would he sacrifice his marriage, the affection of his daughter, for a city with no moral code?