Page 12 of The Holy Ghost
Massimoreached out and patted my knee. I wassitting on his bed, not eager to move at all. “Well,why don’t you do this old man a favor and tell me all about whatyou’ve up to? I’d rather hear about this new life you carved outfor yourself, Frankie, than listen to regret that doesn’t doanybody any good.”
Ismiled because that was solike Massimo. He forgave us all our mistakes. He always lookedtowards the positive and did his best to steer us away from thenegative. “I’d like that,” I told him. “I’d like that alot.”
Massimo sat upstraighter andadjusted hishospital bed to accommodate the both of us. As soon as I wasnestled up against him, like a father comforting his broken child,I started telling him everything. Even though I didn’t tell him thedetails of what I saw that night at the warehouse, I told him how Iran and how my life came to exist in Cedar Creek. I told him aboutRobbie, Mona, and Brighton. I told him how I dropped out ofcollege, but I was relatively happy with my life. And, the entiretime, he just listened. He listened as if he truly cared about mylife; about me.
When it washis turn, he told me all about the kids he’s been helping thesepast few years, about how he made the right choice to keep helpingthe kids of the neighborhood versus chemotreatment. He told me his last day was going to befilled with peace at knowing that he spent every day of his lifedoing what he loved best, loving us.
We went backand forth with all the things we needed to say to each other andall the new things we wantedto learn about each other. He even told me about the elaboratefuneral Luca had planned for him. He said that, even though hemight not be able to see the funeral, his spirit will be able tofeel it wherever he may be. That had brought on another bout oftears that he soothed away.
Eventually ourconversation led to the topic of Ciro, Phoenix, and Luca, and whenI told him that I really didn’t want to talk about them, he left mewith one piece of advice.
Holding me inhis arms, he said, “I’ve watchedthose young men turn into a force that strikes the fear of Godinto everyone they come across, Frankie. I’ve watched the light dieout and darkness take over in each one of them. However, no matterwhat they’ve done or how soulless they may seem, you are the onlything that still makes them human. You, my dear girl, are the onlychance at redemption they have, because you are the only thing onthis earth that those three men care about.” His arms tightenedaround me. “Don’t dismiss the power in that, Frankie. Treat it likethe fragile bomb is it. And recognize the magnitude of damage thatbomb can inflict.”
His words werecutting me to the bone. He was quietly scolding me, and he wasn’twrong. I knew leaving them would hurt them, and that’s why I didit. Iwanted them to hurt asmuch as they hurt me, but I never wanted to damage them.
“I still lovethem all,” I confessed.Phoenix included.
“I know, FrankieGirl,” he said, squeezing me. “I know.”
Chapter 7
Phoenix~
Ididn’t partake in this scene often,but I was feeling anxious and I found I didn’t care for thatparticular feeling. It’s been years since I got butterflies or feltany sort of nervousness, but I was feeling unsettled now, and Ineeded to ease the tension somehow.
“Just like old times,huh?” Ciro grinned as he meticulously set up his tray ofinstruments, studiously ignoring the muffled screams echoing offthe walls.
“It does bringback a certain feeling of nostalgia,” I replied, taking a seat atthe far end of the basement.
“It’s likebeing back in that warehouse,” he chuckled.
Ilet out a sigh, leaned back,and got comfortable. Well, as comfortable as anyone could get inthese goddamn metal chairs. “Who do we have here?” I asked, noddingtowards the poor sonofabitch tied to a chair just like mine. Onlymine was stationed comfortably outside the splatter zone. That poorfuck’s chair was positioned and bolted right over thedrain.
Ciro smiled,showing me all his teeth. “This stupid bastard is Robert Miller,”he answered.
My brows shotup in interest. “Robert Miller, huh?”
Ciroturnedback towards the man.He smiled as he cocked his head. “Yep. Mr. Robert Miller ofMeredith.” Meredith was a small outlining town about a half hourdrive from Morgan City.
“Nice town,” Icommented.
“Yeah,” Ciro agreed.“Not bad.”
I threw onefoot across myknee and gotsituated to watch the show. “And how did Mr. Robert Miller…uh, findhis way to Morgan City?”
I watched asCiro grabbed a handful of Robert Miller’s hair and yanked his headup, causing the man to scream louder behind the handkerchiefstuffed in his mouth. “Lastnight’s delivery,” Ciro said, his voice taking on a dark edge. “Didyou hear about it?”
Of course, Idid. Ciro knew it too, so this line of questioning was forentertainment purposes only. “Michael Morelli was caught trying toshort theshipment,” Ireplied.
“Yes. YoungMichael was caught trying to steala TEC-9. So, of course, he was questioned, and do you knowwhat we discovered?” You could almost hear the drumroll. I knewCiro had questioned the kid and had taken him to see Lucaafterwards. But Luca had given me the night off because he wantedme to get my shit together before he brought Frankie home, so Iwasn’t privy to the aftermath of Michael’s error in judgement. “Wefound out that there were extenuating circumstances behind youngMichael’s attempted theft.”
“Really?”
Cirofinally let go of RobertMiller’s hair, but instead of his head collapsing, his frantic blueeyes were wildly trying to get my attention. The scent of urine wasstrong, even from where I was sitting. “It seems that our youngMichael overheard his mother talking on the phone with her newboyfriend and, in exchange for drugs and money, she made theunfortunate decision to trade her daughter forthose…items.”
I could feelmy body tense, and now I knew why Ciro had specifically mentioned the warehouse when he talkedabout old times. I didn’t bother to hide the anger in my voice.“And how old is the daughter?”
Ciro’s voicewas ice, and that was a bad thing. Normally, Ciro was a hothead.Heoften erupted and it wasnever pretty. But when he was so angry that he couldn’t evenexpress it, that was never a good thing for his victim. But, then,calling Robert Miller a victim wasn’t entirely accurate. “Eight,”he bit out. “Eight fucking years old, Ghost.”
