Page 66 of Tortured Eyes
He turns those eyes on me again. “Perhaps if you tell me why you’re really here, we might move forward?”
“I told you. I’m here about Logan. To find someone close to him by the name of Samuel. And to find anything more than what he’s shown me of himself. He tortured me in a particularly cruel way. He played me, and he hurt me, and he fucked me.”
I watch, expecting him to flinch at my crudeness, but there's still no outward sign from Father Cleary that any of this is either shocking or even news.
“And you’re struggling because you enjoyed it? Looking to reconcile the feelings you have for a seemingly bad man? Given your profession, of course.”
I stare, dumbfounded at his statement. As blunt as my words were, his are far more shocking given the subject at hand. For the first time, a flicker of something different flashes in his features. Arrogance maybe. Amusement at my predicament. “Come now, detective. You’re blushing.”
I turn away. Embarrassed. The vengeance and hatefulness I’ve been holding onto since escaping from Logan are no more than dust in the air around us, and I feel their loss. It's like they were keeping me upright, and without them to cling to, I can feel myself crumbling from the inside. All the pieces that Logan broke apart and I glued back together with the idea that I could find vengeance somehow, break once again.
“You’re not what I expected, Father.”
“You presumed I’d see the badge, tell you everything you thought you wanted to hear, and you'd be on your way?”
As I turn back to him, I can’t help but think he’s enjoying this. He’s very cleverly put me on the back foot about everything.
“You’re not shocked that I slept with Logan, even though I’m a cop?”
"He has a will of his own, as do we all. Logan undeniably chooses to cross boundaries. Rules are not his forte.” He moves to the left of where we are, his hands picking up a candle. “But unless I'm mistaken, I don’t believe it’s a crime to have a relationship with a police officer, detective."
I’m getting sick of his needling on this subject, and the fact that the peace and calm he radiated are waning makes suspicion grow in my gut. He moves to light another candle and place it accordingly.
“But what about you, Father? Do you follow the rules? Would anything shock you about Logan Cane?”
He smiles as if I’ve just asked him to conduct my wedding and is happy to oblige. He’s placating me for some reason, and he is hiding something about Logan. Why play this game, though? Each move I make towards the truth, or some semblance of it, he twists into another question or distortion of the answers I’m seeking.
The pause between us is heavy with anticipation. I want answers, and I’m starting to wonder why Father Samuel is being so careful. Still, he doesn't move from my stare. He just stands there, keeping those eyes centred on me.
The echo of the main door suddenly reverberates around the church and snaps our attention away from the verbal dual we’re engaged in. I don’t have time for interruptions. I reach for my badge, ready to tell whoever is coming that the Father is unavailable for anything other than answering me, but the harsh footsteps seem undeterred by my presence. They march quickly, and as soon as I step forward to look at who’s interrupted us, they stop dead.
“Logan,” I whisper under my breath.
All of the hate in me floods to the surface, blocking out the last threads of information I’ve been weaving together on him. But then we lock eyes, just for a moment, and the hate begins to dissolve into something else, something I haven't reconciled yet.
He continues his march over to us and stops in front of Father Cleary, blocking him from my view. “The fuck are you doing here?” he hisses at me. Everything about his stance, his posture, and his clenching fists looks set to attack. It throws my confidence for a second until I toss the feeling off with as much attitude as I can muster in this space. Fuck this shit. He’s not intimidating me.
“Looking for answers.” It’s the truth, but I’m hoping the vague reply will unearth some answers of my own.
Logan’s eyes cut to Father Cleary, and for a split second, I think I see fear in them. Or something close to it if that's possible. He steps towards me, enough to make me back up a few paces.
“You have no fucking right to be here,” Logan bellows, stepping closer still. His voice resonates around the old church, and it sounds as if he’s ready to bring down this whole building as punishment for my actions. "You want me to show you what this sort of crap gets you?"
“Logan!” The sudden reprimand from Father Cleary is clipped and efficient, changing everything about Logan’s demeanour. I watch in awe at the priest’s ability to cut through his tirade, especially when Logan takes a conciliatory step backwards as if calming himself. My eyes flip between the pair of them, my gut dropping as I suddenly see what I’ve been missing. Samuel.
Logan and Samuel—the priest.
“You can take that fucking sneer off your face, Red. You had one chance. You've blown it.” He inches forward again.
“Threaten all you like, Logan. You can’t touch me anymore.” I step forward, wanting to hit the guy and expel some of this anger physically.
Father Cleary cuts in towards Logan, pushing a barrier between us, one hand up almost in warning. “I think you should leave, Logan," he says, calm as the church around us. "Why don't you take Detective McCarthy with you?”
It’s Logan’s turn to smile as he turns away to leave. There's nothing warm about it. It's the one I remember, the one full of foreboding and chaos.
“Logan?" the priest drawls, disdain heavy. Logan’s slow spin is so smooth I notice the contoured lines of his body turning, regardless of his long coat. It's like he's been given a damn gift of perfect genes, had them tossed at him by the gods above us. Not that I'm thinking about it in this mood but… "Resolve this. I’m not playing mediator. Go get something to eat and answer her questions. Honestly.” His order is clear, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. But then I see the resignation in Logan’s face as he backs up a step and nods. It's small, but it's there. He’s listening to him.
Jesus Christ.
