Page 64 of Tortured Eyes
Twenty-Four
Iturn around and I’m immediately arrested by the sight of the priest. His eyes. They pierce through all of my armour, and I’m suddenly terrified I’ll never be able to lie to him.
I’m locked in a trance for a moment before his eyebrows lift and his head tilts a fraction, waiting for my answer.
“Um, yes. Yes. Please.”
His warm smile makes him look as open and trusting as any good priest should be, and I feel myself taking a step in the direction he’s indicating. We both take a seat on the first pew, but instead of facing me, he turns his body to the crucifix dominating the end of the church, as if he’s checking in with the Lord above before pressing me further.
The natural pause gives me the time I need to gather myself and find the composure to seek the answers I want. God, if I acted like this in any other situation when meeting a witness, I wouldn’t last ten seconds.
“It’s a beautiful church. I admit I’ve not stepped inside of one in a few years now.” The honesty in that sentence shocks me. It’s like stepping inside the church has rendered me useless.
“You lost a loved one?”
“How did you know?” I want to see his eyes as I question him, but he’s keeping a professional distance between us by directing his gaze forward.
“It’s common. Many people find it hard to continue to put their faith in God after they’ve suffered loss. Everyone has their own timetable of grief to go through.” He finally twists to face me, and I feel the weight of those words all the more. Am I still grieving? My thoughts drift to my father again, to the things Logan told me about him.
“There's no limit to how long or short the time should be. It’s not a competition. Just know that He’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Father Cleary smiles again and then moves to stand. I give myself a mental kick and force my brain to focus on the objective here.
“I didn’t come here to grieve, or to find God.”
He pauses, standing over me for a moment as he considers my words. It’s now that I finally take him in. Tall, at just about six feet with a strong frame under dark robes. Blond, wavy hair cut short and tidy, and blue eyes that almost seem ethereal. I feel myself getting lost in him for a moment again, transfixed by his calm presence alone.
“And would you like to share why you’ve journeyed here?”
I blink at his words, pulling myself back to the reason I'm here. “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. I’m a little lost if I’m honest, Father. I was hoping you could guide me.” Again, I shock myself with the honesty of my words. The thought of seeking this man’s help in finding out anything to do with Logan for me to exact my revenge seems… wrong. Like I’ll become deserving of some special kind of punishment for even daring to involve a priest.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths. Proverbs…”
“Maybe we can skip the Lord part, and you can help straighten my path, Father?”
His lips waver a fraction as if he wants to smile but is keeping a professional front. “Why don’t you tell me where I fit into your troubles.” He takes a seat again, this time turning fully towards me.
“Logan Cane. He’s a person of interest in my… investigation.” I dig my badge from my pocket and show him my credentials. He glances at them before returning those unsettling eyes back to mine. He doesn’t say anything, simply waits, as if he knows I’m not telling him everything and is calling my bluff. He could teach Watts a thing or two about interview technique.
“Father, do you know Logan Cane?” I prompt.
“Yes, I know Mr Cane.”
“Can you tell me what you think of him?”
“It’s not my place to cast judgement on people within my church, Ms McCarthy.”
“So, you know of his reputation?”
“Again, I’m not sure what you’re asking of me and how it would pertain to your investigation?”
I run through the pros and cons of laying everything out, and to see how Father Cleary reacts to what I present him with—my own version of Logan Cane, but I’m not sure how that will give me the answers I’m looking for.
“Are you aware of Logan having a son? Or someone who shares your namesake who is close to him?”
“Surely, that sort of information would be available to the Chicago police department?” he asks, looking at me quizzically.
