Page 1 of Of Sinners & Salvation
one
The Saint
The world comes crashing down around me.
Heath is dying. Mercy is gone. Angel can’t look at me.
I turn to the one person who has been there for me for the past three years and then some, steady as a father, comforting as a mother, helpful as a therapist, forgiving as a god.
He finds me on his porch in the morning, a lost lamb, rejected from the herd, seeking shelter.
“Come in.”
That’s all he says as he holds the door open. I clamber to my feet, my muscles stiff, my bones cracking under the weight of my guilt.
I step inside, cradling Dr. Jekyll and Mercy’s teddy bear in my arms.
“You’re here,” I say in relief.
“Yes,” says Dante, removing his glasses and rubbing the lenses with the hem of his athletic shirt. “Why are you here if you didn’t expect to find me?”
I take it as a good sign that they didn’t call a priest. That means he’s not dying. He’ll be okay. I tell myself that because I have to.
“I thought you might be at the hospital,” I mumble aloud.
He replaces his glasses and fixes that calming gaze on me. “Why would I be there?”
“Heath—” I break off, my throat closing like a fist. But only a pussy can’t get his words out. I have to be a man. That’s what my father would expect. A man communicates even whenit’s tough, provides for his family, leads by example. So I force the words through the iron knot clenched painfully around my voice box. “Heath hurt himself. It’s pretty bad.”
“How bad?” he asks, concern etching his brow.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “They didn’t let us see him last night. I went to Mercy’s, and—she’s gone.”
My words choke off again, and Father Salvatore draws me into an embrace. The cat doesn’t like that, and he squirms free and drops to the floor. Dante doesn’t let go. When I’ve gotten myself together, he releases me. “Where’s Mercy?”
I shake my head. “Someone took her.”
He draws a slow, deep breath. “Who would take Mercy?”
“I don’t know,” I say again. “The Skull and Crossbones, I think. She’s been poking around.”
His jaw tightens, but he just nods. “I know.”
“She thought their leader took Eternity.”
He nods. “Stay here today. Make yourself comfortable. You look like you could use some sleep. I’ll see what I can find out.”
When he’s gone, I lay down on the couch. Dr. Jekyll stalks over and meows at me, his tone accusatory and demanding. I throw an arm over my eyes and try to block out the world.
I can’t sleep, though.
Mercy is out there.
Gone like Eternity.
In two weeks or a month, will they draw a headless body from the river, say it’s her, and call it over? Case closed, boys guilty, girl gone.
We should have asked more questions, pushed harder for answers. We should have known it could happen again.
