All of the Lights (13 page)

Everything stops as my step-mom hovers behind the door, her movements creaking back and forth on the wooden floor. I can almost see her squinting her eyes, wondering if she's just seeing things or if the door actually moved.

"What was that?" Her soft Italian lilt flows through the door. "Nothing. Sorry. I thought I heard something, but it's fine. Where were we..."

Her voice trails off as the echo carries down the hallway and away from the door. Thank God. I slump against the floor and rub my eyes with both hands. Lucky as shit. That's what we are.

"What do we do now?" Bennett whispers.

"I have no idea," I whisper back. "You're a really shitty lookout, you know that?"

His eyes flash and he jabs an angry finger at me. "
You
got me off-task and you know it! I was perfectly fine standing guard until you put me to work!"

"Oh boo hoo," I whisper-snarl and gesture to the postcards littered across the desk. "Are you done?"

"No, Princess Bossy-Pants, I'm not."

I squeeze my eyes shut and do my best to blow out a controlled, restrained sigh. We need to get this under wraps because this could fly off the rails pretty quickly if I'm not careful. All it would take was one high-pitched squeak and my step-mom would have her ear to the door faster than you can say Chanel.

"Okay, okay," I sigh and sweep my long-discarded phone up from the my dad's desk. "Let's just get this finished."

Bennett gapes at me. "But...what about the monster? What if she never leaves?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

He shoots me one last dirty look before falling back into the task at hand and he slips his own phone out of his pocket so we can get the rest of the postcards documented before we can do anything else. In less than a few minutes, everything's all recorded as it should be. And luckily enough, in that same amount of time, those tell-tale footsteps bounce off the walls again and her voice floats around us.

"Yes, Carter," she says as she passes by the door. "I've got it. I'll on my way out right now."

Bennett turns to me with exaggerated disgust as he mouths, "
Carter?"

I just shrug and shake my head. Whoever she's talking to, that's the least of my worries right now. Once we hear the front door open and close, Bennett gestures with his head toward the safe.

"You wanna give it another shot?"

My eyes fall to that digital keypad again, studying it like I would a complex math problem. I
can
crack it. I know I can. I don't know why...I just know I can figure it out. Today is just not the day.

I have a lead. I have a name. That's what I came here for and after our little near-debacle with my step-mom, I think it's better to cut our losses now and tackle that safe some other time. I'll get another shot at it someday soon. That much I know. Right now, I need to follow the only trail I have.

And in turn, my eyes shift to the only ally I have.

 
"I think we need to go see about a priest."

THE HEAVY WOODEN doors of St. Anthony's loom in front of me and my steps slow, tripping me up just enough that I almost face plant right at the entrance. Luckily enough, Bennett grips my elbow to steady me and judging by the stern look he sends my way, I can't really blame this one on my knee. This is just good ol' fashioned nerves bringing me down.

It doesn't help that I just don't know what to do inside a parish—or any type of church for that matter. I guess it's not so much that I don't know what to do; I just don't feel comfortable doing it. The formality of the services, the singing, the standing and sitting, the awkward procession of bread and wine as somebody's body and blood...I don't really understand any of it.

Not to mention that this place is eerily quiet. Or the fact that every time I see a priest or a nun, I freeze. I have no idea what to do, to say, or how to act around them—I mean, how do you approach someone who's dedicated his or her entire life to an ideology you just can't wrap your head around? Nuns, especially, make me deeply uncomfortable—the wedding rings always creep me out. And that doesn't even touch the implication that being a priest in Boston has after all the incendiary press the church got in the Globe about fifteen years ago.

So it goes without saying that I'm out of my element here. Up a creek without a paddle. SOL. I'm in a church, so I probably shouldn't swear even in my thoughts.

At least I've got the miniscule advantage of having Bennett navigate through these murky waters for me. He leads me halfway up the center aisle and then turns a hard left until we reach a corridor. Part of me wants to cover my eyes to hide from all the murder paraphernalia hanging on the walls and painted on the stained glass windows. Just one more item to add to the list of things that make me feel like I don't belong.

You'd think I'd be used to that by now.

"Just keep it together, alright?" Bennett murmurs over his shoulder when he pulls me right up to a closed door.

The fact that Bennett feels more comfortable in this place than I do is really saying something.

He knocks briskly on the door and I swallow hard when I finally see the nameplate on the door.
This is good,
I tell myself.
He can help. He has answers...or at least some of them.
It would be nice if that little pep-talk actually worked.

We wait. And we wait. And we wait some more. Bennett knocks a few more times and after an impatient huff, he glances down one end of the hallway and then the other. He takes off to the right and it's all I can do to hustle after him to keep up. When he skids to a stop to hang a sharp left, I nearly slam right into his back.

"Oh hey!" he calls out to the elderly, gentle-looking nun headed right toward us. "Have you seen Father Lindsay anywhere?"

"Of course," she nods kindly, her movements stiff and stilted. "He was just headed out to bless the fight tonight. You just missed him."

Bennett clucks his teeth together and glances at me from over his shoulder. "It is too late to reach him? Can you call him? We just
really
need to talk to him. It's super important."

Her weathered, soft eyes widen and then she shifts those eyes to me, pinning me down. For a moment, I wonder what she's seen, the stories she's heard, the people she's come across and it feels like she can see right through me. All my failures, all my insecurities, all my fears, all my determination to finally,
finally,
do the right thing—it's like she knows it all just by looking at me. It's unsettling and creepy and yet, I'm still here, frozen by her wordless observation.

"Oh my," she murmurs softly and rests a gnarled hand on Bennett's arm. "It sounds urgent. Of course I'll call him right away."

She turns on her heel almost immediately and moves pretty impressively now that her mission is clear. Before long, a back door somewhere opens and closes and then a stocky man dressed in black and a white collar with thinning, curly hair steps into the hallway. He waves lightly to the nun as his gaze sweeps over Bennett and me to survey the situation he's walked into. And then his eyes slam into me again.

He seems to freeze right where he stands with his hand awkwardly outstretched in a wave. His lips part and snap shut. One foot shuffles forward then back again in a strained dance as his forehead creases into a deep, disturbed line.

"Hey Father," Bennett starts with an easy wave, but not before exchanging a confused glance with me. "My name's Bennett Kelly. You probably don't remember me, but I used to come here with my parents when I was a kid," he gestures to me, ignoring the way Father Lindsay openly stares, "and this is Rae Moretti. We were just wondering if we could have a moment of your time."

Father Lindsay blinks at Bennett and then shakes himself out of it. He rubs his jaw in thought, wincing for just a second before shuffling backward a little. He nods, but it doesn't seem too convincing.

"Alright," he allows gruffly and the odd mixture of Irish and Boston accents in his voice catches me off-guard. "I'd be happy to speak to yah, but I don't have much time. Maybe if—"

"We just need a minute," I cut in gently and I don't miss the way his eyes fly to my face at the sound of my voice. "I know you have somewhere you need to be, but we really need to talk to you."

I hesitate just long enough to make sure he's really going to stay put. Then I jump back into it as I slip my phone out of my purse and open up my photos.

"I was hoping you could tell us what this means."

He reaches out mechanically to take the phone from me and I gesture to a picture of one of the postcards with his name on it. Father Lindsay's eyes crinkle as he squints to get a better look at the screen and then everything shifts on a dime. His eyes widen, his lips part, and all the blood seems to drain out of his face at once.

"Where did you find this?" he whispers, his eyes never leaving my screen as he speaks.

"Does it matter?" I frown.

His eyes snap up to mine. "Yah. It matters. It matters very much."

Bennett and I turn to look at each other at the same time and he just shrugs. I guess that's all the permission I need.

"My dad had them."

I don't see the need to elaborate who my dad is—everyone knows who my dad is. But that also doesn't seem to help Father Lindsay feel the need to open up any further because he abruptly thrusts my phone back at me.

"I..." he starts and runs a hand through his curly hair. The other hand supports his weight against the wall.

"How do you know my dad?" I press, my eyes narrowing just enough to let him know I'm not leaving here without a fight. "Why would he have mail addressed to you?"

Father Lindsay swallows hard. "How...how many of those do you have?"

"I don't know," I just lift a shoulder. "Fifty. Probably more. I haven't gotten a chance to count them all yet."

I haven't really gotten a chance to do much of anything with them yet, but he doesn't need to know that. He nods tightly and then suddenly he's got his back to us with both hands on his hips.

"How do you know my dad?" I ask again. He's just completely dodged answering me—aren't priests supposed to be pious and everything that goes along with it? And then another possibility creeps in. "Unless...you knew my mom?"

His shoulders tense and I have my answer. But, unfortunately for me, that's the only answer I'm going to get. A moment later, Father Lindsay whips around, the picture of calm and steady, and he flashes us an apologetic grin.

"I wish we could continue this discussion, but I'm late for an event. I really need to get going."

"But—" I try again, but Father Lindsay is already headed out the door. I guess my dad isn't the only one who's well-versed in deflection.

"I'm so sorry," he calls out to us as he pushes open the door with his hip. "We'll have to discuss this some other time."

And with that, he disappears. Just completely bails. No explanation. This is cowardly bullshit, especially from a priest. He's gone and he's taken all my answers with him.

"Well," Bennett muses next to me. "That was not how I expected this to go down."

"Yeah," I huff out a laugh, but my eyes still haven't left the door Father Lindsay vanished behind.

"So what do we do now?"

I blow out a deep breath and squint at the door in thought. Father Lindsay was clearly headed to Na Soilse for the fight, to
bless
the fight specifically, so he obviously knows the Callahans. Jack would probably have no trouble talking to Father Lindsay and if they're close enough that he would bless the fight, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't run away from Jack like he did to me.

I just don't want Jack Flynn anywhere near me or the information I've somehow stumbled on.

His voice floats across my mind and I shudder just at the thought.

"
You're gonna have to talk to the right people and get into the right places to find what you're lookin' for. You need me to help you do that and you know it..."

I do know it. I just don't like it.

Jack

The roar of the crowd buzzes in my ears. Sweat slides down my face, mixing with blood. Some of it's mine; some of it's not. Salt sears my tongue and I bite down on my mouth guard, desperate for a little control. My left hook swerves around, hitting only empty space.

This isn't the first time it's happened since I stepped inside the ring tonight and for the first time in a long time, I'm in some real trouble here.

My feet shuffle to the right, I keep my head down and protected, but that's still not enough. A quick jab to the face does nothing because he blocks it too easily. I'm off my game. Distracted and disoriented by too many hits in too short a time. He swings his arm around and pain splinters through my jaw, curving around my neck and enveloping me in a buzz-filled haze.

Digging myself out of this is going to be one hell of a hurdle.

Everyone's watching. Everyone's screaming. Everything's blurry. My opponent might as well have been anyone off the street—in the ring, the only real opponent you have is yourself. And right now, I'm sliding down a slippery slope right toward defeat.

Hook to the right. Miss. Upper-cut to the chin—direct hit. His head rears back, sending a string of spit and crimson spiking through the air. And just when I think I've finally come out on top, that I've finally gotten the upper hand, he slams a sick uppercut into my jaw, flailing me against the ropes like this is my first fight.