The Battle

11

With car keys in hand he walked down the driveway with Joanna’s library book under his arm. Looking at the Toyota there was someone clearly behind the wheel but the glare of the afternoon sun made it impossible to distinguish any specific features of the individual. Trying to keep the paranoid thoughts from creeping back into the forefront of his mind, he just kept walking to the car to get his errands underway.

The town looked the same as it always did. Everyone walking to the various stores that lined the main street waved at those driving by. Typical small town things that made it just like every other small town. Pulling into a parking spot Michael parked the car and walked into the library.

The slight stale musty smell of paper hit his nose as he entered the door. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the soothing low light of the library. He made his way to the front desk and laid the book on the table and waited for the librarian to offer help.

“How can I help you?” A young voice offered. Walking out from behind the counter was a young woman he hadn’t seen around town before. She was a brunette, with green eyes, and a pretty country girl face. She reminded him of when Joanna tried to go brunette. She looked good no matter what style or color her hair was. Isn’t funny how death adds beauty to everyday situations that are never really noticed any other time?

“I need to turn this book in that my wife checked out. I just located it.” Michael explained. Taking the book from the counter she walked to the desk, opened a slender file drawer, and started thumbing through the cards and picked out a small piece of card stock.

“Here it is. We’ve been looking for this book for almost five years. Thank you for bringing it back.” She said.

“I can imagine there are some fees that are owed.” Michael stated.

“Yes, actually there are, but if you can give me a good reason for not turning it in, then we can call it even.” She offered.

“Well, my wife checked it out and she was murdered.” Michael stated.

“Oh, my god. Sir I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I guess my humor was misplaced.” She stated becoming very formal in her dialog.

“I should say you are Miss. Graham. How dare you be so insensitive to Father Michael.” The older woman scolded as she walked around the counter butting the young woman out of the way. Taking the card from her hand the older woman checked in the book.

“No fees Father Michael.” She said with conviction.

“Mrs. Olson it’s alright. I know…” He started struggling to remember the young girl’s name.

“Miss. Graham.” The older woman said sternly.

“Right. I know Miss. Graham didn’t mean anything by it. What do I owe?” He asked. “Well, forty-five dollars Father.” Mrs. Olson stated. Opening his wallet he paid for the fees, and offered a soft forgiving smile to the obviously embarrassed Miss. Graham. “Is there anything else Father?” Mrs. Olson asked as she gave him his receipt.

“No, thank you. Have a nice day ladies.” Michael said. Opening the door the bright sunlight hit him in the face. Shielding his eyes he started walking back to his car. Before he had a chance to put the key into the door a dark blue Toyota drove by slowly, stopped behind his car for a few seconds and continued on. The only thing that Michael could make out was a white face wearing a black hoodie, and a pair of black sunglasses. He stood there for a few seconds before an idea struck him. He placed his keys back into his coat pocket and walked back to the library.

Sitting behind the counter was the pretty brunette who, undoubtedly, received an earful after he left. She was reading a magazine with her head in her hand.

“Excuse me Miss. Graham.” He whispered hoping not to startle her.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” She said with her eyes still on the magazine out of embarrassment.

“I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.” He offered. Looking up from her magazine she offered a sweet smile that made Michael smile back.

“What can I do for you father?” she asked.

“Please, it’s just Michael. No need for the Father part. I need to look at some newspapers from five years ago.” He explained.

“Ok, right this way.” She said as she stepped out from behind the desk and started towards the back of the building. After she found the proper reels for the time frame he was asking for, she loaded the machine for him and showed the scan operation and the printing action.

“Thank you Miss. Graham.” He said.

“No problem, and its Jolene by the way. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” She said and left him to find the prize he was looking for. He searched for September 18, 2009 the Rosh Hashanah holiday that was chosen for the opening of the new synagogue. The day his world ended. Finding the headline that he remembered so well he knew the trial was held only one year later due to the public outcry for justice.

He flipped forward to December 3, 2010, the sentence date and found the picture of Beau Rogers being led away while his hysterical mother was being comforted by some young man.

Zooming in on the photograph, Michael was able to get a clear picture of the face of the young man. Below the photo in the caption Michael read, “Mother of convicted killer being comforted by her remaining son.” Studying the photo Michael was sure that this was the driver of the Toyota that has been following him. He printed the picture, folded it carefully and placed it in his jacket pocket.

“All finished?” Jolene asked as he made his way to the counter. “Yes. I printed one copy.” He advised.

“Ok, that will be seventy-five cents please.” She stated. Digging into his pocket he pulled out the correct change and paid the fee.

“Thanks again for your help, and again I hope that you didn’t get into too much trouble.” He said.

“Nah, I didn’t but thank you. Again I’m sorry for being insensitive for your loss.” She offered her apology to him again.

“Thanks for all your help.” He said and made his way to the door.

“No problem I hope I can help you next time. I just have one question.” She said as he was turning the door knob to leave. He turned to face her half knowing what the question might be.

“You said to not call you Father. Does that mean that you are not a priest?” She asked. “Yes that is correct. I’m not a practicing priest anymore.” He said with a soft smile. “Oh. Maybe… you can tell me about it sometime.” She offered.

“I’d like that.” The words were out of his mouth and he couldn’t call them back. But in many ways he felt relief that he had the courage to say such a thing. It was only natural after all this time, right? He walked out the door got behind the wheel of his car and drove towards the church to speak to Joshua.

12

“Ah, Father Michael. It’s nice to see you, it’s been too long since you have been here.” The elderly Bishop carefully offered.

“Yes, your grace. It’s almost six months since I was last here.” Michael said.

“Have you any plans of returning?” The Bishop asked politely probing for information. “No your Grace. I have no plans as of yet.” Michael said with some discouragement. “Well all in your time, you’ll know when it’s right.” The Bishop said as he gave a reassuring pat on Michael’s shoulder, and walked to his own office.

Michael stood in front of the alter looking at looking at the white cere cloth. Standing there alone he couldn’t help but think about what a dog and pony show he used to participate in. The dressing up in bright costumes, and putting on a show for those who sin all week and get forgiven on Sunday to then sin again on Monday. Standing there the feelings of hypocrisy starting to ooze from his soul, he shook his head to clear away the thoughts of hate. He had come there to see Joshua, not to be reminded of how many pieces his faith lays in. He made his way to Joshua’s office and knocked on the door.

“Enter at your own risk.” Joshua called out. Michael walked into the office to see Joshua sitting at the computer working on what could only be a sermon.

“Well you know what my level of risk is these days.” Michael jested.

“Shut up and sit down. I’ll be done in a sec.” Joshua said. Michael did as he was directed and sat at Joshua’s desk in the chair that did not face his old desk that he spent many hours working at, once upon a time. I haven’t been in this room for six months. I can’t believe that everything is still the same. He said to himself.

“Everything’s still the same isn’t it?” Joshua asked as he turned away from his computer screen and faced Michael.

“Yep, it is.” Michael agreed.

“So what’s doin’?” Joshua asked. Michael pulled out the picture from his coat pocket and slid it to his friend. Opening the paper he sat with his mouth slightly agape.

“Why do you have this with you?” Joshua asked hoping that Michael was not fixating on the letter and praying that his friend was not allowing the negative feelings that have been long since put away to consume him again.

“This kid in the picture is the kid that is following me. Or at least I think is following me.” Michael said.

“Wait, what do you mean following you?” Joshua asked.

“What I mean is when you left there was a dark blue Toyota parked across the street, and when I went to the library there was a dark blue Toyota that was waiting for me to leave. Now I didn’t get a great look at the driver but I would bet it was the same car, and that it was this kid.” Michael said tapping the photograph.

“I think you should call him.” Joshua said.

“Maybe he’ll leave me alone?” Michael questioned.

“I think so, or at least maybe you could help him.” Joshua tried to reason him. “I’ll call him and tell him… I don’t know what.” Michael said.

“I hope you will be honest with the kid, and not too mean.” Joshua cautioned.

“I’ll try my best.” Michael said

13

Sitting there at the kitchen table with the letter in his left and hand, and the telephone in his right, Michael tried to think of something to say when and if he decided to make the telephone call. After all what do you say when you make this kind of call?

“Hi this is one of the many husbands of the women your brother killed, and in the process he almost killed me as well. What can I do to help you? Since my wife is dead, I have lost my faith in God, and my schedule is wide open.” This was the best he could come up with. Shaking his head he laid both the phone and the letter on the table and took a deep breath. Deciding it was useless to make the call now, he got up from the table and went to the refrigerator for a coke to make a drink. With the bottle of Jack Daniels in his grasp he replaced it on the counter thinking of his promise that he made to Joshua. Cracking open the coke can he took a refreshing drink and started up the stairs when there came a knock on the front door.

Crossing the living room he hesitated answering the door. The knocking came again more insistent this time. Placing the security chain on the door, he opened it ever so slightly. Peering out the crack Michael saw nothing for the first few seconds. Then he saw a man wearing a black hoodie.

“Can I help you?” Michael asked.

“I hope you can Father.” The voice said.

“I’m not a priest anymore.” Michael corrected. “Once a priest always a priest.” The voice stated.

In a rage Michael slammed the door and started walking up the stairs again when the knocking started. Deciding not to answer the door Michael went upstairs to take a nap completely ignoring the knocking at the door. Upstairs the knocking on the door was nothing more than a faint tapping that could be heard. Laying down on the bed, Michael paid no attention to the tapping and wanted nothing more than a restful sleep. Kicking off his shoes he rolled over on his side and closed his eyes.

He was aroused from his sleep by a rhythmic creaking noise from the room across the hall. He laid there trying to imagine what could be causing the sound. No ideas came into his mind. Whatever it was it was constant and steady. He quietly got up from the bed and tip-toed across the room in his socks to the closet. In the closet he retrieved a baseball bat. Joanna didn’t believe in guns so he never owned one while she was alive and he hadn’t thought of getting one now that she was gone. But now he wished he had.

Having a tight grip on the bat he walked step by careful step towards the still steady creaking sound. Stopping at the door he started to reach for the door handle but stopped short of touching it. What was he going to do when he went in? What was it he was expecting to find in there? What if it was just the wind? And just what was he going to do with the bat?

Understanding he had the advantage over whatever was in the room, he bent down and peered in through the keyhole. The room was no longer empty. Before he could get a good look at anything, something crossed in front of the door blocking his view. Half jumping and trying not to scream, Michael let out a sharp exhale. Someone wearing a bright white dress was standing in the room. Listening he could hear humming. Sweet humming. Lullaby humming. The figure moved away from the door and started pacing the room. Suddenly he could hear a baby fussing. Confused he put the bat down, stood up, took a deep breath and slowly turned the doorknob. Entering the room, the once empty space was now a nursery. Looking at the figure, Michael started crying seeing his wife comforting a fussing bundle in her arms. “This isn’t real.” He said out loud.

“Shh…” Joanna whispered. As she shushed Michael the bundle stopped fussing and fell silent. Joanna placed the bundle into the crib and started rocking the crib. Feeling like he was losing his mind Michael sat in the rocking chair which he found was the source of the constant steady creaking. Dear God she was rocking the baby. Crying and holding his head in his hands he continued to shake his head not believing what was happening.

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” He kept repeating.

“Michael it is real, we’re here right now.” Joanna soothed while she continued to rock the crib.

“No, you can’t be.” He said to her.

“Here sit back and hold the baby.” She offered. “No.” He declined.

“Michael hold our baby.” She said sternly.

“No.” He declined again. She leaned down in the crib and her once white dress became a dish water gray.

“Don’t you love us?” She asked as she stood up holding a screaming baby. Walking backwards to him the baby continued to scream.

“You’re NOT REAL!” Michael screamed at her.

Turning around her face was slack and sad with black tears running down her face. The blanket fell from the baby revealing a jar filled with a fetus in yellow chunky liquid that he could only guess with insane clarity was formaldehyde. She held the jar out for Michael to hold as she continued to walk towards him.

“NO!” Michael screamed, and couldn’t stop screaming at her. With a look of disappointment in her eyes she dropped the jar and it shattered on the floor. She continued to walk towards him stepping on the glass reaching out to him. He continued to scream until he thought he would blow out his lungs. There came the sound of a bell that broke her gaze away from Michael, and Michael fainted.