Hours passed.
The distant cry of a fox made him look at the time. He’d been staring at his monitor all night and had written but a single paragraph. It was probably enough.
On behalf of St. Aloysius Catholic Church, I thank you for attending this press conference today. Bishop Ryan was a beloved figure in the Catholic Community. He was, as you know, brought into our diocese under the worst of circumstances. As a diocese, we forgot that while we have devoted our lives to God, we have also devoted our lives to His children. And that helping to bring the community closer to God requires that we step back and look at ourselves regularly. I say that “we” as a diocese forgot all this, but Bishop Ryan did not. He was as devoted as any man who ever put on a collar was to assuring that we hold ourselves to the standards expected of us.
It was five o’clock in the morning. Across town, James Lynch had just gone to bed.
Leo rubbed his temples, then leaned forward and continued to type.
As we break ground on our new beautiful church next month, we will dedicate the project to his memory. No man will deserve it more.
He stared at what he had written for a bit. Then he typed the last two words.
God Bl
He stopped. Then, slowly, and after contemplation, hit his backspace key evenly 6 times. He looked down, looked up again, and pecked out the last two words one letter at a time.
Thank you.
He checked his voicemail. The press conference on the back steps of City Hall wasn’t for several hours yet. This wasn’t business as usual. He had to get going. He needed to do more than make himself presentable for the cameras. He was to be sharing the stage with someone very important.
3. Potterford Memorial Medical Center
Jeremy Sokol was still unconscious. His nose, jaw, and cheek bone had been broken along with his left knee and several ribs. He also had two black eyes, a punctured lung, a variety of ugly bruises, and a concussion. He was in the ICU and only allowed three visitors at a time. Kelly, along with Traci and Rick, clung white-knuckled to Jeremy’s bed railing. Without prayer, there wasn’t much to do other than stare at the broken ash tray that used to be Jeremy’s face. Rick started errantly thumping the railing with the heel of his palm.
“Come on, man. Wake up. Wake up and tell us who did this. You can do it man. Wake up. Wake up and tell us who did this.”
The feeble mantra persisted quietly. The rock in Kelly’s throat started to expand. She became conscious of a faint tapping sound and then realized it was her tears falling on the edge of Jeremy’s pillow. It was all Traci could take. The whole situation was eclipsing her senses. She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly.
Too much. Too much.
She wasn’t built for this kind of reality. She had to do something to break it, anything to break it. She opened her eyes with a manic smile and did the first thing that came to mind.
“Hey, Jeremy! Look at this!”
The R.N. at the desk almost ruined an entire box of gauze with 22 ounces of spilled coffee. He’d not seen a patient get flashed before. Kelly, again, was not amused.
“What the hell is wrong with you Traci!?”
And Jeremy’s eyes twitched. Rick was the only one who saw it.
“Really, man? Is that what it took to wake you up? Traci’s knockers?”
The trio giggled with relief and exhaustion. Then Rick spoke.
“Can you hear me, man?”
Jeremy did what he could to nod.
“Do you remember getting beaten up?”
Again, a nod.
“Did you recognize who did it?”
Jeremy stared at Rick blankly for close to a minute. Then, with pain in his eyes, he rocked his head slowly from side to side…no.
Out in the waiting room, the wall-mounted lo-res TV was turned to the morning news. They had just finished stepping the greater Philadelphia area through a recipe for dill dip and were back to continuing coverage of Bishop Ryan’s murder.
Arthur was watching.
There was to be a press conference at 11:30 am. Among those speaking would be representatives from St. Aloysius, and the Philadelphia Archdiocese.
“Alrighty then.”
4. The Courtyard Outside Potterford City Hall
Philip looked down. He’d gotten something white and powdery on his shoe.
Where did that come from? Ain’t no white powder around here. Topiaries, cobblestone, some trees, reporters, cops. Oh, that’s right. My donut…I had a donut before…a good one. Anna Maria’s kicks ass.
Going through City Hall security put a quiver in Leo’s stomach. His last visit to a government building wasn’t particularly pleasant. The quiver elevated to a swirl as he looked past the guard and got a glimpse of the man he was instructed to meet. It was Archbishop Fellini of the Philadelphia Archdiocese, the man brought in specifically to clean up the mess of the past two years. Leo had spoken to him only three times prior. The first was during Leo’s official review of the diocese’s restructuring. The second was right before his grand jury testimony. The third was four hours ago. The Archbishop’s demeanor was notoriously, unnervingly pleasant. He made his reputation from an explosive temper that no one ever saw. Leo gathered his personal effects from the blue security bin and approached with as much fortitude as he could muster.
“Your Grace. Hello.”
“Yes, yes. yes. Hello, Father.”
Fellini clasped both of Father Pascucci’s hands in his own. They spoke in Italian.
“Did you make it in okay?”
“Yes. The Schuylkill Expressway was kind, surprisingly enough.”
“Were you able to get something to eat?”
“Yes, yes. I’m good. Have you managed any food?”
“Food, yes; sleep, no.”
“You’ll do fine. We’re all glad you’re at the helm for this Leonardo. I was asked to pass that on.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“I know it’s been a few hours since we spoke. You haven’t
