“Holy water?” For a shuddering moment, the figure of Damian dabbing Zack’s forehead filled Maggie with horror that Zack was being given last rites.
“He’s okay,” Kate said. “He’s still asleep. Look at the monitors.”
Maggie stared stupidly at them until her mind caught up. Then she snapped her head at Damian. “Please don’t do that,” she said. “We’re not religious.”
Before she could continue, Kate cut in. “That’s very nice of you, Damian. Thank you.” She put her arm around Maggie, giving her a squeeze to cool it.
Maggie said nothing, but she eyed Damian and the small vial with apprehension. Her disdain for all things religious was palpable. And religious people made her uncomfortable.
A nurse burst into the room. “Is everything all right in here?” She had heard the commotion.
“Yes, everything’s fine.”
The nurse studied everybody, then checked Zack and the monitors and IV and straightened out his covering as an awkward silence settled over the scene like a skim of ice. Breaking the silence, Kate asked the nurse if there was anything she could do to help.
“Actually, it would help if the next time you brought in a pair of sneakers.”
“Sneakers?” Maggie said.
“To protect his feet. God forbid, if his condition persists, his feet will contract. We exercise them, of course, but the shoes keep the toes from balling up.”
“But he’ll wake up, won’t he?” The syllables choked out of Maggie.
“I’m sure he will. It’s just a precautionary measure.”
Maggie nodded and gave the woman a toxic look to leave the room. She did, and a menacing silence resettled on their collective horror of Zack remaining in a state of indefinite unconsciousness, wearing Nikes to prevent his feet from curling into claws. After a spell, Anthony nodded to Geoff and Damian and announced they were going to leave.
“No offense,” Damian said, “but I’m wondering if first we could say a little prayer for Zack.”
Before Maggie could respond, Kate said, “I think that would be very nice.”
Maggie nodded. “Fine.” A little prayer wouldn’t hurt, she told herself. And it would make up for her overreaction.
“Thank you,” Damian said, then asked everyone to join hands around Zack’s bed.
The moment was awkward, and Maggie felt a tinge of discomfort, uncertain if it was guilt for her falling away from her Catholic upbringing or for betraying her conviction that religion was a sham.
“We join our hearts to thank You, Heavenly Father, for Zack’s salvation. He lies in a coma, and we pray that You show Your healing powers and restore him…”
While he continued, Maggie glanced around the room. Anthony and Geoff were standing with their eyes closed, hands joined to Kate, who also kept her eyes closed. As Maggie’s eyes came to rest on Zack, she wished Damian would wrap this up.
“We also pray that You protect his mother and other family members and friends and bring them comfort and hope as they wait and suffer in uncertainty.”
Despite herself, Maggie let out a whimper of despair.
“We know that Your Holy Spirit can work miracles and we ask that You restore Zack from his sleep to pursue the great plans You have for him. We ask in the name of Christ Jesus—”
Suddenly Maggie broke. “What miracles? There aren’t any. There is no God. Only dumb, stupid luck.” She was crying freely now.
Damian hesitated for a moment in shock. Then in a low voice he said, “You really can’t be certain of that.”
“Where was He for Jake, huh? I prayed with all my heart that God would protect him, and he was killed by two monsters. Where was God then?”
“Maybe for prayers to work you have to believe in them.”
“I did believe in them, and nobody answered them,” she sobbed.
“I have faith.”
“Well, I don’t.”
Kate tried to cut her off, but Maggie continued. “If prayers worked, every coma patient in the world would wake up. Every cancer patient would heal. Every cripple would walk.”
“God’s healing is not always evident.”
Kate tried again to interrupt, but Maggie could not let go, her despair morphing into anger. “It’s never evident. Show me a real miracle—make Zack wake up—and I’ll believe.”
“There’s always hope,” said Damian.
“Bull.”
“Maggie, that’s enough!”
But she disregarded Kate. “If something good happens, people claim their prayer was answered. If something bad happens, it’s because your prayer wasn’t good enough. It’s all a sham. God’s a sham.”
A stunned silence fell over the room as the others gawked at Maggie and Damian. Finally Kate put her arm around Maggie.
Maggie looked up to see the dull hurt in Damian’s face and felt the malice drain from her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You meant well. I just…” But she could not finish her statement.
Damian smiled weakly. “I understand, and I’m sorry.”
Maggie lowered herself into the chair and put her face in her hands as the three visitors mumbled good-byes.
Damian put his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “He’ll wake up,” he said. “God has faith in him.”
Then he exited the room behind the others, his words echoing in Maggie’s head.
4
Roman Pace swallowed hard. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Would you care to confess your sins, my son?” said Father Timothy Callahan.
“I will if you assure me that what I confess will be held in strict confidence.”
“My son, confessional priests are bound by the holy sacrament of penance to be sworn to secrecy. Your sins are between you and God, and I am an intermediary who has no legal obligation to report anything beyond this confession booth.”
“You’re saying I have your word, because I don’t want any repercussions.”
“Yes, you have my word. Our vows are sacred. Feel free to make your confession, my son.”
There was a moment’s pause as the silence of the church filled the dim space. “I’m guilty of murder.”
“Of murder?”
“I killed nine people.”
“You killed nine people! Is that what you said?”
“Yes, Father, and I’m very sorry.”
“Was this in military combat?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Are you a policeman?”
“No.”
“So what were the circumstances?”
“Business.”
“Business?”
“I used to be a professional assassin.”
“A professional assassin?”
“Yes. I was a hit man for criminal organizations.”
A long pause filled both sides of the grate.
“Why did you kill these people?”
“For money.”
“This is very, very serious. Murder is a mortal sin.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Did you know the victims personally?”
“No.”
“Did it bother you to … to take their lives?”
“At the time, not really. I was doing a job.”
There was another long pause as the priest turned something over in his head. Then he said, “I assume you no longer need the money and feel contrite?”
“No, I still need money. It’s just that I’m concerned about, you know, what’s going to happen when I’m gone. To be perfectly frank, I had a mild heart attack a few months ago, and that made me think about dying—you know, about the afterlife and stuff. I just don’t want to go to hell, is all.”
“I see. Do you believe in hell?”
“I don’t really know, but if there is one, I don’t want to end up there.”
“Do you believe in God the Father Almighty?”
“I think so. And just in case there is a God and a heaven, I want to open up a clear path, if you know what I mean.”