Poughkeepsie (18 page)

Cole raised a shaking hand to his bottom lip and rubbed it. He took the steps quickly before she could do it again. Up close her skin was fiery red where the wax had hardened on it. She was in pain, and yet still she writhed and gyrated for him. She simply could not stop.

“Stop. Please stop.” Cole took the candle carefully out of her hand.

Suddenly Kyle was painfully present again, her eyes confused. A moment later embarrassment touched every inch of her beautiful body. The look on her face was so vivid he could almost hear her thoughts:
I repulse him.
Cole blew out the altar candle and set it on the floor. He gathered the white altar cloth around Kyle to cover her. She had so much shame.

As he tucked the cloth around her shoulders, Kyle tried again to please. She licked his neck.

“Kyle, please. Stop. This isn’t you. You aren’t even here anymore,” Cole said softly with his arms around her.

Kyle blinked and shook her head.
Shame. Again.

Then she fought him desperately—eyeing her scattered clothes and the door.

“You don’t have to do this for me. I don’t want a show.” Cole put his hands on her face and kissed her lips gently. For the first time.

Their separated souls rejoiced and found each other again. He lifted her off the altar and set her on her feet.

“Be
you
for me, Kyle. Be the Kyle you’re so very afraid of being. I’ll keep her safe.” Cole skimmed his lips along her cheek and looked at her hopefully.

Kyle gazed into his eyes and nodded solemnly. The moment seemed bigger than the two of them.

Cole asked permission. “Kyle McHugh, may I worship you?”

A tear fell from her eye as she whispered, “Yes.”

Cole took a step back and whipped the cloth off her shoulders. She was no vixen now. Kyle looked terrified. She clenched her fists, as if willing herself not to run. Cole turned and gathered her scattered clothes. He found her panties and took them to her, kneeling at her feet. Kyle looked puzzled, but as he worked the panties up her legs, she got it. Unlike all the other men, he was
dressing
her.

As Cole continued to adorn her, she made it easier. She moved her arms intuitively to help him as he gently put her bra back on and fumbled with the complicated front closure. He motioned for her to stop when she reached for her pants. He cradled the back of her head as he kissed her.

“I’m doing this,” he said.

They tackled her jeans next. They were rather tight, and the two laughed as he bounced her up and down to get her feet to the right places. He buttoned up her shirt, being careful not to touch her breasts. By the time he got to her feet, her toes were cold. Cole rubbed them and slid her socks on. Instead of adding her sneakers, Cole picked Kyle up and brought her to the first pew. He sat her there and lifted her feet to his lap. He rubbed them until they were warm.

That pew became a confessional. There, with a fully clothed, fully present Kyle, he left his plans for lifelong commitment to only the Church in a smoldering pile. This woman, this broken, brave, perfect woman was what he needed. They talked again—about funny parishioners and childhood stories. Anything they thought, they said.

He kissed Kyle, checking to see that her eyes stayed sure and real. They did. Instead of saint and sinner, they were man and woman now. When Cole finally tasted her skin, the flavor was honeysuckle. Heaven was not something he had to die to enjoy. Kyle was here now. She offered him more of her skin to taste as she unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it from his shoulders.

Right after that thought, his cell phone had rung. It was the tone Cole had set for Beckett.

Beckett.
As the rising sun began lighting the stained glass, sending shafts of color to dance with specks of dust in the air, the vow Cole had made came back to him. He felt like he was choking. With Kyle still in his arms, Cole was surrounded by the day he’d followed Beckett into the woods seven years ago.

Cole had lived in Beckett’s little branch of hell for a few months right after he’d aged out. He hated it, hated all the drugs and stupid, angry people, but he’d had no place to go. No one but Beckett to turn to. Maybe that was why he’d followed.

Hidden in the familiar woods, Cole watched as Beckett swaggered to the oak tree. He could only pray silently because his feet refused to move. He knew what was about to happen. His mind begged and gagged its way through the Our Father.

Our Father, Who art in heaven

Hallowed be Thy Name;

Thy kingdom come,

Thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.

“…You’re going to die like the gasping pussy you are because…”

Cole heard Beckett’s voice, and his bleary eyes opened for a moment to find Rick kneeling. He squeezed them shut and continued his silent prayer.

Give us this day our daily bread,

and forgive us our trespasses,

“you”

as we forgive those who trespass against us;

“touched”

and lead us not into temptation,

“my”

but deliver us from evil
…

“brothers.”

Amen.

With his
amen
came a single gunshot. Cole hadn’t stayed to see what happened after that.

As he’d fled the scene that day, in a car that smelled like incense and Taco Bell, Cole took his own vow of priesthood. He begged God for a chance to redeem Beckett and himself for Rick’s death.

When he’d hit the stoplight in front of the retirement community, Cole’s eyes fell on Our Lady of the River. The sun glistened on the stained glass, and he had his answer. He pulled in, went inside, and found Father Callahan. In confession he admitted what he’d just witnessed and asked for guidance. The elderly priest—perhaps because he was afraid to let Cole out of his sight—offered him a volunteer position as a live-in handyman.

Cole accepted on the spot, thrilled to have a new place to live and convinced the church walls were meant to be his home. Over time his handyman’s job turned into so much more. Father Callahan saw endless promise in his new apprentice, and after a lifetime in the church he liked to say he consulted the bishop on a “need to know” basis.

Cole had made this commitment to save Beckett from hell. So he had to keep it, no matter how endlessly his soul cried in the corner of the church, begging and reaching for Kyle. At that moment he’d built a wall between her soul and his. Confusion turned to anger, which turned to panic as Kyle tried desperately to bring him back, to reconnect.

“You told me
I
disappeared, now where have you gone?” she shrieked.

She tried to kiss the truth out of him, but he turned his head and held her at bay. She fell to her knees, but he just shook his head. His future was predetermined. Even if banishing this newborn love sliced his heart in half, it had to be done.

Kyle had swallowed her disappointment and, deeply wounded, fled from his sanctuary.

After reliving the memory, Cole found himself once again in the depths of post-Kyle despair when the church door creaked open. He turned to see Blake standing in the foyer. He was filthy, and one of his shirtsleeves seemed to be caked with blood.

Cole stood to go get the first aid kit, but Blake just nodded once in his brother’s direction. Then his eyes found the organ.

“Cole, I know I haven’t earned it, but would you mind very much if I tried the organ?” Blake’s voice filled the empty church.

Cole smiled sadly. “Of course, brother. It would be an honor to hear you play again.”

Cole’s despair settled into his bones. His crying soul now had the worst kind of company: another soul crying just as loud.

14

Too Much Dirty in Me

“Y
OU
C
AN
G
O
O
N
U
P
,” Cole said, his eyes following Blake’s to the loft. “I’m going to get a bandage for your arm, if that’s okay?”

Cole looked pointedly at Blake’s bloody shirtsleeve. Blake looked down and seemed surprised by the carnage there. Cole went to get supplies from his sleeping quarters. He texted Beckett as he walked:

He’s here. Arm is bleeding.

Beckett’s reply came as Cole opened his door:

He got a ta5t. playingh yet? Need me? Can com3e noqw

Cole grabbed a fresh T-shirt in case he could convince Blake to wear it.
If he doesn’t run
. He might very well run. Cole heard the organ gasp to life with a jangle of mismatched notes. It sounded like Blake was slapping the keys.

Crap
.

Cole updated Beckett:

Stay where u r. Not sure how this will go. He’s playing now.

Cole glanced at Beckett’s response:

Ave Fuckong Mariea?

Cole wondered how to put it:

No, just noise. Not music.

Beckett’s next message had no typos:

Shit

Cole ran until he reached the door to the sanctuary, but as he opened the door he tried to look unhurried. He walked calmly until he was out of sight, then took the spiral steps three at a time. The music sounded crazy. Crazy—as if Blake had never known how to create a coherent song on a musical instrument.

Maybe this Livia thing has finally broken him. A soul like Blake’s can’t make it in this world.

Cole had long had his doubts, so he also had plans. He was prepared to tell the authorities Blake had attacked him so they’d admit him to a psych ward. Blake had once had an array of medicines and doctor’s appointments, but a person needed a schedule for either of those things to do any good. These days Blake went where the wind took him. Cole watched as Blake tried to make his hands move the way they used to.
Maybe it’s been too long
.

As Blake reached for one of the highest keys, Cole noticed blood dripping from his arm. He stepped forward and put his hand on Blake’s shoulder. The first two manuals on the organ were covered in blood. Blake seemed oblivious. The rows of bloody keys reminded Cole of shark’s teeth.

“Brother, please let me dress your wound.” Cole tried not to sound angry or upset.

Blake gasped when he saw the mess. “Cole, I apologize.” He pulled off his shirt to mop up the offending blood. It had seeped between the keys.

Cole had no idea how to maintain an organ, let alone get blood out of it. He ignored his vibrating cell phone, sure it was Beckett wanting a progress report.

“Please, let me see your arm.”

Blake turned and held out his bleeding arm. Cole went to work wiping it clean.

“Chaos’ work?” he asked as the tattoo became visible. Cole waited for the answer, wanting to see how bad off Blake was at the moment.

“I left Livia in the woods, Cole. I need to remember that. All the time.” Blake finally met Cole’s eyes.

Now or never
.
Tonight’s the night.
Cole decided to break Blake right now.

He would get Blake the help he needed before he could dig himself in any deeper. He was only destined for more pain.

“Blake, Livia came to see me.” Cole smeared antibiotic cream over the tattoo.

Blake just stared with wide eyes. Apparently he’d never considered that Livia would be looking for him.

“Was she angry?”

What will set him off? The truth or a lie?
“She was wonderful and caring with my parishioners. She honestly wanted to find you. I’m not sure how angry she was in the woods, but she just seemed determined to locate you when I saw her.” Cole unwrapped the largest bandage he had.

Blake began wringing his hands. Cole felt his cell phone vibrate again. If he didn’t respond, Beckett would be here soon.

“She went to Beckett as well.” Cole started down the path of no return. Surely if Blake knew Livia and her sister had risked their lives to find him, the Sorry tattoo compounded with regret would drive him insane enough to be admitted.

Blake sat back on the organ bench and faced Cole, quiet as he absorbed the information about Livia.

“She went at night with her sister. Dentist had them cornered and was about to do his worst when one of Beckett’s employees saved them.” Cole added a grim overtone to his voice.

Blake looked like he might throw up. “Are they okay?” he whispered.

“Yes, they’re fine. Well, Livia had a little wound on her throat. It had stopped bleeding by the time she came to me.” Cole put his hand in his pocket. He texted Beckett without looking: