Saint (41 page)

“For now I’m only going to do pieces I can
write and research from—”

He stiffened, waiting for the inevitable.

“Well…with Bethy coming, I…” She swallowed
hard, unable to finish.

“I understand.”

“I wish you’d stop being so damned agreeable.
It’s irritating.”

“I want you to stay, you know that. Was I
this uncooperative when you met me?”

“Worse,” she replied, fingering her napkin.

“Want seconds?” he nodded to her empty
plate.

“No, I’ve been eating too much as it is. I’m
getting fat.”

“You’re not fat.”

“I feel fat.”

* * * * *

Maria was on the edge of sleep when she
felt the strangest sensation in her stomach. Almost like a fluttering.

She sat up in bed, waiting for it to come
again.

“What’s wrong?” Seth reached out to touch
her arm.

Nothing happened. “I—nothing. Just my
stomach rumbling, I guess.”

The sensation came again two days later. It
came and went so quickly she couldn’t be positive of where, exactly, it stemmed
from. But she didn’t have time to wonder over it for long. Joan arrived with
Bethy, having insisted Gabe wouldn’t be able to find the place again.

“Mommy!” Bethy jumped from Joan’s arms and
ran to her.

Maria grabbed her up, spinning around. “Ooh,
I missed you! Did you have a good time?”

“Yep. I got to ride a horse and I got a cowgirl
suit and Mr. Galen says dirty words.”

She arched an inquired eyebrow at the name
Galen. Gabe, Seth mouthed silently over Bethy’s head. Had she been so wrapped
up in her misery that she’d missed even the largest details?

“I see. We’ll have to have Joan do
something about that won’t we?” She glanced up in greeting as Joan approached
the steps.

“Mr. Galen knows a real angel,” Bethy
announced.

Seth leaned near Joan, asking low, “Am I
going to have to go out and buy a set of wings?”

“He doesn’t really know any angels,” Joan
told the five-year-old. “Mr. Galen was just pullin’ your leg.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Bethy,” Maria set her down and turned her
around to face Seth. “There’s someone I want you to meet. This is Mr. Harris.”

“Are you my new daddy? Joan said I’m
getting a new daddy.”

“I applied for the job, but—”

Bethy cut him off, uninterested in civilian
matters. “Joan says you’re a…a…what is it again?” Bethy frowned up at her hero,
whose every word seemed to be gospel, except when it didn’t suit her.

“Colonel.”

“Oh yeah. But I’m a general and that’s
bigger,” she informed Seth.

“Bethy, please don’t start that again.”
Maria knew her tone sounded tired but she couldn’t help it. “There aren’t going
to be any generals or colonels or any other military personnel in this house.”

“Mommy,” Bethy swung around, poking at her
stomach, “what happened to your tummy? It looks kinda like Mrs. Galen’s. She
has a baby in her belly. I got to feel it move.”

Maria’s shocked gaze collided with Seth’s.
How long had it been since she’d had a period? Dr. Travis said her system might
take some time to adjust, but… The look on his face said it was true. She
whirled and ran into the house, not stopping until she reached the upstairs
bedroom. Seth was right behind her.

“You knew!” she screamed at him as soon as
he entered the room. “I’m pregnant and you knew it all the time! That’s…that’s
why you insisted I marry you, isn’t it?”

“No,” he denied firmly.

“How did you know and I didn’t?”

“Francis found a pregnancy test at your
house. We assumed it was yours. I had no way of knowing it was Lolita’s. The
doctor ran a blood test at the hospital to be sure.”

“And nobody thought to tell me? You’ve all
known, you and the doctors and Gabe and—”

“Just myself and Dr. Travis, but don’t
blame him, I have a way of intimidating the most righteous of people. It was my
decision to keep it from you. You weren’t ready, Ria. You needed time to heal.
I was afraid it would be too much for you.”

She collapsed onto the bed, stunned.
Pregnant—and she hadn’t even had the slightest clue.

Seth knelt in front of her, taking her
shaking hands in his. “Ria, listen to me. I never meant to keep it from you,
but Jesus, I was afraid it would only make you retreat deeper into yourself.
You were in a place where hatred and fear breed resentment. I know I pushed
you. I know all you wanted was to bury your heart and soul so deep no one could
ever touch it again. And you have every right to feel that way, your faith in
humanity was ripped to shreds and your family torn apart. But even if I hadn’t
thought you carried my child, I would have moved heaven and earth to get to
you.”

He
had
moved the earth, she remembered.
The ground had trembled with his vengeance. “You should have told me,” she
whispered raggedly.

“I’m on my knees, Ria.” His voice was
frayed and hoarse. “I love you, and even if you can’t feel anything for me
aside from want or need, I’m begging you to try and feel something for the life
growing inside you.”

“You…you think I’d hurt my own child? After
all the death and destruction and…you think…” He couldn’t be that scared. He
couldn’t think she would reject an innocent baby enough to…

He shook his head in denial. “No. I don’t
know. But if you don’t care enough to live, really live for yourself, you can’t
nurture a child.” He pushed to his feet, plowing a shaky hand through his hair.
“It’s my fault. You tried to love me and I wouldn’t let you. I couldn’t say the
words before and now that I can you don’t want to hear them. I can’t blame you—I
led you to that place. I forced you to see the world through my eyes, dead
eyes. I was a fool to think spiritual resurrection could come so easily for you
but I had to try.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he
walked to the window and stared out.

He was right, she hadn’t wanted to hear the
words. Hadn’t wanted to see that he—a man who had lived so much of his life
within the bounds of violence and hatred—could heal. Because if he could begin
to live again after all he’d seen and done, what excuse did she have not to?

There was every reason to try. Seth. Bethy.
And now the unborn life inside her. A life that had been blessedly,
miraculously spared Nina Juarez’s sick torture, untouched by the evil that
sought to destroy the temple protecting it. Resurrection? No. More like a
cyclic reincarnation of sorts. Perhaps God had known she would need an inner
and outer source to sustain the shell she’d become until the healing had begun.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes and
burned down her throat to close it off. She tried to swallow the lump that
formed there but it wouldn’t budge. “Be careful what you wish for.” The words
came out shaky and uneven. “You might get it.”

Epilogue

Retired Colonel Seth Harris was presented
with a baby boy by his very irritated and exhausted wife after thirty-six hours
of grueling labor. She loved him, but made it plainly clear she was to be
informed of future children before the fact.

Technically, the saint doesn’t exist, at
least on paper. But he was nevertheless very real in the minds of the desperate
men and women, who, in their time of trial, thought death was release. His wife
would heal, though there would be times in the future when her tortured
thoughts would surface and he would glimpse the sadness and pain in her eyes.

The colonel’s step-daughter, General Bethany
Carvania, dubbed the boy Harris private first class. She would cut him some
slack for the moment, but sooner or later he would have to learn to salute his
betters, preferably sooner. The minute she was allowed to see the woman she
considered her mother, she informed the colonel’s wife that the colonel, like
Mr. Galen, said dirty words.

* * * * *

When Francis Vaducci found his way through
the light to the other side, there were no trumpets to herald his coming, no
pearly gates to swing open in welcome. He wandered through the mist, following
the faint sounds of laughter and strumming guitars. Under the colorful paper
lanterns ahead there were people milling about, talking and drinking and
dancing. White tables with gaily striped umbrellas surrounded the area. At one
of the tables sat a man with a deck of cards.

“How about a game?” the man asked as
Francis neared the table.

“Will?”

“Have a seat, Francis.” Will shoved back
the chair across from him with his foot. “Want a drink?”

“They let you drink here?” He couldn’t feel
the chair beneath him, but knew he was sitting. And he couldn’t feel the ever
present pain in his leg. There was no blood covering his body, no torn flesh
where the bullets had slammed into his chest.

A waiter appeared from nowhere and set a
glass before him. He took a sip of the drink. It didn’t taste like whiskey or
tequila, but it was satisfying just the same.

“You should’ve worn the gear, Francis. That
was cheating.”

Francis rolled his eyes. “This from the
expert. You should start a cheater’s anonymous.”

“That’s good,” Will laughed. “But it won’t
get you in.”

“What is this place, anyway?”

“Purgatory, my friend. Limbo. A way
station. Call it what you like, it’s all the same.”

“So all these people are waiting for
judgment?”

“No. They’re waiting for the cheaters, like
you. It wasn’t your time, Francis. Everything and everyone has a time. Too many
cheaters and the balance is thrown off.”

He definitely didn’t like where this was
going. “You’re not gonna send me back?”

“Tell you what,” Will said as he shuffled
and stacked the deck of cards on the table, “we’ll cut for it. High card.”

“You gotta be kidding. You cheat at cards,
just like you cheated Maria.”

“I didn’t cheat Maria, you did. Ah-ah,”
Will held up his hand as the biker/preacher’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Look
Francis, I don’t make the rules. But the rules say you can’t pass go and
collect your two hundred dollars unless those left behind who hold you bound
let go, yada, yada…”

“So, what, you want me to make like a
guardian angel or something and show up in one of Maria’s dreams to tell her
everything’s okay?”

“Not Maria. And no, you’re not allowed to
run around in people’s dreams.”

“Will, how did you get this job? You don’t
know squat. There wasn’t anybody else to give a—excuse my language—damn?”

“One Elliott Galen did.”

“Gabe?”

“Yeah, go figure.” Will shuffled the cards
again. “So you want to draw for it or what?”

“What the he—
heck
is Gabe holding me bound for?” He snatched another glass of the
satisfying liquid from a passing waiter and downed the contents.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” The cards were
slapped down on the table. “Cut. High card you get to pass go, low card you go
back.”

“Like it makes a difference,” Francis
muttered, cutting the deck, his card the ace of hearts.

“Well, would you look at that.” Will turned
up his card. “You really should have worn the suit, Francis. The blood clot
would have dissolved in its own time.”

“Dissolved,” he frowned, staring at the
spade in Will’s hand. “How would I have died, then?”

“Heart attack during sex. Yep, you were
gonna get it up one last time. Not the worst way to go, eh? This time you get
to be a woman. Cool, huh? But we’ll have to get you a new body, that one’s
pretty much shot to hell.”

He flipped the spaded ace off the table,
disgusted. “What ever happened to the old adage cheaters never win?”

“Grow up, Francis. That’s only in the
movies.”

* * * * *

The Spanish-style house nestled high in the
hills outside L.A. was overrun with uniformed cops and detectives. Each man
entering the underground tomb had to wear an oxygen mask, for the odor of death
was so overpowering it made the most seasoned officers ill.

The skeletal remains of Detective Jared
Dempsy were found neatly arranged in the sealed room beneath the elegant
fortress. His family was notified and he was given a memorial service by his
fellow officers.

Bits and pieces of yet other victims were
scattered about the dirt floor, as well. But it was doubtful they would all be
identified.

* * * * *

The DEA—still defending its position in the
handling of the Benito Juarez case to various other agencies, including the
Attorney General—finally got around to tracking down Maria Carvania, now Maria
Harris. Strangely enough, before they could pay her a visit, word trickled down
from the Pentagon that Mrs. Harris had already been debriefed and any agent
wishing to end his or her career by taking up the closed case should leave
their badge at the door.