Angel Among Us (7 page)

‘Oh, God,' Danny muttered.

‘I'll take you to the rectory,' Father Sojak decided. ‘You can stay in one of our guest bedrooms.'

Danny did not answer. Someone in the crowd had recognized him and a camera crew started sprinting toward the car. Danny shielded his face while the priest turned the car around in a cloud of dust and sped back toward town, leaving the cameraman covered in dirt. I peered out the back window and stuck my tongue out at the media pack, enjoying one of the perks of not being seen. I was certain we would be followed, but none of the news vans took chase. It did not take long for me to realize that we had another tail, however. Maybe they didn't care whether or not they were spotted, or maybe they were just lousy at it, but it was pretty obvious that Maggie and Calvano intended to follow Danny Gallagher wherever he went. They picked us up on the highway and followed us all the way through town. But when we reached the parking lot of St Raphael's, Maggie pulled their car behind a van where it would not be seen and stayed put. The priest was leading a still-silent Danny Gallagher inside the church, so I took the opportunity to see what Maggie and Calvano were up to.

They were arguing. I was astonished to find that Calvano wanted to go inside alone to talk to the priest. He usually depended on Maggie to take the lead in everything they did. But this time he was adamant. ‘Look, I don't want to offend you, but the dude is clearly uncomfortable around women,' he said. ‘You make him nervous.'

‘Gee,' Maggie said sarcastically. ‘I wonder why that is?'

‘Look, you have to respect his religion. Isn't it your religion, too?'

Maggie gave Calvano a look of disgust. ‘Fine. Go in and talk to the guy alone if you think it will get us anywhere. But steer away from Danny for now. I'll stay out here and wait to see if he leaves, just in case.'

‘Don't be mad at me. I just want to get another take on if he's hiding something,' Calvano said.

‘Oh, he's hiding something,' Maggie told him. She slumped back against the seat, pulled out her cellphone and began reading what I suspected was a string of e-mails from Gonzales. I had seldom seen her in such a bad mood and I knew the appearance of her ex-husband had everything to do with it. I was tempted to keep her company – after all, that's what invisible friends are for – but I was curious to watch Calvano in action.

I had never been a very good Catholic, not even when I was young and the ultimate honor had been to be chosen by the priests to serve as an altar boy at Christmas and Easter mass. I had always argued with my parents, kicking and screaming, in fact, as I was dragged from the car and forced to report for duty. Needless to say, I had never been chosen for important masses. Then again, I had never had to spend time alone with a priest, either, and maybe that was good. Our town had become fiercely divided on the topic of priests in recent years, with half of them – the Catholic half – vigorously defending the local fathers from speculation even as scandal gripped the church worldwide. The other half pretty much just assumed they were all perverts and kept their children as far away from them as possible. It was a sad state of affairs.

Calvano clearly weighed in with the pro-Catholic half. It was as if he pulled himself together and solidified somehow before he entered the church, his steps slowing as he reached the front doors. I slipped in behind him, curious to know what it felt like to be in St Raphael's again after so many years. I had been there a few times as a child and it was, by far, the most beautiful Catholic church in the county. A high dome soared above floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows and the floors were polished marble. The lighting was muted and red votive candles caused shadows to dance across the paneled walls. The sanctuary smelled like melting wax. There were no electric votives at St Raphael's. This was old-school Catholicism and most of the parishioners were pretty old-school themselves.

The church was empty except for one young Hispanic woman who sat in the front pew as her fingers flew over her rosary beads. If St Raphael was anything like the Catholic church my family attended on the other side of town, membership had soared in recent years, rising with the Mexican population.

Calvano dipped his fingers into the holy water that shimmered in a basin near the front door and automatically crossed himself, a gesture now found only among older church members. I figured he would head for the side door that led to a small courtyard and the rectory where the priests and nuns lived, but Calvano surprised me. He walked about halfway down the middle aisle, then knelt on one knee, crossed himself, rose, and entered one of the pews. He knelt again and began to pray.

I cannot actually read people's minds. I have had more success with memories. But I can often share in what people are feeling and I found the fallout from Calvano's prayers to be extraordinary. I was sitting in the row behind him when I felt a blanket of cool, comforting air settle in around me. I felt compelled to look up and, as I did so, the light from the votive candles seemed to dance across the jewel tones of the stained-glass windows, sending droplets of fiery red, golden yellow and sapphire blue spinning over the white marble floor. My whole being filled with a warm, comforting liquid, a feeling I had not experienced since I was a young child and my grandmother held me in her lap. I felt a glow somewhere deep inside me and my greatest fear – that I might never be able to leave this plane – disappeared under its power. It was as if infinite possibilities had been offered to me and all I had to do to obtain them was to believe. I was rocked by the sensation. I felt comforted and exalted and powerful all at the same time. I felt renewed and humbled and honored.

I do not think Calvano felt what I did. I think that only someone in my state of being could experience what I had. But I was deeply grateful to know that being the way I was, trapped between the living and the dead, in an existence which brought so much loneliness, also had its advantages.

Calvano finished his prayers and rose. Reluctantly I went with him. I'd felt a glimpse of something greater waiting for me one day. It made leaving behind what I had felt all that much harder, but what choice did I have? My afterlife is apparently among the living.

I knew the rectory at St Raphael's would be much the same as the one so familiar to me from attending St Michael's. I was right. Behind the church, surrounded by a parking lot, sprawled a low, unremarkable building that housed the living quarters of the priests and a handful of nuns who served the church. There was nothing colorful or stylish about their rooms. Yet somehow, there was a relief in the sparseness of the outdated furniture and bare walls. This was not a place of material excess.

An old priest was fast asleep in a leather armchair by a window, his snores filling a tiny library next to the kitchen. I looked around to see where everyone else had gone.

Calvano had been met by an older nun who was leading him back to Father Sojak with a friendliness that was a little too effusive to be genuine. The priest was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. The room was filled with melancholy. He did not look surprised to see Calvano. He merely shrugged and Calvano sat next to him with a poise I was not used to seeing in him.

‘Where's Danny?' Calvano asked.

The priest nodded toward the doorway. ‘He's putting his things away in his room. Can't you do something about the situation at his house? It's not good for him to stay here. He's afraid that his wife may try to come home and that he won't be there. Or that someone may call and ask for money for her and he won't be there to answer it.'

He wanted Calvano to control the media besieging Danny's farm. Calvano knew the task was impossible. ‘His home and cellphones are already being routed to the department in case someone calls about his wife, and I'll see if the commander will put a couple of patrol cars on the farm,' he promised. ‘But Father, are you sure you want to get involved?'

The priest understood the real meaning behind Calvano's words. He was warning him that Danny Gallagher could well be guilty. And if he was, that he could pull Father Sojak, or even all of St Raphael's, down with him.

Father Sojak glanced at the hallway and lowered his voice. ‘I won't pretend that Danny is a faithful member of this church. He only comes to make his wife happy. It's Arcelia that loves St Raphael's. She is the light of our lives here. But he is a good husband to her and I can assure you that he loves her deeply. He would never harm her. She is everything to him. His love for her has no limit, from what I can tell.'

There was a trace of regret in the priest's words, and I wondered how much Arcelia Gallagher had meant to him. As I speculated on their relationship, I realized that the tiny rectory did not have the same glorious feeling that the church itself had. There was human emotion at war within the rectory's walls. I could feel anxiousness flavoring the air around me and something else, too – it felt like an ocean of everything from hope and desire to sorrow, fear, love and utter devotion, all roiling together in such a way that I could not pinpoint who or where it was coming from.

Was it possible that I was simply picking up on what the people Father Sojak counseled had left behind? I did not think the turmoil came from him.

Someone passed by me in the hallway, startling me. She was nearly as quiet and invisible as I was. It was the old nun who had led Calvano to Father Sojak. She had returned to the hallway outside the kitchen to eavesdrop. She was clutching a rosary anxiously and smelled of baby powder. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she were ashamed of herself for spying but could not help herself.

Danny Gallagher was behind one of the doors that lined the hallway, but I did not think that the nun was concerned about him. Was it Father Sojak she worried for? No, her gaze did not linger on him. She seemed concerned with Calvano.

‘You'd be surprised at what a devoted husband can do,' Calvano told the priest. ‘Are you sure you really know Danny Gallagher?'

‘Not as well as you, apparently,' Father Sojak said calmly. Either he was a very smart man or he really did have powers beyond what most people can understand. He was staring at Calvano thoughtfully. ‘People can change, you know. I see it all the time. They come to me desperate to change and then they do. I know you have a history with him, but I have never known him to be anything but a devoted and loving husband.'

‘And yet, I can't shake the feeling that you are hiding something,' Calvano said. ‘I'm a good Catholic boy, father. I like priests. None of you are very good at hiding guilt.'

The priest turned his deep blue eyes toward Calvano. I felt a connection strengthen between them and I wondered if Father Sojak had the same power I did to rifle through, or at least feel, the memories that others held in their minds. Calvano was not intimidated. He was on familiar ground. But the nun hiding in the hallway grew visibly more nervous. Her hands were trembling and sweat gleamed on her forehead.

‘I assure you that I am telling you absolutely everything I know about Danny Gallagher,' the priest said firmly.

‘But not everything about Arcelia Gallagher, are you?' Calvano asked.

Father Sojak sat quietly, looking at his hands. They were long and graceful and I could understand why some might feel as if they had held the power to heal.

He remained mute, trying to decide how much he could trust Calvano. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence.

The nun was trembling. I moved closer to her, brushing up against her with my essence. She did not even notice.

‘Arcelia helps the newest immigrants,' Father Sojak said in a near whisper. ‘People from her country, fleeing the drug wars as she was forced to do. Her husband does not know about it. They come here, frightened and far from home, and she calms them. She understands what they are running away from and why they feel they must come here for a better life. Because of what she has been through, she speaks with conviction and from the heart. They respond to her. She has helped many families reunite and many lonely people find their way to a new beginning. I don't know what these people are going to do without her. We have nuns who understand what they are saying, but only Arcelia understands what they are feeling.'

‘And none of these people have their papers, do they?' Calvano asked, although he knew the answer already.

The priest shook his head.

‘I'm not with Immigration,' Calvano told him. ‘I don't care if they're here illegally or not. But I need to talk to them. They may have seen something. They may know something. You must understand how important this is?'

‘I don't think any of them will agree to talk to you,' the priest said. ‘I will do my best to convince them. But where they come from, the men who have badges are often the ones they fear the most. But I will see what I can do.'

‘What about you?' Calvano asked. ‘When is the last time you actually
saw
Arcelia Gallagher?'

‘She came here the day before she disappeared,' Father Sojak confessed. ‘She wanted to talk to one of our other parishioners. I did not know where he was and I could not help her. She left and I do not know where she went.'

‘How about if I talk to that parishioner?' Calvano asked.

‘I had not seen him in a week when she came looking for him and I still do not know where he is,' Father Sojak said firmly.

Calvano understood. The parishioner was an illegal immigrant and Father Sojak had no intention of telling Calvano where he might be. He rose to go. The nun, visibly relieved that the questioning was over, backed slowly down the hall. When she reached a smaller doorway at the other end of it, she glanced at it. I could feel her anxiousness radiating toward whatever was behind that door. Interesting.

Calvano and the priest were exchanging goodbyes and I could have followed the old nun as she scurried away down the corridor. But I was a much better detective than I had been when I was alive – and I knew that at least one clue as to where Arcelia Gallagher might be lay behind that door.