Blasphemous Abandonment

What's a usual day in the life of Father Adam O'Brien. Well, not all that glitters is gold... yet.

5

Blasphemous Abandonment

Three days ago

Father O’Brien sits on the edge of his bed, a beaten up double that should have been replaced after its first seven years, twenty-five years ago. The joints in his knees crack and pop as his stands, resting both hands on his lower back. He sighs, stretching his back and closing his eyes. “Heavenly Father, thank you for blessing me with another day upon this Earth. Grant me the strength to get through this day, in your name I pray, amen.”

The father, having finished his prayer, limps toward the bathroom. He stands in front of the mirror, which had a large crack spidering from the corner up. Leaning on this sink with one hand, he rubs the stubble on his face. He opens the medicine cabinet and takes out his shave gel and lathers up his face. He pulls out a straight razor, the all silver handle glistening in the flickering overhead light. He scrapes against the grain, rinsing off the blade with each stroke in the murky water. One stroke. Two strokes. Three strokes. Slip. “Godda…” He catches himself, saying a small prayer of forgiveness. Looking in the mirror, the cut was small but bleeding pretty good. A drop plops into the sink. The father reaches for a washcloth and presses it against the cut, finishing the rest of his shave. He rinses his face, despite the burning sensation it gave him. He wipes down the cut with rubbing alcohol and applies a large bandage to it.

Father O’Brien walks back into his bedroom, stumbling over a pair of shoes but landing on the bed. He sighs, looking around the rickety room. Father, forgive me. I should be thankful for everything that I have but haven’t I earned better living conditions? He closes his eyes then smiles. “The Lord shall provide.” Father O’Brien stands and walks over the closet and puts on his cassock. The father walks back into the bathroom and looks in the mirror, adjusting his collar around the bandage. Satisfied, he applies his collarino and makes his way back into the bedroom. He grabs a small wooden box off his crooked nightstand, taking out a golden cross necklace and putting it on. As he clasps the necklace he walks through the house to the front door.

Father O’Brien walks outside, the sky cloudy and dark. He reaches back inside and grabs his umbrella, leaning on the doorframe. He locks the door and strolls down the cracking walkway to the sidewalk. It was four blocks to the church. He begins strolling down Holland Street, passing by the other run down houses on his block. The house next to his was boarded up, long abandoned, the yard disheveled and overgrown. The other houses were not in any better shape, with shattered windows and siding that just hung half way off the homes. One actually had an elderly woman who lived in it, the other occupied by various drug addicts and squatters.

As he approached the corner, Father O’Brien turns left onto Hellion Street. Hellion is busier than others, having a few stores and shops that the locals visit throughout the day. A few pedestrians say hello to the good father as they pass him by, most of the neighborhood  being of sound faith. One local man, his back hunched, stops the father.

“Oh, good morning father. It’s such a nice day today, though any day above ground is a blessing.” Says the elderly man, taking Father O’Brien’s hand in his. The old man’s hands are wrinkled and spotted, showcasing years of hard work. “The church looks about ready. Are you on your way there?”

“Yes, my dear man, I am. The work is nearly done and it should be ready in time to open the church’s doors this Sunday for mass.” The father smiles and takes the man’s hand. The old man was clearly losing sight in his eyes and balding, most of his ivory white hair missing. “Would you like me to say a prayer with you this day?”

The old man nods. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It never is.”

Father O’Brien turns the corner onto Grace Street, the church two blocks down but well within his line of sight. He walks down the street to the steps of the church, looking around for the foreman overlooking the project. Suddenly, Father O’Brien heard the man. His voice echoed from around the side of the building, barking orders at the other employees to stop procrastinating and to get back to work. The big man thunders back around from the side of the old Victorian-era church building.

“Randall!” Father O’Brien yells to the big man in jeans and a safety vest. Randall turns his head and smiles.

“Good morning Adam!” Randall calls, waving a beckoning hand to the father. The big man grabs Father O’Brien’s hand hand and in a firm handshake. “You really don’t have to keep checking up on us. I’ve got my crew busting a*s to finish this beauty up.” He cups his mouth. “Sorry, father. Excuse my language.”

“It’s quite alright,” Father O’Brien says with a chuckle, “Everyone let’s one slip from time to time. It’s the world we live in.”

“Yeah, the world isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Do you ever wonder if your God is satisfied with how His creation turned out?” Asks Randall. He wasn’t a religious man and made sure those that were knew it in some underhanded way. Father O’Brien tolerated ignorance to an extent, but having spent almost three weeks with Randall, he had grown tired of the blasphemous comments. Still, he kept his composure.

“I think God is omnipotent and all knowing and knew the state the world would become but it’s all part of His grand plan for humanity.” He states, albeit a little coldly.

“Whoa, easy there padre. I meant no disrespect.” Randall throws his hands up. “No reason to scorn me for having a different belief. I’m going to get back to work with the remodel. Why don’t you go get a coffee or something, a’ight?” Randall turns and makes his way to the church’s interior. A hard hat area on the site and somewhere Father O’Brien couldn’t go. Letting out another sigh, Father O’Brien turns away from his church and heads down Grace Street back towards Hellion.

Father O’Brien walks down Hellion and makes his way onto Shady Street. He passes by Louis’ Pizzeria. He recalls the first time he tried the establishments food and how it left an odd aftertaste that kept him away from it. He stops in next door at Kopi Cat’s Coffeehouse. The place didn’t offer the highly expensive and coveted coffee, but the pun was charming. He orders a large black coffee and strolls back outside and down the street. He takes a sip and burns his tongue. D****t. He lowers the coffee and looks upwards, feeling a drop of rain on his face. He opens the umbrella and continues on his way, the rain picking up quickly into a slight drizzle.

Father O’Brien continues down Shady Street, as the buildings open up into a more busy and prominent part of the lower east side of the city. He spies the police precinct not to far up the road. I wonder how Lucy is faring today? Perhaps a little better than myself. He thinks to himself. He manages the next few blocks just fine, sipping from his cooling coffee every so often. He makes his way across the short parking lot and into the front doors of the building. The place was fairly busy, with criminals sitting beside desks and some still being wrestled by the officers for not cooperating.

“Can I help you, sir?” The woman at the front desk asks, breaking through his absentminded staring and drawing his attention.

“Oh, um, yes ma’am. I’m looking for a detective. Lucy Deville.” The woman looks at him in disgust.

“Is this some kind of a joke? Who do you think you…” She stops, examining his outfit a little closer. “Oh, I’m sorry for my outburst. Are you a friend of Lucy’s?”

“Yes ma’am, an old friend. Is something the matter?” He asks, concern filling his voice.

“You really have no idea, do you? Lucy was attempting to arrest a murderer four days ago and was shot in the line of duty. She’s currently at Saint Mary’s Hospital downtown in critical condition and in a coma.”

“Oh, yes, I had no idea.” Father O’Brien looks down. “I thank you for your time. I may try and go visit her this evening.” He turns and exits the building.The rain was coming down harder than before. Yet another sigh escapes his lips, as he opens his umbrella and starts heading home.

Father O’Brien exits The Farmhouse, a twenty-four hour breakfast joint and one of his favorite places to stop in and eat at, even in the late afternoon. The service wasn’t always the greatest but the food was cooked to perfection and came in large portions. Even on the most trying of days, he could have his mood lifted by just stopping in. He makes his way quickly across the parking lot to his 1963 Chevy Nova station wagon, trying to avoid the rain. He kept it in somewhat decent condition, regardless of the little bit of rust around the rear fenders and peeling baby blue paint. He hops in the car and sits for a moment before starting the engine. I Should really go visit Lucy, at least say a prayer for her. She’s been through so much. He backs out of his parking space and makes his way onto the road, heading towards downtown.

Father O’Brien pulls into the parking garage, taking a ticket from the dispenser. He circles the garage and finds a space on the second floor, parking as close to the doors leading into the hospital’s rear corridor. He makes his way across the floor, nearly getting struck by a driver who was texting on her cell phone. He just smiles and waves, still making his way through the automated doors and down the hall. There was a young woman sitting at the associate’s desk. She was blond with blue eyes, looking over her nails with a file, inspecting the deep navy blue color for damages.

As Father O’Brien approaches the desk the young woman looks up, smacking her lips as she chews on a wad of gum. She looks him up and down, then points down the hall with her worn, pink, nail file. “The chapel is down the hall and to the left, sir.”

“No, child, I’m here for a patient. Her name is Lucy Deville. Could you tell me where she is, please?” He says with a pleasant smile, although the woman’s face shows distaste.

“Fine, let me check.” She says, with a huff, bringing her overly shadowed eyes back down on the computer monitor. She clacks at the keys slowly, trying not to break any of her nails. Her red lips twist up before opening them again. “I have a Lucrecia Deville, does that sound right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She’s in the ICU on floor six. Room six-seven-six. Elevators are that way, past the chapel.” She says, pointing back down the hall with her nail file before returning her eyes to her nails.

“Thanks.” Says Father O’Brien, making his way down the hall.

Father O’Brien stands outside the doorway of room six-seven-six, looking in. Lucy lies in her bed, motionless. A respirator tube is taped to her mouth and a blood bag running down into her arm. Fernando sat in the chair beside her bed, half nodding to sleep. Dr. Forrester approaches Father O’Brien and pats him on the shoulder.

“I hope you’re not here for last rites, Father. We think she’ll be okay.”

“Ahh, that’s good to hear. No, her and her mother used to come to my old church. I recently ran into her again and then heard the news. Shot by a criminal, was she?”

“Unfortunately, but it happens, just not ever to people close to us.” Dr. Forrester says, removing his hand.

“That it does. Though I bet it keeps you busy. Did she have surgery?”

“Scheduled for earlier today and went smoothly.”

“Well you do a good job.”

“Yeah, it is a good service I provide, but between you, me, and the man upstairs, I was always drawn in by the money. I’m making a mint.”

“Careful, don’t let Greed overtake your life, Doctor.”

“We all have our vices, Father. But our Lord is a merciful one.”

And sometimes a little unreasonable. I’m sorry Lord, forgive my blasphemous thoughts.

“Well father, I’ll be off,” Dr. Forrester says after waiting for a reply from Father O’Brien that never came, “Other patients to see. Stay as long as you like.”

Father O’Brien turns but Dr. Forrester was already gone. He walks into the room and occupies the other side of the bed, opposite of Fernando; who was snoring by this point. The father bows his head and begins a prayer. He sighs and reopens his eyes. “Poor child, you’re too young to be joining your mother just yet. I can still remember when she brought you to my church. I’ve asked the good Lord to help you heal quickly. The world is in a bad place and needs people like you. You are a good person.”

Fernando stirs and opens his eyes, seeing Father O’Brien standing over Lucy. He stands quickly. “Hey, you there. What are you doing here?”

The father jumps, startled by the sudden interruption. “Oh, please calm down,” He says, pleadingly, “I’m Father Adam O’Brien. I’m an old friend of Lucy’s. She used to come to my church a long time ago.”

“Oh, my apologies. I’m a little on edge. She’s my partner.” He sits back down.

“Oh, Lucy didn’t mention seeing anyone.” Fernando laughs, which also caught Father O’Brien off guard. “I’m sorry, I take it I’m mistaken?”

“Ha, yeah. I’m Detective Torre. She’s my partner at the precinct.” They both share a laugh for a minute. “Again, I’m sorry for snapping father.”

“The Lord is forgiving, and so am I. I’m not staying long. Just wanted to stop by for a moment.”

“Then thank you for showing up. I’m sure if she were awake, she’d thank you.”

“My pleasure. Take care, detective.” He pat Fernando on the shoulder and heads for the door. He turns back just once, smiles, and heads down the hall to the elevators.

Father O’Brien crosses the parking garage to his car. The lights flicker and the old pastor feels something in his lower as he reaches to unlock the door. He sits in the driver seat and adjusts it, putting the key in the ignition and turning it. The engine sputters and fails to turn over. He tries it again and again it sputters. Lord, please. He tries it for a third time, only for the engine to sputter and makes a grinding noise. Father O’Brien sighs heavily and bangs his hand on the steering wheel. He exits his car and heads back into the hospital, seeking out a phone to call for a tow.

Author's Note

Next chapter is up and ready for review. Note: This is the second draft, revised once to remove some content to be placed back in later.