Broken

1. Andrea

CHAPTER 1

Andrea

THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER…

Mr. Writer - Stereophonics

T hough my dad is demanding to know why I skipped school and that should have more of my focus, I’m utterly fixated on the news.

“Savio Martin, a Franco-Italian, Catholic priest serving as a missionary in Algeria, has been abducted by the terrorist organization Algerian Christian Revolutionaries.

“Unlike the Trappist monks of the Tibhirine, who were beheaded by the Islamic Salvation Front to oppose the presence of foreign ministries in the country, the group’s intent behind the abduction is unclear.

“In a nation ripped apart by civil unrest ? —”

The news reporter fades away to be replaced by monstrous image after monstrous image of the war-torn nation.

Rubble from destroyed buildings is strewn like Lego blocks on crater-laced roads. Women and children huddle in one another’s arms in search of succor and escape, weeping from agony, from despair, from terror. Dazed men, blank-eyed and desperate, scan for attackers, hyper-vigilant in the face of conflict.

Then, the priest himself, Father Savio Martin, comes into the frame. It’s a small photo of him, and for some reason, in black and white, but my major takeaway is that he’s cute. Which, to my teenage brain, makes it a tragedy that he’s a priest.

I blink at the TV screen, speculating if it’s a sin to drool over a holy man… then I kick myself because, duh.

Fourteen years of catechism have taught me that much.

Then, of course, I feel ashamed. Not only for the priest thing but for the fact all those people are suffering and I’m just thinking about a hot guy. But it’s more than his ‘hotness.’

His smile is kind.

His eyes are beautiful.

He’s beautiful. It’s like his soul is shining back at me.

“Do you think there’s any hope of his release being negotiated by the French government?”

I tug on my bottom lip as I switch my focus between the priest on the TV and the door, where I notice that a nurse is escorting one of the visitors out of the waiting room. I’ve been here longer than most but no doctor has come to explain to me how the boy’s doing.

And that’s exactly what he is—a boy.

After the fifteenth missed call from Dad, I know I need to woman up and answer.

“Where are you?”

I grimace at my dad’s bark. I hate when he’s mad at me. “I’m in the hospital.”

“You’re what ?” So, his bark is better than his shriek. “Which hospital? What’s wrong? Send me your location—I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Smiling sheepishly at the floor, feeling his love through the airwaves, I admit, “I’m fine. I swear. It isn’t me who’s… I was just walking to school, Dad. Same route as always. No difference. But you know where the Lithuanian deli is?—”

“On Burbank and Greens?”

“Yep. In the alley behind it, I saw a foot.”

“A foot?” he repeats, but he sounds like he’s wheezing. “It was attached to a leg, right?”

“Oh, yeah, but?—”

“Lead with that in the future, honey, please. My old ticker can’t take it. I never know with you. The weird stuff you come across...” I can almost see him shaking his head. But there’s no denying he’s right. I do notice more than most. “Okay, so, the foot. What about it?”

“There was a boy passed out in the alley,” I mumble. “He looked dead, Dad, but I couldn’t just leave him there, could I? Don’t you always tell me to help people?”

He blows out a breath. “You didn’t call the police?”

“No, I called an ambulance instead. He wasn’t dead. His skin was this weird shade of blue though. He was breathing but barely. I didn’t dare put him in the recovery position because the needle was stuck in his arm?—”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

“I couldn’t leave him when the ambulance showed up,” I wheedle. "He shouldn’t have to travel alone. What if he woke up and was frightened?—”

“Of course, that’s where your mind went,” he mutters.

“He looked really uncomfortable, Dad.”

“By the sounds of it, he was overdosing, honey.”

“Why do people want to feel that way?”

“Because they're seeking an escape.”

“I think I’d prefer not to escape and not turn blue in an alley.”

“Thank the Lord for that!”

The next time Judith Foster shoves weed in my face at one of her dumb parties and I feel the early crumbling of peer pressure, I’m going to tell her to go fuck herself.

“So, the hospital’s where you’ve been all morning?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me instead of letting me worry when the school called? You never skip class. Your attendance was 100%. That’s why Mrs. Jennings contacted me. She was worried too!”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I-I was trying to do the right thing."

He heaves another sigh. “How much longer do you think you’ll be there? I’m not needed on base for another couple hours so I’ll come sit with you?—”

“No, it’s okay. Honestly. I’ll wait around for an update and can probably make it into class this afternoon.”

“Only you, Andy,” he grumbles. “But fine. Just this once. What am I saying? Let’s not make a habit of finding strung-out junkies on the walk to school or I’m going to have to drive you myself.”

“You could buy me a car,” I insert slyly— the Lord loves a trier .

He snorts. “Yeah, not going to happen. If you’re sure you’re all right…”

“I’m fine. Just bored.”

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve a child with such a good heart, but can we try to temper it? What with that guy you brought home for grilled cheese sandwiches last month?—”

“Daddy, he was living in his car and hadn’t showered in a week!”

“—and that soup kitchen you spend every waking moment at… Baby, you have college to think about.”

“You taught me to be charitable,” is my stout retort.

“I know, but there’s charitable and then there’s you.” He huffs. “Okay, you stay there until lunch, but I want a message from you when you’re heading to school.”

“Will do.” I check out the time on the waiting room wall. “That gives me another forty-five minutes.”

“In the future, honey, tell me so I don’t worry. I’m getting used to you bringing home strays, but that doesn’t stop me from being concerned. Be safe, you hear?”

“Sure thing, Dad. See you later.”

“Love you.”

I grin at my knees. “Love you too.”

After disconnecting the call, it takes me a few moments to realize a doctor has taken a seat beside me in the waiting room, and though his scrubs are relatively clean, they’re wrinkled.

He has a blue cap on his head, made out of the same scrub material, and it’s wonky, as if he rubbed his hand over it and it resettled at the wrong angle. Elbows on his knees, shoulders dipped, he stares at the screen.

It’s such an informal pose that my heart pounds with unease. Without saying a word, I can sense his weariness.

“H-He didn’t make it, did he?”

“No.” The doctor releases a heavy sigh. “He didn’t. He was underweight and the strain on his heart was too much for it to withstand.”

Tears prick my eyes. “That... sucks.”

“It does. Did you know the boy?”

“No. I promise. If I knew him, I’d have told the receptionist. She didn’t believe me either?—”

He raises a hand. “It’s fine if you didn’t. I just thought that was why you stuck around. Not many would for a stranger.

“The police will want to talk to you about him.”

“I don’t know anything. I’m sorry he’s gone though,” I whisper mournfully.

Why did I find him if there was nothing that could be done to save him?

I want to believe we are set on the right path for a reason. I want, so badly, to hold that as the key tenet in my life, but I can’t in this instance.

What was the point of any of this?

Normally, I see someone in need, offer it to them, and their life improves.

But not today.

Nervously, I whisper, “A-Are the police going to arrest me?”

“No, of course not. They just want to understand where you found the boy. He was very young. Too young to die like that.”

I dip my head between hunched shoulders. “I thought he was my age.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

The doctor’s chin tips up. “If you leave your address with the receptionist, they’ll be in touch.”

Nerves make my stomach churn. Sure, Dad knows where I’ve been, but I don’t need the cops showing up at my door… “I-I just wanted to help?—”

“You did your best.”

“I know you did your best too.”

“I hope I did him justice, but sometimes, it’s never enough.” He heaves an exhausted sigh as he gets to his feet, his hand coming down to rest on my shoulder. He squeezes tightly then mutters, “You have a good heart.”

Before I can reply, he wanders off, and I’m left staring at nothing.

Then the father’s face flashes on the TV screen once more, and I suddenly know what I want.

Once a Catholic, always a Catholic— I may not be as devout as my family wants me to be, but a church will always be a sanctuary of sorts.

Leaping to my feet, I skirt around the uncomfortable chairs I’ve been sitting on all morning and head for the reception desk. I write down the details the receptionist asks for, give her my home number, and, cringing, tell her my address.

Once that’s done, I leave the ER and find the main entrance of the hospital. My mom works here so I know where the chapel is.

When I finally reach it, I sigh with relief once I realize it’s empty. Making my way to the altar, I throw some coins in the box and light a votive. Then, I slink to the back pew and I text Dad:

Me: He died

Dad: I’m sorry, baby

Me: I’m just going to say a prayer for him in the chapel and then I’ll set off for school

It’s not a total lie. I don’t want to say a prayer, just wanted to light the candle, but Dad doesn’t like to think I’ve turned my back on my faith, so this will appease him.

Dad: You did a good thing.

Me: Remember that if the police come around tonight and ask me questions about the boy?

Dad: *rolls eyes* Will do. I’ll warn Mom.

Dad: Take care. Let me know when you’re in class.

Me: :*

As I hit send, a playful laugh echoes around the empty chamber.

My brow puckers at the sound, and I twist on the pew, on the hunt for the source.

You’re not supposed to giggle in church.

I guess it isn’t a law or anything, but it’s definitely not respectful.

Just like not perving on a priest is an unspoken rule too.

The giggle is followed by a moan, and now I wonder if someone’s in pain. When I look around the dimly lit chapel, I see nothing. No one.

A squeaking sound comes next. It’s followed up with a low grunt.

Then the confessional booth starts rocking.

This has to be a joke…

Only, it carries on, and my irritation swiftly morphs into anger.

I might have a slow-burn temper, but the fuse has been lit by the strangers’ lack of decency. Does no one have any respect nowadays?!

The urge to act is overwhelming.

Coughing and demanding they stop isn’t enough. I can’t just let them giggle and get excited over being caught.

They need to be punished.

I narrow my eyes at the confessional booth, which is still moving around like there’s a highly localized earthquake affecting it.

The solution hits me like God himself whispered it into my ear…

A short, sharp shock is what they need.

So, I grab my bag, hitch it on my shoulder, and prepare to leave, my intent to find the security guard who mans the doors and get him to do something.

Only, when I leave my pew, I see it.

It might as well scream at me, “Pull here.”

It’s stupid. I know it is. And, shit, I might get into massive trouble considering it’s 100% illegal, but my slow-to-rattle temper always did make me an idiot.

With a self-righteous sniff, I trigger the fire alarm, and when it blares out a warning and the sprinkler system pops on a few seconds later, my heart leaps into my throat as I think about how crazy I?—

Then, Giggler screams.

And not in an ‘I hit the big O’ kind of way.

I stop wondering if I’m crazy.

I just smile.