Chapter Twelve
Chapter
Twelve
Mark was washing up after one of his rare
dinners at home when his cell phone rang. He answered it and heard
a lightly accented male voice.
“Mark Webber? This is Karl Aachen, from the
Emergency Room at the Health Care Center. I’m trying to track down
a contact person for a recent admission, and he had a business card
from your Community Living facility in his wallet. This number was
given as the after-hours emergency contact.”
It wasn’t an unheard of call, but Mark’s
stomach tightened anyway. “Yes, that’s right. Who’s the patient? Is
he okay?”
“His name is Lucas Cain. He’s being assessed
right now. From what I know I’d say his condition is serious but
probably not life-threatening.”
Lucas Cain. Of course. “What happened to
him?”
“A fight, it looks like. The police are
involved, and they’re sorting out the details.”
A fight. Cain had been out of jail for less
than a week and he was already back to his old habits. He hadn’t
learned a thing from Jimmy’s death. “I see. Yes, he’s a resident of
the facility.” At least until his parole was violated by this
nonsense. “What do you need from me?”
“I was told that you’d probably want to come
down? Dr. Tyson said you take good care of your residents and
wouldn’t want the patient to be alone.”
Damn it, that was true. Mark had gone to the
hospital to sit with residents on several other occasions. He
didn’t do much of the church’s usual hospital work since the
patients most likely to want pastoral care in the wards tended to
be elderly and were too often uncomfortable with a gay priest, but
he’d always visited his residents. And he wouldn’t fall down on the
job now, as distasteful as it was.
“Fine. I’ll be there in an hour or so. I
should just check in at the front desk to see where he is?”
“Yes, that sounds good. Hopefully he’ll be
assessed by then and we’ll have him in a room.”
“He doesn’t have private insurance. So just a
ward, okay? Whatever the government pays for, but no extras.”
Karl Aachen didn’t seem impressed by Mark’s
priorities, but he said something in agreement and ended the call.
Mark set his phone on the counter and returned to the sink. But
instead of dropping his hands back into the soapy water, he stood
and looked out the window.
Lucas Cain was turning into a hell of a
nuisance. Mark had always tried to advocate for his residents
before, hoping to keep them out of trouble, but this time…he looked
down at the sink and smiled at the appropriateness. This time, he
was washing his hands of it. Cain was on his own.
But Mark would visit. He’d fulfill the
requirements of his office. He just wouldn’t work too hard at it.
So he finished the dishes, changed out of his comfortable sweat
pants back into black clothes and a clerical collar, and then
stopped on his way out the door. He walked into the living room
instead, a small, modestly furnished room that he hardly ever used.
There on the mantle was the last family picture they’d had taken,
the one where Jimmy was big and blustery and so very, very
alive.
No, Mark wasn’t going to make any special
effort to keep Jimmy’s killer from getting into trouble for doing
the exact same thing that had led to Jimmy’s death in the first
place. There was no way.
He had a short moment of doubt at the
hospital when he peeked through the curtain drawn around the bed
he’d been told Cain was in. The man in the bed was too small,
surely. Too innocent looking. Mark stepped forward and gazed down
at the bruised and battered face, and then the patient’s eyes
opened. Cold green.
“Cain,” Mark said. “Has the doctor seen you
yet?”
Cain shut his eyes again, then said, “Yes.
Downstairs.”
Of course. Cain had been admitted through the
emergency room and would have seen their doctors. “So? What did
they say?”
Cain didn’t seem impressed by Mark’s bedside
manner. Or maybe he was just tired. “They want me in overnight.
Hopefully out tomorrow.”
“You know this may result in a revocation of
your parole, don’t you? You were released under very strict
conditions, so fighting isn’t only a crime in the regular way, for
you—it’s also a violation of your parole.” It wasn’t as satisfying
as Mark had expected when he was able to say, “You may be getting
out of the hospital tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be a
free bird. You could be heading back to jail. And even if you
somehow squirm out of that, you’ll need to find somewhere else to
live. The halfway house has strict rules about fighting, and about
criminal behavior in general.”
There was no reaction. None of the whining
and excuse-making Mark had wanted to hear. Just stoic silence as
the man lay so quietly it seemed like he might be asleep. “Okay,”
Cain finally said without even opening his eyes. “I
understand.”
It was completely unsatisfying. Mark wanted
to shake Cain, wanted to squeeze him until some emotion leaked out.
He was facing a return to prison, and he didn’t seem to care. If
Cain didn’t hate being jailed, then he really hadn’t been punished
at all for Jimmy’s death. Mark wanted to punch something, or
someone. Instead, he pushed away from the metal bed rail. “Fine.
I’ll speak to Darren and see what he’s planning to do. He’ll let
you know.”
No response. Mark wished there was a door he
could slam instead of a flimsy curtain to muddle his way through.
Cain hadn’t learned a damn thing. He was just as selfish, just as
dangerous, as he’d always been.
Mark was heading down the wide staircase
leading to the front hospital doors when he heard his name spoken
by the man jogging up the stairs toward him. Jerked out of his
thoughts, Mark stared blankly for a moment before he recognized the
other man. “Constable Singh. Hi. You here for Lucas Cain?”
The officer nodded. “Quite a mess. I’m trying
to get it figured out, but he’s not cooperating.”
Mark snorted. “Did you really expect him to?
I mean, you’re going to get him sent back to prison, right? If you
charge him with assault, or whatever it is people get charged with
for fighting in public, that’ll violate his parole, right?”
Singh stared blankly at Mark. “Fighting?
Parole violation? Not unless you know something we don’t.” He
waited for Mark to supply extra information, but when Mark stayed
silent, the officer said, “Witnesses say it was a beating, not a
fight. Three guys found the victim in a park, in full view of
several cars, and started whaling on him. At first I was worried
that it was some sort of vigilante thing, people upset about him
being released so soon. But we had two people close enough to hear
them yelling homophobic slurs at him. This wasn’t a fight, Mark. It
was a hate crime.”
It took several heartbeats for that statement
to sink into Mark’s brain. Or rather, it took that long for the
statement to fight past the immediate and powerful defenses that
sprang up against it. Denials, refusals, justifications—Mark’s
constant companions ever since Cain’s release. He stared at the
police officer. “Three men? Homophobic slurs?”
“Apparently.” The officer shrugged. “I’d
never heard Cain was gay, to be honest. He has a history with
women. No long-term relationships, though. But really, none of his
friends are in anything long-term either. Hell, maybe they’re all
gay. A gang of gay thugs cruising through town, drinking and
fighting like good ol’ boys…” He stopped talking and smiled
apologetically. “Sorry if that’s in poor taste. It just kind of
amuses me.” His face grew serious. “Right up to the point when one
of them gets assaulted in broad daylight in a city park.” And then
his frown deepened. “But what are you doing here? Just here
visiting someone, or are you…you aren’t planning to do something
stupid, are you? You need to stay away from Lucas Cain.”
“I’ve already done something stupid,” Mark
said dully. The officer’s words were running through his brain.
Three men. Victim. Gay bashing. He couldn’t even try to pretend
that he wasn’t responsible, and if he accepted that, then he had to
see his actions for what they were. “Stupid, arrogant, hateful.
Sinful. I’ve already done it.”
Singh cocked his head to one side as if his
detective’s instinct worked best when his brain was slightly askew.
“Something criminal?” He sounded like he was just continuing a
casual conversation, but Mark knew the man was on the job.
“I have no idea. I don’t think so.” Mark
couldn’t worry about that, not right then. If he had broken the
laws of the land, he’d accept the consequences, but he was much
more concerned about the newfound clarity with which he realized
that he’d broken the laws of God. Repeatedly, casually,
gratuitously. His brain was spinning, his stomach was whirling. It
seemed impossible that all that tumult could occur without somehow
bursting out through his thin skin. And the officer was looking at
him strangely, but Mark knew that was because of the words he’d
said, not the guilt he was hiding. “I need to go,” he said. “I
didn’t…”
He’d been going to say that he hadn’t hurt
Cain, lying there in his hospital bed, but it wasn’t quite true.
Mark’s actions had put Cain in that bed, and he couldn’t let
himself deny that anymore. “Cain is safe. He’s recovering. If you
see him, could you tell him…tell him he can come back to the
halfway house. There was some confusion…I thought he was in a
fight, something he’d started…”
“Wait a second. Are you telling me Lucas Cain
is living in the halfway house you’re in charge of? Mark, that is a
terrible idea. Can’t you see that?”
“I can. Now. I…I won’t be in charge of it.
When he comes back. There’ll be someone else there.” Yes. That was
a good first step. Mark could do at least that much. “I’ll take
care of it.”
Singh looked skeptical, but nodded slowly.
“I’ll pass the message along. And I’ll speak to his parole officer
and make sure he understands that unless we uncover new facts we’re
treating Cain as a victim, not an offender.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t mention the ‘gay’
aspect. I don’t think…” No. Mark wouldn’t allow himself to talk
around this, looking for a way to make his guilt seem less. “I
think that’s my fault. Three men came to the house earlier, looking
for Cain, and I asked if one of them was his boyfriend. I implied
that Cain was gay. I’m…I’m very afraid that my saying that might
have caused all this.”
Singh was silent for a moment before saying,
“Seems likely.” He waited for a moment, letting Mark absorb the
reality of that statement, then said, “So you could describe the
three men? ’Cause our witnesses mostly saw them from the back, or
from a distance, and Cain isn’t saying anything.”
“I could,” Mark confirmed. “One of them was
named Sean. I think he’s the person Cain was living with when he
was first released.”
“Sean Gage,” Singh said, and there was clear
satisfaction in his voice. “Damn, though. He and Cain have been
tight since they were little kids.” And then, with a blessed sense
of mercy, he added, “Seems like it would take more than a few words
from a stranger to get between those two. And Cain moved out of the
house for some reason, right, even before you said what you
did?”
“Sean came by to invite Cain to move back,”
Mark forced himself to say. “It sounded like they’d had a little
fight, but Sean was ready to make it up. And I couldn’t stand the
thought of that, of Cain living happily in his little family while
my family is…” He stopped himself and took a deep breath that
shuddered through the tightened muscles of his chest. “Do you want
the descriptions now? Or can I speak to you tomorrow?”
“I’d like to get in to see Cain before the
ward shuts down for the night. If you’re available tomorrow, that
would be great.”
“You can reach me through the church.
Whenever you need me.”
Singh nodded and headed up the stairs and
Mark stood there alone, half-way down. He gripped the railing as if
it were the only thing keeping him upright. He had sinned, and not
just by lying to Cain’s friends. He’d been sinning since he first
heard of Cain’s release. He’d given in to anger. He’d judged his
fellow man. He’d been too arrogant to take the help the rector
offered him.
But he could no longer be so proud. He pulled
his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the time displayed
on its screen. Almost ten o’clock, and Terry usually went to bed
early. But Mark couldn’t wait. He found the familiar number and
listened to the phone ringing a few times before Terry’s familiar
voice answered.
“It’s Mark Webber, Father.” Mark tried to
gather his thoughts. “I need to speak to you. I’d like to make my
confession to you, if you have time.” Then he forced himself to
add, “And I think I need to talk to you about changing my work
assignment. I’ve made some mistakes. My judgment is…I’ve allowed
myself to make bad decisions.”
There was only a moment’s pause before Terry
said, “Come to the church, Mark. I’ll meet you in my office.”
“Thank you, Father.” Mark hung up the phone,
then let himself stand for a moment to gather his strength. He’d
taken a first step, but that was all it was. He needed to continue.
He had strayed from the path of righteousness, but he could still
return to it.
But he needed help. He had the sudden
chilling realization that Lucas Cain had probably never been given
any such assistance, had never had a guide to help him find the
right path in life. He hadn’t been as lucky as Mark was. The
thought made Mark speed up. By the time he reached his car, he was
almost running.