Chapter Three #2
“The Irish still confess everything to you, don’t they?” If one of them was connected to Imogen’s disappearance, they would have confessed to Gulliver. An icy chill spread through my body thinking about it. Mum expected the worst, but I still had hope.
“I made an oath, and I won’t break it.”
“An oath before God or before the Devaneys?”
Gulliver’s expression hardened. “I’m a man of God.”
“Then help me. Tell me if one of the mobsters confessed anything to you about Imogen! ”
“I’m bound by my oath, Aislinn. Some things are more important than earthly matters.”
“Even more important than family?”
“Even that,” he said. “You should go to bed now. Worship starts at nine.”
He got up, dismissing me. I rose from the bench and trudged into my room.
I had given Mum a quick call when I landed, and if money wasn’t an issue, I would have called her again just to hear her voice and feel a little closer to home.
Even an hour after sinking into the soft mattress, I was still wide awake.
I’d slept most of the flight, so landing in New York and being here with Uncle Gulliver now felt surreal.
A dream I wanted to wake up from as quickly as possible, hopefully before it turned into a nightmare.
Uncle Gulliver woke me way too early to get ready for worship.
I put on the only nice dress I’d packed, a white summer dress with buttons in the front.
It reached my knees and the sleeves touched my elbows—chaste enough for church.
According to Mum, it made me look like a good Catholic school girl.
I’d also packed a matching white cardigan but it was supposed to be sweltering today, obviously not a rare occurrence for early September.
The church was still empty when Gulliver led me inside twenty minutes before service.
He disappeared in the front to prepare everything.
I shivered from the cold. The day was supposed to be hot, about 32 degrees Celsius, but the comfortable warmth outside hadn’t penetrated the inside of the nave yet.
I chose to sit in one of the last pews, mainly to have a good vantage point of the congregation.
Sinking down onto the cold pew, I folded my hands on my lap.
I went to church every Sunday, always alone, because neither Mum nor Imogen cared for the Catholic church.
It calmed the raging flood inside of me.
I found great consolation at the idea that there was someone watching over me, especially when I’d been alone at home with Finn while Mum was at work and Imogen had run off again.
A new wave of anger at my sister bubbled up, but I shoved it down. I’d confront her soon enough.
Soon, the first churchgoers arrived, crossing themselves and nodding a welcome in my direction.
As expected, there was a ridiculously high number of broad-shouldered, scarred men with tattoos peeking out under their nice dress shirts.
They scanned me from head to toe as they passed, and their expressions weren’t fitting for church.
Either they were blatantly hostile—strangers obviously weren’t welcome—or leering.
I ignored their attention and pretended to be focused on the bible in my lap—until something in the atmosphere changed.
It was difficult to explain but I simply had to look.
Gulliver still welcomed every visitor, but his demeanor had changed—he became submissive. Up until this point, he’d invited everyone in, but now the man towering over him made my uncle appear like a guest in his own church, as if Gulliver had to ask for permission to be here at all.
I recognized the man from photos in the newspaper.
Lorcan Devaney talked to Gulliver with a benevolent smile that didn’t reach his cautious, dark eyes.
He was a tall, broad man who looked imposing in his charcoal suit, but would have generated the same respect if he’d been dressed in a tracksuit.
His complexion was sun-kissed, matching his dark brown hair.
The stubble on his chin and cheeks only added to his rugged charm.
Some people thought Irish blood meant red hair and freckles, but Irish came in many shapes and forms, and many dark haired folks had Celtic blood running through them.
If I recall the stories making the rounds at Merchant’s Arch correctly, he had just turned thirty recently and had a huge birthday bash in a pub in the Bronx.
His gaze scanned the pews, and I quickly ducked my head, focusing on the bible.
I could only hope his attention passed by me.
If he thought I was interested in him, he’d only get suspicious.
But if Imogen had really looked for sponsors in the wrong corners, then the Irish mob—specifically their clan chief, Devaney were the people she would have most likely approached.
Uncle Gulliver’s secrecy regarding the confessions he’d taken only fired up my suspicions.
After service, I stayed in my seat and watched Lorcan Devaney disappear into the confessional box.
I had to stifle a scoff. Did he really think confessing made things better?
Hopefully the sale of indulgences was a long abandoned practice in the Catholic church, but who could say when Gulliver bowed to the mob?
I got up and inconspicuously strolled closer to the confessional booth.
It was built from pine and stained a deep red with three doors, each topped by a little roof.
Lorcan had disappeared behind the door on the right.
There was room for another penitent behind the left door, but no one had gotten in line for confession.
Maybe it was an unwritten rule that no one was allowed near the confessional on the day that Lorcan confessed.
Gulliver’s place was in the middle. Maybe that was a good analogy for his position in life in general; he was caught between two stools.
Unfortunately, the door of the confessional swung open before I could get close enough to eavesdrop, and Lorcan stepped out.
My uncle left the confessional as well, and both men stared my way—Uncle Gulliver with a reprimanding expression but Lorcan’s gaze held an intense curiosity as he scanned my face.
Without taking his eyes off me, he asked in a deep voice, “Your niece, Priest?”
“Yes, please meet Aislinn Killeen.” He motioned me forward, and I reluctantly approached the two men, intimidated by the piercing stare of the mobster.
“She looks like your sister when she was young.”
Lorcan knew my mum? I sent Gulliver a questioning look but he ignored me.
“She inherited the looks but fortunately not the temper or sinful disposition.”
I scoffed. Uncle Gulliver hardly knew me.
Lorcan nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Killeen.” His deep drawl sent a—not entirely unpleasant—shiver down my spine.
He extended a big, strong hand covered in scars.
I hesitated briefly, and his mouth twitched with an expression I had trouble deciphering.
I had to look away from his too personal stare.
The moment my palm touched his, my pulse quickened and I tingled in the most confusing way. I quickly pulled back and gave him a small smile. “Aislinn will do.”
His lips twisted in what I thought was a smile, but it never came. “Aislinn then.”
Gulliver watched us like a hawk. Maybe he disapproved of me interacting with the mob as much as Mum did.
“Lorcan, we need to leave in five if we want to make the first meeting in Sodom,” a gorilla of a man said in a heavy Kerry accent. His blond hair was closely cropped and he was heavily muscled. I’d put him at around fifty.
Lorcan nodded and stepped back, allowing me to breathe more freely. His presence had been like a weight on my chest.
“Did you meet my sister?” I blurted before he had a chance to leave.
Ignoring Gulliver’s enraged expression, I looked only at Lorcan.
He briefly narrowed his eyes and he turned to Gulliver with a sharp smile that wasn’t friendly at all.
“It seems the Killeens are back to cause trouble in New York, hmm?”
Gulliver laughed nervously, his hand clutching the handle of the wooden door. “Not at all, not at all, Lorcan. My niece is here to receive moral guidance and refresh family bonds, nothing else.”
“Of course,” Lorcan drawled, and with a soul-searching look in my direction, he walked away. I had to fight the urge to lower my head.
The moment Gulliver and I were alone, he grabbed my arm. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I only asked about Imogen. That isn’t a crime, right?”
Gulliver shook his head, his face growing increasingly red. “Not a crime, but foolish. Now Lorcan knows you are looking for your sister.”
“I didn’t say I was looking for her. If he knows I’m looking for her, that means he knows she’s missing.”
Gulliver’s lips thinned. “Don’t get on Lorcan’s bad side, Aislinn, trust me.”
“I only want to find Imogen. That’s all,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe I should go to Sodom today if Lorcan’s there.”
“Sodom isn’t a place where you just walk around. Even if your sister went there, you shouldn’t follow her bad example. Nothing good ever comes from setting foot in Sodom. It’s an ungodly place, Aislinn. Only lost souls roam there.”
“I suppose you know most of them. It’s a business hub for the Irish as well, right?”
Gulliver looked around to make sure we were alone in church. “The Irish, and other organizations as well.”
“Could Imogen have gone there to find an agent?”
Gulliver snorted. “People go there to find drugs, money, weapons.”
“Maybe Imogen went there to borrow money for her headshots. Modeling photographers are expensive, after all.”
Gulliver didn’t say anything—that could only mean I was on the right track.
“Don’t go to Sodom, Aislinn. Even my prayers won’t protect you there.”
“Thanks, Uncle, but I can take care of myself.”