Do Not Go Gentle (28 page)

Eileen blushed. “Oh, you heard that did you? It just came out of me before I knew what I was saying.”

“No, no—you defended me and I love you for it, but I was talking about the case. Do you agree with Da and Paddy that I should drop the case? Am I being foolishly obstinate?”

Eileen could tell that Jamie was genuinely concerned and wanted her counsel, so she paused before answering. “No, I do not think you're being foolish or obstinate—at least, not about
that
,” she had added, drawing a wry smile. They talked for more than an hour. Eileen tried to reassure Jamie that he had her support in whatever course he pursued, and Jamie tried to reassure her that he would be careful.

He cannot keep that promise, not really,
Eileen thought ruefully as she hung her coat and sat at her desk in the small office at the rear of the store.

Eileen began opening her mail. She was dressed in her usual business attire—a stylish blouse and slacks, which today included the addition of a sweater due to the temperature. Her only jewelry was her claddagh wedding band, which featured a modest diamond, her BC class ring, and the dangly, sparkly earrings she enjoyed wearing.

As she waded through the torrent of bills, advertisements, and junk mail, Eileen paused over a letter from the property management company who leased the store space to her. Opening it, Eileen read a formal notice to all tenants of the building that the owner was selling the property to a developer and would terminate tenants' leases within thirty days of sale. Tenants would have first right to purchase their space at a cost of $150 per square foot.
Sugar plum fairies,
Eileen thought angrily as she continued reading and calculating the effect this would have on Ceoil Scoil.
You can buy retail space in Boston proper for that amount. This is completely outrageous for Dorchester.
Her store occupied 1,500 square feet, so it would require nearly a quarter of a million dollars to purchase her store. The letter concluded that the sale was planned for early December.

Eileen's face grew grim as she considered the possibilities. Ceoil Scoil was profitable, but she had paid off her business loan only two years ago. The thought of adding a huge mortgage to her bottom line chilled her. On the other hand, moving would be expensive and would require a great deal of advertising to ensure that she did not lose business.
Plus, I'll probably wind up paying more in rent, even at another location here in Dorchester.
Eileen drummed her fingers upon the desktop as she held the letter in her hands like a dangerous snake. When she heard the door chimes announcing the arrival of her first lesson of the morning, Eileen placed the letter in front of her computer monitor and stood.
Well now,
Eileen thought as she got up to go greet her student,
Isn't
that
just the perfect start to the day?

* * * *

Riona did not feel at all like going to Sheret on Saturday morning. The weather and her mood were both crappy. She was worried about her father and about what had happened at Aunt Brighid's birthday party yesterday. Nonetheless, she made a commitment to the group, so Riona knew she had to go to the meeting.
I don't know why I agreed to be a team leader. If I thought Mom and Dad wouldn't freak, I'd just quit.'

The walk to the T-station did not to improve her mood—the wind blew strong, and the temperature had dropped considerably, so the rain whipping about her face made her miserable. Riona hurried to get out of the wind at the T-station and was very grateful when the train was on time. The ride to Sheret allowed her to thaw out a tiny bit, but she her body chilled again when she had to exit the train and walk to the Sheret offices.

Calling the space an office was too kind. Sheret was headquartered in an old warehouse that had been modified slightly from its previous appearance. The machinery had been removed, the floors and windows cleaned, and cheap throw rugs and secondhand furniture had been added in the middle of the room. It was still a cavernous space, and the heat either had not come on or was not working.

Riona walked to where Sylvia Turner was sitting with the guy she met at their last meeting, ibn something or other. While she knew the other team leaders, none of them were friends or even acquaintances, so she felt a little shy.

“Come on over, Riona. Come, come,” said Ms. Turner. “Would you like some tea or hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“Hot chocolate would be fabulous,” Riona admitted.

“Welcome to your first team leader meeting, Ms. Griffin.” ibn Ezra stood and introduced himself again. “I am
Kohen
ibn Ezra. I was so glad when Ms. Turner told me of your decision to become a team leader.”

For some reason she could not identify, the man made her uncomfortable. She mumbled her thanks to ibn Ezra for the welcome and to Ms. Turner for the hot chocolate. She sat and drank her hot chocolate, listening to Ms. Turner drone. As group leader, it was her meeting to run, and she ran it just like a teacher.
I wonder what she
really
does for a living?
Riona thought, her mind wandering as she struggled to stay warm.

She snapped back to attention when she realized that Ms. Turner had asked her a question. She took another drink of hot chocolate to buy more time. Frantically, she replayed the last sentence in her mind. “I'd have to check with my parents, Ms. Turner. When is this team leader retreat weekend again?”

“The second weekend in January, Riona,” Ms. Turner replied. Riona thought the woman knew she had been daydreaming. “The Disciples of Endor have a camp located on one of the harbor islands. We provide new people such as yourself with more detailed instructions on your duties as a team leader. Plus, it gives all of our team leaders an opportunity to bond when we have free time and activities.”

Riona nodded. “Well, like I said, let me check with my parents. As long as I don't have any other obligations, I should be able to attend.”

“Excellent,” said ibn Ezra enthusiastically.

The rest of the meeting went by in a blur, and Riona was glad to be able to leave, even though it meant getting wet and cold once again.

The adults followed them out, and ibn Ezra took his leave of Sylvia Turner. Then he stood and watched Riona Griffin walk briskly to the T-station. Taking out his phone, he punched a number on speed dial. “Yes?”

“da Silva,” ibn Ezra said. “You may inform the Qedesh that it has been arranged.”

Tomás da Silva chuckled, which made ibn Ezra's blood run cold. “Excellent. So she will be at our retreat in January?”

“Yes. She is checking with her parents, but I know that she will attend.”

“Very good, ibn Ezra,” Lucky said in a silky voice. “I was not sure you would accomplish this task.”

“Do not forget your place, seneschal,” ibn Ezra replied coldly.

“Do not forget yours, priest.” da Silva hung up the phone.

ibn Ezra looked at the disconnected cell phone and spat a curse. “Your time will come, you overgrown manservant.” Then he pocketed his cell phone and made his way into the rain.

* * * *

Father Anthony O'Connor looked around him nervously. It was a cold, dark, rainy Saturday night in Dorchester. O'Connor bundled up in a heavy insulated raincoat, and a large black fedora obscured his face. He turned up the collar of his raincoat with a gloved hand and walked slowly down the street. O'Connor wasn't certain if the cold or his inner struggle were chilling him the most.
Lord,
he prayed silently.
I am weak. I am an imperfect vessel for your work. Please give me the strength to resist temptation and to reject Satan and all his works.
The priest shook his head as he walked.
Probably too late to pray for strength now, especially since I came out on a night such as this.

O'Connor recalled the teachings of one of the old Jesuits at his seminary. The elderly priest had described temptation as “a universal human experience—and overcoming it is a universal human struggle.” His instructors were fond of pointing out that even Jesus had been tempted during his trials in the desert. Even that temptation, they claimed, was an opportunity for spiritual growth. However, they were just as quick to conclude that the wages of sin is death.
Well, then, Father Kirke, at this rate I am well on my way to receiving full salary.
O'Connor walked toward a dark corner where some women were standing.

“Hey, handsome,” one of them called. Even in this weather, the women wore short skirts, nylons, and high heels. Their only concession to the cold was the addition of coats and gloves, but in most cases, the coats remained unbuttoned and unzipped. They were all dressed for work—low cut, tight-fitting blouses, skirts that barely covered their butts, and an attitude and demeanor that made it clear that they were working girls.

“What brings you out on such a cold night? You need someone to warm you up?” While several women eyed him, the one who sidled up to him, smuggled close, and locked her arm with his, was about thirty. She had long, black hair—straight and falling darkly down the back of her white leather coat, past her shoulders to mid-back. Her looks suggested an Asian heritage, and despite wearing five-inch stilettos, she was still a couple of inches shorter than the priest.

O'Connor stared at the woman's breasts, which threatened to overflow the tight red top. O'Connor saw himself standing on a precipice looking out over the abyss. “I could use some companionship,” he mumbled, feeling his determination crumbling once again.

“Oh sure, sugar,” the black-haired woman purred. “I can provide you with lots of companionship as long as you can provide me with cash.”

“I can pay you. Let's go somewhere warmer,” replied O'Connor.

“All right, big fella.” The woman turned and steered O'Connor toward a dim doorway. “We can head right in here and you can tell me what you need and I'll tell you what I need.” The pair walked through the doorway and up a dingy flight of stairs.

O'Connor failed to notice the big man in the shadows of an alcove beside the doorway. Although she did not reveal his whereabouts, the woman knew the other man was there. He was one of the higher-ups in the organization for which she worked. He had been asking around about a man fitting the description of this john, so she was not surprised when he silently stepped into the light and watched her take the man upstairs to conduct their business.

Timmy O'Neill watched for several seconds as the woman led O'Connor up the stairs. Then he shook his head and walked to his car. When he was inside his Lexus and had the heat going, O'Neill took tapped some numbers on his cell phone. A few seconds later, a deep voice answered. “Yes?”

“O'Neill. Griffin's parish priest just headed upstairs to do business with one of my girls.”

“Really?” asked Tomás da Silva. “I'm shocked—a man of the cloth.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” growled O'Neill in response. “Save your crocodile tears and inform the mistress.”

“She will be most pleased to hear this news,” replied Lucky.

“I'm
so
glad,” O'Neill replied in a flat voice.

O'Neill looked down at his phone for several seconds before closing it.
Man, I hate this shit. First Cal, now O'Connor. Where does it end? How did I let myself get in so deep?
As he pulled away from the run-down building, O'Neill knew the answer—knew it all too well—he reached this point one small step at a time, a small payment here, a larger payment there. Providing information, then active assistance, until finally, he slid completely down into the darkest depths of deception.
How can I keep letting this happen?
O'Neill knew the answer to that question as well, another question for which he had no answer.
What else can I do?

The Monday before Thanksgiving found Eileen Griffin busily attending to the various details involved in family gatherings—finalizing the menu, cleaning the good dishes and place settings, shopping, cooking, and fretting over every detail. While Thanksgiving dinner was often held at Frank & Nuala's house, some years Jamie and Eileen had held their own Thanksgiving dinner with the children. Jamie's insistence that he was not going to have a repeat of Brighid's birthday did not, by itself, present any real issues. The real issue was Jamie.

The past three weeks had seen an alarming change in her husband. Eileen had never seen her husband neglect himself and his family the way Jamie had done since Halloween. Winter had come early this year to New England, Jamie's condition went far beyond a premature case of “winter blues.” Jamie, who had always had the energy of three normal people, not only stayed in, but did very little, if anything, each day. Jamie, who was always up at the crack of dawn, ready to beat the day into submission, was instead acting beaten, sometimes not getting out of bed until after Eileen and the girls had left. Jamie, who almost never took naps, now took at least one nap each day. Usually, he always paid detailed attention to his appearance, but now went days at a time without shaving. He stopped showering daily, and sometimes he wore the same clothes for two or more days. Eileen would often come home from the shop to find him sitting on the sectional in his pajamas and bathrobe, sometimes watching a movie or TV, but sometimes just doing nothing. It was starting to scare the hell out of her.

Worst of all, Eileen couldn't get angry with him. They had a couple of arguments, not unheard of given both of their Irish tempers, but instead of fighting back, Jamie retreated, which puzzled Eileen and added to her worry. After failing to provoke Jamie with arguments, she tried to appeal to his sense of responsibility. She tried to humor him out of his funk. She had the girls talk to him, but nothing had worked. While Eileen was trying to be supportive, she was also desperately searching for some way to snap him out of it, to return Jamie to the man she loved. For the first time in her married life, Eileen felt as if she was in a situation that was not only bad, but also beyond her control.

Today saw the same pattern unfolding. Jamie sat in the living room watching an old movie on DVD. He had neither showered nor shaved, nor changed out of his pajamas. Caitlin and Riona had tried to reach to their father, but as with Eileen, Jamie's responses were muted and distant. Now, as she prepared to go shopping for the holiday meal, Eileen tried again.

“Jamie?” she asked as she entered the living room.

At first, Jamie just sat there like he was entranced by the movie, which he had watched many times, but also like he was not there, that some part of him was elsewhere, wrapped up in a dark haze. “Jamie?” Eileen raised her voice slightly, and then finally stepped into Jamie's view of the TV.

Slowly, Jamie came back to awareness of his surroundings. “Eileen. What's up?”

Eileen sat beside him on the sectional, took the remote, and paused the movie.

“Hey,” Jamie protested.

“It seemed like you were somewhere else, my love.”

Jamie rubbed his eyes, absently patted Finn MacCool, who was Jamie's constant companion on the sectional, and sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Eileen waited for her husband to continue. When he said nothing, she got angry. “Séamus Edward Griffin,” she said in her most authoritative voice.

Her tone and use of his full name snapped Jamie to attention. “What?”

“How long are you going to sit here on the couch? Do you plan to put down roots and expect me to come water you every day?”

Jamie frowned. “I'm not putting down roots, woman,” he replied peevishly. “I'm just trying to get better.”

“No, Jamie,” Eileen disagreed. “You're sliding into some kind of black self-pity that I never thought I'd see from you. I've always believed you were a fighter. Now you're just giving up.”

At last, Jamie got angry. “What would you have me do? You've seen what happens to me when I try to do too much. My headache threatens to blow my head off my shoulders. My fatigue becomes so bad that I turn pale and clammy and fall down. Jerry told me to rest and see if I can get over this.”

“Jerry also told you to take pills to help your depression.”

“I am
not
depressed,” Jamie denied heatedly, “and I'm not taking any damn pills. I don't need any damn pills. I just need to get better.”

“Then, how do you plan to do that? You won't listen to anyone, not me, not your doctor, nor your family. Resting is one thing, but you're just sitting here vegetating.”

To Eileen's dismay, the recent pattern now asserted itself again. Jamie deflated like an untied balloon, his anger draining away, his shoulders slumping, and his eyes fogging over with pain. “What would you have me do, love? I'm not sure there's anything I
can
do to get better. I can't be there for you or my children. I wasn't there for Cal. I don't have a job. I just don't know who I am anymore.” His words were flat and weary. He had collapsed back into the fog that always engulfed him these days.

“I don't know,” Eileen said, taking his hand and squeezing it, trying to keep his attention, “but you
can't
go on like this. Jerry also referred you to someone you could talk to about all this.”

Jamie resurfaced briefly. “I'm not seeing any damn shrink either.”

“Well, you've got to do
something
. You're scaring the hell out of me and your daughters. Your mother's beside herself as are your brothers and sisters.”

“Yeah, I'm sure Paddy's upset, just not on my behalf.”

“Maybe not, but you've got many people who care about you, and you're just shutting us all out.” Eileen stood and looked at Jamie with a mixture of anger and fear. “I'm going shopping for our Thanksgiving dinner. Do you want to come help me?”

“No.” Jamie restarted the movie.

“Fine.” Eileen shook her head in despair. “Maybe Johnny can beat some sense into your thick head.”

Jamie sighed. “I asked you to tell him not to come.”

“Too bad. He'll be here soon. I'll be back in a while.” Eileen turned, grabbed her coat and purse, and headed to the garage.

Jamie settled back to watch his movie. It seemed like only moments before Finn MacCool sat up, with his ears perked, and he then jumped up as he heard someone approach. Jamie shook his head and realized that quite some time had passed—the movie was rolling credits.

The doorbell rang, and Jamie called out, “It's open.”

Finn MacCool jumped up to greet Jamie's younger brother, but Jamie did not get up from the sectional. “Hey, Johnny,” Jamie said in an off-handed way. “Come on in. Eileen said you'd be by to beat some sense into me.”

Johnny Griffin bent down to scratch behind the dog's ears. Once the scratching was complete, the dog hopped back onto the sectional beside his master. “Well, is she right?” he asked in a loud, authoritative voice.

“Right about what?” Jamie replied, confused.

“Right about me needing to beat some sense into you?” Johnny thundered in response.

“Ah, Christ on a crippled crutch,” said Jamie. “What am I supposed to do? The doctors can't find anything, can't give me anything to do or take to get over this. When I
do
try to do things, I get worse, and all you or anyone else can seem to do is bitch at me about not doing anything.”

“That's
exactly
the point, Jamie,” Johnny replied. “There
are
things you can be doing to help—you're just too pig-headed to try them.”

“Like what?” Jamie retorted. “Take some pills and hope I feel better? If there were pills that might cure me, I'd already be taking them. Instead, they're just ‘happy pills.' I don't have anything to be ‘happy' about, and I'm sure not going to go see some damned head-shrinker so he can ask me why I hate my mother, and then sit around singing ‘Kumbaya'.”

Johnny shook his head. “Wow. Eileen wasn't kidding—you really
are
in a bad place. Worse, you won't let anyone help you get out of there. Why can't you let someone,
anyone
, help you through this, brother of mine?”

“Because it won't help.”

“How do you know if you haven't even tried it?” Johnny demanded. “You said at Brighid's party that you'd try any reasonable course of action that might make you better. Well, I'm here to tell you big brother, anti-depressants and therapy are reasonable courses of action, and I personally know that they have helped many people. You just have to get over your stupid belief that it makes you weak to get help.”

Jamie glared at his brother in silence for several moments. Finally, Jamie sighed. “Answer me this, then, Father Griffin—why has God allowed this to happen to me? Is it some kind of punishment? Sin of pride, that sort of thing? Why do I need to turn to drugs and talking to a total stranger if talking to God has gotten me nowhere?”

Johnny paused again, taking time to craft his answer before replying. “Honestly, Jamie? I don't know. It's one of the great mysteries of life. I'm sure you remember Father Martin's spiel on ‘the human condition'?” When Jamie snorted and smiled, Johnny knew he could continue. “He may have been a flake, but there was something important hidden deep within his ramblings. We don't know—we
cannot
know—what God's plan is for us. Why does God set something before us just to seemingly snatch it away? I don't know. Why do good people suffer and die young? I don't know. Why do bad people often seemingly go unpunished?
I just don't know
. I don't think those questions can actually be answered in full during this lifetime, but I do know this.”

Johnny stopped, waiting until Jamie looked up at him. “Life is a mysterious and wonderful gift we've been given. One of the greatest sins a person can commit is to throw that gift away or abuse it. You've always tried to lead a good life, and from what I can tell, you have succeeded admirably, but right now, you're being tried, being tested. I don't want to see you fail now, to see you turn your back on God's wondrous gift of life because your life seems to be falling apart.”

“
Seems
to be?” Jamie questioned archly.

“Yes,
seems
to be,” Johnny replied confidently, knowing he was finally getting through to his older brother. “We don't know what God has in store for us. All we can do is fight the good fight and stay true to our faith and values. The Jamie Griffin I know never backed away from a fight in his entire life. Why are you backing away now?” Johnny asked softly.

“Damn. I hate it when you're right,” Jamie replied heavily. He paused for several seconds, and then nodded. “Okay, okay. You've got me—I'll be a good boy and do what Eileen and the doctors tell me. I'll fight the good fight, even though I don't see my way through to the other side.”

Johnny shrugged. “When do we ever have any guarantees in this life, brother?”

“We don't. We don't. Okay, out with you then. I've got some calls to make.” Both men stood, Johnny easily, and Jamie with some difficulty. “Thanks, brother.” He stuck out a hand.

Johnny shook his head, and said “Not good enough.” He grabbed Jamie in a big bear hug and did not let go until his older brother returned the hug. “You have many people who love you, Jamie. Hang in there.” He broke his embrace and looked into his brother's face. He wasn't sure he had gotten through completely, but any steps were progress.

Jamie watched his brother leave, and then turned to the dog. “Well don't just lay there, Finn,” he said. “Let's get started.”

* * * *

Monday evening saw no improvement in the early winter weather. It did not matter much to Sedecla. She had the money and resources to do whatever she pleased, despite the weather. She could have flown to a warmer locale, but she focused on gathering the power needed to successfully walk the dark paths and master the Qliphoth. Nothing else mattered. Sedecla gazed out the window of her formal dining room, standing in front of the head chair of the massive oak table, set for dinner with Astbury-Black Wedgwood bone china. She looked out at the cold, wet night that was lashing the trees across the street in Copp's Hill Burial Ground. Sedecla found that the weather suited her mood.

Tomás da Silva entered the dining room. “Your
tenentes
have arrived, Mistress.”

Three men entered the room. No one spoke. They awaited a command from their mistress. At length, Sedecla nodded, then pulled out her chair and sat. They quickly sat as well. She nodded again, this time to da Silva, who reached into his jacket pocket and pressed a button. The far door opened, and two maidservants and a butler brought dinner to each person, starting with Sedecla. She examined and tasted each dish before approving and allowing the others to be served. The butler unobtrusively poured wine into everyone's glasses. Then, the serving complete, the three attendants silently left the room, closing the door behind them.