Six Dead Men (12 page)

“Yes my child?”

Madie was poised for flight, but the old Irish priest’s gentle yet weary tone stayed her flight reflex.

“I’m not very religious.” She blurted hastily.

“Not many people are these days. You don’t have to be religious, just willing to accept you have faults and own up to them.”

“You mean you’ll talk to me even though I’m not a Catholic?”

“Sure I will. It seems to me God has sent you here to me today my dear. I take my orders from him and you seem to be a priority right now. He’s the boss as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re not allowed to tell anyone about the things I tell you here right?”

“That’s right. But if I think you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else I’ll have to let someone know.”

“I’m trying not to hurt anyone else... I did think about it.”

“Think about what?”

“Hurting myself. Maybe if I’m gone then none of this will happen anymore. It’s all my fault anyway. I don’t understand why it’s happening. I just don’t understand it. What am I supposed to do?”

The desperation in her voice rang out clearly to the old priest.

“The Church will not turn away anyone who turns to God my child. Tell me, what is it you feel you have done?”

“Murder Father! Murder”

Madie’s tone of hysteria startled the priest, but he was an experienced man of the cloth and his first instinct was to help the woman in the confessional box. Her distress sprang from a need to be heard. So many people who came to these booths merely wanted that — a voice.

“Only God can find you guilty of these crimes, if you’ve indeed committed them.”

“But murder is the worst sin of all isn’t it father? Isn’t it?”

“Why did you commit these murders my dear?”

“I didn’t plan to commit them. They just happened.”

“Murders don’t just happen...”

“I thought a man of God might understand, but there’s no point in faith is there? You’re the same as everyone else. When someone comes to you for help you look for quick answers. You just think of who to blame and you don’t think maybe a person doesn’t mean to do things but can’t help themselves.”

Her voice echoed with bitterness and the priest thought of all the souls he lost through resentment. He cleared his throat gently and said, “Explain it all to me. Tell me everything from the beginning. I promise I’ll listen and try my best to understand.”

Madie heard the patience in his voice and his willingness to hear what she had to say. But now that it came to voicing her concerns, just as when she had been with Deed, Madie found it difficult to articulate her convictions. How ridiculous it would sound to say that a mere touch or kiss from her could cause death.

“I promise I’ll hear all the facts before I decide who to blame.” He continued.

“Judas murdered Jesus. I mean, he kissed him and then he died right?”

“Well, his kiss represents his betrayal.”

This was hopeless. What was the point of trying to persuade an old priest whose beliefs would probably preclude any ideas of strange supernatural phenomena?

She stood hurriedly to leave the cubicle and felt an iciness flow through her limbs and the wood stain in the booth darkened to ebony.

*****

The priest heard the rustle of the carrier bags as they fell to the floor and the clatter of the toppled chair. He called to her with concern but when she remained silent he left his side of the box and pulled aside the curtain to find Madie slumped in the corner of the confessional in a dead faint. The priest called out to the organist and together they took Madie’s inert form through to the priest’s quarters. With the housekeeper the priest and organist ascertained that her faint was nothing that a good strong cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit could not remedy. The two women left them alone in the priest’s study.

Madie’s confused tale was like the Rosetta Stone to Father O'Malley at first, but eventually he began to decipher and grasp the basic details. The words flooded from her like a river bursting its banks during a monsoon. How long had she been keeping all this inside of her he wondered? He knew his younger colleague, Father Phillip, would think Madie was a candidate for a psychiatric hospital. But Father O’Malley felt her story was too strange and too full of detail to be psychosis. As he watched her clutching a sofa cushion security blanket fashion, he felt a strange and compelling need to help this young woman. She was so distraught about the part she claimed she played in all the deaths of these young men. He managed to calm her to some extent by going through her newspaper cuttings with her.

"Have you ever been to Leeds?"

"No...." With a biscuit half way to her mouth Madie blinked at Father O'Malley in confusion.

"Well, we can bin this one then." He crumpled the piece of newsprint and tossed it at the wicker basket. In this way he eliminated the majority of the articles because he showed her she could never have been anywhere near the people or places they mentioned. Several cups of tea and chocolate biscuits later he had Madie calm enough to send her home.

"So, you'll come back tomorrow and we'll look at those other articles again."

Madie nodded at him while she rewrapped her diary in its plastic bag.

"And eat something. You've enough money for that right?"

She nodded again. He moved to pat her cheek but she flinched so he stopped.

“I've already touched you Madie. I helped to carry you in here. When you get here tomorrow, if I’m dead, then as you say, you are an angel of death. But if I’m still here then at least you know your story can't be true.”

“But..”

“No buts young Madie. Come back tomorrow and then we'll go from there.”

“Okay Father O’Malley.”

“Come round the back way. You’ll avoid the other parishioners that way.” Father O’Malley walked with Madie to show her the way out and thought also of a friend he had who might be able to help. He would ring her tonight and hopefully Madie would come back tomorrow.

*****

Such a sense of relief washed over Madie after her time with Father O'Malley. Just being able to tell someone her fears made it easier to cope with them.
He listened. And he doesn't think I'm completely mad. If he does he's doing a good job of not showing it.
Madie liked the rumpled quality of the old priest.
He's like a priestly Columbo.
She felt she could put her trust in him. But without his voice of reason, the hours began to drag, the dark of the evening grew heavy and her anxiety gradually began to surface again. Ant sized grains of concern gathered together to become termite sized mounds of worry, growing into hillocks and then mountains of despair. As she yet again avoided sleep her worries became the north face of the Eiger. As soon as she thought it sensible Madie made her way to the church but found it locked and bolted.
Still too early.
She began wandering the streets, almost hoping someone would fatally attack her so her misery could end.
I'll probably end up killing them instead.
Finally she leaned her back against a street lamp and slid down till she was crouched at its base. Madie looked at the hunched shadow her form threw out against the hazy spotlight of the lamp. There was a bat-like quality to the dark form.
A vampire bat.
Suddenly she felt exasperated with herself. Her mother's voice rang out in her mind. "You're stronger than this my girl, so much stronger. No more self pity eh?"
No more self pity Ma.
Madie slid herself back up the pole and now walked listlessly down the road towards the all night supermarket.

Once there she paced up and down the aisles. The security guard left her to it. When she had first started coming to the store he had watched her carefully, probably thinking her a shop-lifter taking advantage of the early hours
.
He had stalked her movements with his bundle of keys rattling and jingling against his bulky thigh and the rubber of his walk-the-beat shoes squeaking in apparent disapproval of any wrongdoing. Madie knew he was satisfied she wasn't stuffing bread rolls down her jumper when a few weeks later he nodded at her every time she came into the shop. She was a regular now.

From outside, the shrill whine of a police siren echoed through the empty store and the security guard drifted to the store front to see if anything exciting was happening outside, but the flash of blue light whirled by closely followed by the fading siren.

Madie watched the disappearing flashing blue light with a slight sense of apprehension which she shrugged off. The doughy scent of freshly baked bread from the in-store bakery was distracting her and for the first time in weeks she felt hungry. Maybe it was because Father O'Malley had given her a slight reprieve from her anxieties. She walked over to the counter and bought a freshly baked farm loaf.

I bet Father O’Malley would like some plum jam with bread and butter for breakfast.

Her early morning shop complete, Madie headed back to St Luke’s. A solitary parks workman was putting lights around a Douglas fir in the park and Madie realised it was three weeks before Christmas. A robin suddenly popped out of nowhere and landed on the railings of the park fencing. It hopped left, right, bobbed once or twice and twittered as though in conversation with the workman. The wind ruffled the feathers at the top of the bird’s head and suddenly she was thinking of the way that tuft of hair sat up to attention at the top of Robert Deed’s head.
He probably can’t see it in his mirror to comb it down. Or maybe it just refuses to stay down. Hair with a stubborn streak.

It was four months, five days since she’d seen him. Two meetings, well, one interrogation, one attempted confession and then a sort of shared commute but his face was still clear as anything in her memory. And every time she thought of him she was back in his office, with the comfort of his arms around her and the bulk of him to keep her safe. She should deny herself the pleasure of the memory.
I don’t deserve to feel any measure of comfort.
But the very thought of the memory caused it to wash over her. When she got to the part where she pushed him away and ran from his office she changed the scenario and stayed in his embrace and even though he knew her ugly secret, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t shove her from him. Instead he pulled her closer and told her everything would be alright.

Madie tried not to let herself remember the look of disgust on Robert Deed's face when she'd last seen him on the concourse of Manchester Piccadilly. But no matter how hard she tried to stop herself from remembering, it would always surface to sully her vision. And, as ever, a tight band of pain wrapped itself round her heart.

With her mind on Robert and her back to the road Madie did not see the cruising patrol car and the way it paused for a moment, but then moved on again.

Father O’Malley watched Madie from the knave of the church. She was tucked into the end of a pew and was hugging a kneeling cushion to her chest. Her cheek rested on the worn fabric like a child lying against a mother’s breast. From time to time she brushed her cheek against the cushion. She had her eyes closed and she seemed to be absorbing the organ music through every pore in her body. He watched Madie’s physical being visibly change with the swell of the music. The frown which had been a permanent feature was somewhat eased. The weight she bore on her hunched shoulders seemed lighter as her shoulders dropped to a more natural angle and a soft half smile touched the very edges of her mouth. He went up to the gallery and asked Paulette to play for another half hour. He knew the organist wouldn't mind, the chance to spend more time at the organ was a rare one.

Tonight Madie would meet Sylvie. Andrew O’Malley knew there were more things on heaven and earth that could not be explained than could and he would use every means at his disposal to cater to the needs of his congregation. And at this point in time Madie had joined those ranks. Father Phillip would be glad Madie was going. He was less than pleased about her hanging around the church all day.
Phillip is a little too entrenched in the rules of the seminary. He still has to learn the value of thinking outside the box. To be sure, maybe he never will. Thank heavens for people like Sylvie.

Sylvie had been her usual open and generous self when he called her last night.

“So she says she kills the people she kisses.”

“She says that happened when she lived in London, but now she’s convinced she only has to touch them briefly.”

“Has she touched you?”

“Yes, but I think God’s keeping me safe.”

Sylvie chuckled merrily. “Dear Andrew, you are a one. If Father Phillip heard you using that sardonic tone he’d have you court-martialled by the bishop.”

Father O’Malley smiled as he replied. “It’s excommunicated Sylvie. Listen, let’s be serious for a moment. She’s very vulnerable right now.”

“Don’t worry luv, I’ll treat her with kid gloves. See you tomorrow evening.”

“Now are you sure you don’t mind her staying with you for a bit?”

“Andrew, shame on you for even asking! She’s a soul in trouble and she’s more than welcome. You know I never turn away anyone in need.”

“Thank you Sylvie. I thank you. God thanks you.”