The Forsaken (4 page)

And then he found himself breathing too hard for such little movement. He blinked. The runner had finally stopped. Wrong turn. Wrong time. What stood in front of them both was a brick wall at the end of an alleyway. There was a pizza restaurant to one side and a real estate firm to the other. And Jude stood like a gatekeeper at the only exit.

“This is it, man,” Jude said, breathing like his lungs were ready to collapse. “No more running.”

The runner paced now, hitting his temple with the butt of the gun. His curses echoed off the walls.

Jude measured every move. “What’s it gonna be? Are you ready to put down the gun and talk?”

“Shut up!” came a reply.

There was a desire to shoot back. He’d been fired on twice in the last six minutes, and the human in him wanted payback. The badge in him, however, wanted resolve. But what if the latter was losing ground?

“Let’s not use any more bullets,” Jude called out. “Give up while you can.”

A medley of desperate words came from the opposite end of the alley. Jude couldn’t make it all out, but he could tell the kid was contemplating.

Before the kid could calculate a strategy, an old cook stumbled out of the back door of the restaurant to throw out some trash. The beaten runner lunged at him and held him from behind by the neck, the six-shooter in his possession nudged against the cook’s jaw.

Jude was ready for a bloody episode. A mixture of alarm and regret was already in the runner’s eyes. Jude didn’t bother reassuring the old man of his safety. That was not his focus. What
was
his focus was getting closer to the runner.

“Let me outta here, or this sucker gets it good!” the runner yelled, his voice splintered by uncertainty.

“I’ve never been good with ultimatums. Why don’t you lower the piece and we can talk about it. There’s no reason for anyone to die here tonight.”

“Don’t you threaten me!”

“It’s not a threat,” Jude said, taking a step. “It’s a warning. Put the gun down and I’ll take you back to the station. We can work it out there.”

“I didn’t do nothing,” the runner argued, the pitch in his voice turning sharp. “You don’t know what you saw. Something real bad went down, man. Something’s coming for me. Something’s coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got outta there before he came back.”

“Who?”

“I made a mistake, man. Just one mistake. Can’t trust nobody to save your skin. He’ll come for you.” “Listen, I’ll give you a chance to tell your sad little story. But for now, drop the gun, and let this poor guy go home.” Jude gained several more steps.

“You drop it first. I ain’t no fool.”

“Destruction of private property. Evading an officer then trying to shoot him. I could go on. Be careful. You keep making me feel uncomfortable and this can get real nasty, real quick. Do what I say, and maybe you’ll have a story to tell your homeboys.”

“Screw you, man.” Defiantly, the runner tried to pull his trigger, but Jude fired first. He got off three shots before the kid dropped. The old cook retreated into the restaurant.

“I already am screwed, like you,” Jude whispered, walking closer. The sound of the body thudding against the wet pavement carried across the walls. The kid shook once, twice. Jude reached for his cell to report the incident.

While the kid struggled for his last breaths, Jude identified the three holes carved into his chest. He hadn’t fired his gun like this in weeks, and his hand still trembled from pulling the trigger. The craving he’d experienced at the beginning of this wild chase had vanished. What lingered now was a deep and piercing regret as the runner faded. Jude knew he’d gone too far.

5

HE
WAS THE RUNNER.
Running, always running. Maybe it was the cold sending violent needles up his veins, or maybe it was something else, something nameless. To most people, eighteen was an end. The end of innocent loves. The end of high school torture. For Jude Foster, eighteen was the beginning.

The blue and red lights flickered in the night. The sounds of the city were dead except for the tremors of police cruisers. And they were getting closer.
If only Dad were here
, he thought.

Officers pursued on foot as well. The steps were so close now. Behind him or in front of him, he wasn’t sure. He felt like a pariah, so far from home.

Jude lost his step, tripping on the edge of the sidewalk. A mixture of phlegm and spit bled out his chapped lips as he stared back at the overweight cop trailing in the distance. The purse in Jude’s hands hardly seemed worth it, but then again, it was never about the purse. Not really.

A copper moon reflected its disapproval. He often wondered if God sat behind it someplace, waiting for his creation to screw up.

Jude gasped. He was out of time, and his legs wanted to give way. He was ahead of the chubby cop for a good while, but he was in desperate need of a place to disappear. Jude looked up at the cathedral before him. It was an archaic structure that had sat at the heart of this city for years. Tonight was as good a night as any to become a believer.

Quickly shutting and locking the door behind him, Jude sped down the aisle to speak with the priest who had been lighting a candle when he made his intrusion. The church was like something out of Shakespeare. Gloomy, gothic, overstated. Painted glass reflected the colors of the city lights, and hymns were carved into some of the walls. Other church art, most bordering on the grotesque and violent, seemed to reach out from the blanched drywall and chiseled stones that made up the inner sanctuary.

Still, Jude felt safe. He felt home, and he didn’t know why.

“I need your help,” he said, unable to stop blinking.

“What is it that you’ve done, kiddo?” the priest asked immediately.

“No hello? No wine and crackers?”

The priest cracked a smile. “This is the house of God. It’s more than a place to make bad jokes and hide. Our services are on Saturdays, Sunday mornings, and throughout the week. You are free to return then.”

A few bangs on the door and a silent look of disapproval forced Jude’s confession. “Father, please. I need help.” Jude wasn’t religious in any sense of the word, but he knelt on one knee and crossed himself in hopes of making the tired priest buckle.

“You do the crime; you do the time. Why did you come to me? I do not know you. Does the Lord know you?”

“The Lo—? I guess. I mean, isn’t it, like, his freaking job to know everybody?”

“We are such creatures of convenience, aren’t we? We come crying to him only when we need something. It’s then that sinners miraculously become saints. Funny, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Look, spare me the lecture, Father.”

“All right, then. I think your friends are, uh, waiting for you outside.” The priest turned around and walked a few steps.

“Fifty bucks,” Jude said, rummaging through the purse. “Just my stupid luck. No credit cards, just a lousy fifty. Almost got canned for this?”

“Perhaps the police will be easy on you, hmmm?”

“You’re either stupid or unbelievably naïve,” Jude seethed, and immediately regretted his tone. The priest appeared to be a good-natured guy, but at the moment Jude didn’t have any use for upright citizens who preached a worn-out gospel; he needed real help. He needed a safe haven. “Those guys out there don’t care about my soul, or what your book says about forgiveness. They just wanna take me away in cuffs. I got in real bad with this gang, okay? I stole this purse, thought I was a big-shot. I screwed up. I’m sorry. But I can’t go with them. I just can’t, you see? You gotta help me.”

“You’re running from more than just sirens. Where are you going?”

Jude couldn’t answer. But the drum of fists against the outside church door was getting louder.

“You can’t run forever. You know that, don’t you?”

A reluctant nod. “Can you help me?”

“I suppose we all need second chances. What is your name?”

His eyes never left the priest. “Jude Foster.”

“Well, young Foster, welcome to St. Jude’s Cathedral. Perhaps there was a purpose to our meeting after all.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Father Eliam. I have a place for you to stay, for a little while. Come with me. Maybe the officers will tire of banging their fists on our front door. Sometimes I just wish this city could fall asleep.”

The priest guided him through the back of the old church, to a dimly lit room filled with habits and candles and costumes for altar boys. Growing up, Jude had always thought the altar boys were like queer superheroes. They put on cheesy outfits and lit candles in churches, but they never went out to change the world or blind darkness. Instead, the lot of them hid in rooms and cathedrals like these.

Like him.

***

The hum of police cruisers and sirens called him out of the past. The flicker of lights wanted to distract him from the mess of the body less than six feet away, but their luminance could not. Forensic personnel were already attempting to make proper analyses about what actually occurred, even though they’d get all that and more in his report.

“What a night.” The frustrated tone came from Chief Michael Harrison. “Jude Foster. Magnificent work.” The chief’s sarcasm was only one of his many charms. “Do you ever use this thing between your ears? What, what, what is it called again? I can’t ever seem to rem—right, your brain. This is sloppy.”

“Look, Chief—”

“Don’t. Not tonight. What happened?”

“He had a hostage at gunpoint,” Jude shot back.

“Not what happened here. What happened to you? You know, you used to be…better than this.”

“Sir, I…”

“Yeah? I’m waiting. I’m waiting for anything, Foster. Give me a reason to believe that your best years on the force aren’t behind you. Give me a reason to bite my tongue because this, all of this—” Mike pointed angrily at the blood and the body getting zipped up “—this isn’t putting my mind at ease. At all. Look, look at me. Do you see my face? This is my pissed-off face. Re-learn it, get used to it.” Mike rubbed his eyes. “I just want one week without chaos.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I lost my cool, I guess.”

“Lost your cool? This kid’s got three new holes in his chest, and all you can offer up in defense is that you
lost your cool?
I swear, if you’re cutting those sessions, I’m dropping you off—”

“I’m not, sir. I have a few left, and then I’m done.”

“Maybe. With good behavior. Not, not with this. You ain’t ready. You ain’t ready to be back. Why don’t you go home, work out whatever’s in your head?”

“I’m not crazy. Maybe, maybe I slipped up, all right? For a millisecond, but that’s it. Geez, the runner had a gun, and he was about ready to off a hostage.”

“Yeah, another low-life with a piece. They all say that. But it ain’t enough. I don’t want kids getting shot on my streets by cops! I mean, this isn’t some whack-job free-for-all. That’s not how I run my department, or don’t you get that yet?”

Jude nodded.

“Well, it doesn’t look like it.” Mike’s voice splintered into short, angry tones. Then he got quiet for a moment. “Between the two of us, I’m not crying that another one of these street thugs is outta the picture. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be the poor bastard who cashes his check, but the way I see it, that’s one less headache I have to deal with. But this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. Now, I don’t want to hear your side of the story. I don’t want to hear how you
lost your cool
. I want to erase it from my mind, like it never happened. Savvy?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Mike answered, exhaling. “The press is gonna love this, by the way.” The chief massaged his temples. “Let’s be straight for a minute. You know better than anyone that I’ve put my career on the line for you. I believed in you when my superiors said I was out of my mind. Was I mistaken?”

“No.”

“We’re not killers. We’re not the bad guys. We hunt the bad guys; we don’t become them.”

“I know. But he was going to kill me.”

“If you defend yourself again….I need you back, for real. Get it straight in your head, whatever you gotta do. Cut the crap and get your head outta your butt. You hear me?”

Jude nodded. “Loud and clear.”

“Good. Now get outta here. I swear, I must be the patron saint of lost causes.”

Jude felt a pinch in his neck as he walked away from his crimes and headed toward his car, more than five blocks away. Tension built inside him. He hated how familiar he was with it.

He finally escaped the lights and sounds and commotion of the crime scene and made it to his car. Once he gunned the engine, he sped off down the street. There was an old friend he hadn’t seen in quite some time. Maybe tonight he’d have the guts to walk through those doors again.

6

“FORGIVE ME, FATHER, FOR
I have sinned,” Jude confessed, crossing himself and sitting down in the confession box. “It’s…been a long time. Too long.”

A tired cough echoed within the adjacent chamber. “It has,” Father Eliam replied. “But it appears you have not forgotten where this church is after all. Perhaps you only needed a little push to bring you back.”