Living in Silence Part Two
*`*`*
Part Two
"You're up early." Blair turned to look at the man walking toward him, chubby hands shoved deep into the pockets of his charcoal colored cloak. He smiled softly, sitting down beside him on the bench overlooking the garden. "Penny for your thoughts?"
"It's quiet here."
"Oh, I'd say. Everyone and everything is still asleep, except for maybe old Daniel. Rumor has it; he's making chocolate chip pancakes this morning."
Blair studied the tree line, watching a few squirrels chattering at each other, racing up and down the apple trees and across the phone wires to the roof of the building. "They're my favorite."
"I believe that's why he's making them...we usually only get cold oatmeal and burned toast or burnt oatmeal and cold toast."
A small humorless chuckle escaped, "I wasn't sure if I should come back, you know?" Blair turned on the bench, tucking a leg under him, resting his elbow on the wrought iron back, cupping his face in his hand. "I wasn't really thinking about how I might feel once I got here...I haven't talked...I mean you were the last one..."
"That's understandable, Blair." Marcus reached behind him to lay his arm across the back of the bench, hand near Blair's shoulder, but not touching. "You haven't told your friend?"
"Jim...no, man. I don't think I could...It's just..."
"No need to explain. I understand, but remember I'm here if you need to talk about it." The monk stood, stretching his back as he scanned the front yard. A few of the others had begun to start their day with the morning chores. "Let's walk."
The sun peeked above the trees, the air still chilly and the grass wet beneath their feet. They walked in silence, just like they used too. Marcus had an uncanny way of knowing when to leave him alone, but the man could be relentless when he thought that Blair needed to unburden himself.
He would never forget that night when the monk found him sitting in his car along the side of the road, tail end in the ditch. Blair had tried to compensate when he hit the graveled edge, doubled over in pain, unable to breathe, shaking so badly he couldn't even tell the man his name.
Marcus didn't even blink an eye when Blair clutched his arm to keep him from taking him back to the hospital.
He couldn't go back.
Even though his memory was sketchy, he knew that he couldn't go back to that place.
The first couple of days were a blur. He only knew that he felt safe as faceless, nameless men in swaying robes attended to him, helping him eat broth and washing down his clammy skin.
When the world finally righted its self, Brother Marcus sat beside him, holding his hand, running a cool cloth over his face and neck and Brother Jeremy came and went, taking his temperature, checking his incision, pressing on his belly to make sure he was healing.
And over the course of the next weeks, each man did what they could, but Marcus most of all, they shared a cell and they talked...he was the only one who knew Blair's secret.
"You're quiet today."
Blair smiled, shaking his head. "Just thinking."
"We all know how dangerous that is."
"You sound like Jim, man." The path thinned, parting at the tree line. They could take the trail leading into the woods and Blair knew that the path circled around, passing a clearing near a stream, before coming back to the grounds at the other end of the house.
But they chose the other one that skirted the woods, bringing them back up the hill and to the garden. "Is he what you were looking for...this guardian?"
"No..." But it came out a little too fast, a little too easy. "I'm just riding with him at the police station...studying closed societies."
"Hmm."
"We're you close to Timothy?" He wasn't sure why he even asked, but he did want to know. "Did you know him well?"
"Not really. He had only been with us for a few months and he was still practicing his vows." They cleared the crest of the hill; a few benches lined the cemented walk back to the house. "Timothy used to come out here every morning. I'd see him sitting right up here on that bench...sitting there and looking off. I always wondered what he was thinking about." Marcus turned to him, "He had, uh...he had good eyes, you know? There was truth in them. I was looking forward to the end of his silence so we could talk. Not many men are willing to choose this life. Temptations of the world are too great."
He had said that of Blair too, during those first horrible, confusing days...'you have good eyes...I can see the truth in them.'
Blair spotted Jim coming up the hill from the house. Marcus gave a little wave then turned back to Blair. "When I entered this monastery, I found what I was looking for. It's not for everyone... but it works for me. Now, I'll see you at breakfast. Don't be late. Nothing but crumbs."
"Brother Marcus."
"Detective."
Jim joined him and he tried to express how he admired the men who chose this life, but Frederick appeared from the other direction, clearly anxious. "Excuse me. Brother Jeremy asked if you'd meet him in your cell."
The trashed room was just the first of a string of terrible events. Blair couldn't believe Jeremy had locked them into their room. "Jeremy, come on, you know me."
"I'm sorry, Blair. We can't take any chances."
Chances, chances...what the hell was going on?
Christopher walked down the hall, ignoring his pleas, saying he had something in his room for them.
"What the hell is that?" Jim sniffed the air, looking through the small stain glass window at the top of the door.
"What's what?"
"Fuel...oil or kerosene."
"Where?"
Jim started screaming for the monk to come back, to not go into his room and as Blair tried to see what was going on, to get a sniff of what Jim was smelling a horrific boom knocked him back and into the bed, a blazing ball of fire hit their locked door and ignited the wood, blue flames licking around the edges.
Jim grabbed the desk chair, ready to smash the window when the yells of monks in the hall stopped him. He hollered for Jeremy to get them out and within a few minutes the door fell open, still smoldering. Several men covered the hall, beating back the flames still coming from Christopher's room.
The fire went out quickly, eating away the curtains and part of the thin mattress, but the walls were salvaged and the fire was contained.
Jim pushed Blair back, blocking the doorway with his body, but he still got a glimpse of the shriveled, blacken corpse lying on the floor among the debris.
Strong hands guided him away and down the steps. Marcus held onto him as he dropped into the kitchen chair, spotting discarded stacks of pancakes and cooling coffee placed in front of each seat.
"God...he's dead. He's dead...What is going on?"
"I don't know, Blair...but..."
"You okay, Chief?" Jim rushed through the room, kneeling down to get a look at him.
"Yeah, man. I'm fine."
His friend plopped down next to him. "I'm going to help Jeremy take care of the body and then I'm going to have a look around." Jim looked over the table and then at Marcus before returning his gaze to Blair. "You stay here for a bit."
"No...I'll help you. Just...just give me a minute."
*~*~*
What a waste.
Burnt papers and a melted typewriter were all that was left of the man trying to help them. Jim hadn't had a chance to get to know him well, but he did review some of Christopher's work the first day he arrived and he wasn't half bad. The monk wrote about a bulimic detective and her exploits living in Savannah, sharing her apartment and life with two cats and a pet snake.
Shifting through the ash and soot, he found a picture, half burned and buried with some other photos. He passed them to Blair, but his friend just wasn't his usual self, having a rough time of it.
The mystery surrounding Blair's first visit irked him, but Jim knew he was close with some of the monks and losing one...well, it just wasn't turning out to be a relaxing vacation.
"Let's see if we can find the Abbot."
They found the man in the sanctuary, head bowed and lips moving silently.
"Who is he to you?" Jim leaned over him, resting his hand on the raised pew back.
"Who is who?
"Jackie Kozinski." The monk's heart pounded a little faster, but he denied knowing Kozinski and even as Jim pressed, he still refused to see what he had done by protecting a violent criminal.
Two men had died and Jim knew that the gangster turned federal witness was the reason.
"Get out." Jeremy was so riled up the little vein along his forehead popped and bulged, his face blossoming into a deep shade of crimson.
"That's enough, Jeremy." Marcus walked slowly toward them, but Jim's attention focused on his friend, the pallor of Blair's face and the blood rushing through his chest. "I'm Jackie Kozinski."
Had he known all along?
"What? You murdered two of your friends?" Blair could hardly look at the man, his hands gripped the pew, fingers clenching the wood, legs trembling, but managing to hold him upright.
"I won't deny I've done things in the past ...terrible things...but despite the accusations, I've never been involved in murder. Not in my past... Not here..." Kozinski's eyes searched Blair's. "Oh, Blair... Come on, you have to believe me." But Blair turned from them, his arms giving out just a little.
It made sense that someone put away because of the Union leader's testimony wouldn't let it go unchallenged, unpunished.
Talk quickly turned to the newer members, moving to the door leading to the yard, Blair trailed behind, keeping his distance from Kozinski.
Jeremy mentioned Anthony, a star basketball player for a university in California
"Anthony?"
Didn't seem like the guy was college team material.
Before Jim could even formulate a plan, the man whipped out a gun and herded them toward the bell tower and up the steps.
Blair was shoved near the front, but Jim hung back, arguing that Kozinski wasn't among them.
"I told you, I don't believe you. I'll just start shooting and maybe I'll get lucky. When you see the big guy upstairs, tell him to teach you how to lighten up." The gunman waved the pistol erratically, pointing from one man to the next, stopping near Blair's chest and cocking the lever.
"Stop it. I'm Jackie Kozinski." Marcus stepped forward, pushed to his knees by their capture, head bowed and eyes closing.
"Easy, easy." Jim urged, shooting Blair a warning look...stay where you are.
"Wait. I am Jackie Kozinski." Brother Fredrick moved forward and kneeled next to Marcus. One by one each man knelt, claiming to be the Union leader.
"All right... you all want to play martyrs. Fine." Anthony pointed the gun at Jeremy and Blair shifted a fraction closer to the man aiming at the Abbot.
"How many rounds you got in that gun?" Jim asked, nodding toward the pistol. "One of us is going to be on you before you're through it."
Without a word, the impostor turned and descended the stairs, pulling the hatch and locking them inside.
Blair tried the door, but it wouldn't budge.
Jim hurried up the rest of the steps, leaning around the bell to see the gunman pacing the front yard, cell phone in hand and cigarette dangling from his lips.
He leaned farther over the scalloped edge of concrete; the smell of gasoline burning his nose. "I think I can make it,” he called. “Give me your belts."
They fastened the belts together. Tying an end around the top of the bell, Jim made it over the ledge, the make shift rope holding his weight.
Anthony tossed the gas can he used to saturate the house and lit a match, dropping it just as Jim tackled him to the mossy ground, struggling to get the upper hand, finally getting his fist back and cold cocking the guy in the face, reaching the match before it could ignite the fuel.
Blair was halfway down the rope before Jim spotted him, dropping down and working at the knot that held the last belt to the next, handing it to Jim to use to bound the man unconscious on the ground.
Blair ran back up the steps, unlocking the hatch, seeing the monks pull the belts back up through the window.
Jim was too busy listening to his friend's progress to hear the car approach. All the men had gathered in the yard, collecting their belts as a Caddy roared into the driveway, picking them off like fish in a barrel.
The monks scattered, heading toward the tower, but Jim grabbed Blair's arm and yanked him up the front steps.
They would have a better chance in the house...more places to hide. "Let's split up."
"What?" Blair doubled over, leaning on the stair railing, but after catching his breath, he ran down the hall and out of sight.
A shrouded figure moved through the hall in front of him and Jim grabbed the man, pulling him inside the room to the right.
"Shh..."
Jeremy settled down, listening to his plan, "No, you see, as part of our vows. We're committed to abstain from violence...of any kind."
Unbelievable. "Even if you're attacked?"
Well, if they're not willing to help, let them cower in the bell tower.
Time for a little cat and mouse.
Jim searched the yard, hugging the exterior wall, listening for the assassins. A barrage of gun fire hailed down on him and he dropped and rolled away, catching sight of Blair clocking a guy in the head, pushing the gunman out the window before disappearing back into the house.
Jim moved back up the steps, hearing running feet coming from the back. As the door started to open, he pushed out, knocking Anthony down the flight of stone stairs.
A fat guy came from around the car, pointing his weapon at Jim and then at Blair as he exited the side door, but before he could get off a shot, a shovel put his lights out. Jeremy stood, holding the tool away from his body, dropping it to the grass. "Lord forgive me."
Jim called the local P.D., handing Blair the gun Anthony was carrying. "They'll be here soon. You stay put and keep an eye on Shorty here. I'm going to check on the brothers. Jeremy, would you join me?"
The local cops came; ambulances lined the driveway, tending to the few men wounded in the crossfire. Jim talked with the sheriff, watching Blair from time to time as he mingled with the monks, chatting and checking on them.
Now came the hard part.
Blair paled at the sight of a gurney carrying a man covered in a white sheet. The wheels skidded over the graveled road, rolling to a stop at the back of the open ambulance.
Jim pulled down the sheet, sorry that he hadn't had time to tell Blair about the plan, but once the fat guy was shoved in a cruiser, Marcus sat up and Blair jumped like he'd seen a ghost.
The man was bundled up for transport and Jim gave them a few minutes alone before Marcus was whisked off to the nearest hospital.
"Don't come, son...it'll just upset you."
"It's okay...it was a long time ago."
Blair came over to Jim after the ambulance took off, lights flashing but siren silent.
They joked about going to Sin City and getting his pool cue blessed, 'cause he could use all the help he could get when playing against Blair, but he wasn't surprised when Blair asked a uniform if he could catch a ride to the local E.R.
"Come on, Chief. Let's get dropped at my truck."
Blair nodded, sliding into the back seat of the cruiser, and that funny feeling was back in the pit of stomach and Jim knew...he was going to find out what happened and soon.
*`*`*
"You’re awful quiet…are you okay?"
Blair looked at Jim sitting across from him in the small waiting room, magazine opened on his lap. "I’m just not too fond of hospitals is all. I mean, what can be taking so long anyway. You said it was only a flesh wound, Jim."
"I did…" His roommate turned his head slightly, closing and tossing the magazine onto the oval coffee table between them. "I think they're finishing up, shouldn’t be too much longer."
"Okay…that’s good…that’s great, man." Jim shot him another funny look so he tried to calm down, taking a breath and holding it. He didn’t like the hospital, that was true, but this one in practical put him on edge. "I’m uh…I’m going to go see what’s taking so long." Jumping up he headed to the swinging door leading to the emergency room.
Get a grip, Blair…he's not here…it was a long time ago.
A few people looked his way when he stepped into the hall that curved around into a semi circle. A dozen rooms lined the hall and Blair's eyes immediately went to the last one on the left, feeling his breathing pick up and ringing in his ears.
Doctors in green scrubs and nurses that still wore white bustled back and forth, attending to the few patients that lay beyond the drawn curtains, but the last room on the left was empty, so he took a few steps closer, remembering when his coach brought him in the middle of practice when he collapsed on the ice.
A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked away, turning to see his friend standing behind him. "Easy, Chief…it’s just me."
"Sorry, sorry." He was gasping now; tiny beads of sweat worked their way past his collar and dripped down his back. "I just…"
Jim’s mouth was moving, but he couldn’t understand, closing his eyes against the bright overhead lights, the walls and flowered curtains wavered and dimmed.
"Whoa, buddy. Easy…I need help over here." Jim guided him down, pressing his head between his legs.
A few people moved his way, a nurse behind the desk called for a doctor. "I’m okay, I’m okay."
"Oh, Blair…you shouldn’t of come son." The burly man, know to him as only Brother Marcus knelt on the floor, his left arm in a sling. "Come on; let’s get you up off the floor."
Jim grabbed him under the arm, getting him up and propped between them. "I’m sorry."
"Don’t be…its okay."
Leaning heavily on Jim, they shuffled to the waiting room and Jim guided him to a seat.
"I'll get the truck...You going to be okay, buddy?"
"Yeah...I'm good, man."
The monk, dressed in street clothes, rubbed his back, telling him to breathe.
It's ridicules...get a grip, man.
The ride was quiet and Blair was grateful, not sure how to explain why he almost took a swan dive in the middle of the emergency room.
He was over it...wasn't he?
Sitting slumped in his seat, he leaned his head against the cool window, blowing some hair away from his heated face.
Jim pulled into the private driveway, taking the truck all the way to the monastery, parking under the basketball hoop. "How about I help Marcus in and then we can hit the rode?"
"Blair...I'm so sorry...I hope you can forgive me." Jackie Kozinski sat forward, leaning up to see him. "I hope you know I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't, man. Not really."
Jim jumped out, coming around to open the back door.
"You know you're welcome here anytime...I hope to see you again." The older man slid down off the truck bench, turning back one time and waving with his good hand before following Jim into the house.
Jim was going to get their stuff and drive home, but that just didn't feel right. They still had a couple days left of their week off and he really didn't want to head home just yet. Mind made up, he went into the kitchen. Brother Jeremy sat at the table, sipping from his mug.
"Sit, Blair...can I get you a drink?"
The Abbot put a mug of something hot in front of him, sinking back into his chair. It was coffee, fortified with a heavy shot of brandy, but he drank it down, slapping the cup back onto the table.
"Another?"
"Who are you, really?" Blair still couldn't get his mind around it. It was bad enough...his sketchy memory of that night and now to find out that these people were not what they seemed, who they claimed to be.
"We were friends. We grew up together. It's his story, so I'll let him tell it, but I will say that he was accused of crimes he didn't commit. This place...it's a sanctuary...in more ways than one."
"I thought it was a place of healing...I thought..."
"It is, Blair. For every man here." Jeremy stood, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "I witnessed a murder...The government sent me here in exchange for my testimony. Witness protection...what better place? I realized I could help others like me."
"Are you saying..."
"I'm saying that our silence comes at a price, but I think you already know that. If you and Jim want to stay we would welcome you. Daniel said to tell you he would make banana pudding for dessert tonight and I'm sure Marcus mentioned something about some scrapes of maple he has in the shop." The man turned, greeting Jim as he came into the kitchen, duffle bags in each hand.
"I could use a bookshelf."
Jim raised a brow, "A bookshelf?"
*`*`*
The grating of the saw eating through the wood and the hammering of nails filled the workshop. Jim passed him the measuring tape, plucking the pencil from his work apron.
One completed bookshelf sat against the far wall, rich dark stain still drying. Another just like it awaiting the last piece of wood that Jim had cut and was now hammering into place.
In the distance, the bell tolled and the few other monks working with them hurried off to lunch. They were taking off the tool belts as Brother Marcus came in carrying a tray laden with thick roast beef sandwiches on home made bread. "I thought you might like to eat here today."
He carried the food toward the back and out the side door to the picnic table. Someone had put on a checkered cloth and filled two glasses with fresh squeezed lemonade, leaving the pitcher on the table. A bowl of potato salad and some fresh cut fruits sat in the middle of the table setting for two.
"Aren’t you joining us?" Jim asked as the monk placed the plates, snitching a grape from the bowl.
"No, no...I can't. I have a new member who just arrived from Utah...Blair my boy; I'm holding you to your promise."
"Every month, man. I'll write every month."
"I'll see you both at dinner?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Jim sat, dropping a napkin in his lap, scooping up a helping of salad.
Marcus patted Blair on the back, giving a gentle squeeze before hurrying up the path to the house.
Once seated, Blair put a sandwich and a little fruit and potato salad on his plate, picking at the bread. Jim had been so patient over the last couple of days, never asking him outright what had caused his panic attack, only offering to listen if Blair wanted to talk and he did...he had been silent for too long.
"I left the hospital later in the day...right after my surgery." He glanced in Jim's direction, but his friend only nodded, taking a huge bit of his sandwich. "I was in a lot pain, but I couldn't stay there...someone...something happened...I don't...it was all messed up in my head, man...confused." He pushed his salad around his plate, making little potato piles with his fork.
"You know you can tell me anything."
"I know...and I appreciate that, man...it's just...I was on drugs and the anesthesia...at first I thought I had imagining it...but after...when I was more awake, things didn't feel right."
"Do you know who it was?"
He shook his head, cheeks burning with shame. "Before they were going to move me for surgery, a nurse came in and gave me something in the IV. She told me she'd be right back...I had to get a catheter and she had to shave my stomach...I closed my eyes and I could hear her walking away, pulling the curtain. I know I was drifting, but when I came to again, someone was touching me. At first, man...I thought it was her...Whatever she gave me, I couldn't open my eyes, but I didn't know anything was wrong at first, then uh...It felt strange, you know...wrong." He reached for his glass, taking a big gulp. "I remember feeling cold and uh...someone was touching me and I could feel something...I don't know what it was, but it hurt and I couldn't...I panicked. I don't know how long...uh, it went on, but I remember feeling like I couldn't breathe and then everything stopped and someone asked what was going on...I think the nurse came back."
"This person...they didn't say anything...you didn't hear a voice?"
Did I?
Maybe?
Hell, sometimes he still thinks that just maybe, he imagined the whole damn thing.
He shook his head, a bitter chuckle smothered by another drink from his glass. He had made it through his childhood, exposed to all kinds of people, mostly men and never once was touched in an inappropriate way.
It was unfathomable that as a grown man he would be molested in a place that should be safe, by people he should be able to trust.
"I don't think so, man, but I'm pretty sure it had to be a nurse...how else could they explain why my gown was hiked up and the sheet pulled down? The next thing I remember I was in recovery and it hit me, what happened...I was so sick, but scared because it could have been any one of them. Later when I got in a room...well, I pulled my IV's and got dressed the best I could and left. I drove for awhile, but.."
"And that's when Marcus found you?" Jim sat back, pushing his plate away.
But Blair picked up his sandwich, nodding his head. "Yeah...I knew I was sorta still out of it and he was going to take me to the hospital, but I guess I freaked out. I've never...I've only ever told him. He had a knack to dragging things out of me, but he's right...he told me I shouldn't carry my burden of silence when I could trust other people...I know that now...I don't want to live in silence anymore."
*~*~*
The End
Next story in the series Dinin'
Part Two
"You're up early." Blair turned to look at the man walking toward him, chubby hands shoved deep into the pockets of his charcoal colored cloak. He smiled softly, sitting down beside him on the bench overlooking the garden. "Penny for your thoughts?"
"It's quiet here."
"Oh, I'd say. Everyone and everything is still asleep, except for maybe old Daniel. Rumor has it; he's making chocolate chip pancakes this morning."
Blair studied the tree line, watching a few squirrels chattering at each other, racing up and down the apple trees and across the phone wires to the roof of the building. "They're my favorite."
"I believe that's why he's making them...we usually only get cold oatmeal and burned toast or burnt oatmeal and cold toast."
A small humorless chuckle escaped, "I wasn't sure if I should come back, you know?" Blair turned on the bench, tucking a leg under him, resting his elbow on the wrought iron back, cupping his face in his hand. "I wasn't really thinking about how I might feel once I got here...I haven't talked...I mean you were the last one..."
"That's understandable, Blair." Marcus reached behind him to lay his arm across the back of the bench, hand near Blair's shoulder, but not touching. "You haven't told your friend?"
"Jim...no, man. I don't think I could...It's just..."
"No need to explain. I understand, but remember I'm here if you need to talk about it." The monk stood, stretching his back as he scanned the front yard. A few of the others had begun to start their day with the morning chores. "Let's walk."
The sun peeked above the trees, the air still chilly and the grass wet beneath their feet. They walked in silence, just like they used too. Marcus had an uncanny way of knowing when to leave him alone, but the man could be relentless when he thought that Blair needed to unburden himself.
He would never forget that night when the monk found him sitting in his car along the side of the road, tail end in the ditch. Blair had tried to compensate when he hit the graveled edge, doubled over in pain, unable to breathe, shaking so badly he couldn't even tell the man his name.
Marcus didn't even blink an eye when Blair clutched his arm to keep him from taking him back to the hospital.
He couldn't go back.
Even though his memory was sketchy, he knew that he couldn't go back to that place.
The first couple of days were a blur. He only knew that he felt safe as faceless, nameless men in swaying robes attended to him, helping him eat broth and washing down his clammy skin.
When the world finally righted its self, Brother Marcus sat beside him, holding his hand, running a cool cloth over his face and neck and Brother Jeremy came and went, taking his temperature, checking his incision, pressing on his belly to make sure he was healing.
And over the course of the next weeks, each man did what they could, but Marcus most of all, they shared a cell and they talked...he was the only one who knew Blair's secret.
"You're quiet today."
Blair smiled, shaking his head. "Just thinking."
"We all know how dangerous that is."
"You sound like Jim, man." The path thinned, parting at the tree line. They could take the trail leading into the woods and Blair knew that the path circled around, passing a clearing near a stream, before coming back to the grounds at the other end of the house.
But they chose the other one that skirted the woods, bringing them back up the hill and to the garden. "Is he what you were looking for...this guardian?"
"No..." But it came out a little too fast, a little too easy. "I'm just riding with him at the police station...studying closed societies."
"Hmm."
"We're you close to Timothy?" He wasn't sure why he even asked, but he did want to know. "Did you know him well?"
"Not really. He had only been with us for a few months and he was still practicing his vows." They cleared the crest of the hill; a few benches lined the cemented walk back to the house. "Timothy used to come out here every morning. I'd see him sitting right up here on that bench...sitting there and looking off. I always wondered what he was thinking about." Marcus turned to him, "He had, uh...he had good eyes, you know? There was truth in them. I was looking forward to the end of his silence so we could talk. Not many men are willing to choose this life. Temptations of the world are too great."
He had said that of Blair too, during those first horrible, confusing days...'you have good eyes...I can see the truth in them.'
Blair spotted Jim coming up the hill from the house. Marcus gave a little wave then turned back to Blair. "When I entered this monastery, I found what I was looking for. It's not for everyone... but it works for me. Now, I'll see you at breakfast. Don't be late. Nothing but crumbs."
"Brother Marcus."
"Detective."
Jim joined him and he tried to express how he admired the men who chose this life, but Frederick appeared from the other direction, clearly anxious. "Excuse me. Brother Jeremy asked if you'd meet him in your cell."
The trashed room was just the first of a string of terrible events. Blair couldn't believe Jeremy had locked them into their room. "Jeremy, come on, you know me."
"I'm sorry, Blair. We can't take any chances."
Chances, chances...what the hell was going on?
Christopher walked down the hall, ignoring his pleas, saying he had something in his room for them.
"What the hell is that?" Jim sniffed the air, looking through the small stain glass window at the top of the door.
"What's what?"
"Fuel...oil or kerosene."
"Where?"
Jim started screaming for the monk to come back, to not go into his room and as Blair tried to see what was going on, to get a sniff of what Jim was smelling a horrific boom knocked him back and into the bed, a blazing ball of fire hit their locked door and ignited the wood, blue flames licking around the edges.
Jim grabbed the desk chair, ready to smash the window when the yells of monks in the hall stopped him. He hollered for Jeremy to get them out and within a few minutes the door fell open, still smoldering. Several men covered the hall, beating back the flames still coming from Christopher's room.
The fire went out quickly, eating away the curtains and part of the thin mattress, but the walls were salvaged and the fire was contained.
Jim pushed Blair back, blocking the doorway with his body, but he still got a glimpse of the shriveled, blacken corpse lying on the floor among the debris.
Strong hands guided him away and down the steps. Marcus held onto him as he dropped into the kitchen chair, spotting discarded stacks of pancakes and cooling coffee placed in front of each seat.
"God...he's dead. He's dead...What is going on?"
"I don't know, Blair...but..."
"You okay, Chief?" Jim rushed through the room, kneeling down to get a look at him.
"Yeah, man. I'm fine."
His friend plopped down next to him. "I'm going to help Jeremy take care of the body and then I'm going to have a look around." Jim looked over the table and then at Marcus before returning his gaze to Blair. "You stay here for a bit."
"No...I'll help you. Just...just give me a minute."
*~*~*
What a waste.
Burnt papers and a melted typewriter were all that was left of the man trying to help them. Jim hadn't had a chance to get to know him well, but he did review some of Christopher's work the first day he arrived and he wasn't half bad. The monk wrote about a bulimic detective and her exploits living in Savannah, sharing her apartment and life with two cats and a pet snake.
Shifting through the ash and soot, he found a picture, half burned and buried with some other photos. He passed them to Blair, but his friend just wasn't his usual self, having a rough time of it.
The mystery surrounding Blair's first visit irked him, but Jim knew he was close with some of the monks and losing one...well, it just wasn't turning out to be a relaxing vacation.
"Let's see if we can find the Abbot."
They found the man in the sanctuary, head bowed and lips moving silently.
"Who is he to you?" Jim leaned over him, resting his hand on the raised pew back.
"Who is who?
"Jackie Kozinski." The monk's heart pounded a little faster, but he denied knowing Kozinski and even as Jim pressed, he still refused to see what he had done by protecting a violent criminal.
Two men had died and Jim knew that the gangster turned federal witness was the reason.
"Get out." Jeremy was so riled up the little vein along his forehead popped and bulged, his face blossoming into a deep shade of crimson.
"That's enough, Jeremy." Marcus walked slowly toward them, but Jim's attention focused on his friend, the pallor of Blair's face and the blood rushing through his chest. "I'm Jackie Kozinski."
Had he known all along?
"What? You murdered two of your friends?" Blair could hardly look at the man, his hands gripped the pew, fingers clenching the wood, legs trembling, but managing to hold him upright.
"I won't deny I've done things in the past ...terrible things...but despite the accusations, I've never been involved in murder. Not in my past... Not here..." Kozinski's eyes searched Blair's. "Oh, Blair... Come on, you have to believe me." But Blair turned from them, his arms giving out just a little.
It made sense that someone put away because of the Union leader's testimony wouldn't let it go unchallenged, unpunished.
Talk quickly turned to the newer members, moving to the door leading to the yard, Blair trailed behind, keeping his distance from Kozinski.
Jeremy mentioned Anthony, a star basketball player for a university in California
"Anthony?"
Didn't seem like the guy was college team material.
Before Jim could even formulate a plan, the man whipped out a gun and herded them toward the bell tower and up the steps.
Blair was shoved near the front, but Jim hung back, arguing that Kozinski wasn't among them.
"I told you, I don't believe you. I'll just start shooting and maybe I'll get lucky. When you see the big guy upstairs, tell him to teach you how to lighten up." The gunman waved the pistol erratically, pointing from one man to the next, stopping near Blair's chest and cocking the lever.
"Stop it. I'm Jackie Kozinski." Marcus stepped forward, pushed to his knees by their capture, head bowed and eyes closing.
"Easy, easy." Jim urged, shooting Blair a warning look...stay where you are.
"Wait. I am Jackie Kozinski." Brother Fredrick moved forward and kneeled next to Marcus. One by one each man knelt, claiming to be the Union leader.
"All right... you all want to play martyrs. Fine." Anthony pointed the gun at Jeremy and Blair shifted a fraction closer to the man aiming at the Abbot.
"How many rounds you got in that gun?" Jim asked, nodding toward the pistol. "One of us is going to be on you before you're through it."
Without a word, the impostor turned and descended the stairs, pulling the hatch and locking them inside.
Blair tried the door, but it wouldn't budge.
Jim hurried up the rest of the steps, leaning around the bell to see the gunman pacing the front yard, cell phone in hand and cigarette dangling from his lips.
He leaned farther over the scalloped edge of concrete; the smell of gasoline burning his nose. "I think I can make it,” he called. “Give me your belts."
They fastened the belts together. Tying an end around the top of the bell, Jim made it over the ledge, the make shift rope holding his weight.
Anthony tossed the gas can he used to saturate the house and lit a match, dropping it just as Jim tackled him to the mossy ground, struggling to get the upper hand, finally getting his fist back and cold cocking the guy in the face, reaching the match before it could ignite the fuel.
Blair was halfway down the rope before Jim spotted him, dropping down and working at the knot that held the last belt to the next, handing it to Jim to use to bound the man unconscious on the ground.
Blair ran back up the steps, unlocking the hatch, seeing the monks pull the belts back up through the window.
Jim was too busy listening to his friend's progress to hear the car approach. All the men had gathered in the yard, collecting their belts as a Caddy roared into the driveway, picking them off like fish in a barrel.
The monks scattered, heading toward the tower, but Jim grabbed Blair's arm and yanked him up the front steps.
They would have a better chance in the house...more places to hide. "Let's split up."
"What?" Blair doubled over, leaning on the stair railing, but after catching his breath, he ran down the hall and out of sight.
A shrouded figure moved through the hall in front of him and Jim grabbed the man, pulling him inside the room to the right.
"Shh..."
Jeremy settled down, listening to his plan, "No, you see, as part of our vows. We're committed to abstain from violence...of any kind."
Unbelievable. "Even if you're attacked?"
Well, if they're not willing to help, let them cower in the bell tower.
Time for a little cat and mouse.
Jim searched the yard, hugging the exterior wall, listening for the assassins. A barrage of gun fire hailed down on him and he dropped and rolled away, catching sight of Blair clocking a guy in the head, pushing the gunman out the window before disappearing back into the house.
Jim moved back up the steps, hearing running feet coming from the back. As the door started to open, he pushed out, knocking Anthony down the flight of stone stairs.
A fat guy came from around the car, pointing his weapon at Jim and then at Blair as he exited the side door, but before he could get off a shot, a shovel put his lights out. Jeremy stood, holding the tool away from his body, dropping it to the grass. "Lord forgive me."
Jim called the local P.D., handing Blair the gun Anthony was carrying. "They'll be here soon. You stay put and keep an eye on Shorty here. I'm going to check on the brothers. Jeremy, would you join me?"
The local cops came; ambulances lined the driveway, tending to the few men wounded in the crossfire. Jim talked with the sheriff, watching Blair from time to time as he mingled with the monks, chatting and checking on them.
Now came the hard part.
Blair paled at the sight of a gurney carrying a man covered in a white sheet. The wheels skidded over the graveled road, rolling to a stop at the back of the open ambulance.
Jim pulled down the sheet, sorry that he hadn't had time to tell Blair about the plan, but once the fat guy was shoved in a cruiser, Marcus sat up and Blair jumped like he'd seen a ghost.
The man was bundled up for transport and Jim gave them a few minutes alone before Marcus was whisked off to the nearest hospital.
"Don't come, son...it'll just upset you."
"It's okay...it was a long time ago."
Blair came over to Jim after the ambulance took off, lights flashing but siren silent.
They joked about going to Sin City and getting his pool cue blessed, 'cause he could use all the help he could get when playing against Blair, but he wasn't surprised when Blair asked a uniform if he could catch a ride to the local E.R.
"Come on, Chief. Let's get dropped at my truck."
Blair nodded, sliding into the back seat of the cruiser, and that funny feeling was back in the pit of stomach and Jim knew...he was going to find out what happened and soon.
*`*`*
"You’re awful quiet…are you okay?"
Blair looked at Jim sitting across from him in the small waiting room, magazine opened on his lap. "I’m just not too fond of hospitals is all. I mean, what can be taking so long anyway. You said it was only a flesh wound, Jim."
"I did…" His roommate turned his head slightly, closing and tossing the magazine onto the oval coffee table between them. "I think they're finishing up, shouldn’t be too much longer."
"Okay…that’s good…that’s great, man." Jim shot him another funny look so he tried to calm down, taking a breath and holding it. He didn’t like the hospital, that was true, but this one in practical put him on edge. "I’m uh…I’m going to go see what’s taking so long." Jumping up he headed to the swinging door leading to the emergency room.
Get a grip, Blair…he's not here…it was a long time ago.
A few people looked his way when he stepped into the hall that curved around into a semi circle. A dozen rooms lined the hall and Blair's eyes immediately went to the last one on the left, feeling his breathing pick up and ringing in his ears.
Doctors in green scrubs and nurses that still wore white bustled back and forth, attending to the few patients that lay beyond the drawn curtains, but the last room on the left was empty, so he took a few steps closer, remembering when his coach brought him in the middle of practice when he collapsed on the ice.
A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked away, turning to see his friend standing behind him. "Easy, Chief…it’s just me."
"Sorry, sorry." He was gasping now; tiny beads of sweat worked their way past his collar and dripped down his back. "I just…"
Jim’s mouth was moving, but he couldn’t understand, closing his eyes against the bright overhead lights, the walls and flowered curtains wavered and dimmed.
"Whoa, buddy. Easy…I need help over here." Jim guided him down, pressing his head between his legs.
A few people moved his way, a nurse behind the desk called for a doctor. "I’m okay, I’m okay."
"Oh, Blair…you shouldn’t of come son." The burly man, know to him as only Brother Marcus knelt on the floor, his left arm in a sling. "Come on; let’s get you up off the floor."
Jim grabbed him under the arm, getting him up and propped between them. "I’m sorry."
"Don’t be…its okay."
Leaning heavily on Jim, they shuffled to the waiting room and Jim guided him to a seat.
"I'll get the truck...You going to be okay, buddy?"
"Yeah...I'm good, man."
The monk, dressed in street clothes, rubbed his back, telling him to breathe.
It's ridicules...get a grip, man.
The ride was quiet and Blair was grateful, not sure how to explain why he almost took a swan dive in the middle of the emergency room.
He was over it...wasn't he?
Sitting slumped in his seat, he leaned his head against the cool window, blowing some hair away from his heated face.
Jim pulled into the private driveway, taking the truck all the way to the monastery, parking under the basketball hoop. "How about I help Marcus in and then we can hit the rode?"
"Blair...I'm so sorry...I hope you can forgive me." Jackie Kozinski sat forward, leaning up to see him. "I hope you know I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't, man. Not really."
Jim jumped out, coming around to open the back door.
"You know you're welcome here anytime...I hope to see you again." The older man slid down off the truck bench, turning back one time and waving with his good hand before following Jim into the house.
Jim was going to get their stuff and drive home, but that just didn't feel right. They still had a couple days left of their week off and he really didn't want to head home just yet. Mind made up, he went into the kitchen. Brother Jeremy sat at the table, sipping from his mug.
"Sit, Blair...can I get you a drink?"
The Abbot put a mug of something hot in front of him, sinking back into his chair. It was coffee, fortified with a heavy shot of brandy, but he drank it down, slapping the cup back onto the table.
"Another?"
"Who are you, really?" Blair still couldn't get his mind around it. It was bad enough...his sketchy memory of that night and now to find out that these people were not what they seemed, who they claimed to be.
"We were friends. We grew up together. It's his story, so I'll let him tell it, but I will say that he was accused of crimes he didn't commit. This place...it's a sanctuary...in more ways than one."
"I thought it was a place of healing...I thought..."
"It is, Blair. For every man here." Jeremy stood, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "I witnessed a murder...The government sent me here in exchange for my testimony. Witness protection...what better place? I realized I could help others like me."
"Are you saying..."
"I'm saying that our silence comes at a price, but I think you already know that. If you and Jim want to stay we would welcome you. Daniel said to tell you he would make banana pudding for dessert tonight and I'm sure Marcus mentioned something about some scrapes of maple he has in the shop." The man turned, greeting Jim as he came into the kitchen, duffle bags in each hand.
"I could use a bookshelf."
Jim raised a brow, "A bookshelf?"
*`*`*
The grating of the saw eating through the wood and the hammering of nails filled the workshop. Jim passed him the measuring tape, plucking the pencil from his work apron.
One completed bookshelf sat against the far wall, rich dark stain still drying. Another just like it awaiting the last piece of wood that Jim had cut and was now hammering into place.
In the distance, the bell tolled and the few other monks working with them hurried off to lunch. They were taking off the tool belts as Brother Marcus came in carrying a tray laden with thick roast beef sandwiches on home made bread. "I thought you might like to eat here today."
He carried the food toward the back and out the side door to the picnic table. Someone had put on a checkered cloth and filled two glasses with fresh squeezed lemonade, leaving the pitcher on the table. A bowl of potato salad and some fresh cut fruits sat in the middle of the table setting for two.
"Aren’t you joining us?" Jim asked as the monk placed the plates, snitching a grape from the bowl.
"No, no...I can't. I have a new member who just arrived from Utah...Blair my boy; I'm holding you to your promise."
"Every month, man. I'll write every month."
"I'll see you both at dinner?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Jim sat, dropping a napkin in his lap, scooping up a helping of salad.
Marcus patted Blair on the back, giving a gentle squeeze before hurrying up the path to the house.
Once seated, Blair put a sandwich and a little fruit and potato salad on his plate, picking at the bread. Jim had been so patient over the last couple of days, never asking him outright what had caused his panic attack, only offering to listen if Blair wanted to talk and he did...he had been silent for too long.
"I left the hospital later in the day...right after my surgery." He glanced in Jim's direction, but his friend only nodded, taking a huge bit of his sandwich. "I was in a lot pain, but I couldn't stay there...someone...something happened...I don't...it was all messed up in my head, man...confused." He pushed his salad around his plate, making little potato piles with his fork.
"You know you can tell me anything."
"I know...and I appreciate that, man...it's just...I was on drugs and the anesthesia...at first I thought I had imagining it...but after...when I was more awake, things didn't feel right."
"Do you know who it was?"
He shook his head, cheeks burning with shame. "Before they were going to move me for surgery, a nurse came in and gave me something in the IV. She told me she'd be right back...I had to get a catheter and she had to shave my stomach...I closed my eyes and I could hear her walking away, pulling the curtain. I know I was drifting, but when I came to again, someone was touching me. At first, man...I thought it was her...Whatever she gave me, I couldn't open my eyes, but I didn't know anything was wrong at first, then uh...It felt strange, you know...wrong." He reached for his glass, taking a big gulp. "I remember feeling cold and uh...someone was touching me and I could feel something...I don't know what it was, but it hurt and I couldn't...I panicked. I don't know how long...uh, it went on, but I remember feeling like I couldn't breathe and then everything stopped and someone asked what was going on...I think the nurse came back."
"This person...they didn't say anything...you didn't hear a voice?"
Did I?
Maybe?
Hell, sometimes he still thinks that just maybe, he imagined the whole damn thing.
He shook his head, a bitter chuckle smothered by another drink from his glass. He had made it through his childhood, exposed to all kinds of people, mostly men and never once was touched in an inappropriate way.
It was unfathomable that as a grown man he would be molested in a place that should be safe, by people he should be able to trust.
"I don't think so, man, but I'm pretty sure it had to be a nurse...how else could they explain why my gown was hiked up and the sheet pulled down? The next thing I remember I was in recovery and it hit me, what happened...I was so sick, but scared because it could have been any one of them. Later when I got in a room...well, I pulled my IV's and got dressed the best I could and left. I drove for awhile, but.."
"And that's when Marcus found you?" Jim sat back, pushing his plate away.
But Blair picked up his sandwich, nodding his head. "Yeah...I knew I was sorta still out of it and he was going to take me to the hospital, but I guess I freaked out. I've never...I've only ever told him. He had a knack to dragging things out of me, but he's right...he told me I shouldn't carry my burden of silence when I could trust other people...I know that now...I don't want to live in silence anymore."
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The End
Next story in the series Dinin'