“Apparently he wants to die,” Angel says, pulling his handgun and pressing it to Walker’s temple.
I know my next words will seal my fate. Or maybe my fate is already sealed, was sealed from the first moment I saw my father strike my mother, saw her get up off the floor and defend him when I tried to intervene, as if he needed protection from a small child.
“No,” I say. “Don’t kill him. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to lead us to Mercy.”
five
The Saint
The sharp, tinny ring of a phone interrupts us. Angel, Walker and I glance around, probably wondering who has their ringer on.
Dante pulls out his phone and accepts the call.
“The Stone family is asking for you at the hospital,” says a female voice on the other end, loud enough that we can all hear it in the sudden silence.
My throat constricts.
“What for?” Dante asks, frowning.
“I’m not sure, Father,” she says. “But they asked for you specifically.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be there.”
My limbs are suddenly cold and leaden, and my mouth is so dry I can’t speak. A family asking for a priest at the hospital is never a good sign.
“Where are you going?” Angel demands when Dante hangs up the phone, but the mood has changed. He sits back, slipping his gun back into the back of his jeans.
There’s a soberness in the room, a horrible heaviness.
Dante takes a coat from the rack. “I have to get to the hospital.”
I finally find my voice, manage to keep myself together even when I want to fall to my knees in anguish. “Does that mean… He’s not going to make it? Are you delivering his Last Rites?”
“I don’t know, son,” Father says, the sympathy in his eyes undoing me. “You can come along if you’d like. But we have to be prepared for the worst.”
“I’m coming,” I say, standing resolutely. I haven’t gotten to see Heath since they took him in, since they said only family was allowed, and they don’t recognize the kind of brothers we are. But surely they’ll let me see him if he’s—if a priest accompanies me.
Father Salvatore nods. “Angel?”
“I’ll come too,” Angel says, standing and backing away from Walker.
“Secure him,” Father Salvatore says.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Walker protests.
“No,” Father says, his voice cold. “You’re not.”
He ducks into the other room, then returns with a rough length of rope.
“Whoa, are you fucking kidding?” Walker asks, starting to stand.
Father pushes him back down. “Stay,” he barks, then quickly knots the rope around Walker’s wrists and ankles, securing them to the leg of the heavy sofa.
“Damn,” Angel says. “Daddy Dante’s kinky. Did you know he could do that?”
He looks to me, and I shake my head. I wish I could joke at a time like this, and I appreciate that he’s trying to lighten the mood, but I’m too sick to my stomach to muster even a smile.
“Nathaniel, can I trust you to keep an eye on him while we’re gone?” Father Salvatore asks, all business now.
