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He looks from me to Salvatore then back to me.
“Hi,” I begin. “I’m here for a meeting.”
That is what I was told to say. It’s like déjà vu. I have to admit though that going into a church sure beats going into a strip club.
He nods once. “You alone, you know that right?” he states and glances at Salvatore.
“I know.”
“Hey,” Salvatore begins and his face hardens. “She better be safe. We aren’t here to cause trouble. She better be safe.”
The man nods. “We don’t want trouble either. She will be safe.”
I wish I could feel the safety of which he spoke but I’ve had one too many experiences this week where I could have gotten myself killed.
What’s pushing me forward is knowing what I could potentially get out of this meeting.
I glance back at Salvatore before I go inside and the man closes the door.
He moves, walking ahead of me in silence and I follow.
I walk past the rows of benches in the chapel and we continue down the aisle and out through the archway.
We step into an elevator and it takes us down and I feel like I’m going to end up in the center of the earth.
I swear it took almost ten minutes although it moved slowly.
Several times I looked at the man but he never engaged in any conversation with me and barely looked at me. When we eventually get out of the elevator we walk into what looks like a home.
Someone’s house and there’s beautiful piano music playing. I’m not familiar with the tune, but it soothes me.
We walk down another corridor and enter a living room where a man and a woman sit by a grand piano. Beyond them is a floor to ceiling window that gives an excellent view of a school of colorful fish and bass swimming by.
We’re practically in the river and the sight is definitely one to behold. I sense no element of danger here.
My nerves don’t spike until I look back to the couple and see that the left half the man’s face is burnt to a crisp and his arm looks like the robot arm from the Terminator.
The man who brought me down here leaves us, leaving me with the couple.
The lady smiles at me. She has that motherly presence. She gets up and walks over to me.
“Hi,” I say, remembering my manners.
“Hello,” she replies. “Can I get you something to drink before we talk?”
“No… but thank you. I do appreciate it.” I haven’t eaten since yesterday and I feel like I can’t take more than a few sips of water but it’s best to get down to business and put pleasantries aside.
“I am Mary Delongsel and this is my husband Adrian. I will speak for him.”
“Oh…” I reply, unable to hide how weird I think that is.
“He … can’t speak. They cut his tongue out before they burnt him.”
I close my eyes and wince. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s times like these when you’re just grateful for life. I’d rather have him like this than not at all. Same for him.”
I nod, understanding and admiring her words.
