Play dead

ONE HUNDRED NINE

The man stood next to the ruin. He seemed thinner than the last time Byrne had seen him. All around him were the bulky brick entrails of another urban casualty. The city had taken the wrecking ball to the abandoned building on Eighth Street.

It was certainly no loss for North Philly. For Robert O'Riordan it was another story.

Byrne wondered how long the man would haunt this place, how long it would be until Caitlin said it was okay for him to go home. Everyone said it gets easier with time, Byrne knew. It never gets easier, it just gets later.

Byrne got out of his car, crossed the road. Robert O'Riordan saw him. At first, Byrne didn't know how O'Riordan was going to react. After a few moments O'Riordan looked at the broken building, then back at Byrne. He nodded.

Byrne walked up next to the man, stood with him, shoulder to shoulder. He didn't know if Robert O'Riordan was a religious man, but Byrne handed him something, a prayer card from Eve Galvez's service. O'Riordan took it. He held it in two hands.

Although they had never met in life, Robert O'Riordan and Eve Galvez were bound by something that would forever transcend this place, something that memory and time could erode, but never erase. Something found in the very heart of mercy.

And so Byrne and he stood, in silence, as the winds gathered leaves in vacant lots. Neither man spoke. Sometimes words were not enough, Kevin Byrne thought. Sometimes they were not even needed.