The Holy Bullet

41

She remembered parking in the garage of a house, but it seemed like ages ago. There was a car in the same garage, also déjà vu. He’d asked them all to get into the vehicle. Of course, that was the difference, they were not alone this time, two or three more people were with them. She didn’t bother to count. They left the garage again in this other car, a new car being used for the first time; it had that new car smell. She’d gone into the backseat with one or two others, perhaps only one, thrown her head back and rested. Rocked by the motion of the car being put to the test by the city streets, the passing lights creating a dark, yellow glow, she’d fallen deeply asleep, leaning against a window, and ceased hearing the noise of the engine, the tires on the asphalt, breathing, life going on around her.

She couldn’t tell how long they’d been in the car, minutes or hours, but remembered a light caress in her hair at some part of the trip that made her feel as if she were floating suspended above the ground. She’d opened her eyes a moment and saw herself levitating over some familiar, dark wooden stairs inside a house that made a shiver run down her spine. She felt a body against hers, strong arms around her, and, finally, a soft pillow and sheets shutting out the cold. Voices whispering in the distance she couldn’t make out but one, both close and far away, she managed to understand, Not now, she’s sleeping, before she gave in to the absolute rest of body and mind. Sleep, body, because the fight has only begun. It renewed her energy, relaxed her nerves, cured her wounds, and forced her fear to retreat. After a very few hours, Sarah Monteiro opened her eyes and awoke.

It was already day. Sunshine entered the room between the red curtains. She looked around trying to recognize the place, a large bedroom, antique decor. An enormous dark wooden closet, familiar, took up one whole wall. She sat on the edge of the bed and put her feet on the soft green carpet that covered the wood floor. She risked getting up and brought her hand to her mouth, incredulously. A tear in her eye showed her emotion. This was her room in the old house on Belgrave Road. There wasn’t the slightest doubt. It had been almost a year since she last stayed here. Her uncertain steps made the wood creak from her weight, not that she weighed much, not at all, but it’s natural that such old wood would react to the slightest touch.

“Good morning.” She heard Rafael’s voice. He was standing in the door. “Better?”

“What are we doing here?” she asked sharply.

“We’re safe. Nobody’s going to look for us here,” he answered confidently. “I have breakfast ready downstairs.” He left.

“Whose house is this?” Sarah had time to ask, raising her voice so he could hear her.

“Mine,” she heard him say before his steps told her he was going downstairs.

She was astonished. She took a deep breath and inspected the bedroom. It was the same as she’d left it that night when life spun out of control.

She thought about what Rafael had revealed and decided he’d chosen to give her the easiest answer, the one that needed no more explanation, but he was very mistaken. He wasn’t going to get away so easily.

He appeared again in her life at a crucial time. This time she wouldn’t be satisfied with an excuse. She wanted to know everything… now.

She left the room impetuously in her night clothes, which were from the previous day, and bumped into the open door of the bathroom. Set across from a clear glass window, a bathtub challenged her decision to go downstairs immediately and demand satisfactory answers. She stopped and decided she might not have another opportunity to take a much needed bath. Better take advantage now than be sorry later. She returned to the bedroom and opened the closet. She was surprised to recognize the clothes she hadn’t worn since she’d abandoned the house and sold it with the furniture and furnishings to avoid any further contact with that traumatic environment. Now, forced to but also grateful, she chose what to wear from her old clothes. It had to be practical. She picked out pants and a blouse, nothing fancy, took some underwear from the drawer, recovering little by little the habits and gestures the bedroom demanded of her when she lived there, as if she’d never left. All she needed was a towel from the bottom drawer, and she went into the bathroom, delighted by the prospect.

Twenty minutes later Sarah wrapped herself in a towel and left the bathroom, rejuvenated and smiling. Her glance crossed the windowpane, and in an instant she felt a shiver of fear. Two holes like those she’d seen in the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, before these, that brought back the past and confirmed she was awake. It wasn’t a bad dream-if only it had been. She looked around the room fearfully, much more well-lit in the morning light than on that night. She could see the body of the man fallen over her.

Forget it, forget it. It’s over, she made herself think.

Everything was exactly as she’d left it, which amazed her. She’d left the house a long time ago. It wasn’t normal for some change not to have taken place, especially since she’d only had the most basic furniture for someone who didn’t need much, was at the beginning of her career, and wanted to save money for something better. It was all very strange.

The lower floor consisted of a living room and kitchen. In the living room where the stairs came down was a big sofa, pushed against the wall with a window. Stretched out on it was the friendly older man she still hadn’t been introduced to. In the kitchen, Simon Lloyd, more relaxed, was leaning on a table reading the paper. There was no sign of Rafael.

“Do you feel better?” Sarah asked, sitting down on one of the chairs.

“Oh, good morning.” He raised his eyes from the newspaper. “I’m much better. You?”

“Not bad,” she replied, looking around. “Yesterday I completely disappeared. Sorry,” she excused herself.

“You did well. After the night we spent…” He changed the subject. “Who are these people?” Simon asked in a whisper, like a child who didn’t want to be caught.

“They’re friends,” was all she said. “Did you sleep some?” A change of subject is always useful when you don’t want to say more.

“A little,” he replied, scratching his head. “I spent more than an hour answering John’s questions. It was an interrogation like in the movies.”

“John? Who’s John?” Is he the old man lying on the sofa?

“John Doe. The one who saved us in the hospital.”

“The one lying on the sofa?”

“No, stupid. So you don’t know them? That one’s named James Phelps. He’s a man about town. The younger one who carries a gun and carried you upstairs.”

“What did they ask you?”

“Well, let’s say we reviewed my whole life from birth with more emphasis on last night. Truly therapeutic.”

He didn’t give the impression of having been pressured in any way. He was practically cheerful, smiling.

“What’s funny?”

“Who could be named John Doe?” He laughed out loud.

“Tea, coffee, milk?” asked Rafael, who had entered the kitchen unnoticed. Simon’s laugh froze.

“Coffee with milk.” Sarah asked for one of her morning favorites.

Rafael quickly turned to a table where everything was ready. He took a cup he’d previously cleaned and rinsed and poured a little coffee in it. Then added milk. Slipped a plate underneath and carried it to the table, where he set it in front of Sarah. He passed the sugar, offered her a clean spoon, and then went to get a tray of chocolate and nut muffins, fresh scones, bread, butter cookies, orange juice, and some slices of York ham and cheese.

“Where did all this come from?” Sarah asked, curious and marveling over the delicacies.

“From the bakery three buildings down on the other side of the street,” Rafael answered. “It’s fresh.”

“I can back that up. I’ve already tasted it, and I guarantee it,” Simon added, feeling much better. Rafael’s presence didn’t seem to cause him any fear.

Rafael created a mixture of inexplicable feelings in Sarah. It was almost a year since she’d last seen him, as she never tired of reminding herself. She felt nervous fear and shivers in her stomach, but that could mean a lot of things. What really struck her was the idea that she’d always been with him during this period of time, never absent. Almost like friends in a café or pub who see each other almost every day.

Calm down. Think about it. Stop. He’s a priest.

“We have to talk. I have a lot of questions that need answering… truthfully.” She was trying to put her slippery thoughts out of her mind.

“Eat your breakfast in peace, and then we’ll all have a talk,” Rafael said calmly. “Ah, and if you look back and analyze everything that’s happened, you’ll see that I never said or did anything that wasn’t true.” He got up and went out of the kitchen, leaving her with Simon and the banquet ready to be devoured.

Sarah didn’t think about the food, but about his words. She was sure that what he’d said was true. He’d never lied. Perhaps he left something out when he felt he shouldn’t be the one to give her certain information, but that was far from lying. He was right. She’d probably been too hard on him.

Simon got up and grabbed some clean silverware.

“I think I’m going to help. That’s a lot of food for you, and you’re not going to finish it.”

“He carried me to the bedroom?” Sarah wanted to know, picking at a delicious-looking chocolate muffin.

“In his arms,” Simon said mischievously with a scone stuffed in his mouth. “Don’t you remember?”

No, she thought, but didn’t say so. “I have a vague impression.”

“And now, what’s the next step?” He could barely get the words out of his stuffed mouth.

“Don’t think about that,” Sarah warned, sipping the coffee Rafael had prepared for her, prompting a slight smile.

Simon laughed and made her blush.

“What’s going on?” she asked, a little upset. “What’s going on?” she asked again when he didn’t answer.

“The two of you aren’t fooling anyone,” Simon finally answered.

“Who?” She wasn’t good at acting as if she didn’t understand.

“You and John?” Another chuckle.

“Come on!” Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Good morning,” a friendly voice greeted them. Phelps’s peaceful theological studies didn’t agree with this rebellious life his clerical destiny had led him into.

“Good morning,” Sarah and Simon answered in unison, as required by good manners.

“Did you sleep well?” Simon asked.

“Sort of. Although actually that sofa needs some fixing up. Those springs…” Phelps complained, rubbing his sore back. “But anyone with a roof over his head to shelter him shouldn’t complain. Right?”

“Sounds like a priest talking,” Simon joked while chewing away on the food.

“Don’t go,” Sarah said. “There’s food for one more. Sit down,” she invited him in a friendly way.

“Ah, thank you,” he acknowledged, sitting down at their side. “The truth is I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten for hours.” He didn’t tell them it had been more than a day since he’d put anything in his mouth.

“There are scones, bread, butter, cheese…” While she was talking, Sarah passed them to Phelps, who still didn’t find what he was looking for. “Do you want some milk, coffee, tea?”

“Tea, please.”

“Good choice. It’s still hot.” She poured a little into a cup. “I’m Sarah,” she introduced herself.

“James Phelps.” He got up and offered his hand formally. “Nice to meet you.”

Sarah got up, too, and held out her hand. She wouldn’t leave him there with his hand in the air.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Yesterday was hard,” Phelps said in an awkward attempt at generating polite conversation.

“If you two hadn’t appeared just in time, my mother would’ve been very unhappy,” Simon said convincingly as he joined the conversation.

“How do you know Rafael?” the older man asked politely, sipping a little tea and taking a small bite of a scone.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Simon replied immediately without thinking.

“It’s a long story, James. Excuse me, can I call you James?”

“Of course, Sarah,” he agreed.

“Who is Rafael?” Simon persisted without understanding.

“I would be delighted to know, if you want to tell me,” Phelps continued, leaving it in Sarah’s hands and ignoring Simon’s question completely.

“Later,” Rafael interrupted from the doorway. “I see you’ve all met. Now it’s necessary to dot all the i’s and tell you your jobs.”

“What jobs?” Phelps and Sarah asked at the same time.

“Do you think the danger has passed? This is only the beginning.”