Thanks a lot, jerk, Michael thought after giving Santa a searing glare.
He walked away, stealing some quick glances at the storefront windows. A toy store had shiny cars, elaborate dolls, and speedy trains that captivated all the little kids passing by.
Almost there. It’s freezing out here. Got to find a pew near a heater.
Michael climbed the many steps to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and opened the big door. He pulled his hood partially off his head, leaving it halfway up his face. His hair was flat and greasy.
God won’t care. Stop worrying.
The evening mass was still going on inside the famous church. So he sat down in the last row. When it was time for Communion, he bolted quickly to be the first to extend his hands to the priest to receive it. I’m so hungry. I need to eat.
As the line dwindled, Michael got up a second time to get Communion. The priest looked at him curiously but gave him the host again. He knelt down and said a prayer. Mom, I wish you were here. Things are going bad, Mom. Why did you have to leave? This never would have happened if you were alive, Mom. Why did God take you from me? Why?
Michael shed some tears as he ended his prayer. The priest finished the mass. Now what do I do? I’ve got nowhere to go.
He reached into his right pocket and found a couple of quarters. Michael dug into his left pocket and found only some tissue paper. He wiped his misty eyes and stared straight ahead. Most of the parishioners had filed out of the church. Others were lighting candles, while some were chatting with friends in the back.
It had been a couple of days since he had had a chance to close his eyes. Michael mainly got his rest ten minutes at a time, when the E train moved into the tunnel from Queens to Manhattan, affording him a break between stops.
He sank gratefully against the back of the pew, then jumped forward, startled, when he caught himself snoring as he began to doze. But there was no one around. Slowly his body began to relax. Peace . . .
Thump! Wham! The noise startled Michael awake. He lifted his head up, banging it against the back of the pew. “What the . . . ?”
“Church is not for sleeping,” an old lady sternly lectured Michael. She walked back toward the candles, lighting them, and placed some coins into a box. Michael stood up and glared at her but she didn’t notice. He staggered out of the pew and made a direct line toward her. Too late. The lady walked out the front door and down the steps.
A light rain had begun, wetting Michael’s head. He sat down on one of the steps and buried his face in his hands. Mom, I need your help. Oh, why, God? Oh, why? I don’t have anywhere to go. Oh, God, why . . . why . . . is there anyone out there who can help me?
Michael let the rain hit his unwashed hair. No better way to get it clean, right? he thought sarcastically. Drips of water fell from his hair, gently removing the crust that had built up in his eyes. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his soiled jacket, forcing him to spit out some grains of dirt from his lips.
He put his head down again, allowing the big drops to slide down the back of his neck. He shivered. I’ve got nowhere to go. Nowhere.
The woman in the black veil easily navigated the bustling, congested streets, and Elizabeth followed closely behind. The roads were unlike any she had seen back in Northport. They were paved entirely of stone yet still dusty, and already her legs were aching from walking on the uneven surface. People were milling about, chatting and laughing with marketplace owners. Despite the strangeness of her surroundings, it felt like a carnival to Elizabeth, as if she were back in Northport at the Firemen’s Fair in the Pit. There were no midway games or rides, but a variety of foods and items were being sold on both sides of the street.
The scene was so chaotic and absorbing, especially under the veil, that Elizabeth almost forgot that she was holding the hand of a complete stranger. Her thoughts flew to her father and she stopped abruptly. Leah, a few steps ahead, unintentionally yanked her hand. “Please,” Leah begged, “we must get you back. There’s no time. You have to show me exactly where you came from.”
Elizabeth looked all around, her eyes now focusing on not just movement but the myriad of buildings surrounding them. She quickly pulled her hand away from the woman. “It’s over there,” she said, pointing to a fruit and vegetable stand about thirty yards away.
“By that marketplace?”
Elizabeth nodded. The woman walked a few paces ahead, but when Elizabeth stopped, the woman turned around.
“Why are you stopping? We’re almost there. We can get you home now. Hurry. You’re in danger.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “My father is in more danger.”
“But the soldier, he’ll come for you if you don’t leave now.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know anything about any soldier. I’m not going home until my father is with me.”
Leah walked back to Elizabeth and spoke urgently. “You are obviously from another place. There isn’t much a woman can do to help. The Roman soldiers are brutal and vicious. They know you helped a murderer who killed one of their own. Every step you take and every day you spend here will only bring you more risk.”
“I don’t care about what you think or what they think of women in this town. I’m not going without my father!”
They stood in silence and looked at each other awkwardly for a few seconds. Then Elizabeth relented, her eyes glistening with a new round of fresh tears. “Can you help me? Please?”
The woman glanced back at the tunnel’s entrance. She hesitated a moment, then turned back to Elizabeth and nodded. “I’ll try to help you in any way I can.”
Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” She paused, then smiled uncomfortably. “You know, um . . .”
“I am Leah. And you are Elizabeth? Did your father not speak of me?”
Elizabeth shook her head, puzzled, yet certain that this woman must have heard her father call her by name earlier.
“Elizabeth, let me get you something to eat and drink. Then we can discuss what we should do.” Leah reached out her hand in a display of friendship, and Elizabeth took it with some apprehension. They started toward the fruit stand across the street.
“What kind of a place is it where my father is being held?”
“It’s a place where they hold people before they are put on trial. And there are many soldiers.”
They both stopped walking. The breeze picked up slightly; even though it relieved some of the heat that had bothered Elizabeth only moments ago, it had a chilling effect. She turned around resolutely and began walking back. Leah followed behind. She noticed that Elizabeth was looking up at the sky and then putting her hands to her eyes.
“Oh dear,” Leah said, walking quickly alongside the teenager. She wrapped her arm gently around her shoulders, but Elizabeth pulled away.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“It’s all my fault,” said Elizabeth, her eyes red.
“It’s not your fault. You were only trying to help someone in need.”
“But if I hadn’t gone into the tunnel . . . and if I didn’t run out to help that man . . .”
Leah patted Elizabeth’s back reassuringly. “Come with me. Let’s get something to drink and eat. You’ll feel better.”
“No.”
Leah frowned. “I’ll take you to the prison. Then perhaps we can find out more about your father. But first, why don’t we get you something to drink.”
She guided them to a nearby well, where she cupped the water in her hands.
Elizabeth pulled back in disgust. “Aren’t there any cups or anything? My hands are really dirty.”
“You can rinse them first.”
Elizabeth peered at the water. It looked cloudy. “You drink this?” she asked doubtfully.