hope75
06-10-2014, 04:12 PM
October 29th 1986
The shrill, electronic rhythm of the heart monitor pierced the silence of the ward. Tubes ran from it connected to the old man that occupied its lone bed. Father Ivan Mahoney written on a sign above.
Keeping a constant vigil in a chair next to him, the younger priest rose to his feet slowly. He walked the length of the small ward, shaking the stiffness from himself.
He glanced at his watch and noticed he had been here almost three hours.
Heavy rain outside began to drum unceremoniously against the rooms only window.
Returning to his seat, he picked up the well thumbed magazine and continued to read. Hours passed and sleep gradually ghosted over him.
Pain from a crick in his neck woke him. As his eyes adjusted to the sterile whiteness of his surroundings, he heard the old priest muttering.
“Those poor boys,” Ivan repeated over and over. His voice no more than a hoarse whisper.
“Father Ivan you have returned to us,” the younger man blurted with relief standing over him.
Disorientation and fear were visible in the old priests eyes. Sweat lacquered the fine grey strands of hair to his wrinkled forehead.
“Where am I?” Ivan asked.
“You collapsed during service this afternoon Father, we are in St Lukes Hospital. The doctors are treating it as a suspected heart attack.”
“And you have been with me since Father Martin, no one else is with you?” Ivan enquired. Traces of panic tinged in his question.
“No Father, it is only me here.”
“Those poor boys,” Ivan croaked again.
Before Martin could ask anymore two nurses entered the small ward.
“Good to see you back with us Father,” one of them said jovially while the other inspected the medical charts hanging from the end of the bed.
“Sorry Father Martin we are going to need a few moments to carry out some checks on our patient,” she continued as she ushered him out of the room.
“Please Martin don’t leave me alone,” Ivan called feebly to him as he left. He turned to respond but the nurse closed out the door.
July 6th 1974
Ivan stared at his mirrored reflection as he attached his clerical collar. Flicks of grey becoming more predominant through the hair on his temples. The ever increasing bulge of his stomach getting more evident under the black shirt.
“When do you think you will be back from your house visits Father?” called the house keeper Mrs Simms, breaking him from his thoughts.
“I am not sure Mrs Simms, am going to the Johnson place so could be a while,” he replied as he went to the hall to fetch his keys.
Emerging from the back kitchen she added, “Gives me the creeps that house does”. A distinguished elegance in the way she carried herself.
“It’s Gods work,” the priest retorted opening the front door of the rectory. Bright rays of the mid summer sun saturating the hallway.
The leather seats of the Chevrolet Vega were hot when he climbed in. He reversed slowly through the gates and onto the street.
On the cars radio Terry Jacks sang about ‘Seasons in the Sun’ as he made his way through the small town of Harris.
Kids playing at the local park made Ivan smile. Their laughter and energy infectious.
Quaint little streets soon made way to more dilapidated buildings when he crossed the towns only bridge. Locals liked to refer to this area as the ‘Pitts’.
Ivan turned left onto the street where Peg Johnson lived with her two boys.
He pulled up in front of the shabby two storey house and killed the engine.
The wooden steps leading to the front door groaned underfoot when he ascended them. Trash and broken toys littered the tried looking porch. Moss and over grown Ivy blotched sections of its surface.
He knocked twice. The shuffle of feet inside came toward the door moments later.
Peg Johnsons weathered face greeted him. The beauty she once was now faded almost entirely. Her bloodshot eyes the result of early morning drinking, the trace of alcohol on her breath confirming this.
“Good afternoon Father, I wasn’t expecting you today. I thought you were coming Thursday,” was her greeting.
“It is Thursday Peg, how are the boys?”
“Bill ain’t been so good lately Father Ivan,” she answered, “been actin all strange again, like I was telling you bout before. C’mon in but ignore the mess was just getting round to cleaning up.”
A strange odour filled the air within the house. Stale cigarettes and alcohol blended with something different. Something fetid.
Old newspapers lined the floor and the stairway that led to the second floor. Various religious artefacts adorned the yellowing walls. A cheap looking crucifix lay on the ground having fallen from its hook.
“You want coffee Father?” Peg asked leading them toward the kitchen. He noticed the small, red pressure marks on the back of her arm.
“Yes coffee would be great. Did you get a bite Peg?”
She looked at her arm. “Oh that, woke up with it a few days back. Think it was one of those neighbours pesky pups might of done it when I was resting in the back garden. They’re always in an out of our backyard.”
The odour in the house became more pungent as they entered the kitchen.
Unwashed pots and crockery lined the washboard by the sink. A half full bottle of cheap brand vodka stood beside an empty tumbler on the table.
Looking out the window onto the back yard, Ivan spotted the younger Johnson boy, Eddie, staring vacantly at the room directly above the kitchen. His skinny freckled arm raised to shield the sun from his dirty face.
“Eddie, get in here and say howdy to Father Ivan,” Peg yelled through the open back door.
The boys reaction delayed by whatever had held his gaze, gradually made his way inside.
“Hi Father,” the boy said sheepishly.
“How are you Eddie, what you getting up to in the backyard?” Ivan asked, noticing how malnourished the boy looked. The raggedy t-shirt and shorts he wore barely clinging to his scrawny frame.
“Nuthin much, just looking for toads,” was the brief reply.
“Run up and check on your brother,” his mother ordered, “Father Ivan is wanting to pray with Bill.”
The clunking of feet up the stairs was then followed by steps across the floor, in the room directly above the kitchen. Muffled voices conversed inaudible words.
Ivan sipped the awful coffee as Peg explained more about her eldest son.
“Caught him out front three nights ago with nuthin but his briefs on him. He was just standing there mumbling to himself. Look on his face damn near scared the life out of me Father,” she began pouring a generous measure of vodka into her mug.
“Been other things too, like hearin him talk to himself alone up in that room and then the scratchin sounds late at night,” Peg added, “I’m at my wits end, that’s why I went an called you.”
“Have you had the doctors out to look on him?”
“Damn doctors, don’t know what they talk about. There is something wrong with that boy an no doctor gonna be able to fix it,” she barked back.
Bill was sat up in bed when Ivan entered the room, a serene expression cast across his face. His eyes not lifting from the comic book he read.
To Ivan the air in the room seemed more chilled than the rest of the house. Goosebumps stood rapidly down the back of his neck.
“How are you Bill? Your Mom has asked me to come and pray with you for a while,” Ivan reassured the boy.
He looked younger than his eight years, the priest thought. Skinny and freckled like his brother.
“Don’t need no prayers Father,” Bill responded. His voice deeper than Ivan expected it to be.
Bill now stared up at the priest, watching him as he approached the bed.
“Well your Momma wanted…”
Before Ivan could finish the sentence the boy leaped to his feet and began to bounce up and down on the mattress.
“I don’t care what that ***** wants,” he growled continuing to bounce. His eyes never leaving those of the priest.
“Bill, just calm down that a boy.”
The skinny kid had now sprung from the bed and stood behind the frumpy middle aged man in black.
Ivan quickly turned around just as a small plastic toy block impacted with the side of his head.
Bill laughed hard. An almost maniacal screech coming from his mouth.
“Now son that just isn’t funny,” Ivan shouted at him. Anger spliced in his words.
His laughter continued, his face contorted from the howls brightening red. Sweat poured from his forehead.
Suddenly he stopped. Now just staring at the priest in front of him, a hideous smile etched on his lips.
The boy ran at Ivan without warning. The impact sending them both to the floor.
Using his strength Ivan overpowered the boy and pinned his wrists to the floor. Bills smile never leaving his face.
“You have got to calm down, Bill for gods sake just calm down,” the priest repeated as the boy writhed like a trapped animal under his weight.
Bill began to strike the back of his head against the dirty wooden floor, screaming a deafening scream.
Foam now flowed from his mouth. His eyes rolled uncontrollably in his small skull, then closed.
Silence came over the room, only interrupted by the boys erratic breathing. Peg Johnson stood at the doorway, tears streaming down her face.
“He will be okay now Father,” she whimpered, “just lift him onto the bed an let him sleep.”
They placed the boy, ringing wet from perspiration, back onto the mattress.
Leaving the room Peg locked the door and they went downstairs.
October 31st 1986
Those screams woke Ivan from his sleep. It was not the first time this had occurred over the years.
Father Martin mopped the cold sweat from his brow.
“Another bad dream?” the younger priest asked.
Ivan did not answer and sat up in the now familiar backdrop of his hospital ward.
“The doctors are saying that we can take you home in the next few days. They are happy with the progress you are making.”
“I need you to contact Peg Johnson for me,” Ivan cut in ignoring what had just been said, “its very important that I speak with her.”
“But Father, Peg Johnson died two years ago. Don’t you remember, you said her funeral mass. People in the town say she never got over her son Eddie having to go to that home, surely you remember.”
Coming to his senses the older priest thought deeply about this before answering, “Yes, yes I remember that now. It still haunts me, she could not deal with that poor troubled boy. His fits just kept getting worse.”
Martin helped to get Ivan more comfortable in bed before opening the window.
The cool morning air breezed in. An orderly knocked on the door to see if Ivan was able for some breakfast.
In the lobby, the hospital was quiet. The main nurses station manned by a solitary employee.
A handful of visitors mulled about at the vending machines dotted on the ground floor.
The crackled voice on the intercom hailed Doctor Sykes to the maternity ward.
No one noticed the tall, freckled, skinny young man who walked in through the sliding doors of the main entrance.
He approached the nurses station, pulling down the hood of his parka.
“Hi, I’m here to visit Father Ivan Mahoney,” he said nervously, “he is expecting me.”
The slightly plump African American nurse behind the desk looked him up and down.
“Visiting hours are between twelve and four sweetie, you’re going to have to wait for an hour or so. Patients just getting something to eat at the minute.”
“That’s fine,” he replied, “I have been waiting to see him for some time now, couple a more minutes ain’t gonna matter.”
He made his way to the waiting room down the hall and found himself a seat under the television.
The shrill, electronic rhythm of the heart monitor pierced the silence of the ward. Tubes ran from it connected to the old man that occupied its lone bed. Father Ivan Mahoney written on a sign above.
Keeping a constant vigil in a chair next to him, the younger priest rose to his feet slowly. He walked the length of the small ward, shaking the stiffness from himself.
He glanced at his watch and noticed he had been here almost three hours.
Heavy rain outside began to drum unceremoniously against the rooms only window.
Returning to his seat, he picked up the well thumbed magazine and continued to read. Hours passed and sleep gradually ghosted over him.
Pain from a crick in his neck woke him. As his eyes adjusted to the sterile whiteness of his surroundings, he heard the old priest muttering.
“Those poor boys,” Ivan repeated over and over. His voice no more than a hoarse whisper.
“Father Ivan you have returned to us,” the younger man blurted with relief standing over him.
Disorientation and fear were visible in the old priests eyes. Sweat lacquered the fine grey strands of hair to his wrinkled forehead.
“Where am I?” Ivan asked.
“You collapsed during service this afternoon Father, we are in St Lukes Hospital. The doctors are treating it as a suspected heart attack.”
“And you have been with me since Father Martin, no one else is with you?” Ivan enquired. Traces of panic tinged in his question.
“No Father, it is only me here.”
“Those poor boys,” Ivan croaked again.
Before Martin could ask anymore two nurses entered the small ward.
“Good to see you back with us Father,” one of them said jovially while the other inspected the medical charts hanging from the end of the bed.
“Sorry Father Martin we are going to need a few moments to carry out some checks on our patient,” she continued as she ushered him out of the room.
“Please Martin don’t leave me alone,” Ivan called feebly to him as he left. He turned to respond but the nurse closed out the door.
July 6th 1974
Ivan stared at his mirrored reflection as he attached his clerical collar. Flicks of grey becoming more predominant through the hair on his temples. The ever increasing bulge of his stomach getting more evident under the black shirt.
“When do you think you will be back from your house visits Father?” called the house keeper Mrs Simms, breaking him from his thoughts.
“I am not sure Mrs Simms, am going to the Johnson place so could be a while,” he replied as he went to the hall to fetch his keys.
Emerging from the back kitchen she added, “Gives me the creeps that house does”. A distinguished elegance in the way she carried herself.
“It’s Gods work,” the priest retorted opening the front door of the rectory. Bright rays of the mid summer sun saturating the hallway.
The leather seats of the Chevrolet Vega were hot when he climbed in. He reversed slowly through the gates and onto the street.
On the cars radio Terry Jacks sang about ‘Seasons in the Sun’ as he made his way through the small town of Harris.
Kids playing at the local park made Ivan smile. Their laughter and energy infectious.
Quaint little streets soon made way to more dilapidated buildings when he crossed the towns only bridge. Locals liked to refer to this area as the ‘Pitts’.
Ivan turned left onto the street where Peg Johnson lived with her two boys.
He pulled up in front of the shabby two storey house and killed the engine.
The wooden steps leading to the front door groaned underfoot when he ascended them. Trash and broken toys littered the tried looking porch. Moss and over grown Ivy blotched sections of its surface.
He knocked twice. The shuffle of feet inside came toward the door moments later.
Peg Johnsons weathered face greeted him. The beauty she once was now faded almost entirely. Her bloodshot eyes the result of early morning drinking, the trace of alcohol on her breath confirming this.
“Good afternoon Father, I wasn’t expecting you today. I thought you were coming Thursday,” was her greeting.
“It is Thursday Peg, how are the boys?”
“Bill ain’t been so good lately Father Ivan,” she answered, “been actin all strange again, like I was telling you bout before. C’mon in but ignore the mess was just getting round to cleaning up.”
A strange odour filled the air within the house. Stale cigarettes and alcohol blended with something different. Something fetid.
Old newspapers lined the floor and the stairway that led to the second floor. Various religious artefacts adorned the yellowing walls. A cheap looking crucifix lay on the ground having fallen from its hook.
“You want coffee Father?” Peg asked leading them toward the kitchen. He noticed the small, red pressure marks on the back of her arm.
“Yes coffee would be great. Did you get a bite Peg?”
She looked at her arm. “Oh that, woke up with it a few days back. Think it was one of those neighbours pesky pups might of done it when I was resting in the back garden. They’re always in an out of our backyard.”
The odour in the house became more pungent as they entered the kitchen.
Unwashed pots and crockery lined the washboard by the sink. A half full bottle of cheap brand vodka stood beside an empty tumbler on the table.
Looking out the window onto the back yard, Ivan spotted the younger Johnson boy, Eddie, staring vacantly at the room directly above the kitchen. His skinny freckled arm raised to shield the sun from his dirty face.
“Eddie, get in here and say howdy to Father Ivan,” Peg yelled through the open back door.
The boys reaction delayed by whatever had held his gaze, gradually made his way inside.
“Hi Father,” the boy said sheepishly.
“How are you Eddie, what you getting up to in the backyard?” Ivan asked, noticing how malnourished the boy looked. The raggedy t-shirt and shorts he wore barely clinging to his scrawny frame.
“Nuthin much, just looking for toads,” was the brief reply.
“Run up and check on your brother,” his mother ordered, “Father Ivan is wanting to pray with Bill.”
The clunking of feet up the stairs was then followed by steps across the floor, in the room directly above the kitchen. Muffled voices conversed inaudible words.
Ivan sipped the awful coffee as Peg explained more about her eldest son.
“Caught him out front three nights ago with nuthin but his briefs on him. He was just standing there mumbling to himself. Look on his face damn near scared the life out of me Father,” she began pouring a generous measure of vodka into her mug.
“Been other things too, like hearin him talk to himself alone up in that room and then the scratchin sounds late at night,” Peg added, “I’m at my wits end, that’s why I went an called you.”
“Have you had the doctors out to look on him?”
“Damn doctors, don’t know what they talk about. There is something wrong with that boy an no doctor gonna be able to fix it,” she barked back.
Bill was sat up in bed when Ivan entered the room, a serene expression cast across his face. His eyes not lifting from the comic book he read.
To Ivan the air in the room seemed more chilled than the rest of the house. Goosebumps stood rapidly down the back of his neck.
“How are you Bill? Your Mom has asked me to come and pray with you for a while,” Ivan reassured the boy.
He looked younger than his eight years, the priest thought. Skinny and freckled like his brother.
“Don’t need no prayers Father,” Bill responded. His voice deeper than Ivan expected it to be.
Bill now stared up at the priest, watching him as he approached the bed.
“Well your Momma wanted…”
Before Ivan could finish the sentence the boy leaped to his feet and began to bounce up and down on the mattress.
“I don’t care what that ***** wants,” he growled continuing to bounce. His eyes never leaving those of the priest.
“Bill, just calm down that a boy.”
The skinny kid had now sprung from the bed and stood behind the frumpy middle aged man in black.
Ivan quickly turned around just as a small plastic toy block impacted with the side of his head.
Bill laughed hard. An almost maniacal screech coming from his mouth.
“Now son that just isn’t funny,” Ivan shouted at him. Anger spliced in his words.
His laughter continued, his face contorted from the howls brightening red. Sweat poured from his forehead.
Suddenly he stopped. Now just staring at the priest in front of him, a hideous smile etched on his lips.
The boy ran at Ivan without warning. The impact sending them both to the floor.
Using his strength Ivan overpowered the boy and pinned his wrists to the floor. Bills smile never leaving his face.
“You have got to calm down, Bill for gods sake just calm down,” the priest repeated as the boy writhed like a trapped animal under his weight.
Bill began to strike the back of his head against the dirty wooden floor, screaming a deafening scream.
Foam now flowed from his mouth. His eyes rolled uncontrollably in his small skull, then closed.
Silence came over the room, only interrupted by the boys erratic breathing. Peg Johnson stood at the doorway, tears streaming down her face.
“He will be okay now Father,” she whimpered, “just lift him onto the bed an let him sleep.”
They placed the boy, ringing wet from perspiration, back onto the mattress.
Leaving the room Peg locked the door and they went downstairs.
October 31st 1986
Those screams woke Ivan from his sleep. It was not the first time this had occurred over the years.
Father Martin mopped the cold sweat from his brow.
“Another bad dream?” the younger priest asked.
Ivan did not answer and sat up in the now familiar backdrop of his hospital ward.
“The doctors are saying that we can take you home in the next few days. They are happy with the progress you are making.”
“I need you to contact Peg Johnson for me,” Ivan cut in ignoring what had just been said, “its very important that I speak with her.”
“But Father, Peg Johnson died two years ago. Don’t you remember, you said her funeral mass. People in the town say she never got over her son Eddie having to go to that home, surely you remember.”
Coming to his senses the older priest thought deeply about this before answering, “Yes, yes I remember that now. It still haunts me, she could not deal with that poor troubled boy. His fits just kept getting worse.”
Martin helped to get Ivan more comfortable in bed before opening the window.
The cool morning air breezed in. An orderly knocked on the door to see if Ivan was able for some breakfast.
In the lobby, the hospital was quiet. The main nurses station manned by a solitary employee.
A handful of visitors mulled about at the vending machines dotted on the ground floor.
The crackled voice on the intercom hailed Doctor Sykes to the maternity ward.
No one noticed the tall, freckled, skinny young man who walked in through the sliding doors of the main entrance.
He approached the nurses station, pulling down the hood of his parka.
“Hi, I’m here to visit Father Ivan Mahoney,” he said nervously, “he is expecting me.”
The slightly plump African American nurse behind the desk looked him up and down.
“Visiting hours are between twelve and four sweetie, you’re going to have to wait for an hour or so. Patients just getting something to eat at the minute.”
“That’s fine,” he replied, “I have been waiting to see him for some time now, couple a more minutes ain’t gonna matter.”
He made his way to the waiting room down the hall and found himself a seat under the television.