Read Harsh Gods for Free Online Page B
Authors: Michelle Belanger
objects, flashes of carefully formed letters, snippets of songs. All of it was a jumble, as if she’d dumped out the contents of a drawer, only that drawer happened to be her head. One thought resonated with pristine, near-paralyzing lucidity.
Angel. I would never tell on you.
I blinked dumbly, trying to find my voice. Halley tore her eyes away, then abruptly clambered out of the toy chest. She straightened up less than a foot from me, tugging down her nightshirt. Fragments of her mental chaos still whirled in my mind, everything scattering like smoke when I sought to make sense of it. Only the clarity of her promise remained, echoing like a vast bell struck once, then fading into silence.
Without further acknowledging my presence, Halley stepped nimbly around me and padded barefoot toward her bed. It wasn’t in its usual position, so she grew agitated, pacing restlessly alongside it. I was afraid she would cut her feet, but she somehow managed to dodge every piece of broken glass scattered across the floor. After making little huffing noises of displeasure, she settled onto the bed anyway, pulling up her knees and hugging them to her chest.
“Told you she was special,” Father Frank said. The old priest bent with his hands resting on his thighs, still winded from his fight with the attackers. The cut above his eye bled sluggishly, and he grimaced when a fat drop landed on his lashes. “Stupid blood-thinners,” he complained, dashing it away. There was a
ping
and he pulled his phone out of a pocket. I thought maybe he was calling the police, but instead he wiped his hand on his slacks and rapidly tapped a text. Then he glanced, saw my questioning look, and answered my question before it made it to my lips.
“It’s Sanjeet. She texted to let me know they’re all right upstairs. Tammy’s talking to the police.”
“She’s texting from a floor away?” It came out meaner than intended—fear always brought out my inner asshole.
“Come on, Zack,” he replied. “I’m nearly seventy, and you’re still the old-fashioned one?” The priest laughed, the sound nervous and tight. His wry expression collapsed into a scowl of pain, and his free hand gripped his ribs.
“You going to be all right?” I moved to offer help, but he waved me away.
“I’ll live. You keep an eye on Halley.” The girl rocked quietly in the middle of her bed, regarding us from under the veil of her hair.
I didn’t like the gray stamp of pain on the priest’s patrician features, but I liked the idea of getting close to Halley even less. I stepped around the unconscious attacker sprawled across the floor, and went to the window. A cold wind gusted through the broken panes of glass.
“Street’s empty,” I observed.
“I banged them up good,” Father Frank responded. “They won’t get very far.” He sucked the cut on his lip. “Leave them for the police.”
I could already hear the sirens, rising and falling on the chill night air. Distant, but getting closer. With a grimace I stepped back from the window. I didn’t like cops. I’d been a fugitive myself, not that long ago, and while Bobby Park had helped sort that out, the whole thing had left a bad taste in my mouth.
I poked the blanket-wrapped lump on the floor.
“Any idea who these guys are?”
“You’re usually the one with all the answers.” Father Frank held himself up with the wall at his back, trying to pretend that he could stand without the support.
I grunted a comment that wasn’t, then yanked on the edge of the cover. A middle-aged man tumbled out, half his face covered in blood from an ugly head wound. Given his clothes and the questionable state of his hygiene, it was a fair bet he was homeless, too.
“That’s a lot of blood,” I muttered.
“Head wound,” the padre responded.
“Who the hell sends an army of deranged hobos?”
“Weak minds are easier to control,” Father Frank ventured. “You taught me that.” He pushed himself off the
Angel. I would never tell on you.
I blinked dumbly, trying to find my voice. Halley tore her eyes away, then abruptly clambered out of the toy chest. She straightened up less than a foot from me, tugging down her nightshirt. Fragments of her mental chaos still whirled in my mind, everything scattering like smoke when I sought to make sense of it. Only the clarity of her promise remained, echoing like a vast bell struck once, then fading into silence.
Without further acknowledging my presence, Halley stepped nimbly around me and padded barefoot toward her bed. It wasn’t in its usual position, so she grew agitated, pacing restlessly alongside it. I was afraid she would cut her feet, but she somehow managed to dodge every piece of broken glass scattered across the floor. After making little huffing noises of displeasure, she settled onto the bed anyway, pulling up her knees and hugging them to her chest.
“Told you she was special,” Father Frank said. The old priest bent with his hands resting on his thighs, still winded from his fight with the attackers. The cut above his eye bled sluggishly, and he grimaced when a fat drop landed on his lashes. “Stupid blood-thinners,” he complained, dashing it away. There was a
ping
and he pulled his phone out of a pocket. I thought maybe he was calling the police, but instead he wiped his hand on his slacks and rapidly tapped a text. Then he glanced, saw my questioning look, and answered my question before it made it to my lips.
“It’s Sanjeet. She texted to let me know they’re all right upstairs. Tammy’s talking to the police.”
“She’s texting from a floor away?” It came out meaner than intended—fear always brought out my inner asshole.
“Come on, Zack,” he replied. “I’m nearly seventy, and you’re still the old-fashioned one?” The priest laughed, the sound nervous and tight. His wry expression collapsed into a scowl of pain, and his free hand gripped his ribs.
“You going to be all right?” I moved to offer help, but he waved me away.
“I’ll live. You keep an eye on Halley.” The girl rocked quietly in the middle of her bed, regarding us from under the veil of her hair.
I didn’t like the gray stamp of pain on the priest’s patrician features, but I liked the idea of getting close to Halley even less. I stepped around the unconscious attacker sprawled across the floor, and went to the window. A cold wind gusted through the broken panes of glass.
“Street’s empty,” I observed.
“I banged them up good,” Father Frank responded. “They won’t get very far.” He sucked the cut on his lip. “Leave them for the police.”
I could already hear the sirens, rising and falling on the chill night air. Distant, but getting closer. With a grimace I stepped back from the window. I didn’t like cops. I’d been a fugitive myself, not that long ago, and while Bobby Park had helped sort that out, the whole thing had left a bad taste in my mouth.
I poked the blanket-wrapped lump on the floor.
“Any idea who these guys are?”
“You’re usually the one with all the answers.” Father Frank held himself up with the wall at his back, trying to pretend that he could stand without the support.
I grunted a comment that wasn’t, then yanked on the edge of the cover. A middle-aged man tumbled out, half his face covered in blood from an ugly head wound. Given his clothes and the questionable state of his hygiene, it was a fair bet he was homeless, too.
“That’s a lot of blood,” I muttered.
“Head wound,” the padre responded.
“Who the hell sends an army of deranged hobos?”
“Weak minds are easier to control,” Father Frank ventured. “You taught me that.” He pushed himself off the
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