The Forbidden Trilogy(66)

Drug withdrawal.





Chapter 27 – Drake



St. Michael's Catholic Church occupied the entire corner of Naples and Coeur D'Alene Avenue in a quaint neighborhood of Venice, where kids played ball on the street and women sold Tamales from their pushcarts on the corner. Typical Southern California.

The church had been Drake's fifth foster family's contribution to his life. He didn't remember the family all that much—they all blurred together after awhile—but he did remember this church and Father Patrick. It had been too long since Drake visited the old priest. Now he needed him more than ever.

Sam and Drake escaped the clutches of Rent-A-Kid just over a month ago, and for the last two weeks, Drake had stood by and watched as Sam suffered. She'd grown gaunt and pale, and lost too much weight, especially with their baby growing inside of her. She shook all the time, and cried when she thought he wasn't looking. Drake had seen people come off meth... and that's what Sam looked like.

He hadn't taken her to the hospital. She was too scared they would keep her for drug use while pregnant, or something. Drake knew he could get her out, no problem, but she didn't want him using his powers that way.

If he couldn't use his gifts to protect his child and girlfriend, then what was the point of having powers at all? He didn't understand Sam's problem with using para-powers that were a part of them. How could it be wrong if it's how they were born?

He pushed the large, wooden carved doors in and stood for a moment, letting the silence and holiness of the place rest over him like a shawl.

As if psychic—and Drake had long suspected he was—Father Patrick shuffled down the aisle with arms wide open. "Drake, my boy, it's been too long. Too long. I've been worried for you."

The old man, a good foot shorter than Drake, wrapped his arm around the taller man and gave him an affectionate squeeze.

"I've sensed some darkness around you, boy. And I've been saying my prayers."

Drake followed him down the aisle and through a side door into the priest's office. "I could use your help, Father."

"It's not my help you need, but our Lord Father's help." He smiled and sat behind his desk. "Yes, I know, you don't believe in all this, but that doesn't mean He doesn't believe in you." He waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind all that. What can I help you with?"

A plump woman, dressed in an orange muumuu that matched her hair, opened the door and peeked her head in. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, Father, but I thought I heard...." Her voice trailed off as she made eye contact with Drake. "...and I did! Drake, look at you, such a big boy. Where have you been?" She pushed into the room and kissed Drake on the cheek, then lowered her voice to a conspirational whisper. “You know that young man who was injured a few months back? Thought you might like to know he’s doing very well, very well indeed. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

Mrs. Maypol hugged him so hard a normal person might not have been able to breathe. He smiled big and hugged back, more gently so as not to crush her.

He looked to the priest and to Mrs. Maypol. These people had been his family growing up. Whenever he could sneak away from whatever foster home served as temporary residence, he came here. He’d come by a few months ago to help with the garden, but ended up exposing his powers when a three thousand pound angel sculpture pinned a man to the ground and nearly killed him. Shortly thereafter, the Rent-A-Kid organization had taken him and held him captive, but he knew that no one here had betrayed him.

"It's good to see you, Mrs. Maypol. I've been out of town for awhile, but I've missed you all too."

"Well, I'll leave you to your talk. I just had to say hi!" She bustled out as quickly as she'd bustled in.

The priest settled his eyes on Drake. "You're in some kind of trouble, I suspect?"

Drake debated how much to tell him about what he'd gone through. Trust wasn't the issue; he didn't want to put Father Patrick in danger if anyone should come looking for him. They might not find his connection to this church, but he couldn't risk it.

"I'm not even sure I should have come here. It could be dangerous, but I didn't know who else to talk to. Father, you know how I've always been... different?"

The priest chuckled. "Yes, different. That's one way of putting it. I seem to recall a young Bishop who will never return to this church because he believes it is haunted and that his soul became possessed one Sunday while doing a guest sermon."

Drake laughed. He hadn't thought about that day in many years.

***

At ten years old, Drake was just starting to test the limits and boundaries of his powers. When the Bishop yelled at one of the other kids for not kneeling properly during the Sacraments, he became the perfect target.