Hellcat

Chapter 80

"Well, good evening, everyone," Father Lantom began. He stood on the pulpit, wearing his robes, staring out over his flock with kind eyes. I was watching them all from the side of the chapel, arms crossed as I leaned against the wall. There were maybe fifty or sixty people in the chapel, all waiting patiently for the old priest to continue.

"I just want to take a moment before the service starts to thank you all for coming out tonight. The events of recent days have been deeply troubling. Especially for us here, in Hell's Kitchen," Lantom continued as Karen came to stand beside me, listening to him speak. "Institutions we trust have been attacked." I glanced over at Karen at his words, knowing he meant the Bulletin. Her gaze flickered down to her feet as she shuffled them nervously.

"Innocent people have been killed. We have been called upon to question whether the people we thought were fighting for us... were really monsters all along. We are being told that we are not strong... that we are not safe," he continued. I wondered how people could find comfort in his words in that moment. Hearing something from the news or the police was one thing. But for people of faith, hearing it from their religious leader was another thing entirely. Devastating, I would imagine.

"Yet... here we are. Stronger, because we will not accept that we are weak. Safer, because we will not be divided," the old man said, eyes locking on where Karen and I were lingering in the doorway. "I am proud of all of you for coming here despite your fears." Now I knew how he could bring comfort in this moment. It was the strength in his voice. The confidence he had in his words. The love he showed for his people.

"And I am grateful to you, always... for letting me call myself one of you." And there was his humility. There was his compassion. Father Lantom was a man who cared about everyone, Catholic or not. He cared about people. He wanted to help, and I could see how many felt only comfort in his presence. For a while, even I had. "Even when the night is darkest –"

Father Lantom was cut off by a booming voice, shouting a single name. "Karen Page!" I felt her tense beside me, fear radiating off of her as I stood straight, arms uncrossing as I prepared for whatever would come next. The voice echoed through the chapel and, glancing back at Karen, I knew she recognized it.

"That's him. The guy from the Bulletin," she whispered to me as murmurs filled the chapel. There were fifty or more people in there, all of them targets for this mad man. "Where... is... Karen Page?" the man asked tauntingly slow as the sound of something scraping against wood filled my ears. Silence followed as Karen pressed herself against the wall, hand covering her mouth.

A loud crack and a grunt of pain were quickly swallowed by the parishioners' screams. More grunts followed as I watched them rushing for the doors, trying to escape. "It's locked!" a woman shouted from one of the side doors. The was no escape. He would kill everyone in here to get to Karen. Father Lantom was desperately trying to gather his flock in an attempt to lead them to safety when I turned to Karen. But she moved faster than I thought, stepping out into the chapel.

"I'm here!" she shouted desperately. "I'm here. Please..." she begged, walking out to the center aisle, just in front of the pulpit. Lantom and many of the flock were crouched in and around the first row of pews. "No, no, no. Please, don't. Please," Karen begged the man as I stepped into view. He was kneeling down in the aisle, retrieving something from the ground. Karen had her arms spread out, as if to block the few people hiding on the pulpit itself.

Shifting across the room, I put myself in front of her. "Allison, no," she begged me, but I reached back, holding her hands tightly in my own. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay," I muttered to her as I stared at the imposter. I was met by the red, glass eyes of the Daredevil helmet. That helmet – that suit – once meant something to me. It once meant safety. It once meant love. It once meant partnership. Now, it was nothing. It was pain.