It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 20: Chapter VI

Coarse and Offensive Language. Descriptions of domestic abuse. Reader Discretion Advised.

There is one member of this family, of this parish, yet to be discussed in full. The least important, but most impactful. The member never mentioned or missed at raucous family dinners. The member the neighbors knew better than to ask after.

The Conspicuously Absent Man.

The Specter of Apartment 33.

'Don't tell your father,' Niamh had said on the day Derek O'Grady had made his approach, and it wasn't the first time she'd asked such a thing of her children. They each had a story, or ten, with a version of that refrain:

'Your father doesn't need to know.'

'Let's just keep this between us.'

'What your father doesn't know won't kill him.'

As far as the Carr children were concerned, Niamh needn't have pleaded, for there was a code when it came to the Specter.

'Silence,' their mother taught them, 'is safety.'

For better or worse, Alanna, Alfonso, and Vera were their mother's children. They were raised to be Malones, and they wanted nothing more. To be a Malone meant to be amongst the living, amongst shouts of laughter and tears of agony that flow fast and true. Nothing in the world of a Malone was stilted or cold for too long. Nothing was silent forever.

But true silence...that came from the Carrs, and as a word, Carr means fear. Carr means life with held breath. Carr knocks at your door and begs entry. Carr is charm. Carr is allure. Carr touches you, and your eyes flutter and your mouth waters. You give your body and your soul to Carr, and then Carr consumes you. Carr hurts. Carr gnaws, but never spits you out. Carr delights in pain and suffering. Carr is a mask of abhorrent and vile nothingness.

It took Alfonso Ignatius many, many years to remember and grasp the full extent of the conversation between his mother and Derek O'Grady. So long, in fact, that Bud was buried, and Alan thrived.

It happened on a stage. The music was blaring, as thousands of enraptured eyes longingly drank the idol in. And there it was...the memory of the day. Who knows why it came to him then? Perhaps it was spurred on by the copious amounts of liquor and other things he didn't recall taking. Perhaps it was just one of those things of childhood that have no reason to live on, but come nonetheless at random intervals of adulthood. Regardless of how it came, there was the memory, and he was overjoyed. Elated! As as he came off the stage, Alan Carr rushed to the bathroom and locked himself inside. All alone, he stared at his reflection, pulling at the skin of his face, grinning like a mad cat.

'I'm not a Carr,' he said. 'I look like Uncle Phil. Derek O'Grady's Uncle Phil!' And he laughed so hysterically that a banging soon came from the locked door.

'Mr. Carr?' came a worried voice. 'Is everything all right?'

'I'm not a Carr!' he sang. 'I'm an O'Grady! Or better yet, I'm unknown. I'm unknown! I am...anyone's!'

What relief, what joy! And the ceiling opened and sunlight streamed from heaven above. The knocking and frantic cries of 'Mr. Car, Mr. Carr!' were now lost to the chorus of angels. Hands stretched out to up him up to Glory. Faces swam before him. Smiling faces. Happy faces. And they were singing too, a song just for him. The man who was not a Carr!

He was weightless.

Don't look back, he told himself, just rise!

But he had to see. He never could resist. He wanted to confirm this revelation. He wanted to purge any lingering doubt.