MARIEL

27~Seven. Thirteen. Nineteen~

After finding no reason to keep Fr. Jerome in the hospital, the staff, while perplexed, sent him home. They, however, requested that he return to the hospital for a check up the following Tuesday, and that they would call on Monday to make sure he was still doing well. Profusely, Fr. Jerome thanked them, and Mariel offered an arm to lead him from the hospital.

"I can walk fine, Mariel," Fr. Jerome said, frowning and picking up the pace of his walk. "I'm not one hundred years old."

"Yeah, well, you're close."

Inside the car, Fr. Jerome buckled and looked at his son. "Not particularly excited being a car again. Dare I ask what happened to mine?"

"It's not usable, I'm sorry. I took care of everything though, Dad." Mariel reversed the car. He seemed dazed.

"What's wrong, son? Your mind is in another world."

Mariel smiled a little, driving the car around the winding turns of the parking garage. "You wouldn't get it."

Fr. Jerome stared at him. Mariel did not seem upset in any way; rather, he seemed content, however there was still a level of concern in the expression on his face. "Or maybe I would."

Mariel inserted the validation ticket into the machine. "Have you ever been in love, Dad?"

The sunlight burst into Fr. Jerome's eyes. He squinted. "In love?" Silently, he remembered the quiet, Hispanic boy he had liked in high school, the one with dark eyes that could read into his soul every time their eyes met. The most that had happened between them was a kiss, one that he had remembered for years to come, but when the boy had come to him later and told him that he was ashamed of what had happened, that he felt disgusted and that it would never happen again, Fr. Jerome had no longer pursued the idea of love.

"Yes," he said softly. "I guess. I guess you could also describe it as a very intense crush." Fr. Jerome chuckled, albeit sorrowfully, and stared out of the passenger window.

"Who, Dad?"

"Let's not talk about that. Let's talk about why you're asking me this, Mariel." Fr. Jerome straightened up and looked at his son. "Although I have a feeling why."

Shakily, Mariel wet his lips. "I'm in love with Esther, Dad. I can't get her off my mind."

Screamingly harsh pain slammed the priest's head. He heard a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream and saw, in a familiar vision, Esther dragged across the floor as she struggled to get away. Her screams merged with his as Fr. Jerome gripped the sides of his head, rocking back and forth in desperate attempts to rid himself of the horrendous pounding in his skull.

"Dad!"

Just a quickly as it had occurred, the pain ended.

"Dad, let me take you back to the -"

"Stay away from Esther." Abruptly, and with cold lack of empathy, the words came out of his mouth.

Mariel stopped at a redlight and turned blue eyes to his father. "What?"

Once again, Fr. Jerome sat up straight. "What?"

Awkward silence. Mariel said, shakily, "Why would you say that?"

Fr. Jerome looked at him. "Say what? Why do you look angry?" He was genuinely confused, and he tried to think back to his last comment.

"Dad. You were screaming and gripping your head, are you okay?"

"If I was screaming and gripping my head, I probably just need some coffee. Haven't had that in almost a week," he chuckled, but concerned with Mariel's words. Fr. Jerome rubbed his forehead. He knew something had happened, something unusual, but he could not direct his thoughts to such a moment. "Let's grab some coffee before we go home, shall we?"

The line in the coffee shop was long. Both men stood side by side, hands shoved in their pockets, staring ahead at the customers before them. Fr. Jerome felt content as he smelled the coffee bean scent and listened to the customers converse amongst each other. He reveled in the fact that he was alive, that he could stand here alongside his son and appreciate the time he had been given. Honestly, he had no wish to contemplate the events that had happened beforehand, whether in regards to the accident, to his awakening, to Phil. As he distantly watched the slender, blonde headed woman ahead of him, he did think about the fact that, despite his age, that God had clearly given him another opportunity for a distinct reason.

He simply had to remember what it was.

The blonde woman turned, the black baseball cap shadowing her strikingly green eyes. Her eyes met his and -

The pain jolted the priest yet again. He staggered back, tripping into the customer behind him. Unaware of the hands that caught him, Fr. Jerome only saw the image in his mind as he grabbed the sides of his head. He saw the woman, dressed in a red gown, clinging to a cage. Her face was bloody. He saw her sprinting, crawling through a crowd, desperately trying to reach a destination as crowds ran against her, as bullets rained, as bodies fell, as the earth shook. He heard his own voice, screaming at her, 'Seven. Thirteen. Nineteen!'

"Seven, thirteen, nineteen, seven, thirteen, nineteen!" He screamed, again and again, the pain in his head devastating and nauseating. And then, once again, it was gone.

Mariel's arms were around him, holding him close. "Dad, we gotta get you back to the hospital."

Fr. Jerome struggled to catch his breath. Saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and his throat was sore. Still holding his head, he looked up, and his face reddened when he saw the customers staring at him with pity and concern. He straightened up, cleared his throat. "Mariel, just take me home. I'm fine. I promise."

"Dad-"

"Take me home, Mariel," Fr. Jerome said through his teeth, pulling away from the young man's grip and staggering towards the door. Something was wrong with his head, his brain, and he realized that the event that had just taken place had occurred in the car. Despite feeling sick, and humiliated from the vague memory of what had just happened, the only thing he remembered from the event were the numbers that he now spoke involuntarily and continuously in his conscious.

'Seven. Thirteen. Nineteen.'

Mariel caught up to him and opened the passenger door for his dad. Silently, Fr. Jerome sat inside the car and stared ahead, his good mood suddenly gone.

'Seven. Thirteen. Nineteen.'

They traveled home in silence, listening to the sound of the city as dark fell upon them.