MARIEL

33 (End of Part 1)~ You Owe Me An Explanation ~

The steaming, hot coffee lulled Fr. Jerome as he sat in the coffee shop. Idly, he tapped his pen on the table as he stared at the blank journal before him. He wanted to write, wanted to talk about the past events that had occurred before and after the accident, but his mind would not focus. Oddly, he did not feel tired even though it was well past his bedtime, but Fr. Jerome felt as though his need and desire for sleep had lessened since awakening from the coma. Tonight, he had come to the coffee shop, borrowing the car after Mariel had returned home. His son had been very cheerful when he had walked through the door, but he had given vague answers regarding the events of his day at school. In fact, he had not desired to discuss himself at all, and had directed the conversation to Fr. Jerome, the weather, and the news. After dinner, the priest had had to assure Mariel that he would be fine if he drove to the church for some time to pray, and then the coffee shop to do some journaling. Before he had stepped out of the door, Mariel had approached him and pulled him into his arms.

'I love you so much, Dad,' Mariel had whispered, resting his head onto the priest's shoulder. 'I'll figure this out.'

'Figure what out, son?' Fr. Jerome had asked, puzzled.

Releasing him, Mariel had smiled, but his blue eyes had conveyed a message of sorrow. 'Who I am. Have a good time, Dad.'

Fr. Jerome sipped his coffee and glanced out of the window. The sleet had turned to rain again, and lightning flashed as the water streamed down the building windows. He squinted a little as he saw a dark figure jogging towards the doorway with an umbrella in hand. The door swung open, and Fr. Jerome returned his gaze to his journal as cold wind blew into the shop.

"One black coffee." Fr. Jerome heard a male voice but continued tapping the pen on his notebook. When he heard footsteps beside his table, he looked up again and dropped his pen as the horrendous pain shot through his head. He was able to control his screams this time as he gripped his head and the familiar images of a priest taking a child from a hospital room seared through his mind like an electrical current. Fr. Jerome clutched his head, falling against the table, and the pain was gone as he felt hands on his shoulders. He looked up, gasping.

"Fr. Paul?"

The dark-haired man looked at him, his face concerned. "Fr. Jerome, do you need me to call 911? Not the reaction I was expecting, are you okay? Hold on, let me -"

"I'm... fine." Chills went through Fr. Jerome's body and he stood, his eyes wide. His mind was overwhelmed with many emotions.

First, it was complete shock, and then it transitioned to a combination of shock and relief, and then anger and frustration swept through his mind as well. "I've seen a ghost," he said, shakily, struggling to keep himself upright.

Fr. Paul's eyes shifted to the booth across from Fr. Jerome's seat. "May I sit? I would imagine you'd like to catch up. And I'm certain you have a lot of questions."

Mouth dry, Fr. Jerome dazedly gestured to the booth and the other priest quickly sat and placed his coffee on the table. Fr. Jerome returned to his seat, eyes wide, and then spoke. "Pardon my language but... what the everloving shit?"

Fr. Paul chuckled.

"No, I'm serious. Please explain." Fr. Jerome felt the anger surge again. "I tried to contact your sister years ago and I was told that you were in prison in Russia for kidnapping a child."

"Jerome -"

"- Which, strangely enough, my son just happened to be kidnapped by a priest in Russia before I adopted him." Fr. Jerome's eyes were wild and his hands shook.