Bring It On Home To Me

Lord Help You, Child

February 29, 1968

11:54 PM

"Sof! Sofia! Wake up, baby, look!" I heard John call my name. As I opened my eyes, what I saw in front of me took my breath away.

Fluorescent neon lights from divebars and motels riveted my attention. The lights from hotel rooms, offices, studios, and factories shone in the sky. Have you ever seen a more beautiful sight than this? We drove through a neighborhood with ripped off shingles, and broken windows. It seemed to be tore up from a past hurricane, as the neighborhood drowned undater.

"Alright, Father James said that he lives on the border of Downtown and the French Ward, so," John glanced my way, "we'll go to the right," he put his right blinker on, "then we'll cross a bridge." He said.

"Woah! This is so beautiful! Now I'm really glad that I went with you!" I chirped, looking out the window in awe. Man, this city was gorgeous at night. I'm sure the city's cleaners were going around, cleaning up after Mardi Gras.

Downtown was the prettiest place. Neon signs, and beautiful lights captivated my attention, and I didn't want to go to Father James' house. Hell, I'd sleep on a park bench out in the roundabout if it meant I could wake up and stare at the gorgeous lights! The car's tires made a screeching sound against the asphalt as we made an abrupt stop.

"Goddamn fucking idiots. Can't drive for shit." John grumbled. I started to laugh at his road rage.

"Oh, well do you want to drive?" He asked, annoyance in his voice.

"Do you want to calm down?" I sassed, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Sofia, don't sass me right now-"

"I'll do whatever I want to, I'll get out of this god forsaken car!"

"Fine! Do what you want!"

"Stop the car, then." I looked at him, but he shook his head. John continued driving before he slowed down. He turned his right blinker on, and pulled into a gravel driveway. A big church sat on the left of the house, bells strung high at the top of the tower. John turned the car off, and got out, opening the car door for me as we walked up to the door.

A wishy-washy feeling knotted in the pit of my stomach. The thought of meeting someone new made me skittish, but I would have to get used to it some time. John knocked on the door three times, as we stood five inches away from the door. The porch light flickered on, and the screen door opened. An African-American dressed in all black attire revealed himself. A clerical collar was fastened under his original black button-up. John stepped forward and offered his hand.

"Hi, I'm John Donovan, this is my wife, Sofia." John introduced us as I held my hand out to shake his. He gave us a smile, and took my hand.

"I'm Father James, please come in." He pushed the door wide open for us, and I was the first to step in the house. I took in the religious paintings, and the pressurized catholic atmosphere. This was going to be a long trip. Turning my head, I noticed an unconscious African-American in the bedroom off to the side. Bruises and burns covered his body head to toe. Bloodied gauze wrapped around his temple. Vietnam couldn't get him, but committing a heist did.

God works in mysterious ways.

I was hesitant to walk in the bedroom. It was scary seeing Lincoln unconscious, and unwell. Despite my nervousness, I pulled up a chair beside the bed. My eyes dug into him with a forlorn expression. I always remember the pilot's wise words before Elliot, Irene and I got off the plane at Washington D.C.

"Lastly, don't go around stirring up stuff!"

I guess Lincoln didn't get the memo.

"Yes, sir. Lincoln's in there, asleep. He slips in and out of consciousness sometimes, so don't be too alarmed if he starts to panic." Father James whispered before going into the living room to watch TV and drink tea- I suppose. He had a steaming cup of a liquid on the coffee table when I glanced around.