Chapter 20: How To Save A Life

Restlessly the hours went by, each one more pressing than the last. Joe paced the halls anxiously, watching as the midnight hours faded to the soft grey glow of morning and as the silent stillness of the orphanage swiftly changed with the rising of sixty some rambunctious kids. Watching them run through the foggy haze of early morning and splashing through the puddles in the drizzling rain was strangely nostalgic. He supposed it was from having seen his brother again after such a long time that brought up the long buried memories.

The bastard really hadn't changed. He had the same imposing presence, the no nonsense severity and seriousness that always seemed diluted with the passive brotherly concern he had always shown him. In so many ways it was as though his brother had been the one to raise him and in turn he had looked up to Dom, worshiped him even.

FLASHBACK

Dom pushed him to sit on the edge of the bath then took his place kneeling before him. He went about with expert care disinfecting the raw scrape on Joe's knee and although the iodine burned fiercely Joe didn't complain or whine. Even if he had, he knew Dom would tell him to quite acting like a kid and suck it up. Experimentally he tried flexing his hands. The palms felt as though they had been burned raw from both falling and being dragged along the living room carpet, on top of which a dull ache was beginning in his bruised forearm where, unable to dodge a swinging pan quick enough, he had been forced to defend himself from the blow aimed at his head.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Dom reproached, his hard voice in complete contrast to his gentle movements as he slapped a band-aid on the cut. "When she gets like that you run!"

"But…" Joe muttered, feeling a sting behind his eyes that was more painful than any cut. "But you weren't around and…it makes her more mad."

For an instant Dom's eyes caught his and they softened with pity before he diverted his gaze to tend to Joe's palms. His voice was tender when he replied, "I know kid. Mom's just…she's sick right now, so just do your best to listen to her and stay away from her when you can."

Without warning the bathroom door slammed open and the threshold suddenly darkened with the imposing broadness of their father. His face, as always, seemed to be set in stone revealing no hints as to the thoughts behind his features, but his dark eyes were cunning, alert, and unforgiving. Joe shrunk from the piercing gaze cast his way, hunching behind the only protection that was ever present for him. In turn Dom squared his shoulders against their father, almost daring him to touch Joe in his presence. Barring the younger boy from danger they both waited in the pregnant silence.

At last the dark voice demanded, softly with an undercurrent of ferocity, "You better move your ass brat and clean up that mess in the kitchen before I belt you one."

Joe forced back a whimper, flinching further behind his saviour, but was saved from action when Dom placed a hand over his shoulder and told their dad, "When we're done."

With a huff he left, unable or unwilling to fight with his precious older son. Dom turned back to him and continued tending to his hands. The only sign he showed of the confrontation was the visible tension in his shoulders and for both that and his simple words Joe was eternally grateful, knowing both were proof of someone – the only one – caring for him.

END FLASHBACK

Unable to sleep Hank decided to seek the solitude of the sanctuary as he had so often done in the past. Making his way to the stand of penny candles he dropped coins into the wooden collection box, feeling a twinge as they echoed hollow, but he quickly pushed away any thoughts of the matter and struck up one of the matches. He watched as the flame flickered to life before making his way to the middle pew.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there in silent contemplation, aware only on a subconscious level that with dusk the room was slowly filled with sepia light on which the dust particles caught. Beyond the way he heard the waking of kids and was thrown back to a time when he would wake before all the others and hide in the church with a book till breakfast.

As a child he had been bitter both from the death of his parents and the hypocrisy of the religion he had been forced into. The other children, intimidated by his dry sarcasm and apparent hatred towards life, had left him in peace, not venturing conversation unless forced into it. Hannah had been the first to break through his barriers, patiently teaching him to open up to the possibilities of the world around him. He had lived for her for so long that he couldn't help feeling lost now without her.

His thoughts scattered at the sound of the door creaking open behind him and with a set of gently echoing footsteps came a chilling breeze. Turning to see whom had come he spotted Zoe, but before he more than registered her friendly smile he turned back again and stared unseeing to the front alter. Silently she slipped into the pew beside him and although they didn't touch he could still feel the heat emanating from her body and feel the ghostly fingers of her aura where their thighs and shoulders came a breath away from grazing each other's.

"My friends?" he questioned after an extended silence fell between them.

"Both still in the room last I checked. I knew I'd find you here though."

"We should be leaving soon," he told her, although, he made no move to rise.

"Hank," Zoe began, her voice heavy with sorrow as she grasped one of his hands between her soft palms. "I know you've had trouble with God in the past…I don't think I'll ever hear of another nine year old reading Nietzsche with as much gusto as you showed, but…you must have faith that your friend will be all right."

"How can I believe so blindly with no proof?" he questioned simply, his voice distant as he pulled his hand back from her comforting warmth.

"Faith…is something that you feel," she tried to explain pulling her hands back to draw her shawl closer around her shoulders.

He had lived around the religion long enough to have the stories memorized, to know the ins and outs of each miracle, but he had never been fully swayed. Any proof people tried to give came from a book written thousand of years ago and long after the fact. He knew memory was not a reliable source nor was history necessarily, not to mention that any proof the bible gave of the true existence of God or the Holly Son was all based on belief. He was tired of trying to sort out his thoughts on the matter and had wanted to specifically avoid this conversation.

"That's something Hannah would say," he smiled bitter-sweetly.

"Hannah?" she questioned softly.

"You remind me of her. She was so good natured and caring…" Seeing the silent question in her eyes he stared down at his palms as he explained, "She was raped…and murdered in front of me…and I was helpless to stop it. That's why I need to live for myself now. I don't have time for God and I'll never forgive him."

Suddenly feeling as though the room was too constricted, the air too stale and choking, he stood and headed for the door. He supposed Zoe had thought him out if hearing range but in the deserted room even the softest of sounds echoed and so he heard when she whispered, "No I don't suppose you would."

Sam stubbed out the butt of the cigarette on the window ledge before tossing it out the window where he assumed, four stories bellow, a pile had been gathering. He had watched for hours as the rain soothed into a steady stream, calming from its torrent rage of earlier and as the sun's grey muted light slowly began to rise on the horizon. The turmoil each was feeling had simply increased with the pacing time, however. In the mist of his own internal struggle he had managed to note that Hank had left the room long before and, although they had stopped partly so he could rest, he had yet to sleep. Joe, on the other hand, had lay down, but tossed more than slept until the young nun had brought in coffee. Sam wasn't sure when Joe had left, but when he finally reached for his own cold mug he had found the room empty.

Throughout the night all he could think of was Cody and he worried beyond reason that they would be too late. He fingered the small pendent, their only link to him, and wondered what they would do if they didn't find him there. Worse yet, he wondered what they would do if they did find him…but were too late to help. He realized his stupidity in blindly rushing forth; perhaps he should have at least called in Bosa, but was still too impatient to give his recklessness much thought. The fear and pleading in the golden eyes that had haunted him throughout the night was almost more than he could bare and combined with the image of scars, bruises and burns…

Slamming the window shut again with determination and finality he scooped up the beast that had insisted on curling up beside him over the night. He hadn't wanted to ask earlier why they had brought a cat with them and didn't feel like listening to the stupidity of it now. Finding his way down the stairs, only his memory of the night before as a guide, he made his way to the courtyard in the back. Instantly, through the mass of children that were surprisingly already dressed and waiting to be fed, he spotted Joe. He didn't have to worry about looking for Hank, as when approaching the former he caught sight of him leaving the church. Both looked at Sam expectantly, as though he was the leader of their misfit group and they were ready to follow his orders.

Forcing the cat into Hank's un-expecting grasp he commanded, "Let's go, we're leaving."

He turned away from Hank's sympathetic smile as he in turn faced the nun beside him and said, "Thank you, Zoe, for everything. Take care."

The roads, while still rain slicked, had been cleared and due to the earliness were empty. Hank tried to keep a quick pace as directed by Joe who impatiently persisted he speed up. While having him leaning over his shoulder and his insistent yammering provided an annoyance to Sam, he too wished Joe were driving so they could speed up. It became glaringly apparent, however, that speed would simply be impossible once they turned onto unused dirt roads, obscured by over grown foliage that kept the dim light out as well as blocked the path.

Crawling. Tediously crawling. So close and at the same time…

"Stop!" Sam called out suddenly.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins at the suddenness of the command, Hank slammed on the breaks. The tires slid on the slicked mud causing him to turn desperately into the skid in hopes of regaining traction. The seat belt pinched as they came to an ungraceful stop with Joe shouting his rage at having been tossed across the back seat.

"The hell Sam!"

"Next time please give me some warning," Hank requested bitterly, putting the car into park. He rubbed at the burning chafe on his neck as he uncomfortably adjusting the pull on his seatbelt.

Ignoring the two of them Sam pointed out the windshield at what had shocked him in the first place. He watched as their expressions went from ignorant confusion to sudden understanding.

"Track marks?" Joe questioned, once more leaning over the divide between the seats.

"With this rain that must mean they were made recently," Hank finished out the thought. "The only thing around for miles is the church right up the road."

"Pull over behind those trees, we're walking from here," Sam informed, fingering the semi automatic that had been weighing down his pocket since this insane adventure had begun.

He kept the gun as a protection and in his line of work it had proven itself to be useful on more than one occasion, but he had never had to truly use it on another person before. Maybe a minor injury to slow them down, but never with the intension of kill or be killed. He didn't know if the prayers of a hypocrite and atheist would be of any use, but just the same he offered up the hope that now would not be the time to off his fist victim.

The roads were dark as far as Cody could tell, and the rain continued to storm down – or was that simply the blood rushing through his ears. He tried flexing his fingers, which had gone numb from the binding of the rope that ran from wrist to elbow and crossed his arms behind his back. The binding also put pressure on his beaten shoulder which had been screaming in pain even before they bound him. Zack's foot swiftly kicked his shin causing him to groan in pain. He had tried fighting being thrust into the car once more only to have the door repeatedly slammed against his leg then simply held there, crushing until he was sure the bone had broken. Now in a fog of pain and delirium he simply tried not to move in the slightest.

A shift in the pressure on the tires told him that they had finally reached the dirt road pass to the church. The ride turned sluggishly slow and stalled for a few seconds at times. The uneven roads caused him to jolt violently and he found he was silently thankful that Zack grabbed his back collar to roughly keep him in place, if only so he wouldn't fall against him and spread his blood through the car. He didn't even mind that the hold choked him with every jolt.

The little sense he had of time vanished as he began slipping in an out of consciousness. Colors, sounds, even the pain; everything melded together in a nonsensical blur that washed over him like a gentle tide. A moan flowed freely beyond his hearing as he was yanked from the back seat, slamming hard into the unforgiving ground. The mud was cold against his bruise and heated cheek and while he savoured the feel it also stung were the grime pressed into his open wounds. He could do little more then squirm, trying to get his legs under him even though getting up had become an impossible task with his leg currently unable to support even the slightest pressure.

Sam…

A hand, whose he didn't know or care, swiftly clenched around his collar and commenced dragging him through the mud. The pebbled feel of earth and gravel crushed further beneath his skin, burning, itching and infecting while mingling in his wake to turn the ground a copper tint. Jolted at the sensation of the heavy earth giving way to moist planks of wood, Cody began to attempt once more to gain his footing. While sliding along the ground had previously been painful the lack of friction had eased the burden some. Now every yank provided another torturous pain until he was thrust back against a pillar. Unable to support his weight, he instantly began to slip down from his semi-sitting position until the hand, rough and merciless, grabbed his hair to yank his head back in place. A rope was then tightened around his neck securing him to the post.

"Start searching," Soren called out, but to Cody's ears the voice was distant as though listening from under water.