I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole,
When the night had veil'd the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
-O-
January 22, 1993
New Orleans, LA
Elowyn O'Connor's legs burned as her bare feet pounded against the icy uneven brick across the Garden District. She barreled down Irish Channel Street. Cast iron spindled into intricate patterns against the colorful row of houses. A cold, wet fog layered over the city, but she wouldn't lose her way. She couldn't lose her way- no, not now.
Street lamps burned, casting shadows over every corner and building. The edge of a flag connected to a porch brushed against her neck, and she nearly screamed. Elowyn leaped over cigarette butts and broken alcohol bottles.
A crash echoed behind her, and she forced herself to move faster. She had stopped running track her last year in middle school; now two years later, she wished she had stuck with the sport. The blood staining her arms and abdomen dried sticky as the wind whipped around her. She could see the light of St. Patrick's church when she rounded the corner. The menacing Gothic Revival style's sharp angles and dark spirals made her heart pound.
Her chest heaved, and she knew her feet must be bleeding even though sharp numb pins pressed against her heels. The cemetery lay beyond her across from the church. The sun-bleached raised graves stared back. Winding Southern live oaks covered in dry Spanish moss waved in the breeze. The branches extended their arms, reaching, tugging, waiting. Waiting for her.
Elowyn stiffened.
No. No, the Other Side wouldn't have her soul too. No, not tonight.
She started sprinting again.
A sedan blew past her on the street, ramming the horn at the young teenager with the vehicle slamming to a skidding stop; she staggered but didn't stop. She held out her hands as she crossed in front of the bumper, the hem of her pajama shirt brushing against the hood. She opened her mouth with nothing coming out.
She caught a glimpse of the man in the driver's seat. The dark-haired man with an even darker goatee must have been as old as her dad. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance- bloody, barefoot, covered in sweat, the tear in her shirtsleeve, the paleness in her face. She watched him throw the vehicle into park in the middle of the street and reach for the handle to let himself out of the car.
She shoved herself off the hood of the car, breaking into a run. She blearily heard the car door slam shut, and a man yelled,
"Hey, kid!"
Elowyn ran toward the church, throwing the heavy wooden door open. She screamed at the top of her lungs,
"Father O'Brien!" she wobbled into the sanctuary, the sudden change in temperature causing a faint ache in her legs. "Father O'Brien! You've gotta help me!"
The good father must have been close, for he emerged from the top of the altar. The old man hurried quickly at the shout. His arms were outstretched by the time the two of them met in the middle of the aisle between the pews. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, not caring the blood might stain his grey, short-sleeve button-up.
Father O'Brien started into frenzied movements again. His fingers wrapped around her upper arms. "What on God's green earth, Elowyn! What happened? Are you hurt? Whose blood is this!?" he demanded, leaning down to meet the girl's eyes. "Did he do this to you?" fire lit the old man's eyes, losing his priestly visage for a moment.
Elowyn's eyes welled. She bit her lip, her cheek catching against her braces. She shook her head violently, gasping, "No." her breath came faster. "I think I'm gonna be sick,"
The church door slammed against the hinges when it opened. Powerful strides echoed against the stone walls. Her chest started to heave again. Father O'Brien spun them around, putting himself between his parishioner and the intruder.
The man from the sedan she collided with entered the sanctuary.
Elowyn saw the gun on his belt. Father O'Brien must have noticed it too because his voice bit out harshly,
"What do you want?"
The man reached for his waist, and the father spat,
"Have you no respect for the Lord's house?"
The man's steps slowed as he pulled a leather case from his pocket. He flipped it open, "I just want to help, father." the man's voice was calm, clear. "Look, I'm with the FBI," he motioned to the photo ID. "SSA David Rossi,"
The Italian name explained the dark tan in the middle of January.
Elowyn peeked around Father O'Brien's shoulder. Rossi immediately met her eyes.
"You jump in front of every car you see, kid? Or just mine?" his levity fell flat. "You scared the absolute h-" he remembered his surroundings. "You scared me and my partner pretty bad. What happened?"
She managed to keep herself together until he asked that. She came to stand beside Father O'Brien, leaning heavily against the pew. A choking sob reverberated in the church. Elowyn realized the awful sound came from her.
Rossi closed the distance between them as Elowyn collapsed against the pew's ending armrest. He kneeled in front of her. He said gently,
"What's your name?" he frowned noticing her bloody feet and the dirt spattering her ankles.
"Elowyn O'Connor," she dragged a shuttering breath into her lungs. Her chest suddenly tightened, and she couldn't breathe.
Father O'Brien laid a comforting hand on her shoulder while Rossi soothed, "Hey, it's ok. I need you to take slow deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That's it,"
"Please, you've got to get someone to my house for my mom," she pled, her tone rising in pitch as her hand flailed in the door's direction.
Rossi caught her hand. "Wait. Hold on. Elle." her eyes snapped to his, sharpening despite her panic. "What happened tonight?"
"It's my mom." her hand squeezed Rossi's fingers painfully, pinching his gold ring. "Someone- something has hurt her. I think she's been murdered,"