Chapter 3: Philomena

(Just a quick note that I forgot to put at the top of the story. All the songs in this chapter and those following it were written and performed by Over the Rhine, my favorite band. This is an homage, not blatant copy write infringement.)



"Now dear," Mrs. Bowman said. "The bathroom is right over there if you need it, I'll leave the light on."

"Thank you," Sara said politely. She had dearly hoped that she and Gabe would have a couple of moments alone so they could talk. Sara was filled with thoughts she needed to explain to someone, or at least try to explain, so that she might be able to understand herself what was going on. But he had been whisked away by Mike to stay in their guest room while Sara was put in the room that had been Gabriel's when he had lived in the old colonial. It seemed backwards, to Sara, to put her in his childhood room while he was across town, well only two blocks away, in some strange room.

"We're going to have breakfast at eight. Everyone will be coming over, Gabriel too."

"Eight, great."

"That's so cute," Shauna said. "That rhymes."

"Shauna, what are you doing up here?" Mrs. Bowman asked. Sara had been informed that Raulph, Shauna and Timmy had a little apartment in the basement. So the baby's crying shouldn't wake her. Sara had assumed that, by the age of two, children weren't babies anymore, and shouldn't be crying. But she had never been a mother, she had never even babysat, what did she know?

"I remembered what Phil wanted me to give Gabriel."

"Sweetie," Mrs. Bowman said with a sort of tired, tried patience. "Gabriel's staying with Mike and Anna."

"I know," Shauna said after a moment. Sara seriously doubted wether Shauna had known. "I just didn't want to forget again. Here," she produced a small cassette tape. "This is what Phil gave me."

Sara looked at it for a moment. It wasn't hers, it was a gift, from one friend to another, it was private, it was important. But suddenly the Witchblade gave her another vision. It was that same girl, she was laughing, she was crying, she was singing.

"Sara," Mrs. Bowman said, placing her hand on Sara's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Ah, yeah," Sara stuttered, pulling herself out of the trance with some effort. "I'm fine, really."

"If you say so."

"I, ah, I guess I should take this," Sara said, taking the tape out of Shauna's hand. "For Gabriel."

"At least you won't forget it," Shauna said, relived.

"No," Sara said as she turned the plastic cover over and over in her hand. She looked up at her two hostesses and smiled. "Well, I really should get to bed."

"Of course, goodnight dear," Mrs. Bowman said, "Shauna say goodnight."

"Night," Shauna said, just before Mrs. Bowman grabbed her arm and led her down the hall and to the stairs. Sara backed into Gabriel's room slowly, then, shut and locked the doors.

The room was small with a slanted ceiling that had little green glow in the dark stars all over it. As Sara casually observed the unique skyscape she realized that the stars were accurately placed, that is, each one was a real constellation. Ursa major and minor, Orion and his dog, Leo and Cassiopeia, they were all there. Across from the slanted wall was a bed, awkwardly lofted over a desk., and on that desk was a small boom box, into which Sara slipped the tape.

"You know that's meant for him," Danny said over her shoulder. "You won't understand it."

"Maybe not," Sara said as she pushed play. "But it won't be the first thing tonight I haven't understood." There was a moment of silence as they waited for the tape to crackle on.

After a few seconds of static a woman's voice said, "Um, this is 'I'm happy with myself.'" There were a few introductory bars played on a guitar and then the girl started singing "I'm happy with myself. I'm happy with myself, and I don't have what it takes to please you . . ."

"Hum," Sara said, turning her attention from the music, which was not meant for her and she didn't quite understand, to a note in the cassette case.

"That's not meant for you either."

"Well, it's too late for that," Sara said as she read the note, which said:



Dear Gabriel

This is for you, all of it. If you want, please come and find me. I'm so sorry.

Phil



"You know, it's funny," Danny said, pulling Sara's attention away from the note. "Truth can't be spoken, it has to be discovered; can't be seen, it must be felt."

"What are you talking about Danny?"

"Do you remember what Dominique told you?"

"Yeah," Sara said sarcastically. "Irons appreciates a fine brood mare."

"You know what I mean."

"Everything is connected."

"You have to be here, Sara. These people, this place, this situation."

"I thought I was coming here for a break, Danny, not to fix some problem between Gabriel and his former best friend."

"Your right," Danny said as he slipped into a directors chair by the window, the only place to sit in the room. "This is Gabriel's problem, and you can't possibly fix it for him."

"So then why am I here? If this is all supposed to have purpose, if the Witchblade is supposed to bring everything together why am I in the middle of nowhere, the hell far away from New York and all my problems."

Danny shrugged, dismissing the question without any thought. "When was the last time you went to church?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Rest gives strength to the body, contemplation to the mind, and prayer to the soul."

"You want I should go hunt down Gabriel's grandfather and confess all?"

"No," Danny said slowly. "I want your body, mind, and soul to be as strong as possible. The fight that's coming will be a thousand fold more difficult than any fight you have encountered before."

Sara looked up at her partner with a sense of dread. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I say, Sara."

"No," she said angrily. "The hell with that, what do you really mean?"

"I don't want to repeat myself like a broken record."

"I can't believe anything could be more difficult than seeing Conchabar killed with my own Goddam weapon! I don't believe anything could be harder than facing the periculum, a test that I didn't know was coming and couldn't escape and would kill me if I failed! I can't believe it could get harder."

"Just because you don't believe something, doesn't mean it isn't true."

"No," Sara said again, tears were starting to form on the ridges of her eyes and she could feel her throat constrict.

"This is a place of rest, comfort, discovery," Danny assured her. "Don't fear the future, first gain as much from the present as possible."

"That's easy for you to say Danny, you don't have to live through this shit."

"We all know suffering, we all have our cross to bear."

Sara looked at her friend, who had not only carried his cross but been crucified on it. In the background the music continued, "'Cause we smile in here/ we don't get too close to sadness.
'Cause what's holding us / is just about to break/Ain't it funny how life can drag behind us/just like so much dead weight
."

* * *

Sara was caught in a fitful half sleep. She knew she was awake, but she couldn't truly fall asleep. Those songs on Gabe's tape were flowing through her thoughts, haunting her, along with the visions of the girl being abused. How was Sara supposed to rest and gain strength with those images in her head. It was about two a.m. and it was all Sara could do to lie in Gabriel's bed and look at the stars on the wall when, suddenly, their was a rap on her window, or more precisely, Gabriel's window.

Sara, mildly curious, slightly annoyed, and eternally grateful that she now had a good reason not to sleep, tumbled off of Gabriel's bed and hit the floor with a thud. Pulling a sweat shirt on over her skimpy pajama top she opened the small window and leaned out.

There was a girl, the girl, standing over three stories below her, throwing pebbles up to the window. Sara was shocked, so shocked that it took a moment for her to react once the girl turned and started to run. "Damn," Sara spit out, furious at herself for spooking the girl. She grabbed the dark blue, NYPD standard issue sweat pants that matched her sweat shirt so well, and had them on in less than a heartbeat. A second past until she was able to open the window and nearly five ticks on her watch before she reached the ground, jumping with Catlike skill to a near by Maple tree and then bounding down it without sparing a thought for her footing, or gravity.

The girl didn't see this amazing acrobatic feet, she was to busy running as fast as she could into the darkness that wrapped around the edges of the Bowman's huge back yard. But the girl was not a natural athlete, apposed to Sara. And she didn't spend hours a day keeping her body in perfect condition, apposed to Sara. And she didn't have a magical bracelet which increased her agility, strength, and speed, apposed to Sara. Less than thirty seconds after the girl had thrown her pebbles up to the window, Sara was grabbing her arm and pulling the girl to a stop.

"Ahhh," she screamed, obviously in pain, before she remembered herself, and where she was. She quickly stopped her screech and attempted to say something, but because she was short of breath and frightened, only gasps came out of her life.

"Who are you?" Sara demanded. She knew, in a sense, that the girl had not meant to taunt her with the visions of her abuse. She knew that the Witchblade made all those decisions, chose all those images, and gave her the dollop of fear and anger associated with the near angelic face.

"It's not important," the girl said, trying to pull herself away. "I'm sorry, so sorry I bothered you. I thought Gabriel . . ."

"You were looking for Gabriel?"

She nodded, "It doesn't matter, it's not important."

"If you came out at two a.m. and threw rocks at his window, I kinda think that it's important."

"I just wanted to talk to him," the girl said apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"You don't have to apologize," Sara said, gently letting go of the girls arm. "I just want to know who you are."

The girl looked at her suspiciously.

"Honestly, right now, that's all I want to know."

"Phillis Avalla," the girl said, glancing away from Sara, letting her long black hair slide over her face and hide it.

"Phillis Avalla," Sara said with amazement. "Phil Avalla?!"

"You know who I am?" Phillis asked, tilting her head so that her almond-like eyes peered out from behind the veil of her hair.

"No," Pez said, totally overwhelmed by the extent to which she had not put it together.

"I need to go," Phil said meekly. "Can I go?"

"No," Sara stuttered again. "I, I think we need to talk."

"I can't . . ."

"You could have talked to Gabriel."

The girl didn't have an answer to that, she just nodded dumbly.

"Come on," Sara said, taking Phil's arm again, this time more gently. "Let's sit down."

Sara started to move towards a cute little gazebo near the big maple tree in the Bowman's back yard. Regularly she would spare a moment to contemplate the ostentatiousness of putting a gazebo in your back yard, but she was a little preoccupied: Phil did not want to follow.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Sara said, slowly, carefully, moving her hand up so she could push Phillis's black silky hair away from her face, exposing a horrid blue-black bruise that spread across her forehead, to her temple, and then crept down her neck. "Unlike some people."

Humbly and meekly, Phil let Sara lead her to the gazebo, and sat down on the hard, cold wooden bench.

"I was listening to your tape," Sara said, hoping that would open the girl up. It worked, she opened like a flower, her eyes brightening and her lips, pale and thin, blossomed into a smile.

"Gabriel got it?"

"No," Sara said cautiously. "I got it."

"I made it for him," Phil said a little defensively. "It's his."

"I understand that," Sara said, a little confused with her reaction. Danny had reacted the same way. "You don't mind that I heard it, do you?"

"I guess not," She said. "It's just he needs to hear it."

"Your note," Sara said. "You said you were sorry."

"The note was for him too."

"What are you sorry for?"

"We fought," Phil said, obviously skirting around the issue. "I want him to know he was right and, I, I wish I had listened."

"That's why you were throwing rocks at his window."

"I guess."

"How about that?" Sara said, motioning to the huge bruise that spread across the girl's face.

Phil smiled with a sad irony, "One more proof that he was right."

"He wants to see you," Sara assured the girl, who was nearly in tears. "I'd even say he needs to see you."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"I thought he would be, ah, alone."

"In his room?"

"I should maybe just say it."

"Yeah, I think maybe you should," Sara said, confused.

"I don't want to come between you and Gabriel, I should have known he would be seeing someone . . ."

"Seeing someone?"

"I don't want to be a point of contention, if he's happy . . ."

"Phillis," Sara said sharply. "There is nothing going on between Gabriel and I."

"He brought you here to meet his family," Phil said, smiling wisely.

"He brought me here because I don't have a family of my own," Sara said. "Both my parents are dead and, just this year, my partner and my boyfriend died. Gabriel was incredibly kind to bring me here, he just wanted to help me, as a friend."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else."

Phillis breathed a sigh of relief, "I should have known, Gabriel's kind of an "always a bridesmaid, never a bride" kind of guy."

"Always a bridesmaid?"

"Groomsman, I guess."

"Not a chick magnet in high school?"

"He was too nice," Phillis said, her willowy voice. "Too shy. He would never hit on a girl and in a town like this girls don't hit on guys."

"Speaking of guys," Sara said, directing the conversation back to where she wanted it. "I want you to tell me about the great catch that did this." She nodded towards the huge bruise on the girl's head.

"I fell," Phillis said, not quite naturally. "I'm such a klutz. Just, whoops, slipped in the bathroom."

"If you want to tell Gabriel that, I understand," Sara said. "I won't tell him otherwise, but I would appreciate it if you told me the truth."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Phillis said, laughing nervously.

"You can't lie to me," Sara said, her voice gentle but firm, her eyes open and honest. "I'm a cop, I see this thing every day."

Phillis looked down, suddenly very interested in her hands. She didn't say anything.

"It's the man who talked to Gabriel, isn't it?" Sara said more than asked. "He's your boyfriend."

"We started dating three years ago."

"Three years is a long time . . ."

Phillis nodded.

". . . especially if he abuses you for the whole time."

Phillis looked up again, Sara could see the question how do you know? forming on the young girls lips. She didn't ask it though.

"Please don't tell Gabriel," was all she said.

"No," Sara said. "You need to do that."

"I can't," Phillis choked, she had been holding back tears for a while and she just couldn't anymore. "Do you have any idea what he would do?"

Sara knew exactly what Gabriel would do, the Witchblade told her in clear, sharp images. He would protect her. He would be noble to a fault. He would get himself killed in the process. Sara took a sharp breath, this couldn't be the reason she had come to this small town in the middle of New York, not to see yet another of her friends die. That was not possible. She licked her lips and her mind raced, fear-of-loss contorted in her breast and worked it's way up to her throat so that she had to force out the words, "Don't worry about Gabriel, the one you need to worry about is yourself." The words were hollow, Sara didn't mean them. She knew that, for the rest of this little trip, the only thing she would do is worry about Gabriel. But, thankfully, Phillis seemed a little too self absorbed to notice that. "You need to get away from him."

"He'll follow me," the girl said with a frightened voice.

"Than go someplace he can't follow, leave the town, the state."

"I tried," Phillis said, tears streamed down her cheeks, making hundreds of little rivulets. "I ended up in the hospital, I said I got hit by a car."

"Call the police."

"I tried that too . . ." Phillis said. For a moment, she was caught in the memory of that night, of the way he had looked at her with coal black eyes filled with hatred and anger, the way he hadn't yelled, but rather, had kept his voice completely level as he assured the police that nothing was wrong, and they believed him, and left. She remembered the way he walked upstairs with a icy determination and took the one thing she loved, the one thing that was a harbor for her, the old guitar that had belonged to her father, and beat her over the head with it. Then he threw her down the stairs and locked her out of the house. Cold and bleeding, her spirit and hope crushed, her arm and collarbone broken, she had no choice but to sleep in the flower bed near where the dryer released its steam and kept the ground from freezing on those cold March nights. The next day, she had to go to him and plead for forgiveness, because she had nowhere else to go. Any dignity, any pride, any part of herself that was still alive and thriving died that night. And the Witchblade showed Sara it all.

"I, I can't," Phillis stuttered, "Can't call the police."

Sara sat, staring at this girl in awe. Usually Sara, who was so strong, felt mildly annoyed at women who let themselves be victimized that way. But the sheer tragedy of Phillis' situation and the very intimate way Sara had watched it, blow by blow, evoked nothing but compassion. She couldn't think of a thing to say.

"I just wanted to tell Gabriel that I was sorry and he was right," Phillis said, somehow pulling herself away from her tragic circumstances and wiping the tears from her eyes. "Please, please let him know that."

"Sure," Sara said, because she couldn't think to say anything else. "No problem."

"And please, give him the tape."

"I will."

"Thank you," Phillis said, wiping the last of her tears away and standing up, "I need to get back . . ."

"Before he notices you're missing."

She nodded.

Sara nodded understandingly in return and watched as the girl slipped away into the darkest shadows in the darkest part of the night.

To be continued . . .