Part 6: "Sometimes she must raise her hand to tell you what she said."
The church door pushed forward. Night had set over New York City, and Sainta was ready to leave the city as soon as possible. The streets were nearly empty making it easier to move swiftly to Grand Central Station.
Sainta turned down an alleyway, seeing the Station directly in front of her. A hand reached out, covering her mouth. An arm wrapped around her waist at the same time, pulling Sainta into a narrower alleyway between buildings.
Before she could struggle, a cordial voice whispered in her ear. "Going somewhere, St. Matthew?"
Sainta sighed mentally then pushed away from her capture. "What do you want?"
"I want to know exactly who you are" David replied, focusing burning eyes on her face.
"No one knows, so why should I tell you?" In the dim moonlight through the space of the buildings, regret and loneliness shone from Sainta's pale face. There was more than just beautiful features staring back at him, and David knew that.
David took a step toward her. "Look, I don't know you and I don't trust you. You lied about who you were, and no telling how you took advantage of Denton!"
"I did nothing to Bryan, but help him with his grief at his most vulnerable time." Tears pricked at Sainta's eyes, but she swept them away before any could fall.
"There is something about you that is not right." David's lips pursed. He could tell he was wearying her down.
Sainta sighed out loud, dropping her head. "You really want to know?" David nodded, absently, at her sudden coroperating tone. She slip her hand in the carpetbag beside her. "Then you'll have to find out a different way. Heads up!" A metallic clang was heard as Sainta tossed a round, flat object high into the air.
David's head snapped up to see what it was. The object tumbled to the ground, clanging louder this time. Before David even realized what had happen, he peered around the darkened alleyway to find he was alone. He froze for an instant, not remembering any sound of footsteps or shuffling noises of a person running around.
St. Matthew was gone, almost disappearing into air from her place in front of him. David slumped his shoulders, knowing he was beat, then bent down to retrieve the object on the ground. It was a coin. He walked out of the alleyway and under a street lamp to examine it. It was a New York State cent, which was made over one hundred years ago and very rare to find.
David's eyes widened, raising his head to look around the street. "The hole that girl is digging is probably bigger then she ever thought she'd make. Whoever she was though, I hope she -never- comes back."
With that, he pocketed the coin and walked off in the direction of his apartment.
***
David didn't know what to expect the next day when Jack told him Kloppman knew information on the mysterious girl.
"You mean you've heard of her?"
"Where I come from, she's the legend" Kloppman answered, a slight shake in his voice.
David leaned against the lobby desk, gripping the top tightly. "Well, who is she?"
Kloppman plopped in his chair, preparing to tell his story. "My father was a man in his twenties when he had an encounter with St. Matthew. He'd lost the family farm to the bank and was low on any hope. He went in a tavern to get his mind off what had happen when this young woman sat next to him. He said she had reddish hair like an auburn color that was very curly, brown eyes, and this beautiful pale face.
"She brought him to her hotel room. They spent days together, and she helped raise his spirits so high while they were together. But, she left him, disappearing like she had never been there. An itinerant told my father a few weeks later he'd shot a girl who called herself St. Matthew after he caught her stealing his gold ring right off his finger one night. He shot her dead too, or at least that's what he claimed."
"Wait, Kloppman" David interrupted, running the story in his head. "If your father met this girl and the description you gave of her is exact to this girl I saw, she would be almost a hundred years old."
Kloppman held out his hand. "David, let me finish. I've heard men even as young as you not so long ago say they've had encounters with St. Matthew."
"But," David shook his head. "That's impossible! She'd have to be some kind of ghost or phantom...which I doubt highly."
"Boy, anything is possible. Just believe." Kloppman punctuated every word with knowing and understanding. "If anything, the truth will come out one day."
David rubbed his eyes, feeling a throb in his right cheek. "And, the hole becomes deeper." He walked upstairs to the bunkroom with one question taunting him: Who are you, St. Matthew?
***
The End: "Then standing in a landslide she suddenly becomes, a girl who's named St. Matthew and she is on the run."
***
Writer note: Hey everybody! Thank you all for hanging in there till this fic was done =) I'm glad it's done too! I have two fics - a sequel ((the plot thickens, lol)) and prequel - in this series to work on. So, watch out for those! :P Thank you again!!!
The church door pushed forward. Night had set over New York City, and Sainta was ready to leave the city as soon as possible. The streets were nearly empty making it easier to move swiftly to Grand Central Station.
Sainta turned down an alleyway, seeing the Station directly in front of her. A hand reached out, covering her mouth. An arm wrapped around her waist at the same time, pulling Sainta into a narrower alleyway between buildings.
Before she could struggle, a cordial voice whispered in her ear. "Going somewhere, St. Matthew?"
Sainta sighed mentally then pushed away from her capture. "What do you want?"
"I want to know exactly who you are" David replied, focusing burning eyes on her face.
"No one knows, so why should I tell you?" In the dim moonlight through the space of the buildings, regret and loneliness shone from Sainta's pale face. There was more than just beautiful features staring back at him, and David knew that.
David took a step toward her. "Look, I don't know you and I don't trust you. You lied about who you were, and no telling how you took advantage of Denton!"
"I did nothing to Bryan, but help him with his grief at his most vulnerable time." Tears pricked at Sainta's eyes, but she swept them away before any could fall.
"There is something about you that is not right." David's lips pursed. He could tell he was wearying her down.
Sainta sighed out loud, dropping her head. "You really want to know?" David nodded, absently, at her sudden coroperating tone. She slip her hand in the carpetbag beside her. "Then you'll have to find out a different way. Heads up!" A metallic clang was heard as Sainta tossed a round, flat object high into the air.
David's head snapped up to see what it was. The object tumbled to the ground, clanging louder this time. Before David even realized what had happen, he peered around the darkened alleyway to find he was alone. He froze for an instant, not remembering any sound of footsteps or shuffling noises of a person running around.
St. Matthew was gone, almost disappearing into air from her place in front of him. David slumped his shoulders, knowing he was beat, then bent down to retrieve the object on the ground. It was a coin. He walked out of the alleyway and under a street lamp to examine it. It was a New York State cent, which was made over one hundred years ago and very rare to find.
David's eyes widened, raising his head to look around the street. "The hole that girl is digging is probably bigger then she ever thought she'd make. Whoever she was though, I hope she -never- comes back."
With that, he pocketed the coin and walked off in the direction of his apartment.
***
David didn't know what to expect the next day when Jack told him Kloppman knew information on the mysterious girl.
"You mean you've heard of her?"
"Where I come from, she's the legend" Kloppman answered, a slight shake in his voice.
David leaned against the lobby desk, gripping the top tightly. "Well, who is she?"
Kloppman plopped in his chair, preparing to tell his story. "My father was a man in his twenties when he had an encounter with St. Matthew. He'd lost the family farm to the bank and was low on any hope. He went in a tavern to get his mind off what had happen when this young woman sat next to him. He said she had reddish hair like an auburn color that was very curly, brown eyes, and this beautiful pale face.
"She brought him to her hotel room. They spent days together, and she helped raise his spirits so high while they were together. But, she left him, disappearing like she had never been there. An itinerant told my father a few weeks later he'd shot a girl who called herself St. Matthew after he caught her stealing his gold ring right off his finger one night. He shot her dead too, or at least that's what he claimed."
"Wait, Kloppman" David interrupted, running the story in his head. "If your father met this girl and the description you gave of her is exact to this girl I saw, she would be almost a hundred years old."
Kloppman held out his hand. "David, let me finish. I've heard men even as young as you not so long ago say they've had encounters with St. Matthew."
"But," David shook his head. "That's impossible! She'd have to be some kind of ghost or phantom...which I doubt highly."
"Boy, anything is possible. Just believe." Kloppman punctuated every word with knowing and understanding. "If anything, the truth will come out one day."
David rubbed his eyes, feeling a throb in his right cheek. "And, the hole becomes deeper." He walked upstairs to the bunkroom with one question taunting him: Who are you, St. Matthew?
***
The End: "Then standing in a landslide she suddenly becomes, a girl who's named St. Matthew and she is on the run."
***
Writer note: Hey everybody! Thank you all for hanging in there till this fic was done =) I'm glad it's done too! I have two fics - a sequel ((the plot thickens, lol)) and prequel - in this series to work on. So, watch out for those! :P Thank you again!!!