For a long time, Leo felt like he was floating, as if he was under water. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but wherever this was, he felt safe, like being held in his mother's arms. "Leo? Leo, Dear can you hear me?" Someone was talking to him, but it sounded miles away. He decided that whoever it was should just leave him alone - he liked it here - it was warm, comfortable, inviting.
"Leo?" he heard again, as something cool was placed on his forehead. "Come on, Honey, open your eyes." He tried to obey, but his eyelids were so very heavy. "Leo!" There was a hand on his shoulder now, trying to shake him awake. It was a monumental effort, but slowly, his eyes fluttered open. He tried hard to focus on the face before him, but his left eye didn't want to cooperate.
"Mom?" he whispered. Leo's head hurt and it was difficult to talk. There was a ringing in his ears that just wouldn't go away. Painfully, he rolled his head to the right and saw his father sitting on the floor, back against the wall. Thomas was staring at his oldest son, in fact, he was looking right through him. There, reflected in Thomas' eyes was the horrible recognition of what he had just done. As long as Leo could remember, his father had never hit any of them in anger. They had been spanked to be sure, but never more intense or longer than necessary to discipline. Most times it never got to that – a look was all that any of them needed to get the message. Thomas McGarry had never once been out of control with his children, and more importantly, he had never laid a hand on his wife . . . until tonight.
"Can you get up, Leo?" his mother asked.
"I don't know," he admitted. Slowly, Leo rolled onto his side and pushed himself to a sitting position. Kathryn put a hand under her son's arm to help him stand. "Mom?" he said, as a wave of nausea washed over him. Panicking, he grabbed the kitchen table and held on for dear life. He was dizzy, his vision was blurry, and there was a nagging numbness creeping into his right arm. Darkness played at the edge of his mind, threatening to send him back into unconsciousness.
"Sit down, Leo," she said, quickly guiding him to a chair. He sat heavily and immediately put his head down on the table. He didn't know if he was going to pass out or throw up, but as he tried to calm his breathing, it was leaning toward the latter. Kathryn grabbed the dish cloth she'd been using to wipe Leo's brow and ran it under cold water. She stepped back to the table and laid it across his neck, then headed to the refrigerator and grabbed a tray of ice cubes. She moved quickly to put them in a dish towel, and placed the pack on the growing lump on the back of her son's head. Leo shivered at the touch of the intense cold. "I'm going to call the doctor."
"No, Mom. Please don't," he whispered. The last thing Leo wanted was for anyone to know his father had hit him . . . and his mother.
"Leo, you're hurt."
He took the ice pack off and lifted his head. "I'll be okay, Mom," he managed, though there was nothing in his current state that indicated it was the truth.
The shock of what she saw set her off again. "Look at what you've done, Thomas. Look at him!" Thomas barely raised his head to look at his son. He had only hit Leo twice, but the damage inflicted in those two blows was considerable. Blood now flowed unabated from a cut on Leo's lip, dripping onto his t-shirt. His left eye, nearly swollen shut, was already turning black. Horrified, Thomas looked away.
Kathryn took the ice pack from Leo and placed the damp washcloth over his lip in an effort to control the bleeding. "Can you stand?"
"I'm not sure. I'll try," he mumbled through the cloth. Leo struggled to his feet, swaying slightly. For the first time, he tasted the blood in his mouth. Now there no doubt – he was going to throw up, but not here, not in front of his father.
"Do you want to help your son to his room?" Kathryn looked over, but her husband never moved. "Thomas? It's the least you can do."
"Mom, it's okay. He couldn't help it." Somehow through the haze of his own pain, Leo still managed to feel sorry for his father.
"Thomas?" There was no reaction from her husband. She sighed, resigned, "Then, I guess we don't have anything else to say to one another." Leo and his mother headed toward his room, but when they reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused, wondering whether or not he could make it to the top. He grabbed the banister in one hand, his mother's arm in the other. As they slowly ascended the stairs, Leo heard the door to the garage slam.
"Mom, are you okay?" he said as he caught the first look at her cheek. It was glowing bright red from where she'd been slapped.
"I'm fine, Leo. Don't worry." Now it was Kathryn's turn to lie. She wouldn't let her son down, not here, not now.
They made it to his room just in time for Leo's legs to give out. He managed to land on the bed, but the sudden, jarring impact served to jolt his system again. The room began to spin wildly, and finally, unable to control it any longer, he wretched into his waste basket.
"It's alright, Leo," she soothed. Kathryn held his head as violent spasms shook his body. After a few minutes, Leo settled back onto his pillow. "Just hold that ice on your eye. I'll be right back," she promised as she carried the soiled waste basket out of the room.
"Mom, what are we going to do?" he croaked.
Kathryn hesitated in the doorway, "I don't know, Leo." Finally, she continued to the bathroom and closed the door. Leo could hear his mother through the wall, crying. 'Why did he do this to her? If he loves her, why would he do this? God, why won't you help her?' he thought.
Just then, Leo heard a muffled bang downstairs. He struggled to his feet and opened the door to find his mother running down the hall. "Mom, what is it?"
"Get back in your room, Leo!" The fear in her voice scared him. He watched as his mother disappeared down the stairs. Why was she so frightened?
Josie had heard too and opened her door. Suddenly, a sickening realization settled around Leo. "Stay in your room, Josie!" He started for the garage . . .
Leo was only halfway there when he heard his mother scream. His head was aching something fierce, and throwing up had weakened him considerably, but he forced himself to run, covering the remaining distance to the garage door in just a few seconds. He stopped at the door, swaying as the blood drained from his face. What he saw in that garage would haunt him for the rest of his life. There, sitting in the middle of the floor was his mother, cradling his father's head in her lap. He took what he hoped would be a calming breath and tentatively moved to her side. Somehow, Leo already knew what he would find, he just didn't know if he could handle it. He glanced down and got his first real look at his father. "Oh no, Mom," he groaned. There, where the back of Thomas McGarry's head should be was a gaping hole.
"Leo, no! Get out of here! You shouldn't see him this way," she pleaded. Leo noted with some detachment that his father still held his service revolver in his hand. Strange that a gun so seemingly small could do that much damage.
"Mom?" He said quietly as he reached for his mother's shoulder. "Mom, we should call somebody."
Kathryn McGarry rocked back and forth. "Don't leave us, Thomas, please don't leave us," she repeated over and over as she stroked her husband's forehead.
"Mom?" No answer. "Mom, please . . . " Leo finally realized his mother was no longer listening. He had to get some help. As he turned, he found his oldest sister standing in the doorway. "Josie, I told you to stay upstairs!" he yelled as he grabbed his head in pain. He moved as quickly as he could to get his sister back in the house.
"What happened to your face?" she said.
Ignoring her question Leo said, "I gotta call Father Kavanaugh now. Go upstairs, Jo."
"Is Daddy . . . is he dead?"
"Yeah. Now go on, and check on Scotty and Liz and Mo. Stay up there till I come get you."
"I'm scared, Leo," she admitted.
He turned to his sister and seeing the tears fill her eyes, Leo reached for her. "It'll be okay, Jo. I told you I would never let anything happen to you and the others, right?" He had promised her such a short time ago. "We gotta be strong for Mom now, okay? Okay?" She nodded and hugged him tightly. "Go on, go upstairs."
As Josie made her way to the stairs, Leo picked up the phone and dialed the parish number. "Father Kavanaugh? This is Leo McGarry. I'm sorry to call so late, but something's happened . . . at the house . . . It's my Dad. He's dead . . . yeah, with a gun . . . Could you come over? . . . Thank you, Father."
Leo grabbed a quilt from the front closet and returned to the garage. Kathryn didn't move when he placed the quilt on her shoulders. As he sat down and wrapped his arms around her, she reached up with one hand and absently stroked her son's hair. Mumbling, Kathryn said something Leo didn't quite understand. "Mom, what did you say about Dad and Shaun?" he asked, but she had fallen silent again.
It seemed like forever to Leo before Father Kavanaugh arrived. He found them in the garage, sitting huddled together. "Kathryn?" the young priest tried. Leo looked up at the name, but his mother never moved.
"Father Kavanaugh, Mom's not saying much right now." Leo knew enough about what was happening to know that she had gone into shock.
The priest saw young McGarry's face and moved closer to assess the damage. He knelt down and crossed himself, "Leo, my Son. What in the world happened?"
Just as he was about to answer, two police officers appeared at the door. The first walked to where Leo and his mother were sitting. Observing the scene, he finally turned back to his partner, "It's McGarry. Go call it in, then come back and stay with her." The officer stared hard at Leo, and after a few moments said, "I'm Sergeant Frances. Your neighbor was going to work and heard the shot. Why didn't you call us?"
"I don't know. I guess the first person I thought of was Father Kavanaugh," Leo tried to explain.
"I'll need you to step inside with me." It was obvious to Leo that this officer had seen enough dead men in his life; he never even gave Thomas a second glance. He seemed much more intent on talking with Leo.
"Please," Leo begged. "I don't want to leave her."
"Let's go, Kid," the officer insisted.
The young priest looked at Leo and nodded, motioning towards the open door. Leo kissed his mother lightly on the cheek and struggled to his feet. When a wave of dizziness overcame him, Father Kavanaugh grabbed an arm to keep him from falling.
"Easy does it . . . I've got you . . . that's it, that's it, slowly now," the priest encouraged as Leo tried to find his legs again. They carefully made their way to the kitchen door, but as they reached the two small steps that would take them inside, Leo paused. He realized he was having a difficult time judging distance now and couldn't quite find the bottom step. Lifting his right foot, he found himself leaning into his priest for support. Father Kavanaugh felt the added weight on his arm. "That's good, Leo, slow and easy, one step at a time," he whispered.
When they were inside, safely out of earshot, the sergeant questioned Leo. "Okay, so what happened here?"
Leo could hear him speaking but couldn't quite make out what he was saying. He was still having problems focusing, and the ringing in his ears was getting worse. "Huh?" was all he could manage to say.
"Tell us what happened, Leo," Father Kavanaugh encouraged as he continued to hold the young man's arm.
Leo closed his eyes in an attempt to ward off the dizziness. "Dad shot himself," he managed.
"Shot himself?" Father Kavanaugh looked grave. "My Son, are you sure?
"Yeah. I'm sure."
"What happened to your face?" asked Frances.
"Mom and Dad had a fight, and I tried to stop it."
"Weren't too successful there, were you, Mick?" Frances observed.
He shot a look at the officer . . . that he heard. Oh, it certainly wasn't the first time part of his heritage had been maligned, but he responded as calmly and evenly as possible. "My name's Leo. Sir."
"What happened after that, Leo?" Father Kavanaugh continued, ignoring the officer's prejudiced remark.
"Dad punched me and knocked me out. When I came to, he was sitting on the floor staring at me. Mom got me upstairs and I heard the door to the garage slam. Couple minutes later, there was a bang. Mom ran out to the garage, and I followed her. Dad was on the floor with his gun in his hand." Leo was already detaching himself from the situation. Maybe deep down inside, he knew it would end like this, either by his father's own hand or someone else's.
"That's a lot of blood you got on your shirt there, Kid." Frances observed.
Leo tried to look down at himself but couldn't make his head, much less his eyes cooperate. "I guess so, Sir. Must be from my lip. It was bleedin' pretty bad."
Frances stepped directly in front of Leo. "You sure you didn't do this?" he questioned.
Leo stared at him blankly. "Wh . . . what do you mean?"
"I mean did you do this?" he accused.
"Do what?" Leo hesitated, his foggy mind trying desperately to fathom the sergeant's meaning. "Wait. You think . . . you think I shot my own Dad?" he stumbled.
"He fought with your Mom. Looks like he hit her. He definitely hit you. You coulda been angry enough," Frances concluded.
"I was angry," he admitted, becoming a little panicked. "But I was also with Mom upstairs when it happened! He shot himself!" Leo tried to turn his head to face Father Kavanaugh, but he couldn't. "Father, you believe me don't you?" he cried.
The priest nodded, "Of course, my Son."
Eyeing Leo, Frances finally backed off, "Okay, Kid. I'll talk to your mom, see if her story matches yours. Don't go anywhere." He turned on his heel and disappeared through the door.
"Father?" Leo cried desperately.
"It will be fine, Leo. Don't worry," he reassured.
Leo stared at the floor and sadly shook his head.
"My Son, we need to talk," Father Kavanaugh said as he guided the injured young man to sit at the table. "You know that I'm very sorry about what happened to your father tonight." Leo looked up. "But I cannot give him last rites. He cannot be buried in your family plot, on consecrated ground."
Leo was still having problems focusing and the priest's words had caught him off-guard. "I don't understand, Father. What do you mean?" he frowned.
"What Thomas has done to himself is considered a mortal sin by the Church. People who commit mortal sins are not entitled to receive last rites." The priest stared at the young man sitting next to him with a profound sadness in his eyes.
Leo looked crestfallen, finally comprehending not only what his priest was saying, but what his mother had said in the garage. Panic set in as he pleaded, "Father, there's got to be a way! You can't let him go to Hell. He wasn't a bad man, Father Kavanaugh. Please!"
"There is only one way, but you have to understand what it means," he started carefully. "You will have to sign a document that makes certain claims about your father."
Leo swallowed hard, trying to calm himself as he considered the implications of what that might mean. Quietly he asked, "What exactly does the document say?"
"For one thing it says that your father was not in his right mind when he killed himself."
A frown creased Leo's forehead. "You mean I gotta say Dad was crazy? Is that what the Church says I gotta do?" The haunted look in Leo's eyes only served to accentuate the damage done that night, and made him look much older than his fifteen years.
"Yes, Leo. It's complicated. But it is the law of the Church.
"Are you saying . . . are you saying that if I don't do this, he can't be buried next to my little brother Shaun . . . he can't be buried next to his own son?" The priest slowly nodded. "And my Mom's not going to be able to be buried next to her husband?" Leo's voice rose until the priest could no longer hold his gaze. "That's not right, Father!"
"It's the law of the Church," he reiterated. "I know it seems unfair to you, but you must do this to save your father's soul, Leo. You must," he insisted.
"The Church can go hang itself!" Leo was vehement now.
"Leo, I underst . . ."
"No! No, you don't understand!" The anger that had been building all night finally boiled over in Leo's voice. "All my life I've been told that if I prayed and did good things and was a good and devout Catholic that God would take care of us. But he didn't." A single tear slid down Leo's face. "Where was He when my Dad got drunk and hit my Mom? Where was He, when my Dad put a gun to his head?" he yelled. "How come He wasn't there for them, Father?"
"God has been, and will always be there for them . . . and for you. You just don't see it right now. But Leo, you must have faith."
Leo shook his head, no longer willing to listen. "How come He let my baby brother die? How come He let my father kill himself?" his voice caught. "What kind of God lets those things happen to my Mother?" As a flood of tears began to roll down his cheeks, he searched his priest's eyes for some sort of comfort. When none came, Leo slowly bowed his head. He realized there would never be an answer that would satisfy the questions he had, that would quell the anger he felt. His father had just taken his own life, and the one thing that Leo had always turned to, the Church, had just abandoned him. In one defining moment, he made a decision that would change his life forever. As the light slowly faded from his eyes, Leo said quietly, "I'll sign the paper because of my Mother. But Father Kavanaugh, I'm never going back to the Church. Never . . ."
