Sanctuary

Chapter 2: Many Funerals

"My parents' deaths did I dear mourn, now in this wicked world risk I; bold endeavors by and by; oh, and now they have no chances. They fill the empty caskets, and leave you with your tears. And now we take our chances. We all will take more chances before our lives end, too…" Many Funerals by Eisley

The Next Day

Elise sat at her aunt's table. She held the mirror to her neck where a jagged line frowned backed at her. It was a small cut; not deep like the edgier-looking saint had assured her, but it was one big wake up call.

Nowhere was safe.

On the tiny television screen across the kitchen, both women watched a repeat of the early news. Sally McBride was broadcasting a report that notorious mafia hitman, Dominique Yakavetta, mostly famously known as The Boogeyman, had been found murdered along with a priest.

Aunt Nora had teared up at the mention of Father Foster's name. She'd clutched at the cross dangling between her breasts, kissing it and rambling in her native Irish tongue. He had been a friend and her favorite caller at Saturday night Bingo. Elise had no idea.

Elise could only stare with near dead eyes at the images of flashing police lights and the morbidly curious crowd gathering outside the church. Combined with the realization that she'd not only been there, but she'd done the killing of at least the lesser of the two men, a bitter film formed on her tongue. She'd suddenly lost her appetite for the fried cheddar-bacon potatoes Aunt Nora had made for breakfast.

At least I still have a tongue. It was always good to look on the bright side of matters.

Uncle Cillian shuffled into the room, still clad in his raggedy bathrobe and slippers. He saw the morose women and scowled at the TV. With a frustrated press of the remote, the screen disintegrated to blankness before any more details about the crime could be revealed.

"I don't recommend watching that with your breakfast, lassie," he told her. "It'll ruin your appetite."

"Too late," she muttered, pushing the plate away like a sullen child.

Instead of eating, Elise dumped the last dregs of her uncle's strong brewed black coffee into her chilled cup. Typically, she liked a dash of sugar and cream, but today was a gloomy takin' it straight black kind of day.

I'm a murderess, she mulled. One day I'm serving stew to hungry men the next I'm stabbing one in the gut. Lord, forgive me. And those guys; the saints. They just came from out of nowhere. When did they get there? They'd been in hiding like me and then suddenly they were in the church. And what if they hadn't shown?

Suddenly, she felt rearranged. "How did everything go from really bad to worse in a matter of seconds?" She blurted aloud.

"What, sweetheart?" Her auntie sniffled.

"Aunt Nora, what am I going to do? They are on to me!" She cried. "I can't go back to the convent. They've already ransacked the place by now. And I can't stay here. I'm sure they'd have this place staked out since forever ago. They will be coming. I don't want you and Uncle Cillian involved."

Aunt Nora nodded, pressing a comforting hand onto her trembling niece's shoulder. "I know, sweetie. But,"

The woman glanced to the man sitting across from them, pretending to be preoccupied with his potatoes. He got another forkful in before finally giving up and looking at his wife. A knowing pause between them put Elise instantly on guard.

"What? What is it, you two?" She snapped.

Her uncle gave a weak shrug. He dug into his food then pointed the loaded tines in his wife's direction. "She knows more about this than I do."

"Now, Elise. Now ya have to trust me, sweetheart," Aunt Nora sputtered. "I know the situation looks grim, but we have a plan."

Elise blinked. "We do?" She swiveled in the chair to look up at her aunt. "I killed my cousin last night."

Nora was nodding, patting her shoulder some more. "You can't torture yourself over it. It was him or you."

"Eh, those good for nothin' criminal salami suckers are killin' each other right and left. One less of em ain't gonna do no harm," Uncle Cillian chimed in.

Elise turned to him, readying to go into a "Even if only God Himself could love someone like Dom, it wasn't her place to kill him," rant but all she could muster was a weary, "You sound just like those two saints."

That started her uncle into a cheerleading rant rallying up the two God-fearing vigilantes. He used his fork to punctuate his points, and cocked a wily Irish brow every time he demanded an answer from her. By the end of the discussion, she'd felt scolded and tired.

"I'd have given up Scotch for a week just to see those buggers in action last night," he uttered around a final mouthful of breakfast.

His wife gave a hearty cluck. "Sure you would." She waved him off.

Elise gaped at him. "Excuse me, but I'm the one who stabbed Dom. They only uttered a few prayers and pointed some guns around."

Okay, and stopped him from doing something terrible while I lay unconscious…

Going back to her coffee in a huff, her eyes hovered over Uncle Cillian's head, staring blankly at the wall.

A face flashed across her mind. Or at least she thought it was only in her mind. It was a face she hadn't seen in eight years and had been forced to fear ever seeing again.

Frankie? She almost said his name aloud, but saying it might bring him upon her.

Like that goony guy, Beetlejuice. Oh, how she missed her movies.

The face appeared again, this time closer. It was attached to a scrawny body she used to pick up and haul around across her shoulders like a big ole burlap sack of potatoes. The face haunted the doorway to the kitchen, not making a sound.

My brother. They sent him to fetch me. Found again.

"Frankie?" She blurted. Then, before he could answer; before he could even move, she jumped from the chair, nearly knocking it over.

"I told you they'd come here! I knew they were watching you!" She screamed at her relatives.

Panic was already staking claim to her, but nobody else seemed to be bothered. Uncle Cillian barely glanced up from the newspaper and Aunt Nora just kept her hands upon the girl's shoulders, pushing her back down into the chair.

"Now, now, calm yourself," Nora said. "Hear your brother out."

Elise clung to her aunt, her whole body pleading. Her eyes were wet with despair. "But he's here to kill me. Now probably you, too!"

"No, I'm not," Frankie stated softly, choked on his own emotion. He stood there, drinking her in, so refreshed to finally be in her presence, to be able to tell her the truth. His baby sister. Alive, in good health, and beautiful before his eyes. Finally, within his reach.

He stepped to her fluidly, without reservation, and bundled her into his arms.

His quivering mouth was against head, bumping a few pin curls out of place. "Ah, Elise. Finally. After all these years of keeping you hidden, I finally get to see you again."

She let him hold her, but she hesitated to let go of the suspicion and fright that held her back. "I, I don't understand. You turned against me. You went with the bad guys."

Uncle Cillian was grinning and shaking his head at them over the paper. "Nah, he's been in on keeping you safe this whole time."

Her natural born temper flared. She aimed it at her uncle first then Aunt Nora. "What? Why didn't you tell me? All these years, I've believed my own brother despised me!"

"It was me," Frankie told her. "I warned them not to breathe a word to you. I wanted you safe. If you thought you lost everybody; if you were truly frightened you'd stay hidden. Not get too brave."

That made sense. "But Frankie! Oh my gosh! What if you were followed?"

He shrugged, the resolve clear on his tight-lipped smear of a grin. "Eh, then I'll be dead tomorrow. But at least I got the chance to talk to you and make peace."

He snuck in his last revelation on a whisper. "And tell you the truth about Emilia and the kids."

Elise noticed the tears piling up in Aunt Nora's eyes, ready to spill over and drip all over her happy face.

Frankie continued. "They are safe, too. Mama got them out of town as soon as we got word a hit had been ordered on every family member that did nothing to save Papa Joe. When you went crazy and refused to go into hiding, at first, we decided-well, Emilia decided-you should be told that everyone was killed. To scare you into following Mama's directions."

Elise was speechless, reeling from the pain, joy, and disbelief that something that had tormented her for years was just a farce.

My sister! My sister and her children are alive! We are still together! Whole. The room spun, but her brother was quick to put her back into her breakfast chair.

"Wh, wh, where are they?" She mustered.

"They are in safe place set up by the same convent you have been living in. Sister Miriam owed Mama a favor. She put them up in a homeless shelter in Nebraska. Saint Gabriel's House of Good News," he revealed.

"Nebraska?" Elise laughed. "I can't believe it. I want to go there."

"Yes, you will," he assured her. "I've made arrangements with Little Johnny, but there's a stipulation."

Cillian, Nora, and Frankie passed a round of wary glances. This maddened Elise to be kept out of so much already.

"What? What is it? I will do anything. I've been living as a nun for eight years; I can easily become homeless,"

Frankie cleared his throat. "Little Johnny has a place for you. And a job. And two escorts."

Elise blanched. She'd never made family business her business. The thought of being escorted half way across the country by two of her cousin Johnny's goons did not sit well.

"Who?" She dared to ask.

"The Irishmen," he told her stiffly.

Hunh? "Excuse me? What Irishmen?" She tried to imagine anybody from her mother's side of the family involved in this fiasco aside from Aunt Nora and Uncle Cillian. No names popped up.

"Those crazy sonstabitches that saved your life last night. The MacManus boys." He told her like she should already know.

Elise laughed at the absurdity of the notion. "Oh really? Says who? Little Johnny?" She cackled. "If any of his goons even stepped within three paces of either of those guys they'd have their private parts blown to smithereens. Who got that job?"

Frankie straightened her with a serious frown. "Elise, now hear me out," he began. "Our side of the Yakavetta clan has pardoned them for saving a true daughter, but only on one condition. They must agree to escort you across the states and keep you free from any harm until they hear from Little Johnny. I've been sent here today to let you know your part in the deal."

Of course. There was always some part in it; some way the Family sucked you in.

Her silence permitted him to drag her further into this mess. "You must go to them. Convince them the truce is on as long as they act as your escorts. You are the one with that job."

She laughed again. Almost uncontrollably. "Yeah right, Frankie. How do you suppose I go about doing that? I don't even know those dudes."

But something the more impassioned saint had said to her last night buzzed inside her. He'd said my name. It rang vaguely behind the headache now hammering into a migraine in her skull.

Like he knew me. Or had known me once. Before I'd died.

Frankie's hand was at her face. His fingers untangled a thick strand of hair from a dangling metal clip. The mostly-dried strand bounced against her shoulder.

His dark eyes knew and could instruct her without words, but he told her anyway. "You are a woman of many charms. You can figure this out. You must. For us. For Emilia and the children."

"And if they refuse?" She boldly whispered.

"We are all good as dead." His eyes passed over the faces in the room, indicating it wasn't just Yakavetta blood being shed here. "And the bounty on their heads goes up."

Something in her scoffed. Because these two were not ordinary gangsters. They were not intimidated by the threats of Godless men, no matter how promising the outcomes proved to be. In fact, she just knew with them it would seem more a challenge; a teaser to a big climatic scene in some shoot-em-up movie starring Them.

Okay. I can do this. "When can I leave?"

Frankie nodded, exhaling his relief. As if she would choose any other way.

"Immediately," he said. "Little Johnny will have a car waiting near the only place that's safe for you to meet them. It's a grimy little pub. Doc's. You make the walk, take the bus," he placed cash for the bus in her trembling palm. "Then," his voice trailed.

"But, but it's not even noon!" She protested.

His head bobbed again like it was hanging from a string and Little Johnny's hand was tugging it. "Trust me. The Irishmen will be there."

She arrived only moments after the wheezing old man had unlocked the place, but there was already a row of graying, fleshy knackered men lining the bar. The old man hobbled quickly. He set up their tiny glasses while his regulars put down their cigarettes and waded dollar bills, laying claim to their stools for the afternoon.

She filled the doorway, casting a brilliant, curvy shadow across the barely lit bar. Something sporty and raucous blared from the tv above the bar, but its tinny noise ceased to exist as she stepped over the threshold. She pulled the door closed behind her.

It had taken her more time than any one woman really needed to prepare for this absurd meeting. But when she had emerged from the tiny nook of Aunt Nora's bed and bath, properly primped and fit snug in her favorite black cocktail pants, her brother had smiled his approval before disappearing again.

Now, just inside the gloomy tavern, the time she'd taken carefully applying her poppy red lipstick and styling her hard-to-tame hair was paying off as every man turned to look at this most unusual sight entering their turf.

Let them look, she decided, holding her chin high. It felt good to be a girl again. She had finally put her vintage style back on and like a classic '56 Chevy Belair in cherry condition, she felt timeless and beautiful. Not drab and faceless and plain. Like this place.

"T, T, Top o'the mornin' to ya, ma'am," the old man behind the bar stuttered.

Elise pasted on her most pleasant, tight-lipped smile. "Same to you, sir."

She sidled up to the bar, aware but unyielding to the feasting eyes upon her. She studied each face as she passed by, but none were the all-holy saints.

Someone muttered, "Fine bit of stuff," in a rough Dubliner tongue, and she acknowledged it with a bubbly laugh and bat of her heavily coated lashes. It had been a long time, and she was reveling in every second of the attention. Even from these harmless dingy barflies.

The old man, Doc, she presumed, was yammering at her again. "W, what can I get you?"

"How about a Coke?" She asked.

"A Coke?" He echoed. His wobbly eyes moved, erratic, under his cocked white brows.

She leaned further into the bar, her heavy jutting breasts almost resting upon the counter. "Diet if you got it," she requested.

"Splash of rum for ya, ma'am?" He offered, finally getting over stumbling through the words.

"No thank you," she said sweetly.

Carefully, she unwrapped the ebony and ivory dotted scarf from around her perfectly coiffed tresses. She let the thin fabric drape across her shoulders and down her back.

She smiled wildly again as every man began digging in his pockets for spare cash, but the scraggly giant hunkered on the stool closest to her won. He tossed his coins to Doc. The old bartender caught them in one single swipe while the other hand poured her soda. The others mumbled their disdain for the satisfied buyer's speed.

"Who do I thank?" Elise asked, eyeing the bulky man. Everything about him wore gloom-the longish grey hair, the worn, cloudy eyes done twinkling with life years ago, the faded grey complexion creased with hard work wrinkles. But he smiled when she turned her attention on him and that was an improvement.

"'Name's Lloyd. What should I call you?" He croaked with a voice ruined by liquor and cigarettes.

She blinked. Who am I? Sister Elizabeth? Elise Yakavetta? Or somebody else today?

Her plump mouth opened, forming a sensuous O. Strictly unintentional. "Ummm. I'm," oh whatever. "Elise. And thank you, Lloyd, for the drink."

"That's not a drink, missy," he gruffly barked. He held up his first golden shot of the day. "This is a drink." He threw it back amidst the background of more grumbling; this time approval.

Waiting until he slammed the tiny glass back onto the bar, she carefully flicked her perfectly bobbed hair over her shoulder. Appreciating the gesture, Lloyd tipped his bearded chin toward her. He grabbed her roughly around the waist and hauled her full frame closer.

"You can get soda pop down at Marley's Dime and Drug. You come into Doc's, and you gotta order a real drink," he told her. More complimentary back ground noise buzzed around her.

Elise simply chuckled, squeezing her eyes almost shut. His breath about put her under the bar. "Well, see, Lloyd, I'm not really here to drink."

She tried to take a step back, but his arm wrenched her tighter to him. For such a tired looking old man, he had the embrace of a virile silverback gorilla.

"Whatcha here then for, lassie? Looking for a husband?" He got a good laugh from himself. So did his barstool buddies.

"I'll marry ya," muttered someone from the other end of the bar. More snickers erupted about the place.

Lloyd was motioning for another shot. But before Elise could determine if the shot was for him or her, she placed her painted mouth to his ear and breathed her secret into his thick skull.

"I'm here to see the McManus brothers," she whispered.

Suddenly, she was released and shoved into the guy staring at the television beside her. Lloyd's abrupt friendliness cooled instantly as he addressed Doc. He moved into the bar, muttering her request to the old man.

This had the old man sputtering at her again. "The, the, the McManus boys? I, I, I'm afraid you're swinging around the wrong tree."

Elise tried a dejected pout, but the bar had lost its interest in just flirting with her. All eyes turned either to the bottles lining the bar or back to the annoying television screen.

Oh, Lord. What now? She went straight to the source of all her answers. Point me in the right direction here because I'm getting nowhere fast.

On cue, a back door shoved behind a shabby pool table burst open. Two mussed men shuffled through it. They untangled their arms from dark tshirts, pulling them over gun-laced waistbands. Their groggy argument woke with every step, getting louder than the basketball game going on overhead.

"Hey, Fuck-Ass! Where's breakfast?" She recognized the voice from the night before. It came from the man who proposed leaving her in the church after she'd just mindlessly killed a man.

The other voice, softer and less irritated, mentioned something about a warm beer to chase away the bangin of his brain.

The brothers. Elise watched in silent amazement as God granted her instant gratification. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

She pulled in her bottom lip. Then, with a blameful stare, she wordlessly eased two un-iced bottles from Doc's suddenly trembling hands. He tried to stutter her into stopping, but she slowly pushed her way past Lloyd and the endless haze of cigarette smoke filling the small pub fast.

Both boys were lighting their first smokes of the day, and they looked rough. Neither had shaved or showered or put on clean clothes. And neither was prepared for her.

"Good afternoon, fellas," she chirped. "Remember me?"

Connor slumped onto the bar. One hand rustled through his short jagged hair while the other ticked randomly against the aged wood bar. He sized her up good, trying to keep a disinterested face, but the curiosity in his eyes was piqued.

I probably should know this dame. What night was she? Damn Doc and his wee nasty Irish Car Bombs.

"Ya ain't ringin' any bells for me, lass," he grumbled.

Murphy's eyes told a different story. He knew exactly who she was. He just couldn't believe how she'd transformed literally overnight.

"What about you?" She asked him, tongue lolling in her cheek.

She plunked the beers down at their knuckles, liking the way the glass bottles tinkled back at her. But she didn't appreciate the indifference or the silence from the one who apparently knew her name. They held gazes. He took a hearty drag, letting wisps of smoke escape slowly from the corner of his sealed mouth.

"Got anything to say about what happened last night?" She baited.

A bell chimed. The other brother's face lit with recognition. He swatted his twin, pointing at her. "Aye, it's the Yakavetta nun from Saint Mary Maggie's," Then, he eyed her more carefully. "Hey, where's your habit? And why're you all painted up like a cheap scrubber?"

Murphy scowled, giving him a good shove. "Because she's not a nun, fucker. Just like the fat man said."

He glanced at her neck, but the high collar of her frilly white blouse obstructed the view. He made a slicing motion with his finger at his own throat. "How's the cut? We dropped you at the hospital. Figured they could get in touch with your convent and,"

She didn't blink. Time was wasting, and Little Johnny's car was waiting. "You know me. How?"

The sharp tongue in Murphy's mouth went dull. He stumbled over the truth, sounding more like Doc than himself. "W, w, well, w, we, uh,"

Connor burst, laughing. "Aw would ya lookie there; the church girl has my brother's tongue in a twister." He lowered his voice, turning his mouth to his brother's ear. "Although I'd say she's more woman th'n you could handle in one night," he molded his hands over an invisible curvy silhouette. "Might need some help with that,"

Elise had her hands on her cocked hips. Her face screwed up, watching and listening with dwindling tolerance.

"Will ya shut the fuck up?" Murphy squawked. "She's standing right there, you inconsiderate bastard."

Rolling her eyes, she barged in on their lousy exchange. "Fantastic. Chubby girl sex jokes. How painfully unoriginal. Look, I hate to break up your brotherly banter, but I'm kind of on a tight schedule, and I need to talk to you about," Her red mouth continued to move, but they heard only a sharp gasp.

A metallic blade of sweet, hot, icy pain skewered her chest. Her eyes widened, and her hands groped for whatever could have been forced into her so ruthlessly easy. But nothing existed. Just the gaping hurt that was closing into a blissful bite like the first taste of a steaming hot strawberry cupcake from Aunt Nora's oven. Every flavor of every sweet she ever enjoyed lingered on her tongue, and their sugary fragrances filled her nostrils.

The old man stuttered in her face, threatening to call an ambulance, but someone else shouted an angry protest against the idea. She felt the men handling her, speaking loudly and rapidly around her, but they couldn't see what she saw. The blaring spotlight of Heaven's focus upon her.

They couldn't hear the sovereign voice of Truth instructing her, empowering her, granting her permission to do exactly what she was born to do and yet had no idea until now…

She whispered, repeating the words she heard behind a radiant smile. "Destroy all that which is evil so that which is good may flourish."

"Did you hear that? Did you fucking hear that?" Murphy's soft voice rang louder in her ears.

His brother's response was a lower, deeper grunt. "Aye, I heard it, but I can't fucking believe it."

There was quite a commotion behind the brilliant floodlights surrounding her. More men were deluging the bar, but their every frantic movement moved slowly like a sleepy nightmare. Their guns waved about, their hollers and orders had the patrons hitting the deck, but Elise stood still.

She heard her name again from the one that knew her. He was pushing her back; down, but she refused to budge. Bullets and stools charged her in every direction. She laughed at how sluggishly they traveled, barely disturbing the perfect waves of her hair.

Like a movie, she thought. Or said. She couldn't tell. The Untouchables. And I'm the baby carriage rolling down the steps, unscathed by the bullets.

She walked toward the chaos. Glass shattered, blasting like bombs. The shiny shrapnel seemed to bounce off her as she moved right through the firing goons of the Yakavetta clan on her steady black stiletto heels. One foot confidently in front of the other, graceful and slow.

Bodies dropped at her toes. Blood splattered up her pant legs and across her pristine back. She felt the brothers behind her, shooting and screaming swears and calling her crazy.

I am crazy. This is crazy!

A mighty hand gripped her forearm. It was Luigi Falcone. The one they called Big Greasy. She knew because she felt his clammy palm sweat through her blouse.

"I got her!" He called to anyone alive to hear him over his shoulder. "I got the bitch!"

He had his revolver ready, aimed at her head. He would pull the trigger in seconds. She was wanted completely dead now. A life for a life. Her for Dom. It didn't seem like a very equal trade.

With her free hand, she released the scarf from around her neck and draped it elegantly over his face. He spit and sputtered for air as the fabric smothered his puckered lips. His grip loosened, leaving an oily stain on her sleeve. His fingers scrambled to fight off the scarf.

The gun went off, but she held his wrist, and the bullet buzzed away into the distance, lodging itself in Doc's only dart board.

Connor's bullet didn't miss. It punctured Big Greasy's pomaded head, but only a dribble of blood leaked out from the hole.

He quietly slithered to the ground, Elise still grasping his wrist. She lifted the six shooter from his lifeless fingers. But instead of throwing it aside or back behind her to the brothers who could certainly use another loaded gun, she held it up, extended her arm, and blew away the next grabber with the efficiency of her father's best goons.

Instead of instant regret, peace welled inside her; freedom. She marched forward, liberated by the kill, and watched the gun she cocked and aimed put holes in the chests of two more Yakavetta Bad Guys.

Thankfully not relatives, she surmised, looking down into their stunned, frozen-dead faces. But there will be many funerals this week for the Family.

"Connor! Connor, let's go! Let's get the fuck outta here!" Murphy shouted. He tugged at his brother's shirt, dragging him to the door.

Connor kept firing, holding off what was coming in from behind them at the back of the bar.

More Wacky Yakies, he knew. Invading like fucking cockroaches when the lights come on. I'll fucking stomp every last one of em.

But Murphy kept pulling. The woman cleared the way, opening the door with the gun as her leader. They were running, laughing, and diving into an abandoned car parked helpfully across the street before the dumb fucks left inside could clamber over all the bodies the three had left strewn over Doc's dusty floor.

"You drivin?" Murphy panted, watching Elise fumble with the ignition.

"Looks like it," she smiled.

"Where to, my lady?" Connor thought to ask considering their one safe hideout had just been raided.

"Nebraska," she said.

The boys faced each other, their expressions twisted into knots of confusion and disgust.

"Nebraska?!" They both hollered.

Elise stomped the gas not sure what direction Nebraska was, but eager to find out.