Chapter 1

1

“Hey, Carmac, what are you doing here?”

Officer Michael Carmac had been caught on his knees, a position he didn’t get into unless duty called for it. In this instance, it was his conscience. He looked up to see his partner Angel staring down at him, a mocking expression on his handsome face—one that Michael had been thinking way too much about lately. These days he would often find himself sneaking furtive glances at his partner’s bottom lip, which was fuller than the top one, and wondering what it would be like to kiss that tender, jutting flesh.

“I don’t know” was the best response Michael could manage.

“You still ain’t sleeping?” Angel asked.

“Give it a rest, huh?” He got up, and brushed a hand across his perfectly creased uniform

“Making sure you don’t let praying ruin your perfect creases?” Angel joked. “You come in here every day. What do you think you’re gonna find?”

“I don’t know. I guess I keep hoping to find a way out of my head,” Michael said as he looked his partner over. “Maybe you should try and find your way to the dry cleaners; your uniform’s a damn mess.” He wanted to lighten the mood, but he knew Angel wouldn’t buy his lame attempt at humor.

“Michael—” Angel started to say.

“I can’t take the guilt and shame any more, all right? I keep hearing the gun shot, seeing that kid hit the ground, the blood.” Michael’s voice broke and he dropped his head. He couldn’t bear to see the concern he knew would be in his partner’s eyes.

Angel made a sound like he wanted to say more, but a voice coming from behind stopped him.

“Maybe he’s looking for what all people who come into the Lord’s house seek—peace, maybe some time to reflect, Officer Angel.”

Both men turned to see Father Hensley. He was the younger of the two parish priests and had an affinity for the local police. He was also the kinder, younger one and, Michael noted, the better-looking one. He had played basketball with Hensley on more than one occasion and was shocked to find the priest to be agile and in decent shape for an older man.

“Or maybe confession, Michael,” Father Hensley said, turning patient eyes on the kneeling cop. “It is about that time, if you want to get out before the general public starts coming in.” He turned to Angel. “You might benefit from some time in the confessional as well, Bertram.”

Michael couldn’t help but grin. Bertram Angel hated being called by his first name and cringed every time someone said it. Both men were sure Father Hensley did it intentionally.

“Hey, Father, just because my name is Angel doesn’t mean I am one,” he said with a smirk. He turned to look at Michael, who had just gotten to his feet, the squeak of his pristine black shoes echoing in the silence of the church. “You come find me when you’re done being sorry,” Angel said sarcastically before turning and walking away.

Michael watched him walk out, what he wanted to say burning at the back of his throat.

Father Hensley led Michael away from the pew, where he had been kneeling. “Come, son.”

Michael paused, thinking he heard the squeal of Angel’s squad car peeling out of the parking lot. Then again, he hadn’t slept, so it could have been a sound inside his head. There had been so many sounds since the incident. So many smells…His stomach began to turn but managed to calm the queasiness with a few deep breaths before following Father Hensley toward the confessional

* * * *

When Michael stepped outside Saint Anne’s, the sky was a tumult of color. It was early evening and the summer sky was at its best. The Fireman’s Carnival would be coming and the whole town would soon celebrate. He would have liked to feel some stir of excitement, but instead shook his head in annoyance at his hometown’s need to celebrate every damned holiday, season, or turn of leaf.

He stood on the stairs and took a deep breath. It was a fantastic night—warm, comfortable, a perfect night for a run. Although he had been to confession, it had done nothing to ease his mind. Even the warm evening seemed to be weighted with the cold memories that he was trying so desperately to erase. He had seen a shrink, which his sergeant had said was mandatory. The sessions had been a slog. The shrink hurled some feel-good, new-agey double talk at Michael and he could still remember nodding the entire time while thinking what a load of shit it was. He didn’t want to hear about healing his inner child. He wanted to hear about a way to make the trauma disappear. The shrink’s language always left him confused and he usually left his sessions full of buzzing thoughts. He had half-hoped that by seeing the shrink it would help empty the garbage that was mucking up his brain. Instead, it felt the exact opposite.