The Fall Read online

  THE FALL

  T Gephart

  Published by T Gephart at Smashwords

  Copyright 2016 T Gephart

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  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and scenarios are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Hang Le

  Editing by Perfectly Publishable

  Formatting by Max Effect

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Connect with T

  Books by T

  For you.

  I needed to write something different.

  For better or worse you followed me here,

  so this is for you.

  “Please.”

  An anguished scream ripped through the night as the rain pummeled against the thick stained glass. The heavy splat against the windows was not unlike the streams of unrelenting tears that rolled down her face.

  Darkness had come, and with it the howling wind battered at the doors, stirring at the unrest. The fat white candles that littered the room were the only source of illumination, a lightning strike killing the power an hour or two before.

  The sisters had gathered, huddled together as mumbled Our Father’s competed against the sound of the storm, fearing the Devil himself was knocking at their door.

  It wasn’t just the gale and torrential rain that crackled in the dark. Evil was dense in the air, rolling in like an all-encompassing fog—heavier than the thickest winter coat.

  Another scream pierced through the sound of the weather. The very voice tore from her throat like a soul desperate to leave its earthly vessel.

  There was no hope. It was the sound of death.

  “Please,” she begged. The accumulation of fear and pain weighted in that one word made the sisters’ skin goose bump like the cold that had yet to breach the room. “Please, save him.”

  Labored breaths dragged in air behind her chattering teeth.

  “Please.”

  “Save.”

  “Him.”

  It was more than a plea, and there was no mistake it would be the woman’s last request.

  “Mother?”

  Sister Catherine’s gaze rose to Mother Superior from her place on the floor. Her knees had been cemented to the very spot for the last ten hours, but not for prayer like the others. She waited for direction as blood stained the cold blue stone rock around her. Both the mother and child were closer to meeting the heavenly Father than the dawn was to the new day.

  “Mother, we’re losing her.”

  Mother’s eyes closed as she drew out a long, deep breath—Sister Catherine was right—the end was coming quickly.

  “We will do all that we can, child. Be at peace.” Her hand brushed against the damp forehead of the expectant mother.

  They had been the only words of comfort Mother could offer without betraying the cloth. She couldn’t lie to her. Not because of the promise she had made when she had accepted the habit, but because her very eyes watched as mortality slipped from the blessed child on the floor, the gray pallor of her skin already making her look like a corpse.

  “One more push.” Sister Catherine’s attention was refocused, her actions determined to keep Mother’s promise. “I can see the head, but you need to help me.”

  Sister Catherine’s hands worked swiftly, her fingers doing their best to work with the limited knowledge she had. Her calling had come during her second year of medical school; the important things not yet learned. But she was young, just barely having accepted her final vows, and her determination to serve was stronger than her fear.

  This was not how she’d imagined her vocation, but one did not question when it came to serving the Lord. She would do whatever she needed to do, and tonight it was the experience of her pre-cloistered life that was desperately needed.

  There were no further words, not from Sister Catherine nor from the woman who lay in front of her. The last gasps of energy were needed if the mother was going to be able to birth her child, and only the Lord himself knew if either of them would survive.

  “Agh!” The mother fell back, the rock beneath her biting into her skin but she no longer felt pain. Not from her body at least, her agony had long been numbed. It was the heaviness in her heart that was her only emotion.

  Just a little more.

  She wasn’t sure if it had been Sister Catherine’s urging or her own internal thought that spoke those words, but it had been enough to keep her going. Her face strained from the effort as she bore down through the constant contractions. It would have to be enough. She had nothing left.

  The child she had carried for nine months slipped from her body, finally making his entrance as she whispered her offering to the Father. That offering being her own sacrifice.

  Take me, she prayed. Let him live, take me.

  Her eyelids closed as Sister Catherine delivered the son, but there had been no cry. Not from the mother and not from her child, the eerie silence settling into the room as she accepted her fate. In fact, there had been no sound as she took her last breath, her eyes not having the luxury of gazing on the boy she’d been so desperate to save. Whether or not she’d succeeded, beyond her control.

  “He’s breathing, barely.” Sister Catherine’s hands swaddled the boy with her own veil, his entrance into the world only a few moments before. “He’s weak, but he’s fighting.” She hoped it would be enough. They had already lost the mother; losing the boy would surely be too much.

  “A fighter. Yes, we shall call him Michael.” Mother genuflected beside the altar, offering quick word of thanks before she rose to her feet. There wasn’t a lot of time; they needed to get the child to the hospital and fast.

  “Blessed child, Michael.” The tiniest drop of holy water rolled off the infant’s forehead. Mother’s hand hovered above it, her lips moving quickly as the sacred words of baptism spilled from them. It was the best she could do without a priest, but at least she’d given him hope.

  “There’s no time for an ambulance. Sister Mary, bring the car around. I will keep him breathing if needed.” Sister Catherine’s resolve kicked in. He would live. He would not die on the cold stained floor of the church.

  “Go.” Mother clutched at the crucifix that hung close to her breast and slowly removed it from her neck. “I will care for the mother.” The gold chain placed gently upon the lifeless b
ody of the mother who would never know the child she had birthed.

  Sisters Catherine and Mary wasted no time; the boy’s breaths shallow as they ran out of the church into the courtyard toward the old used sedan. The rain soaked their clothes in minutes, the doors closing quickly behind them as the engine roared to life. Thankfully the hospital was not more than a few miles away.

  And while it had been Sister Catherine’s previous expertise that had kept Michael alive, Sister Mary’s reputation for her lead foot was exactly what they needed now. The church and the convent quickly faded in the rearview mirror as they sped away.

  Catherine and Mary’s attention had been about reaching the hospital, while Mother knelt beside the woman whom she hadn’t known nearly long enough, but had loved like her own child. She remembered the very day she had come to them, the day they had accepted her as one of their own.

  She had been so brave; even as the end came her strength had not waned. Fearless, even in the face of her own death. She was safe now, seated with the Father, free from pain and sorrow. The Lord would protect her and do what Mother had been unable to do. God forgive her, while it had been Sister Catherine’s hands that had been bloodied, it had been Mother’s who had worn the biggest stain.

  Had her vow of silence been responsible for the death?

  “Should we call the police?” Sister Bridget offered, her bright eyes blinking away tears they all felt welling. “Mother? What would you like us to do?”

  It was a question Mother had been contemplating for weeks. What she would do when the time came and the child was born. Had she done the right thing? They should have taken her to a hospital. It was insanity to try and handle this within the walls of their sanctuary, and yet it was exactly what she had promised. No one would ever know about the child. Not how he came to be in this world or who his parents had been, his existence hidden by not only her resolve, but that of her devotion to the mother.

  No. No one could know.

  The plan was set.

  The boy was to be reported as abandoned, left in the church’s vestibule with no indication of who the mother was. It was a lie and one she would take to her grave. Her father would judge her, but when that time came she knew he would understand.

  “No. No police.” Mother’s voice was hoarse as she removed the veil from her head and covered the body. “Our sister is gone. We will see that she is buried with the faithful at the back, but there can be no record.”

  “Mother?” There was a collective gasp, the very fabric of their lives called into question as she told them her plan.

  “We must honor her. We must give her the peace in death she was unable to gain in life. I have prayed on it and it is the only way. In this you must trust.” Her voice maintained its steely resolve, even if underneath her heart was breaking.

  Did she do everything she could?

  God help her, she couldn’t be sure she had.

  “Save him.” Mother’s eyes rose to the crucifix mounted on the wall, the words more a prayer than a request. “Please, Lord. Save him.”

  Her thoughts returned to the boy, his mother giving her own life so that he might live.

  Only time would tell whether it had been enough.

  Thirty years later

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  The blood hit the cement floor one drop at a time. The slow rhythmic splat not in any way gratifying as I watched the asshole cry in front of me like a little girl.

  Oh, and look at that. He’d pissed his pants. Fucking awesome. At this rate it would take him a year to bleed out. And if I had to listen to his whine any more, I was going to stab myself.

  The thug routine was not my favorite.

  Despite my willingness to play it on a usual rotation, tying up grown men and watching them beg for their life didn’t get me off. Actually, it disgusted me. Seeing them tap out the minute any real pain was inflicted was embarrassing, and half the time I had to fight the urge not to slice their balls off purely because they didn’t deserve them.

  Pussies.

  All of them.

  Tough talking douchebags with shit for brains who couldn’t man up and take care of their end of the deal. Whatever that deal was. Like this asshole whose love for the ponies saw him get in twenty-five large with a less than honorable bookie. Of course, the dude who ran numbers didn’t like to get his hands dirty which is why he hired me.

  Me, and my lack of give-a-shit, meant that I’d cut off a finger or a toe if it secured the payment. Earned me quite the reputation and a steady stream of business, which is why I was sitting in the downtown storeroom of Lou’s Meats while Lou’s arms and legs were secured to an office chair with cable ties.

  “Please. I’ll pay. I just need a few more days.” He gave me the line I’d heard so many times before, his eyes wide like it made a difference if he was being sincere or not.

  No, really. Did he honestly think I gave a shit? If he paid or he didn’t had no effect on my bank roll, so why these assholes felt the need to give me the song-and-dance was beyond me.

  “Don’t care.” The smile I had no hope of suppressing spread across my lips. “I’m not here to set up a payment plan. So, either you give me the full amount or your wife gets you in a body bag. It’s that simple.”

  Maybe I’d hand deliver it too just because I’d seen the hot piece of ass who happened to share his last name. She was real model material, big tits with a coke habit that would put Whitney Houston to shame. Which was exactly my type. Maybe I’d visit her either way. I doubt this piece of shit had the ability to still get it up, so she could probably use a decent fuck.

  “Okay, Okay.” The asshole’s head shook as sweat rolled down his face, more tears forming on the outer rim of his bloodshot eyes. “There’s a warehouse on the Southside. I have it there. I’ll take you. Please, let me go and I’ll pay the money.” The sucking in of air split his sentence into more parts than it needed to be.

  I guess the piece of shit also missed the newsflash that I wasn’t interested in a scenic tour or playing chauffeur. He wasn’t taking me anywhere. And unless he suddenly developed a case of shut-the-fuck-up, he was going to end up in a body bag anyway. My patience was dangerously close to the end of my rope, and I didn’t subscribe to channeling my inner peace.

  “Give me the address,” I spat out, already bored with the dickless wonder in front of me.

  Lou nodded as he slowly stuttered out an address in Armour Square. “The money is in the safe. The combination is thirty-two, seven, eighty-five. Turn the dial at least four times to the left and then stop at the first number. Then—”

  “You think I haven’t worked a combination before?” I cut him off before he completed his idiot’s guide on a spin lock. “Please, you’re already skating on thin ice, don’t insult me even more.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He lost whatever battle he’d been fighting with his balls as his head fell forward and he continued to cry like a baby.

  “And there better not be any surprises,” I warned, wondering if I wasn’t going to be walking into a situation I’d rather not.

  I assumed there would be some kind of security system—nothing a few cuts in the wires couldn’t fix—but a bunch of assholes packing assault rifles was not my idea of a good time. He didn’t seem like the type of low life who could afford armed guards, but I hadn’t survived my thirty years by leaving shit to chance. So if the place was occupied, I’d rather know about it sooner than later, give me a chance to smoke them out without wasting rounds. Not because I was scared, in all honesty the smell of carbon got me hard. But because this job was already taking longer than it should, and I wasn’t getting paid enough to expend the bullets.

  “No. No surprises.” The sweating piece of shit shook his head, his eyes front and center in an effort to convince me.

  “Well.” I unsheathed the machete from its holster under my shirt and pushed the blade deep into his forearm. The cut was deep enough for the b
lood to trickle out at a steady pace. “Just in case.” I smiled pushing it a little deeper into his skin before yanking it out.

  The deep red stream crawled along the length of his arm while I dragged the blade against his pants to wipe off the blood. No point getting my threads dirty.

  His screams fruitless as I shoved the same dirty rag back into his mouth that I’d used when I’d dragged him in. If I had to listen to his voice anymore, I was probably going to stab him again.

  “Looks like you’ve got a nasty cut there.” My head tilted to the gash on his arm. “Now, I’m not a doctor but I’d assume that if you don’t get that taken care of in the next few hours, you’ll probably bleed out. It would be a shame if your own stupidity ended up getting you killed, wouldn’t it?”

  His mouth strained against the rag. Screams—or cries, I didn’t care enough to decipher which—kept muted by the cloth I’d shoved in his mouth. He was still making too much noise for my liking.

  “Shut your hole.” My fist slammed into his gut, sending his body ricocheting against the back of the chair. Thankfully that helped turn the volume down on account that he was more concerned with filling his windbags with air rather than screaming.

  “Good, so now that I have your attention.” The blade of my machete angled at the fleshy part of his thigh—the part that had an artery or two that would cause more of a mess than the scratch I’d just given him.

  “Blink twice if the warehouse is clear.” I waited as his lids gave me the open and shut times two before I moved my hand away.

  “Well done, asshole.” My machete slid back into the leather sheath against my skin. “Now for your sake, you better hope I don’t hit traffic on my way.” I straightened out to my full height, my feet settling onto the hard concrete floor.

  “And assuming you aren’t full of shit and there is the money in the safe, I’ll call 9-1-1.” My eyes locked onto his. “And you’ll be thankful. So thankful that you are alive that you can’t remember me or what happened here, right?”

  My eyes tracked the slow defeated nod before I continued. “Because if you suddenly feel the need to talk, and I have some unwanted heat following me. This conversation will happen again. Only this time, it will be with some extra participants. That wife of yours will be first, followed by your sister. And we’ll just keep going until you get so desperate you beg me to drive the knife in your heart, we clear?”