And May the Truth Die With You

Madge Hagedorn crosses herself, kissing her rosary beads. Looking at the illuminated statue of Jesus near the pulpit, she whispers, “Are you there, God. It’s me… I know I made some bad decisions in my life, that I married an evil man, and didn’t protect my family… My time is near… All I ask is that you help me make amends…”

Father Paul Dietrich gazes at the dozen worshippers in his church. He’s familiar with the Wednesday afternoon crowd and wishes he could take their pain away.

Madge, the diminutive, grey-haired woman who helps run the local newsstand, has come to St. Raymond’s Church nearly every day for the past year. Father Dietrich worries about her because she appears to have no family and works for Orestes Pappas, a hulking, hairy, unkempt man who always seems on the verge of exploding in a murderous rage.

Rick Ross is the worshipper Father Dietrich worries about the most. Rick gets a hefty check each month from being wounded by a roadside bomb while in the Army. The plate in his head induces migraines that he tries to quell with drink and drugs. His soiled clothes, sad eyes, and scruffy hair and beard make him repugnant to others.

Raised in the neighborhood, Father Dietrich has seen the church’s working-class parishioners shift from Irish to Italian to Hispanic. The Forty-eight-year-old cleric has been running St. Raymond’s Church in the Bronx for over twenty years. Tall and in better shape than most men his age, his round glasses and soft eyes give him a wise, professorial look.

Father Dietrich notices a new face amongst the crowd. The small man with expressive, cat-like eyes, dressed in a tapered suit, flashes a smile at Father Dietrich that’s as slick as his pitch-black hair.

The man limps toward him, extending his hand. Despite his five-and-a-half-foot stature, the sight of him sends a shiver down Father Dietrich’s spine.

“What are you doing here, Deacon?”

“Is that any way to treat someone you haven’t seen in thirty years, Paul? I never did thank you for rescuing me from those bullies in the neighborhood.”

“You’re welcome. Now get lost.”

“That’s not a very charitable answer, considering you’re a priest.”

“How’s the leg?” Father Dietrich asks.

“Let’s see. When I was twelve, Zeke Fuller held me down, while Zane Fuller pulverized it with a sledgehammer. I expected to wake up in the hospital without it, and it never healed properly. By the way, how are the Fuller brothers?”

“You know they left the Bronx the same time you did, Deacon.”

Deacon tries to look surprised. “And they haven’t come back? Shame. I hated those steroid-shooting shmucks.”

“You should have known not to egg them on after the first time they beat you up.”

Deacon’s eyes bulge in anger. “I was the victim! They’d pummel me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Zane Fuller forced chocolate down my throat, which turned out to be Ex-Lax. Zeke chased me into the street… BAM…Broken arm and two busted ribs. And remember their favorite game? ‘Let’s toss Deacon.’ I might not have minded if they bothered to catch me… If I didn’t have you around from time to time, I might not have made it out of my teens…So, I see you were serious about that life of poverty thing you talked about when we were kids.”

“And I can tell by your clothes that you’re as successful as you said you’d be. How did you make your money? Drugs, fraud, flipping houses?”

“I’m a psychiatrist.”

Father Dietrich's eyebrows shoot upward. “I would think you’d be under therapy rather than dispensing it. What is it you want, Deacon?”

“I haven’t confessed my sins to a priest since I was a kid. You’ll do.”

***

A terrified scream propels Father Dietrich from the Bible Study Room to the church’s interior.

Rick is sitting in the center of a pew, having a fit, his head whipping back and forth.

Several parishioners pass by, hurrying toward the church’s front door.

Father Dietrich shakes Rick. He suddenly wakes up, grabbing Father Dietrich’s arms.

“Are you alright?”

“I dreamt about it again.”

“The shadow?”

“Yeah. I never thought I’d be afraid of a shadow, especially one so small. But there was something creepy, something horrible in its gleaming smile. It scared my cat, Domino. She ran out of the room shrieking. Then it moved toward the bed. It was standing over me. I tried to look at its face, but all I could see were its dark eyes and that hideous white grin. It kept saying, “Gift… I’ve got a gift for you.”

“What was it?”

“Wine. It told me to drink it. I felt dizzy, sleepy…Then it touched me, and I had a vision…”

“What did you see?”

Rick’s rakish body shakes. “A dead man. He was stabbed so many times...”

“You were a soldier. I’m sure you've seen many horrible things. Your mind may be playing back something you saw and experienced.”

“But I never killed anyone. Am I possessed?”

“Let’s pray. Together, we can lift the darkness tormenting your soul.”

***

Heading toward the office or Hellman Electric, Gage Alexander stops at the newsstand on the corner for a cup of coffee, a Danish pastry, and a copy of the New York Times, just as he’s done for the past year.

Orestes Pappas scowls at Gage, bellowing, “Your boyfriend’s here, Madge!”

Madge appears from the back of the newsstand carrying a cup of coffee.

“Light, two sugars, just the way you like it, Gage. Eight dollars with the Danish and the newspaper.”

“Thanks, Madge,” he replies, handing her twelve dollars. “Keep it for the retirement fund.”

Orestes laughs out loud. “Retirement?”

Madge stares at Gage, her smile beaming brightly.

“Is my tie crooked or something?”

“No. I was thinking how proud your mother must be.”

***

Sitting on his butt-worn couch, Rick pets his pet cat, Domino. The tabby purrs happily in his lap.

Rick takes an extra dose of Prozac, hoping dead men won’t haunt his sleep.

He dozes intermittently, finally drifting to sleep.

The short, grinning shadow appears in the corner of the darkened room, its arms behind its back.

“Gifts… Rick…” it whispers, revealing a bottle of wine.

“Go away! What do I have to do to get you out of my head?”

“Listen to me.”

Opening the bottle, the shadow pours wine down Rick’s throat.

“…Listen to me… Our enemies have sharp tongues…But we have a sharp knife…”

Rick’s mind races. He sees a muscular man trying to run from him. He tackles him, bringing him to the ground. Rolling him over, he can feel the knife in his hand plunging into the man’s heart.

***

Rick wakes up when he nearly chokes on his vomit.

He sits up, realizing he’s covered in blood. A kitchen knife lies next to him.

His blurry vision focuses on an object lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

“Domino!”

***

Swearing he’ll lose some weight off his three-hundred-pound frame, Detective James “Hippo” Harrigan wheezes heavily as he bursts through St. Raymond’s creaky front door. He zeros in on Father Dietrich, who is talking to a small, well-dressed man who is smiling from ear to ear.

Hippo looks up at the ornate ceiling. The center of the ceiling depicts Jesus, bordered by an otherworldly cloud, surrounded by the apostles on both sides.

“…Biggest con going…,” he mutters to himself.

Hippo often shows his disdain for religion by calling Father Dietrich by the wrong title. “I can see why the Catholic Church is one of the richest organizations in the world, vicar. You really know how to pimp your house.”

“Is there something you want, Detective? Maybe absolution for your many sins against society?”

Hippo pulls an evidence bag out of his suit jacket, dangling it in front of Father Dietrich.

“You got any worshippers missing a cat?”

“This is a church, not the ASPCA.”

“That’s it, Friar Tuck, play smart with the police.”

“Someone in this conversation has to be smart.”

Hippo’s fleshy features redden. “I'm here to give you a warning, Rabbi. We have a serial killer on the loose in the neighborhood. He likes to sneak up on his victims and stab them in the back. Then he rolls them over and acts like he’s performing acupuncture. This collar was found next to our latest stabbing victim this morning. Find the cat, find the killer, get it?

“Sounds challenging.”

Hippo smirks. “What that sucker doesn’t understand is that the hippo is the most dangerous animal in the jungle… Have you taken any confessions from anyone with a guilty conscience lately?”

“Are you implying that he’s spoken to me?”

“Let’s say for now that you may have spoken to the killer without knowing it,” Hippo replies. “He sent us a note, saying, among other things, that he has confessed his sins to God and been forgiven for butchering four men. All of them were in their twenties, in decent shape, and hard to kill. We figured that since his victims were within three blocks of here, the logical place he’d unburden himself is your sin shack.”

“If he did, you know I can’t reveal who he is or what he said. It’s a priest-penitent privilege.”

“So, you’re willing to hide a killer under your robe?”

Deacon limps past Hippo with a polite, “Excuse me, sir,” heading for the door.

Father Dietrich calls after him. “Remember what I said, Deacon. Proverbs 14:29: Whoever is patient has great understanding, but one who is quick-tempered displays folly.”

“Great speech, Padre. Is that Peter Lorre lookalike really a Deacon? He dresses more like a mortician.”

“It’s just his name, not his profession.”

“Well, you tell your butcher friend that we’re closing the net on him, and if he wants to do penance, he can either do it in prison or the cemetery.”

***

Picking up his newspaper and putting it in the crook of his arm, Gage drops twelve dollars in Madge's cash box.

“It’s a beautiful day and I’m feeling good. I was thinking, Madge, we’ve known each other for what, a year? I’ve got a light schedule today. How about lunch?”

Madge looks at Orestes. “Go ahead, put on the feedbag. Life’s meant to be enjoyed, not just endured.”

***

Madge looks around at the Côte d'Azur restaurant's elegant, pure-white décor.

“I hope you like French cuisine. My Mother loved Coq au Vin, although she seldom got it.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“I have a confession to make.”

“Then maybe you should tell Father Dietrich rather than me,” Madge replies.

“He has enough to bear,” Gage says. “I feel I can talk to you. You’re understanding. You don’t judge… For a long time, I harbored a lot of resentment toward my mother. She ran out on my brother, Hal, and me when I was eight and he was three. Then Hal died…”

Madge covers her mouth with her hand. “Your brother is dead?”

“He was only six. My father said he fell down the stairs and broke his neck. Dad was always edgy and angry after Mom left. He started drinking even more after Hal died. I went to live with his sister, my Aunt Joan, who had nothing to do with him. One morning, he was found dead on the couch. His liver had finally given out. That was when Aunt Joan told me the police had suspected Dad had killed Hal, then thrown him down the stairs to make it look like an accident.”

“…I’m sorry you had to go through that…”

“Then Aunt Joan died. I joined Hellman Electric as an apprentice. Now I own it. The people at Hellman’s have been my family for over twenty years, but I’ve never forgotten my mother. Now, instead of resenting her, I understand her.”

“Do you remember anything about her?”

“She had a big nose, like Barbara Streisand. And she sang like her, too. I remember her, Hal, and I on the way to a Mets game singing ‘Stoney End.’”

“I go to St. Raymond’s every day to light a candle and pray for my family,” Madge says. “I’ll light a candle for you, too.”

***

Gage stops at the newsstand the next morning and is surprised to see Orestes there by himself.

Paying for his items, he asks, “Where’s Madge? Is she sick?”

Orestes’s heavily lidded eyes soften.

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you… She passed. Heart attack… If it’s any consolation, she died quickly in her sleep.”

Gage is dumbstruck. “…All we did was talk about me… I had so many questions to ask her…”

Orestes reaches under the counter for an envelope, handing it to Gage.

“This will answer some of them.”

Inside the envelope is a letter and a bank statement.

Gage glances at the bank statement.

“Three million dollars!”

He reads the letter:

Dear Gage,

I’m so glad I got to know you, even if it was only for a little while. You’re a gentle, caring soul, and I’m proud that you’re a success. Not many people would give money to a stranger and look after them the way you did. That’s one reason why I’m giving you my fortune.

The other is you’re my son.

I knew it from the moment I saw you a year ago. I bought the newsstand so I could see you every day and get to know you.

In case you’re wondering where I got the money, after I left home, I got my nose fixed, changed my hair color, and got a job as a receptionist at Hot Shot Records. One day, the singer scheduled for a session was sick, so I took her place. Since no one would buy a record by somebody named Madge Hagedorn, I changed my name to Cindy Starr. To my surprise, the song became a hit. Now you know I didn’t steal your inheritance; I earned it!

I knew I only had a short time left to live, but getting to know you was the perfect going-away gift. I’m sorry I ran away, leaving you to suffer through the pain of losing your brother on your own. I hope you can forgive me and take pleasure in the moments we shared, as I did.

Love,

Mom

***

Hippo Harrigan and four police officers charge down the path leading to the Hudson River. The officers' radios crackle with the news that the suspected serial killer is standing on a rock, ready to leap into the river.

He leaps as a wheezing Hippo reaches the scene.

The men rush to the shoreline. Hippo watches with gritted teeth as the bloodied suspect fights with the officers who are trying to pull him out of the water.

Cut by jagged rocks, his face and arms a bloody mess, Rick is handcuffed.

“I AM THE DEVIL! TAKE ME TO FATHER DIETRICH! I NEED TO CONFESS!”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to unburden yourself, Ross. I’d say, fifty years to life.”

***

When Deacon and Father Dietrich step out of the confessional box, they’re greeted by Hippo’s beefy smile.

“About time you took confession, Detective.”

“Funny, parson. I just thought you’d like to know that we caught Rick Ross, the butcher you’ve been protecting. One of his neighbors gave him up. We found one of the victims' wallets and his phone in Ross’s apartment. The clincher was when his landlord told me that Ross had a cat named Domino that he’d buried in the backyard. Remember that collar I showed you? Find the cat, find the killer. We nabbed Ross before he could off himself. As you would say, ‘Hallelujah!’”

Hippo practically skips away.

“Smug,” Deacon comments. “He deserves to fail.”

“…Did you?..”

“I followed Ross to his apartment from here and hypnotized him when he was semi-conscious on booze and pills. I wore pantyhose over my head so he couldn’t identify me. You should have seen him squinting in the dark, trying to figure out whether I was real or imagined. And, oh yeah, I killed his cat…”

“Why take your anger out on one of God’s helpless creatures?”

“Helpless? That hairball scratched me, so it got the knife. I dropped her collar next to my latest kill for that fat detective to find. Last night, after Ross drank himself into a coma, I planted my kill’s wallet and phone in his apartment. Did I mention my specialty is hypnosis therapy? I spent hours whispering in Ross’s ear that he was the serial killer the cops were looking for. Then I dialed 9-1-1 this morning to let the police know where their killer was. I didn’t count on Ross running off like Seabiscuit to kill himself, but the police saved my plan by arresting him. He should have tried to throw the wallet and the phone in the Hudson instead of himself.”

“You brainwashed Rick into thinking he was the killer,” Father Dietrich says sadly. “You never did get over being bullied by the Fuller brothers, did you?”

“I thought I had when I left them dead in the basement of that burned-out building around the corner from where we lived. I left the Bronx feeling righteous. But yes, I developed a taste and a talent for killing bullies, especially anyone who reminded me of Zane and Zeke Fuller. If you want to succeed in life, Paul, you have to sharpen your knife and harden your heart.”

“Why, after thirty years, did you come back here?”

“Because I knew my brother would protect me.”

Father Dietrich crosses himself. “I let the police arrest an innocent man. My vows have kept me silent and have kept me from telling them the truth. You’re my brother, Deacon, but you’re also a cold-blooded killer. You need to leave New York and return to whatever hellhole you crawled out of. And may the truth die with you.”