THE DEVIL IN MANHATTAN
A.N.: Hey guys and gals. Sorry for the late update, this chapter was a pain in the rear end to write. Hopefully, however, you like it a lot and won't kill me for it. "Fuck!" The explicative fell casually from Connor's lips in the time it took the Irishman to jump to his feet and grab his jacket at the foot of the bed. Pulling the coarse material up over his shoulders, he straightened the lapels with a quick flick of his wrist Bending over, he reached beneath his pillow for the semi-automatic pistol tucked safely in a holster. With his back turned to the priest, he didn't even notice the slight open jaw look of horror on Father Genosa's face. Nor did he hear the faint click of the priest's teeth as he snapped his mouth closed and the unmannerly grunt he used to cover his folly. Pulling the gun out of the holster, he removed the clip to check the bullets. A full load of dull silver barely reflected his image back at him. He began to reload the weapon when Father Genosa's words stopped him. "Are you planning on shooting someone?" Connor felt himself freeze at the statement. There was no condemnation behind it. No argument over the duty given him. There was no praise in the words either. They were a simply a question, asked calmly in a tone above a whisper. Yet they rang through Connor like the church bells at Matins. "Not if I can help it, Father," Connor replied in a tone to match. Scowling at himself he slammed the clip into its slot and cocking the pistol. Turning, he looked in Father Genosa's eyes, prepared for a defiant argument. Unfortunately for Connor, Father Genosa's face held as little emotion behind it as his words. He simply watched the Saint, an air of curiosity in the tilt of his head. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't shoot to protect myself or Murph, he added quietly in his head, Or Anna for that matter. Something of those thoughts must have shown on his face because the priest once again asked before letting him go, "Is something troubling you, my son?" Connor felt a jerk along his insides and prayed it stopped only there. The priest had continually asked the same thing of him off and on for the past six months, and each time Connor couldn't bring himself to give him an answer. There was just some sins that were between God and the sinner. Unconsciously, Connor's eyes strayed towards Murphy's cot. I shouldn't have let him go, he thought to himself. You shouldn't have let Anna go, replied the more judgemental side. In any case, it turns out Murphy was right, a third and final thought weighted in, bringing with it its own burden of guilt. Ever since the prison fuck that had become of their last job, Connor had both the weight of responsibility and conscience for everything that had happened with it He had gone over that night every day, demanding of himself why he hadn't been faster or smarter. He had had that gut feeling something was off, but ignored it. No. That wasn't true. He had blamed Da for it, for his pressure to continue their mission. He had confronted Da when he should have been keeping his eye out for trouble. That mistake had cost Da his life. Worse still then that, he'd practically been in the lap of luxury while Murph had been tortured and humiliated by the same man who had killed Da. In the end, he had even shot at his brother, intent on killing him to save Anna. There wasn't a level of hell that could match the agony that raced through Connor daily. He had known the moment he put his arms around his brother that everything had changed. Murphy never talked about what happened and Connor never asked. He didn't think he could bear the added torment to his soul. Yet he still woke every time Murphy did and still laid beside him in the cot when the nightmares drove his brother to tears. A solemn duty that he was compelled to fulfill. But he refused to let Murphy and himself continue with their mission. He told Murphy it was for his benefit. To make sure he was healthy enough in body and spirit to continue their work as it was meant to be done, in the defense of the weak and not as a matter of vengeance. Murphy had accepted his reasons, but wasn't necessarily happy about them. What Murphy didn't know however was that the break was more for Connor than for himself. Since the moment they'd been separated, Connor had found himself being told again and again that what he was doing was wrong, mostly by Anna. Looking back now at the pain caused by his own actions or in-actions, he had begun to wonder if she was right. What sort of man let such harm come to his brother? In Connor's eyes, he was no better than Cain. He certainly wasn't the sort of man worth of the mantel he had claimed for himself. As the storm of thought passed over Connor's face, it was all Genosa could do not to gasp in horror. The look he saw in the Saint's eyes was similar to one he saw in only the desperate of cases at the charities he served in. It was look that belonged on men who had done everything right and been rewarded with the worst one could be offered. It was a look that beloned on a person at the edge of their rope. It was look that belonged to someone who had lost their faith. Yet the second the Saint's eyes met the priest's the look was gone. "No, Father," Connor replied almost brusquely, his outer expression once again becoming like stone. He could a prickle in the back of his neck, as if sensing the walls closing in behind him to compress the uncomfortable atmosphere and thoughts. Putting the gun back in its holster, he attached the worn leather to his belt. Giving Genosa a quick nod, not trusting himself to say any more, he brushed past the old priest and headed towards the stairs. "I take it you don't want me to phone the police," Genosa said aloud to the empty room. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, what the fuck are we doin' here, Murph?" Connor demanded incredulously, stepping cautiously across the threshold despite his familiarity with the apartment. Across the room, his brother looked up from his examination of the stereo to turn and glare sullenly at him. "Findin' out what the fuck happened to Anna," Murphy responded crossly, cutting across the main room towards the small hallway. Moving towards the door at the end, Murphy carefully opened it and peaked in. The room stood reflective of the age of it's owner. Various movie and music posters lined the walls contrasting against the thin margins of lavender painted walls. A window sat directly in front of the doorway just above the small bed and bundled mass of white sheets on the floor. A plain writing desk sat a few feet from the bed, covered in papers and opened books. It was as if the occupant of the room had suddenly gotten up for a quick study break and never returned. Craning his head further into the room, Murphy saw a few drawers sitting at each corner on the other side of the room. A half full hamper sat between them. The drawer closest to him, he noted, was surrounded by completely blank lavender walls. On that drawer, he could make out two well-used red candles surrounded by pictures of Anna's parents. Stepping back, he closed the door solemnly, feeling as though he had invaded on something private. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of the knob to the apartment's second bedroom. Knowing better then to enter it, he turned back and walked into the main area. Connor remained standing just inside the doorway, crossing his arms impatiently. "Fuck, Connor, wha' are ya doin' just fuckin' standin' there?" Murphy demanded, glaring angrily at his brother. The evidence that something was wrong was staring him in the face and Connor was either too stubborn or too proud to see it. Probably both at this rate. "Waitin' for you ta come ta yer fuckin' senses," Connor snapped back, eyes scanning the room. Not one thing in the entire apartment seemed out of place, save for two water glasses (both almost full) sitting out on the coffee table. The lack of destruction had startled Connor when he saw it. As he had raced across the several blocks separating Anna's apartment from St. Peter's his mind had unbidenly provided him with gruesome mental imagery. At first, he feared the place had simply been ransacked, possibly robbed, and Anna was actually tucked safely away at the convenience store around the west corner of her block. All too soon,however, the images of a ransacked apartment were bathed with blood and signs of struggle. Time eventually lost its factor in Connor's mental equation and he could see Anna's mangled corpse finally found tied to her bed or possibly her parent's bed, where Murphy wouldn't look. A chill had run across his stomach and down the lower half of his spine as he rounded the stairs up to Anna's apartment. Worse then the invading thoughts of Anna's corpse were those of Murphy's body falling down beside her, killed because he, Connor, hadn't made it there in time. Thankfully, however, Murphy had had the good sense to wait for him before entering Anna's apartment. Based on what he could get out of his brother, Murphy claimed he had gone outside the church for a smoke to calm down Eventually the smoke had become a walk and the walk had brought him to Anna's door. He had told Connor he had knocked a couple times, intent on apologizing to Anna for possibly scaring her off (another stab of guilt to be added to Connor's growing collection) and maybe get her to talk to Connor. When she had answered the door on the third and loudest lock, Murphy had called Father Genosa. "By the looks of it," Connor continued, looking back up at his brother, "She jus' stepped out with a bite to eat with a friend or somethin'." As though to make his point, Connor looked pointedly at the two water glasses. Anna wasn't the sort of girl to offer her potential kidnapper a drink and the glasses certainly would have been knocked over if someone had tried something. "Are ye fuckin' serious? A bite ta eat?" Murphy exclaimed incredulously, not even following Connor's gaze. He moved into the very center of the room, "She's not fuckin' here, Connor. Tha's like her. And tha's especially not like her after tellin' us she never wants to see us again." "Hardly," Connor muttered under his breath, not wanting Murphy to hear him. He was used to feeling the brunt of Anna's self-anger and shame against what she saw as a violation of her principles. Murphy, however, wasn't. Aloud he simply replied calmly, " Look, I'm sure there's an explanation, Murph. Let's not fall into a fuckin' panic just yet." "I'm not panicing!" Murphy exclaimed angrily, his hands clamping into fist. He could feel the bubbling heat of fury at Connor's obvious lack of concern and it was all he could do to not throw a punch at his brother. Why couldn't Connor see what he did? Adding fuel to the flame, Connor simply closed his eyes and let out a patient sigh. Holding up his palm placatingly at his brother, he nodded. "Alright," he replied, though there was no conviction in his words, "Let's jus' go see if we can't find her in some of the local shops...as a precaution. For fuck's sake." The last bit he added for the dubious look Murphy gave him. The same scowl, nevertheless remained on Murphy's face, but his shoulders slacked slowly. With a slight, almost impercetable nod, he agreed to look with his brother, taking a step towards him. It would be at that moment, of course, when the hit went down. The only sound was the shattering of glass. The first was the cracking of the window as a bullet flew past the spot Murphy had been standing merely seconds before. The slug blew past him, imperceptible but for a faint breeze and the shattered vase against the opposite wall. Connor's reaction was just as instantaneous. Pitching himself into the room, he grasped the lapel of Murphy's coat in the curl of his finger tips. With almost superhuman strength, fueled by a sudden shot of adrenaline, he pulled his brother face-down to the carpeted floor behind the couch. Falling a behind him, he covered his twin with his own body. A cacophony of explosions followed the movement. Bullets flew throught the room shattering wood, glass, and plaster. Small bits and pieces that Anna used to decorate the place fell from their shelves, shaken down by the impacts and general noise. Beneath him, Murphy squirmed, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. The top of the sofa exploded, raining small tuffs of stuffing onto the brothers. The gunfire rang out for what seemed like ages, but was probably only a few seconds. The sudden silence following it was as deafening as the noise itself. "Ge're off me," Murphy grunted, struggling slightly under Connor's weight. It was enough only to knock his brother over but not enough to push him into harm's way. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," Connor exclaimed, under his breath, as he moved slightly to move away from Murph. His hand moved automatically to his gun, drawing the weapon out in preparation of using it. God help anyone who tried to take him or especially his brother. The twins moved simeoultaneously into a one-knee hunch behind the couch. No sudden fire sounded around them. Heads turning to the other, they stared at each other for barely a second, an entire conversation playing out between them. With a quick nod of agreement, they turned to face the doorway. "One," counted Murphy. "Two," answered Connor. "Three!" the pair cried at the same time, both shooting for the doorway. Again, no fire followed them as they shot through the frame into safety. Whoever their attacker may have been, they had already taken their one shot. Gasping in the hallway, both shaking with adrenaline, the brothers once again looked at each other. "Believe me now," snarled Murphy. Connor nodded, quickly replacing his gun in its holster. "Aye," he said, "Let's go find Anna." A.N. 2: Reviews appreciated!
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