Mark Pearson - Hard Evidence

'Come on, Jack.'

Jack looked up as Father O'Connell held the door to the vestry open and nodded, resigned. The man's wind-scraped face and rough white beard made him look more than ever like a visitation from a tortured place. Jack shivered again despite himself as he walked into the room.

Father O'Connell shut the door behind him and pointed to a pair of armchairs that sat alongside a tall bookcase. 'Sit down there.'

Jack sat in one of the armchairs and Father O'Connell in the other, picking up a Bible from the table in front of him.

'Do you know what the Bible is, Jack?'

'I do, Father.'

'Then you're a wiser man than most. And do you know what a priest is, boy?'

'It's a holy man, Father.'

Father O'Connell laughed. 'Indeed he should be.' He patted the book in his hand. 'You see, the Bible is a collection of stories. Hundreds of stories that teach us all how to live. Each and every one of them for a different crossroads, a different hurdle in life. A different decision to make. Do you understand, boy?'

Jack nodded, not sure that he could keep the lie from his voice if he answered out loud.

'And part of a priest's job, if you like, is to prescribe a particular story to a person when he needs it. Like a doctor prescribing medicine. Do you see?'

Jack nodded again.

'So the stories in the Bible are like spiritual prescriptions to cure spiritual ills. A dose of medicine that cures the black spots on your soul.'

He leaned forward, fixing Jack with his wild bloodshot eyes. 'So tell me truly, Jack. Do you believe in the Devil?'

'I do, Father.'

'I see the lie in your eyes, boy. But my job is to make you realise that he exists. He lives, breathes and walks amongst us.' He leaned in closer so that Jack could smell the musty wine on his breath, see the yellow tobacco stains on his crooked teeth, the passion dancing in his eyes like a jig, like a reel.

'My job is to make you believe in the Devil, boy.'

'Time's up, Jack.'

Delaney blinked. He looked at Siobhan, her eyes pleading, her voice muted by terror, then across at Kate, her hands steady, her eyes cold as an executioner's.

'Put the gun down, Kate.'

Kate hesitated for a moment.

Walker stared across at Delaney. 'See that look in your daughter's eyes, Jack? She's terrified. Jackie Malone had that look. Just before she died.'

Delaney turned back to Kate. 'Please…'

Kate still didn't take her eyes from her uncle, fury sparking from them as her hand trembled a little, then she slowly lowered the gun to the floor and stood up again.

'You see, she can be a good girl when she wants to be.' Walker smiled at Delaney, then turned back to his niece, still smiling as his finger tightened on his gun's trigger, and shot her twice in the chest.

Kate flew backwards, gasping with shock as she crashed to the floor.

Walker's smile broadened and then died as he suddenly cried out in surprised pain, and looked down to see Andy twisting the cook's knife in his side. Siobhan screamed and broke free of Walker's grasp as he staggered back, grabbing hold of the knife handle and watching the blood flow over his fingers. He turned to Andy, who watched him emotionlessly. 'Why?'

Andy bared his crooked teeth. 'You told me you weren't there when my mum was killed. You lied to me.'

Walker slowly lifted the gun again, but before he could point it, Delaney reached for his own gun and fired, shattering Walker's right elbow. Walker fell back against the wall, grunting with pain like a wounded animal as his gun fell harmlessly to the floor.

Delaney looked back at Kate, who lay motionless on the floor, her arms outspread and her hair fanned out in a monstrous echo of his dead wife. A monstrous echo of his own fault, his own culpability. People who got close to Jack Delaney got hurt. Wasn't that what Karen Richardson had said? He swallowed hard and turned his pistol back to Walker, who was on his knees now, gasping with agony. He levelled his gaze into Walker's pleading eyes.

'Don't do it, Delaney. Please don't do it.'

Delaney brought the gun up and pointed it at Walker's face.

'Jack?'

Jack looked up at Father O'Connell. 'Was your mind wandering, boy?'

'No, Father.'

Father Connell walked back from the cabinet he had just crossed to and held up what was in his hands. 'Do you know what this is, boy?'

'Yes, Father.'

'This is the communion wine, is it not?'

'So it is, Father.'

Father O'Connell nodded. 'So it is. And would it be a sin, do you think, to be drinking it?'

Jack nodded, his face flushed as he realised that Father O'Connell was getting down to the serious business now, and squirmed a little in his chair.

'Yes, Father, I suppose it would be.'

Father O'Connell looked at Jack for a while, making Jack squirm even more under the relentless gaze. Then he raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow.

'Does that make me a sinner then, Jack?'

Jack was confused; he didn't know what to say. Father O'Connell put the bottle of wine on the table and sat opposite him again.

'Are you familiar with the story in the Bible of the wedding at Cana?'

Jack considered for a moment; he was sure he ought to be, it did sound kind of familiar, but he didn't want to be caught in a lie.

'I'm not sure, Father.'

'The one about Jesus at a wedding feast, when they run out of wine and Jesus turns the water into wine. Do you remember that one?'

Jack smiled. 'Yes, Father. Dad's always saying it would be a handy trick to have, especially round Christmas.'

'So you mind the facts? Jesus took a pitcher of water and turned it into wine for the guests and himself to drink.'

'Yes, Father.'

Father O'Connell leaned in again, all good humour leaking from his face. 'So was Jesus a sinner too?'

Jack was thoroughly confused now; he shook his head, not trusting himself to say anything, but he had to try.

'But that wasn't the communion wine.'

Father O'Connell pointed to the bottle on the table. 'That's just a bottle of wine; it hasn't been consecrated. It was a sin for you to drink it, because you stole that drink. But in the main scheme of things it's not such a big sin, is it?'

Jack shook his head, confused. 'No, Father.'

'So what's the importance of the wine, do you think, Jack.'

'I don't know.'

'The point of it is that we all have choices to make, Jack.'

'Choices?'

'Between good and evil.'

'Do you mean like between the Devil and Jesus, Father?'

'It comes back to the wine, you see. When this wine has been consecrated, it becomes the blood of Christ, and you know what that means?'

'Yes, Father.' It had not been so long since his First Holy Communion, after all.

'I don't suppose you do. But I'll tell you. What it means is eternal life, boy. Jesus is the best wine saved till last. By embracing him in the holy communion, he becomes part of you and you become part of him.'

'Yes, Father.'

'It is your choice to make. Throughout life, you are going to have all kinds of choices. Because just like you can choose to be part of Jesus, you can choose the other too. Because when I said that the Devil walks and breathes and lives amongst us, I meant that the Devil is human. He's not a mythical beast with horns and a red tail who lives in the pit of hell.'

'He isn't?'

'No, son. He lives in Ballydehob or Luton. In New York or Bombay or Islamabad. He's us. He's you or me, if you let him be. Do you understand?'

'I think so, Father.'

'So you have a choice to make now. You can go on stealing wine and getting into fights and trouble and bit by bit letting the Devil into you. Or you can choose not to.' The old man leaned in and looked him in the eye. 'Because in the end, choices are the only thing we've got. They make us.'