Page 14 of Saint of the Shadows

5

A Rooftop, A Tear

Marisol reached the end of the sandwich rotation in the vending machine. Dammit, no egg salad, which meant she’d have to go back empty-handed to Shopping Cart Zeke to see if a tuna sandwich could convince him to play nice with the social worker and, more importantly, empty a bed for the next patient.

Luckily, Dr. Foster poked her head around the corner. “Novotny, we got some tough with a broken nose behind curtain two. He’s got quite the mouth on him. Thinking you could handle it.” Marisol turned the opportunity to an exchange of the pain-in-our-asses. Though Dr. Foster might regret the trade-off—tuna and Zeke versus the curse words personified.

She pulled back the polyester curtain to find Izzy cuffed to the table with a newly splinted nose oozing dark, coagulated blood. Her nerves forgot tomove. An officer waited in the corner while Izzy pulled at his cuffs.

“Yo Mare, long time no see,” Izzy greeted with a smile. Blood filled in the grooves between his teeth.

Her brain spun like a stuck tire. Whenever she felt this overwhelmed, she broke tasks into increments. Blood. Teeth. Got it. Even an enemy deserved some dignity. Marisol snapped on her gloves and held a small cup of water to Izzy’s lips, motioning for him to drink. She held out a pan to spit in. “You look worse for wear.”

“They won’t be able to keep me in bracelets for long when word gets out that the Shadowhaven PD uses a costumed psychopath to do their dirty work.” Izzy scowled in the direction of the police officer, who waited in the corner.

“Costumed?” Marisol asked. Her heart fluttered. Could it be him?

“Alarms sounded off at the car shop. Turns out, something set one of my cars on fire.” He spat his words toward the police officer, “I expect someone to investigate that.” The officer shrugged in response. Izzy continued, “So, I’m putting out the fire, and before I knew it, something came out of the dark and attacked us. Like a robot or something. Its hand crushed my gun. My legally registered gun crumbled into pieces, but they’re trying to nail me with drug trafficking, possessing illegal firearms, and destroying evidence. I’d like to see those howlers stick.”

Marisol’s mind drifted. Her Patron Saint had flown through the flames and vanquished his foes. Her foes.

She jammed more cotton inside of his nostrils.

“Ow!” Izzy shrieked. “Woman, why are you going all Nurse Ratched?”

The textbook case of schadenfreude dared to wipe the concern off her face. “You will have swelling. Keep it iced and dry. Acetaminophen can help with the pain. In a couple of weeks, we can take this off you.”

Izzy pulled at his handcuff. “It was made of the darkness. The police got something working for them.”

“We got no such thing,” the officer who watched piped up.

Marisol nodded in the officer’s direction. He freed Izzy from the exam table and cuffed him behind his back. She slowly removed her gloves and took extra time to wash her hands. As the officer left with Izzy, she called after him, “Where’s Detective Quinlan?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

She followed the officer and Izzy out of the room and out of the ER. Watching the officer guide Izzy into the back of a police car seemed to close a chapter in her life. The car pulled away, and finally, something went right.

A wind gusted around her. The air soon tasted electric. Her gaze followed up the glowing signbearing the hospital’s name. Something moved underneath it. Was it…? Marisol ran into the hospital and retraced her steps back into the darkened clinic, into the room where she had first seen the Patron Saint. She opened the window and stuck her head out. Above her, a figure climbed toward the roof. “Hey!” she shouted.

Marisol bolted out of the room and up the stairs. At each new floor level, her face muscles hurt from her widening smile. Her family was free of Izzy thanks to him. And she needed to see him.

She reached the rooftop and walked out onto the empty helipad. Happy tears trickled down her face. The wind whipped her hair out of its tie, and the strands danced about her face. She stepped to the edge of the roof, searching. Footsteps landed on the helipad.

Marisol turned and faced the figure, the Patron Saint, and instinctively hugged herself for protection. “It was you. You got Izzy.”

He nodded. His cape flew behind him in the wind.

“I thought I would never see the day.” She stepped closer to him. The cold chilled her tears. “Thank you.”

Without a word, he touched her face. His gloved hand wiped the tear from her cheek.

Marisol’s mouth parted as she searched for words to say. But she hesitated with the awe of someone stepping into an elaborate sanctuary forthe first time. Her heart beat inside her ears.Badum, badum, badum!

A helicopter swooped down, the blades roared in her ears and lights scorched her retinas. She ducked, holding her arms to her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. After it landed, she blinked away the spots in her eyes and faced the darkness again. Yet the Patron Saint was gone.

6

The Worst Date

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