Page 26 of Monk
We step to the front of our booth and watch the flow of people in the church’s courtyard. Gilson isn’t a big man. He’s maybe five-nine and lean. And yet, the way he carries himself makes him seem so much bigger. His dark hair, graying at the temples, gives him a dignified air, and his eyes, darker than pitch, seem to be able to cut straight through to your soul. The man has a sense of gravitas that can’t be denied.
“We do so much,” Gilson says. “And yet, we aren’t able to do enough.”
“We can only do what we can do.”
“I’ve watched you with the people who come through here. You’re good with them. You truly seem to care.”
“I do. I don’t like seeing people go without.”
“You’re a good man, Jake.”
Hearing somebody use my actual name is jarring for me. For a good, long while now, I’ve only been known as Monk. And that suits me just fine. I feel like it was the name given to me when I was baptized into this new family of mine. The only family I have. And Monk is just who I am now.
“And yet, I know you are… troubled. I know you still have demons,” Gilson says.
“Don’t we all?”
He shrugs. “It’s true. But it’s what we do about them that matters.”
I already know where he’s going with this, and I don’t think I like it. Clearing my throat, I turn my gaze out to the people in the courtyard again. But then, Gilson turns to me, his eyes piercing and direct.
“I respect you, Jake, so I’m not going to keep beating around the bush. Prophet, Poe, Cosmo, Doc—they’re all worried about you. As am I.”
“All due respect, Father, there’s nothing for you—or any of them—to be worried about. I’ve got it under control.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Are you certain of that?”
“Yep.”
“Then why did Prophet receive a call just a little while ago, telling him about an… altercation… at a gas station parking lot?”
“Because people in this town can’t mind their own fucking business,” I reply, seething.
He looks amused, and I cringe inwardly. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I frown.
“Sorry about the language,” I say.
He shakes his head a little. “Trust me when I say I’ve heard worse. And don’t tell anybody, but I may have used language just as coarse a time or two… before I joined the church, of course.”
My frustration is starting to build once more. Clearing my throat, I do my best to stuff it all down. Blowing up here isn’t going to do anybody—most of all me—any good. I know Father Gilson is simply trying to help me and is the last person I’m supposed to be pissed at. I know I need not be pissed at any of them. But there’s that voice in the back of my head telling me that they’re getting involved in shit that’s not theirs to dick around with. It’s telling me that this is my life and I’m in control.
“Listen, I’m not going to stand here and preach at you, Monk…”
“That’s a good thing. Can’t say I’ve ever been the religious sort.”
His smile is soft, but his eyes are filled with concern. “But what I want to offer you is a chance to actually deal with some of your demons before they get out of hand and you end up doing something you can’t take back.”
“I’ve got it handled.” My voice is low. Hard.
Gilson frowns and falls silent for a moment. Like me, he is looking out at the crowd, which is starting to thin as we get closer to the end of the day. Some of the people look disappointed at not getting what they need, the tents having run out already.
“You know, Prophet was a lot like you after he got back from the war,” Gilson says. “Angry. Drinking a lot. Just filled with rage and always wanting to fight. Always wanting to beat the tar out of somebody.”
It’s hard for me to imagine simply because Prophet is usually so mild mannered and even keeled. Yeah, he gets angry, and he’s certainly intense, but he usually seems so collected.
“He, too, had demons from his time in combat. Which is understandable, of course. War exacts a heavy toll on people,” Gilson goes on. “Anyway, he knew his path was unsustainable and that if he didn’t do something about it, he was very likely going to kill somebody. So, he came to me and we began our weekly sessions together. It took a little time, but he was able to eventually cast those demons out.”
My lips are compressed into a tight line on my face. “Yeah, well, Prophet grew up Catholic, from what I understand. He feels comfortable in a church. I don’t. Never have.”
