A flashquake Honorable Mention for Fiction goes to:

Paying the Price
by Christine A. Verstraete

A whispered prayer on his lips, he entered the church quietly and dipped his fingers into the holy water font. His hand touched his forehead, then tapped the front of his black suit three more times to form a cross.

His hands folded reverently, he appeared calm and prayerful, despite the repeated flick of his eyes towards the back of the church. The silence around him was broken only by the occasional murmurs of the devout badgering heaven's door with personal petitions. Minutes later, he heard the church's rear door slowly squeak open. Turning, he watched her from the corner of his eye. He made his way down the aisle, paused as if in prayer, and then repositioned himself for a better view of the newcomer's progress. She entered, her blinking eyes giving her an owlish expression as she made the transition from the brightness outside to the church's dim interior. She shuffled forward a few steps, then paused when she noticed him watching her. Just as quick, he returned his gaze to the altar. He waited, wondering if this time she'd stay or go. The few times he'd seen her, she'd stopped, then fled like a frightened rabbit before he could offer counsel.

He heard footsteps stop behind him. Taking a deep breath, he turned and waited patiently for her to voice her request.

"Can I talk to you?"

He nodded, rose, and then directed her towards an empty pew in a secluded corner of the church.

She spoke softly, her whispered words drawing him closer. "There was a baby left here."

He gave her a sympathetic look, but remained silent.

"A boy. He--he was wearing a blue jacket, black sweats. Blue socks."

"I want, I mean his mother, wants him back."

"Are you sure this is the right church, St. Joseph's?"

"Yes."

"No child has been found here recently."

"Oh." She started, then looked off into the shadows. "No, not lately. It was five years ago. He'd be six now."

He bowed his head as if in reflection, then looked back at her.

"I remember," he said. "It was cool that day, the air was much too cool. A baby couldn't have endured it long. Luckily, he didn't have to. I worked late. I found him after I closed up. Quite the shock, I'll admit."

He was momentarily lost in memories. Clearing his throat, he studied her with tear-filled eyes. A silent prayer went through his mind, "Father, forgive..."

"I'm afraid all I know is he was in good shape," he said, gritting his teeth against his roiling stomach. "He was well cared for. I'm sorry that I can't tell you--"

Her gasp and sudden pallor alarmed him. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes," she stammered. "I, I'm fine."

Even in the dimness, her face, he saw, was too timeworn for someone so young. Her hands plucked at her sleeve, then reached up to grab an over-plucked eyebrow.

"I'm sure if you, I mean your friend, called social services, they could find out more," he said.

She gazed at the floor, then slowly stood and left without a word. He watched her leave, his heart feeling heavier as he turned to find the stout body of his sister, Rosa, blocking his way.

"Took a big chance telling her to call social services," she griped.

"You think she will?" he asked. "What'll she say? 'Excuse me, I need some information on a baby I abandoned five years ago?' What'll happen when they can't find any record of it? Don't worry, she won't say anything."

"Still, you took a big chance," she said. "What happens when--"

Her mouth clamped shut when the door at the front of the church banged open. The prayerful silence was shattered with the boyish calls and the thump of sneaker-clad feet on the well-worn tile.

"Shh!" she warned the six-year-old boy running towards her. "Dimitri. Silencio. This is a house of God. You make too much noise."

Her frown of disapproval and the years of worry lines vanished at sight of the boy's smiling face.

"Mama, Mama! Uncle Lorenz! Look! Look at my drawing. I got a gold star!"

The boy skidded to a halt and thrust the paint-smeared paper into her hands, his green eyes alive with the joy of sharing his accomplishments.

"Wonderful! We're so proud of you." She gave him a hug, then passed the paper to her brother. The priest looked at it, then back at her. His dark brown eyes met her light brown eyes in a conspiratorial glance.

"Perfecto!" he told the boy. "We've got just the dessert at home to celebrate. "

The two of them watched the boy skitter back down the aisle and out the door ahead of them.

"Such a joy he is," she murmured. She reached for her brother's arm and squeezed his hand. "He's become the son I never thought I'd have. He's been a real comfort."

A sigh escaped him at the sour look that suddenly crossed her face. He knew she still missed her husband after all these years. He was glad the bum had left and never come back.

He unwrapped an antacid tablet and popped it in his mouth. It would do nothing, he knew, for the guilt that sometimes burned his throat and stomach like the attack of acid he got from eating Rosa's green peppers.

"God wanted you to bring that boy home," she whispered. "Why else would you have found him? You did the right thing, cara."

Her look of motherly pride and satisfaction didn't escape his notice. Yes, a small price to pay, he thought, chewing the tablet.

© 2001 by Christine A. Verstraete

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