Watch Me

   

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Will the watch do its thing?

        They made such an usual pair, that those who might have confronted them on breaching the genteel business air of the bank, instead stared a moment, averted their eyes and wandered off, leaving sizable distance between their person and the struggling couple.  The woman was battered and bruised, her worn shawl covered in bits of muck, while the man she both propped and dragged appeared to be more than under the weather. With one arm around his shoulders, and another swung around his waist, Roxanne worked at keeping Fr. Kevin in an upright position, while moving him toward the back of the building with very little help from the priest himself.

      Despite the 114 year difference, the basic layout of the bank was the same as she remembered, the teller windows to the left of the massive front door, the huge vault to the right, and the space leading to the safety deposit boxes in the back.  They were nearly half way across the floor, before they were confronted by a gentleman in a vest, who first called out to them, then soundly blocked their way.

      "You there.  This is a restricted area for bank patrons.  You can't be here.  The bank closes...", he turned and pointed to a large wall clock above the entry way, "in less than ten minutes.  You'll need to leave before I call for the constable."

        Roxie slipped Kevin's weight to her hip, and pushed the words out through gritted teeth.  "We have business.   In there."  With her free hand, she pointed to the space behind him.

        The gentleman squinted at her, and then looking them both up and down, sniffed.  "That area holds our safety deposit boxes.  I'm sure you have no business there."  Then frowning, added, "None of  proper, legal measure, I'm sure."

        With clenched jaw, the washer woman spat back.  "We have a key to one of the boxes.  Let us pass.  Now.  Or I will call for the constable."  When the man made no move to let them by, she spoke to Kevin, whose energy was focused simply on remaining upright.  "Ke...uhmmm...Father Murphy...show this man the key.  The key to the box."

         The priest raised his head, giving the bank employee a good look at his sweaty pale face, before fumbling with his free hand inside the pocket of his coat.

         Without realizing he was doing so, the man stepped back.  "What's wrong with him?  He looks like he's ready for the undertaker?"

         "He's got the cholera.  And if you don't let us pass, he's gonna die right here...right here on the floor of your bank.  How many customers will want to come here then...knowin' a man died here in a pool of shit?"

           At that moment, Kevin produced the key, laying it across his bone white, sticky palm.  "Here.  It's here.  Check it if you will, and...and let us pass."

            Seeing the state of the ailing, rumpled man, the bank teller took another step back, and covered his face with a hankerchief drawn from his breast pocket.   "Go... attend to your business.  Then leave quickly.  The door closes promptly at 5."  And then turning on his heels, he walked away, quickening his step as he did.

           Part pushing, part mental willing, the pair shuffled past the room with the normal, metal security boxes, and then into the wood paneled back room, where they had earlier been led by the strange little man a life time ago.  Roxanne ran her eyes around the room, looking for a landmark that might offer a clue to their last position.  On the wall was a painting depicting the Battle at Concord, flanked on both sides by ornate gas lamps.

           "There Kev...right by that painting.  I remember that day...thinking that I had seen that same painting in my grammar school history book.  We were standing at a table right under it."

             Kev braced himself against the wall.  "Yes...I remember the painting too.  But there's no table there now.  Are you sure?"  He's breathing had become more labored, and each word was like pushing a boulder through cracked lips.

             "As sure as I can be.  No doubt they've moved the furniture around through the years, but the painting...it's too large to fit anywhere else in this room.   This has to be the spot!  C'mon Kev, we're almost to the finish line."  She pulled a chair over for him to sit, but he instead slid down the wall, and sat on the floor, his long legs spread out in front of him.

               Sitting herself down next to him, Roxanne pulled the chain from the front of her blouse, and pulled it over her head.   The watch seemed to give off an eerie light in the gloom of the large, dim room, casting strange shadows on the walls around them.  Head back, and eyes shut, Kevin's lips moved in what seemed like organized words that made no sense to her.  Grabbing his hand, she shoved the face end of the watch into his palm.

              "Grab it tight, Kev.  It has to seem like you're really holding on to it.  I'm gonna take the fob end...just like we did before.  Then...if all goes the way it's supposed to, we should wake up in our own time"

           She reached to take the end of the fob chain, but her friend reached out and stopped her.  His blood shot eyes flickered open, and he took her hand in his free one.  "Rox...in case this doesn't work, and we end up still in 1849.  Or worse yet, we end up separated...somewhere else.  Or...or if I just...don't make it, 'cause I'm pretty sure I'm in bad shape here.  I...I want to tell you something.  Something I should have told you a long time ago, and never did."

           "Don't be silly Kevin O'Kenney!  We're both gonna make it.  Right back to 2014.  Safe and sound.  And someday, we're gonna have us a couple of shots of Jameson, and shake our heads over this wild, crazy impossibility."  She tried to shake her hand free, but despite his poor physical condition, he held onto it with a grip that belied his true state.

        He closed his eyes again, and took a deep, shuddering breath that rattled in his chest, before laboring with the next word.  "Please Rox, let me finish.   From the first day I saw you, I knew there was something... special between us.  And even though God's set us on different paths, I need for you to know how I feel.  In case I never get the opportunity again.  Roxanne Spinelli, I lo..."

           In a flash, she wrenched her hand out of his and covered his mouth with it, then grabbed the other end of the chain.

________________________________

Maureen comes to help her brother.  But just who is on that sofa?

           It took most of the rest of the afternoon for Maureen to gather the things she needed.  All the while, her husband tagged along, shaking his head, tisking and swearing under his breath, but not allowing her out of his sight.  So when she announced that she was ready to "take care of business", he was relieved to see that her crazy plans had an end.

           Beckett watched as she placed the items in a shopping bag.  "What the hell is all that stuff?"

           "I told you.  It's what I need to summon the fey.  Then we can politely ask them to remove whatever mischief they've placed on Kevin."

           "And this shit is going to help your brother stop drinking and carrying on?  Come on', love, you don't really believe all this nonsense, do you?  Kevin is having some kind of mental breakdown, pure and simple.  We should be calling a doctor, not paying a round with voodoo witchcraft."

           "It's neither voodoo or witchcraft, Ted.  This is simple Celtic faerie magic.  It's part of my family's heritage, and I rather resent you making disparaging  remarks about it.  I told you, this has been part of the O'Kenney legacy for generations.  Didn't you ever wonder why so much stuff just seems to happen to us?  Crazy things?"

           "Things don't happen to your family anymore than they do to other people.  You people just add more drama to it all.  It's like second nature to you guys."

           "Well, that's how much you know, Ted Beckett!  You are so closed minded about things you can't see or explain.  I can hardly believe that you have a drop of Irish blood in you.  Must be all that French and English DNA swimming around in your veins.  Otherwise, you'd understand why I have to go to all this trouble to save my brother's vocation.  I'd do the same for you..or your brothers."

            The thought of his wife summoning faeries for any of his estranged family made him queasy, and so he dropped the subject, instead concentrating on getting the whole thing over with as soon as possible.  "So then, what is it you have to do to..uhmmm...remove faerie interference from Kevin's life?"

            Satisfied she had his attention, she explained, "We have to place these items around Kevin, and offer them as a gift to leave him alone.  Once they accept them, he should be fine.  The fey never go back on their word.  They're incapable of lying or cheating."

             "How do you know if they've taken the bait?  Made the deal, as such?"

             She bite her lip, and thought about the question.  "To be quite honest, I'm not really sure.  I've never actually done this before."  He rolled his eyes, and she continued.  "Seriously, I've read a ton on the subject.  And I remember everything my Granny told me.  Every word.  At least the stuff that wasn't in Gaelic."

            With nothing more to be said, he ushered her down the stars of the flat, and out the back door.  They walked the one block to the rectory in silence, each contemplating the outcome of what was sure to be an unusual experience.  Upon arriving, they knocked on the door, but after several minutes, no one answered.  Maureen took her key, and opened the door, calling out before barging right in.

              "Kev?  It's me, Maureen?  Hello?  You here?"

               There was no answer, so at Beckett's urging, they took a few more steps into the parlor.  There on the sofa was her brother, passed out in the same dirty rumpled clothes he been wearing since morning, a gold pocket watch clutched in his hand.


Copyright  2014 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

           



     

Mayhem and Magic

   

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Fr. Kevin waits for Roxie at the bank, and tries to stay conscious.

      The blow to her back seemed to come out of nowhere.  One minute she had been turning the corner,  and the next, she was face planted on the rough stone, her knees bleeding and skinned under the heavy material of her skirt.  She struggled to push up, the sudden fall making the breath stick in her throat.

       "I'll take those papers, girl.  Now."

        She didn't recognize the man at all.  Not a single clue.  But at the mention of the papers, she pushed the roll of documents further into her waistband.  "Misericordia, Sir! Io non parlo inglese. Io non capisco!"  Mercy, Sir!  I do not speak English.  I no understand.

        "I'm no coot, woman.  Parkman thought so, and it cost him dearly.  I heard you speak's the King's English perfectly well.  With that sot of a Papist, and then later, at the library.  I damn well know you can understand every stinkn' word I'm sayn' to ya.  So if ya have least a halfa brain in your head, you'll do what I'm sayn."  From his back pocket, he produced a long handled hunting knife, waving it in front of her face.

       At the mention of Parkman, realization came to her.  The murder.  George Parkman.  John Webster.  They hadn't fought over money as history had claimed.  It had been the portal locations.  One...or both of them...had discovered certain points on earth where doorways to the past and present could be used for time travel.  And now it seemed someone else knew as well.  The question remained as to whether or not he possessed a similar pocket watch to the one she had tucked in the folds of her blouse, or if he even knew that one was required.  With a grimace, she nodded at him, and pushed herself to a standing position.  "Fine.  I'll give them to you.  Just give me a moment to catch my breath."

        "I'm glad to hear you're seein' it my way."  He relaxed his stance, but still held the knife in front of him.  "I've waited too long for my chance at a way out.  Ain't no one gonna take this opportunity from me, ya hear.  They'll be no more moppin' and fetchin' for Ephraim Littlefield."

          So that's who he was.  Ephraim Littlefield, the Harvard janitor who was instrumental in locating the remains of the victim, George Parkman, and thus sealing John Webster's fate.  She thought of her history professor, who had lectured at length on the hanging of an innocent man, despite the evidence to the contrary. At the time, she had thought it all silly conjecture. Now, standing in this darkening alley, fighting for her life, she knew the truth.  She wondered if the professor had known all of the story?  Realized the whole time travel possibility?  If she got back to her own time, it was a question that would need answering, but in the here and now, her immediate plan was to get to that bank, meet Kevin, and hopefully make the journey back to where it all had started.  With her right hand, Roxanne fumbled with the band of her skirt.  "It's right here.  In a safe spot."  She pulled out one of three pages, leaving the other two hidden.  "Here you are."

         The man reached out to take the roll from her hand, but realizing there was only one sheet, grabbed hold of her wrist with his free hand.  "Watcha tryn' to pull, you guinea slut.  I know for a fact there are several pages to these documents.  I want all of them."

         With her free hand, she threw a handful of gravel and sand into his face, scooped up from her initial shove to the ground.  Startled, the man's hands flew up to cover his eyes from the onslaught.  With the toe of her worn boot, Roxie kicked upward, aiming for the man's groin in the manner taught to her by older brothers.  Littlefield's knees buckled, and he went down hard, the sheet still clutched in one hand, the knife in another.  Wasting no time in the retrieval of either, she gathered up her skirts and ran like hell.
__________________

        Fr. Kevin leaned against the wall outside the bank, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.  He could not remember a time when he had felt as bad as he did now.  How he had managed to get from the rectory to the bank, he wasn't sure.  He felt as if his legs were made of jelly, and unable to hold him up.  He was exhausted from hours of retching and diarrhea, and he had begun to count each breath he took, afraid that if he stopped counting, they would cease coming.  Mrs. McBride had done all she could to try and stop him, including bracing her rotund frame in front of the door and forbidding him to exit.  But he had insisted, going as far as to threaten her with mortal sin he'd refuse to forgive if she did not let him pass.  She eventually relented, weeping all the time that they were sure to find his dead body somewheres on the streets of Boston.  Now, as the clock above his head struck fifteen minutes before the hour, he was sure her words would end up prophetic.

          They were supposed to have met at 4:30 in front of the very same bank that had started this adventure.  But now, at a quarter to five, he had the sinking feeling that this was not to be.  She was nowhere in sight, and the bank employees inside scuttled about preparing for closing time at 5:00 PM.
He knew that he'd never be able to make the trip back the following day.  Hell, he didn't think he could even make the walk back to the rectory this very evening.  He slid down the wall, and settled himself against the bricks, garnishing stares of disdain and disgust from the foot traffic around him.

          He closed his eyes, and let his mind wander, thinking about the happy and sad times of his life, and praying that his Lord would welcome his return home. He hoped that his family would all know how much he loved them, as a shard of guilt sliced into him over the fact that he hadn't spent much time with his mother at Maureen's wedding. He fought not to think of Roxie here, in 1849, without him, and begged his heavenly Father to allow her to return to her own time.  He sat that way, for what seemed like a very long time, until a pair of arms seemingly wrapped themselves around his own.

           Eyes still closed, he mumbled.  "Is that you, Lord.  Have you come to take me home?"

           The female voice caught him off guard.  "Damn it, Kev.  You have to help me lift you up... just a little here.  You're like dead weight.  Plus, you smell like shit."

___________________________

Maureen plans an Irish Intervention

        "I don't believe it, Ted!  Not for a moment!  I know Kevin's been acting odd...but a woman?  Roxie?  It's just not possible!"

         Beckett watched as his wife chopped the makings of a salad, and considered taking the knife out of her hands until she was calmer.  "Look, babe.  I'm just telling you what I heard.  He was on his cell, talking to someone, and he referred to them as 'my love'.  Now, unless your brother's come out of the closet, he was talking to a woman.  And who could it be in the week we were gone, except for Roxie."

         She shook her head, the red wavy curls bouncing with her vehemence.   "You don't know him like I do, Ted.  He just wouldn't do that.  Wouldn't break his vows.  It just goes against ever fiber in his body.  His vocation is everything to him.  It's who he is.  I've never met anyone who is so...so naturally...religious.  You had to have heard wrong.  Or misinterpreted the conversation."

          He sighed, and munched on a slice of cucumber that had flown off the cutting board, most likely in fear of her manic chopping.  "I hate when you're like this.  When it comes to your family, you refuse to hear any thoughts other than your own.   I admit it, Kevin's a nice guy.  Solid.  But, he's still a human being, Maureen.  Capable of succumbing to the same temptations as the rest of us.  Especially when he's drinking.  Alcohol does lower one's...inhibitions...as you can so readily attest to."  He gave her a salacious wink, and she blushed a perfect shade of pink, throwing another cucumber directly at him.

       "I'll give you that.  We O'Kenneys have had our difficulties with alcohol, that's for sure.  Patrick almost screwed up his entire marriage with his drinking, and Brendan's heading in the same direction if he doesn't shape up.  And Daniel...well, you know the bad luck he's had.  I suppose even Kevin could suffer from the family curse."

        "Family curse?  That's a new one.  You've never mentioned any 'curse' before."

         "Oh, for sure.  My Granny O'Kenney sat Kev and me down when we were kids.  Told us the family had a long history with the fey."

           He snorted his disbelief, and put his hands in front of him to guard the next incoming vegetable. "Oh, so now your family is part of the fairy kingdom.  Gimme me a break, love.  You don't honestly believe that nonsense, do you?  Just accept the fact that St. Kevin doesn't exist, and no wee folk made him sin."

            Maureen narrowed her eyes, and put the knife on the table, which was a great relief to her husband.  "Don't make fun of me Theodore Beckett!  You know perfectly well that I don't believe that my family is descended from the fairies.  That would be ridiculous.  The fey are a totally different race of beings."  She watched as he rolled his eyes, but continued.  "My Granny said that we O'Kenney's had some type of connection with the Sidhe.  That we were...different.  More open to magic then other people.  Some how, we seem to attract the attention of things not of the natural world."

            He tried not to laugh, as that would only make her more agitated, a reaction he hoped to avoid after the fuss of the day.  With perfect seriousness, he asked, "And you think Kevin's 'issues" have something to do with magic?"

            She nodded, trying to gauge his level of belief.  "I do.  Something strange, anyway.  Kevin would never act the way he's acting if there was not something ...unusual at work here.  We need to go see him, Ted.  Make him understand he could fight this.  My Granny taught me a...a...oh I don't want to say spell 'cause you'll think I'm crazy.  But a ritual of sort...to make peace with the fey. We'll have to go there as soon as I round up the things I need."  Her voice trailed off,  her mind obviously somewhere else.

            "You're off your nut if you think I'm going over to that man's home and being part of some hoo-doo nonsense.  That's not going to happen.  I'm the damn Sheriff.  And there's no such thing as fairies...or magic...or secret rituals."

             "Fine.  You don't have to go.  I'll do it myself."

             "Absolutely not.  I forbid it.  I'm not letting my pregnant wife go traipsing off to preform some rain dance in the rectory of the local Church.  Forget this whole insane idea."

               "Look, Ted.  You're my husband, and I love you.  But I have to do whatever it takes to help my brother.  His whole life is in peril.  He can't leave the church.  In the end, it would kill his spirit, and Roxie's too.  And if this is the only way, I have to at least try.  Think of it as...an Irish intervention of sorts."


Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved

       


   
     

           

   

Leave it To Love

 

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

 

Beckett observes the activities...and conversations... in the rectory

     Beckett stood on the porch, momentarily stunned.  The guy had shut the door in his face.  There was no other way to describe it.  He had been put off, and told to scram.  That in itself wasn't unusual.  Most people with things to hide liked to keep them that way, especially from law enforcement.  But this was Kevin O'Kenney.  Caring pastor and all around nice guy, as well as doting big brother.  From the day she had blown into town, Maureen's business was also Kevin's, so his blase, dismissive attitude was suspicious.  It appeared that his wife was correct.  Something strange was going on over at Holy Family.

    He considered his next option.  As the town's sheriff, he could insist, and the fact he was also the guy's brother-in-law, might lend weight to situation.  But experience had taught that he'd gain a lot more information by stealth observation. With little fan fare, he turned and headed back to his car, making no attempt to hide his departure.  He drove a few blocks away, sliding his distinctive black Mustang in the busy parking lot of the town's shopping center, and made his way back on foot.  Part of him felt silly running the whole covert operation thing on Kevin.  After all, the guy was Catholic priest, and his wife's brother.  It wasn't likely he was involved in anything seriously questionable.  Then again, he thought about the whole kidnapping thing with Marzano, and how the parish priest had gotten himself involved with syndicate money.  Images of Cassie floated in the back of his mind, and a hundred warning bells went off in his head.  If there was any chance at all that the psycho bitch had reappeared, then he needed to know exactly what was going on.

         Beckett walked the half mile back to the rectory, coming up on the street just behind Holy Family.  Unlike urban neighborhoods, the properties butted up next to the ones behind, with no alleys or walkways between them.  Holy Family was set on four lots, with the church in the front, and the small house that served as the rectory in the rear. That property had been owned by the diocese for nearly 75 years, and the grounds boasted several full grown trees, and over grown hedges, allowing the sheriff to
easily come up to the buildings without being observed.  He had been pestering the priest to remove some of the brush since he had moved there, siting it as a major security issue.  But at this precise moment, he was grateful O'Kenney had chosen to ignore him, and he was able to make his way toward the back of the building without being seen.

        He paused at the window furthest in the rear, the large bay that gave him a complete view of the rectory's kitchen.  From where he stood, he could easily see into the room, which was currently empty.  Remnants of a breakfast meal were still left out on the table, but there was no sign of the priest.  Beckett moved quietly to the other side of the house, to the windows that overlooked the parlor and front hall, and hoped his brother-in-law had not decided on an afternoon nap, as the second floor would be harder to access.  Luck was with him, as he spied the priest cross-legged on the floor of the room, a sea of books, papers, and maps spread around him in a complete circle.  His full attention was focused on the screen of a lap top propped on his knees, and the sheriff could hear him muttering and swearing in Gaelic, a language he had always professed to know only bits and pieces of.  He stopped, taking hefty swigs from an opened bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, and grunting in appreciation.

         Crazy enough, it was the bottle of vodka that alarmed Beckett the most.  Anyone who knew Fr. Kevin O'Kenney, knew the man detested vodka, the reason a favorite family story amongst the large Irish clan.  He himself had heard the story first hand, shortly after he had started dating Maureen.  It seemed that after high school graduation, Kevin, and a group of his friends had headed to the Cape for a beach party, as was the local custom.  During the celebration, the new graduate had imbibed nearly an an entire bottle of rot gut vodka, resulting in him being  embarrassingly ill for several hours afterward, and vowing never to touch the wretched spirit again.  It seemed inconceivable that in the week or so since he and Maureen had been gone, her brother would have developed a taste for this particular selection of alcohol.  His wife was right.  Something was off in her brother's behavior.

         He watched the man for several minutes, contemplating what he should do next.  As odd as the behavior was, it still wasn't against the law for someone to sit in their own home and drink vodka. He considered using a ruse to get the man to leave the rectory so that he could have a chance for further conversation,or even exploration, but before he could dial the number, the priest's cell phone blared from a spot on the floor.  His brother-in-law seemed startled by the sound, and paused before picking up the phone and placing it near his ear.  From his spot next to the window, Beckett strained to hear the conversation.

          "Hello?   Ah..it's you.  No.  I haven't found anything.  You?"  The priest ran his hand through unkempt red hair, and then took another long drink from the bottle next to him.  "Miracle?  No, my love.  We both know there are no such things."

          From his position at the window, Beckett felt a mental whack to his head.  Did the priest just call someone "my love"?  Hell, this just put a whole new spin on everything going on.  A woman in Kevin's life?   It was unthinkable, and on the same hand, made perfect sense.  The woman.  She had to be Maureen's friend, Roxanne.  The priest's blast from the past.  He had teased the guy unmercifully about her coming to town for the wedding, but never had truly believed there was any way the guy would break his vows.  When it came to his vocation, Kevin had seemed the genuine thing.  On the other hand, he was still a human being, with the same feelings and desires as everyone else.   Was this the reason for the man's odd state?  He put his ear near the glass, hoping for additional information, but feeling a tad guilty for eavesdropping on someone he considered a friend.

         "Are you well?  Safe?  Yes...it is quite strange, all of it.  But wonderful.  No, I don't know how long it will last.  Or even how it happened.  But there must be some logical answer to this all.  The universe is an orderly place, we just lack the sense to understand it."

          Wow, Kev.  Mr. Romance you're not.  I guess not a lot of practice, huh?  

         "No, faic tusan...you best stay where you are at.  The less that know, the better. We must be cautious."  There was a deep sigh, and the man continued. "Yes, I understand... I long for you too.  But I need some time to...to get things in order.  It is best that way."

           Hell.  This is gonna cause a big pile of shit. 

          "Yes. Soon.  Very soon.  Then we can disappear.  You have my word, love."

           The conversation ended on that note, leaving Beckett wondering just how he was going to break news of this sort to his pregnant wife.  Or even if he should.

____________________________________

             There wasn't much time.  Of that she was sure of.  Kevin had looked awful, and there was little doubt that his condition would get steadily worse with each passing hour.  Finding a longitude and latitude map of Boston had proved impossible, and she thought of how she had taken the access of the internet for granted back in her time.  Within her heart, she was positive the library was the right spot, the portal in which she and Kevin traveled.  But the skeptic in her wanted...no needed... verification.  And now it seemed this important objective was going to be impossible.  Though the public library was open, access to the types of materials she needed was not within her reach as the impoverished, immigrant class she was.  Yet another freedom she had taken for granted in modern day Boston.

            She would have to go with her common sense and gut feeling on this one.  It had, on many occasions, been the key to difficult situations, and for Kevin's sake, she hoped her luck would hold out.  They had made plans to meet on the corner closest to the bank, at 4:30, in hopes of re-staging the original moment this all had happened, and when she had left the library, it was already well after 4.  Now, as she hurried toward the meeting spot, apprehension that none of this would work, built in her head like a ticking bomb.  So focused was she on the situation at hand, she never noticed the man following several steps behind her, and when the shove came, she wasn't at all prepared.

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

Questions and Concerns

 

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

   

At Maureen's request, Beckett does a "wellness check" on "Fr. Kevin"

   Believe her?  Not likely.  Even if he could buy into the theory that the equations pin pointed certain spots around the world, it was a far stretch to imagine that one could time travel from these locations.  Still, if you had asked him a week ago if he believed time travel was even possible, he'd have laughed over the absurdity, and never given it another thought.  But his very real presence, here and now, in 1849, with his stomach churning like a broken garbage disposal unit, was proof positive that the reality he thought he once knew, was actually full of cosmic jokes.

    The woman's face held such hope, he couldn't find it in his heart to smother her optimism.  It was Roxie somewhere in that strange body, and this time, he'd show her the support and friendship he'd lacked when they were kids.  Kevin worked at pushing his lips together in some type of false bravado smile.  "Sure, Rox.  I believe you.  So how do we find these spots.  And when we do find them, how does the whole thing work?  How do we actually get back to our own time?"

     Roxanne smiled back, rolling the papers back up into a tight cylinder.  "I"m glad you believe me, Kev.  I know it sounds...well crazy....but I really do think our being here has something to do with the spot we were standing on when we left.  Like a portal of sort.  If I'm figuring this whole thing right, it seems that there are portals like that one all over the planet, and this document pin points those locations based on longitude and latitude. All we have to do is locate one of those...spots, and maybe we can get back to our own time.  We know for a fact one of them is here in Boston.  It's how we got here in the first place."

       Either his illness was causing a complete mental breakdown, or Rox actually appeared to be making sense.  He wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.  The bank.  In the room with the safety deposit boxes.  They had been standing there, in the year 2014, and suddenly, the next thing he knew he was waking up in a strange bed, in an even stranger body that wasn't his own.  Was it really that simple?  Go back to that same spot in the bank?   "The bank, Roxie.  The spot is in the bank.  It has to be."

      She nodded, the smile gone, replaced with a look of concern.  "The spot in the bank has to be the portal.  But there's got to be something else.  Otherwise, anyone walking past that spot would get pulled into the portal.  Just disappear. No. There's got to be something else."  She sat in silence, her mind working through the problem.  Then she fumbled with the neckline of her shift, and stuck a hand down the front of it, pulling out a gold object.  The pocket watch swung from her finger tips, vibrating with the slightest of movement "The watch, Kev.  It's the watch.  It must work as some kind of transporter."

      Kevin shuddered, partly from the fever wracking his body, but more so over the appearance of the cursed time piece dangling from Roxie's fingers.  From the moment he had laid eyes on the wretched thing, it had filled him with a sense of dread, forcing him to look deep inside himself at things better left hidden.  Now it appeared that it held the key to their getting back home.  "So, you're sure that if we take this watch back to that same spot in the bank, in the vault with the safety deposit boxes, and both grab the watch again, we'll wake up back home?  In Dollyville?  In 2014?"

     She shoved the watch back down the front of her work dress.  "Of course I'm not sure!   I'm not sure of anything.  It just seems logical.  And we have to try something, Kevin.  You're getting sicker by the minute."  She stopped a moment, hesitant to finish the thought.  "People... people in this time...died from cholera, Kev.  There was no intravenous fluids available.  No antibiotics.  We need to get you back to our time, so if you still do have cholera in your own body, we can get you treatment."

     Her saying the actual word "die" made his fear seem all the more real.  For reasons he could not explain, he did not want to end his life here on earth in Murphy's body.  If he were to meet his Father in Heaven, than he preferred to do it in the same skin he'd been created with.  "You're right, Rox.  We have to at least give it a try."  Another thought crossed his mind as he sat queasy and shaking on the floor of the sacristy.  "We forgot about the whole quest thing.  The reason we were sent in the first place.  Isn't there something we're supposed to do here?   For Webster?  Or maybe Parkman?"

       She had no answer, and instead, they sat in a silence, each left with their own thoughts.  Resigned, Roxanne rose from her spot on the floor, and offered him a hand up.   "I can't base my actions on things written in fiction, Kevin.  Maybe there's a quest.  Maybe there's not.  All I know is I can't just sit around and watch you get sicker and sicker.  We have to get to the bank vault, the sooner the better.  We need a plan."

       Fr. Kevin shifted his weight, leaning on a wobbly chair for support.  She was right, of course  He felt awful.  He recalled information about cholera from a high school health course.  That massive diarrhea would lead lead to complete dehydration, followed by a shut down of all his major organs. He would die in his bed, alone, in a pool of watery shit.  From what he knew of his host's dismal life, no one much would care.  But the very worse thought of all, was the possibility that his death would abandon Roxanne in 1849.  That it required both of them to make the jump back, and by dying, he would doom her to a life of poverty and misery in the form she now possessed.  And that was, absolutely, not an option he could live...or die with.

_______________________

         The short stroll down to Holy Name rectory left little time for Beckett to work off the annoyance he harbored over his wife's latest bad decision.  The woman drove him crazy.  Sent him over the edge with her constant lack of foresight and sensibility.  If a single thought popped into her head, she acted on it.  No reasoning.  No planning.  It went against every fiber in his body, and was oddly, one of the same traits that drew him to her in the first place.

       Once involved, she threw caution to the wind, and fell into the experience with no hesitation.  It was deliciously exciting when she was in this mode, but also led to a myriad of headaches.  Maureen O'Kenney Beckett was, without a doubt, the brattiest woman he had ever met, and such a change from the hundreds before her, that he found it irresistible.  Which was one of the reasons he found himself on the way to chat with his brother-in-law, when he had several pressing matters of his own to deal with.

       When it came to her brother, Kevin, Maureen was unmovable.  The relationship between the siblings was something he had nothing to compare with, and found it difficult to understand.  He and his two brothers, one older, one younger, had never been close.  Even now, they seldom spoke, and their absence from his life wasn't something he gave much thought to.  But his wife would never let up on this idea that something was wrong with her favorite brother, unless he himself assessed the situation, and gave his opinion.

     The fact that she trusted his opinion as much as she did, pleased him.  But right now, he had other issues of concern, and doing a "wellness check" on Fr. Kevin seemed a total waste of time.
It was a bit strange to see the grass overgrown in the front yard of the home.  After the murder of the  gardener a year before, the priest himself had taken on the maintenance jobs around the parish, claiming the budget couldn't handle the cost of hiring someone new.   In Beckett's mind, his brother-in-law enjoyed the opportunity to work with his hands, and burn off excess energy.  He wondered whether it was a backlash over that whole ridiculous celibacy thing, a concept he and the cleric had hotly debated on several occasions.

       The state of the lawn, and the stack of old newspapers on the front porch, was an oddity.  When it came to the church and rectory, Kevin bordered on fanatical, and this lack of care was certainly out of the ordinary.  Beckett knocked on the door, never feeling comfortable with the way Maureen just let herself in as if she lived there herself, which at one point, she had.  There was no response, so he knocked again, this time with a bit more force.  For more than five minutes he waited on the porch of the rectory, and was just about to let himself in, when his wife's brother finally decided to answer the door.

       He hadn't seen Kevin O'Kenney since the day after his wedding, but had known the man for nearly a year.  In that time, he had always known him to be as straight an arrow.  He took his vocation seriously, and both looked and acted the part.  He enjoyed a shot of Irish whiskey now and then, and though he tried to hide it, Beckett knew the man enjoyed an occasional joint.  It was an essential skill in his line of work to expect the unexpected, but the disheveled man with blood shot eyes frowning at him from the other side of the door caught him off guard.

         His brother-in-law leaned against the frame, his arms crossed.  "Yes?"

         "Nice to see you too, Kev.  Can I come in?  It's about your sister."

          Fr. Kevin hesitated a moment, then asked, "The woman is well?"

          At the word "woman", Beckett bristled.  Maybe Maureen wasn't so off the mark.  Her brother did seem to be acting a bit strange.  He checked his eyes, and though the pupils seemed normal, there was just something not right.  Try as he might, he couldn't explain what it was, but there was something about the whole scene that bothered him.  "Yeah, she's fine.  She made the whole thing up, you know.  To help you out with that diocese problem.  You know your sister.  She doesn't always think things out."
           The priest nodded, but made no move to invite him in.  "I am glad to hear that she is without illness."

           "So...can I come in.  I feel like I'm out of the loop since the wedding and honeymoon.  Thought maybe we could catch up a little.  I'm off duty, and was hoping you might invite me in for a Guinness."

           His brother-in-law narrowed his eyes, and jammed his hands into the pockets of his stained slacks.  "I'm afraid I'm rather busy right now,,,,uhmmm  Ted.  Perhaps some other time then."  And without further discussion, he closed the door.


Copyright 2014  Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved


     


     

Tempus Fugits Returns

 

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Longitude and Latitude

     Fr. Kevin looked up at her, trying to measure her statement.  "Help us?  How?  That makes no sense, Rox.  Webster has no clue as to who we really are.  He wouldn't begin to believe that we're...that we...time traveled from some other time in history.  And if we tried to explain it all, they'd lock us both up in some loony bin.  So, how could his research have anything to do with us?"  His stomach rolled in response, and he pulled the slop bucket closer towards him.

       Roxanne ignored him, mumbling to herself.  She rose and headed toward the empty coal scuttle next to the stove, turning it over and shaking it, until a small scrap of the material fell to the floor.  Then without explanation, she went back to the rolled out paperwork.  As she worked in silence, he watched her scribble out numbers with the piece of charcoal on the floor next to them, careful to space them out in what seemed a particular order.  After several minutes, she conceded to speak, pointing to her work.  "Do ya see it now, Kev?  The pattern?"

       Kevin tried to peer intently at what she had written, but even if he hadn't felt as wretched as he did, he'd probably still not see what it was that had put her in a state of excitement.  He had absolutely no head for numbers.  As a kid, he struggled with the basic tenets of multiplication and long division, and Algebra was  a foreign language that other people spoke.  He passed the basic business courses in the seminary with the help of a daily tutor who had implied that he must have some kind of mental impairment.  Even now, his parish finances back home were a mess, mainly because he had let them go for months at a time.  Despite everything, it was still important that Roxanne not think him a complete idiot, so he nodded in agreement, feigning some type of understanding.  "Uhmm...yeah.  I think I do.  So what do you think it means?"

        "It's not the equations that matter so much, Kev.  It's the spacing on the paper!  When you figure the equations, the two sets of answers seem to represent longitude and latitude.  It just has to be."  She could see the confusion in his face.  "Look here," she explained, pointing to the top and bottom of the largest sheet.  "At the top and bottom of the sheet, the answers to the two equations are 90 and 180.  On both the left and right sides.  In the center the answer is zero.  Again on the top and bottom, the left and right.  That's gotta be the Equator and the Prime Meridian.  It couldn't be anything else.  Not smack dab in the center like that.  That means all these other equations...these sets of numbers...they have to be different points around the world.  Special points."

        "I'll buy into your theory, Rox.  But I'm still not getting what any of this has to do with us.  Or why we're here.  Even if you're right, and these are longitude and latitude co-ordinates, it's a ridiculous stretch to assume they have anything to do with our predicament.  Or time travel.  The spots could have any hundred reasons for being important.  Mineral deposits...oil...precious stones.  Things that could have made Webster a wealthy man.  That would make a hundred times more sense then what your leaning towards, Roxanne."

      She smiled, a crooked grin with a space between the front teeth that Roxanne Spinelli never sported.  "And under different circumstances, I'd have to agree with you, O'Kenney.  If not for these letters here in the corner."  She tapped the lower right hand corner of the sheet.  "Did you catch this?"

        He squinted at the small, neat print.  No, he had missed this the night before amid his apprehension over the bands of numbers.  The obvious clue starring him square in the face.  But now, it seemed to make perfect sense. "It's Latin...Tempus Fugits...it means..."

       "Yup. I know what it means.  'Time Flies'."  She leaned back, and smiled again.  "Now do you believe me?"

____________________

Beckett has words with Maureen

      It had seemed like a good idea at the time.  The only idea, actually.  And it had done the job.  Her "fainting spell" at the rectory had caused quite the commotion, resulting in a ambulance ride to the hospital, and the much needed departure of Mr. Belkins from the Archdiocese, who promised to pray for her recovery, and return at a more convenient time.  From where she stood, things hand gone swimmingly well.  Therefore, the pissy reactions of both her husband and brother came as an unwelcome surprise.

      Once over his frantic concern, Beckett was livid, railing at her for putting him through such an ordeal, and questioning her general sanity.  Though the hospital, finding absolutely nothing wrong, had released her, and she had finally admitted to making the whole thing up, her husband insisted on going off duty, and spending the rest of the day with his "ailing" wife, a decision she knew would not bode well for her.

      When they had reached the confines of the apartment, she could see the veins sticking out on his temples, and knew he was in a particularly foul mood.  They both were aware that the deli downstairs was open for business, and had no doubt that Mrs. Schiller was eavesdropping near the door at the bottom of the stairs.  Her maternal instincts had insisted on sending them up with a bowl of fruit, and some of her special blend herbal tea, which she swore was the perfect thing for nervous mothers-to-be.

      He hadn't even let her put away the bowl of fruit before he sat her down and began the lecture she was pretty sure would go on for the entire afternoon.  "Jesus Christ, Maureen, do you have any boundries what so ever?  What would possess you to pull a stupid stunt like that?  Couldn't you have given me a heads up before you went ahead with this crazy shit?"

     "I do wish you wouldn't take the Lord's name in vain like that, Ted.  It really bothers me."  She sat up straighter, and tried to look spiritually offended, but it was obvious he wasn't buying any of it.

      "You know what bothers me, little one?  When my wife comes up with ridiculous notions, without thinking anything through.  Do you have any idea of what you put me through?  I get a call at the station that you are on your way to the hospital.  That you collapsed at Holy Family.  Hell,  I thought you were still here at the apartment.  Last we talked, you said you wanted to sleep in, stay off your feet, and maybe take a look at the new house plans.  You never said a word about going over to the rectory."

     "I'm sorry I worried you, Ted.  Honest, I am.  But the more I got to thinking about Kevin's weird behavior, the more I wanted to go and see him.  Find out what happened.  Roxie's sudden disappearance...well...you have to admit it was strange.  I wanted to find out if it had anything to do with what went on between the two of them.  Kevin's just not himself, Ted.  He's...I don't know how to explain it.  Just different.  He doesn't even talk the same.  Something's wrong.  I'm sure of it."

    "Look, Moe.  Whatever went on between Kevin and your friend is none of our business.  If Roxanne decided she needed to leave Dollyville, then that was her choice, and you need to keep your nose out of it.  Honestly, I don't understand your family's penchant for butting into each other's personal affairs.  Would drive me crazy.  And as we have thoroughly discussed, the less any of them know about our situation, and my part time employment, the better.  It's a matter for every one's safety, little one.  I thought I made that clear."

     She hated when he used the moniker "little one".  It made her feel all warm and mushy, and gave him the distinct advantage in any discussion.  It may have been an extreme maneuver to feign illness as she had, but if it meant helping her brother, then she'd damn well do it all over again.  She needed to convince her husband that something was seriously wrong with Kevin.  Once that happened, she was pretty sure he would know what to do.

Copyright 2014 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved


       

       

Expectations and Equations

             

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

   

Fr. Kevin... aka Fr. Murphy... goes over the parish accounts in the rectory parlor

      It was the dream that woke him.  Left him startled, sweaty, and with that strange inability to distinguish between reality and the nocturnal products of his imagination.  Considering the situation he found himself in, the irony was overwhelming.  Fr. Kevin pulled the tattered blanket up tighter around him, not so much because of the chill in the room, but more because of the remnants of his nightmare.  He was back on the Harvard campus, standing on the roof of the privy in the pouring rain.  Why he was on the roof, and how he had gotten there, wasn't explained.  He just knew that he was perched on the top of the wretched building, holding Webster's papers in one hand, and a large horse-shoe shaped magnet in the other.

      Below him on the ground, his sister Maureen stood screaming up at him, she herself in possession of a similar large magnet that she kept waving back and forth.  Try as he might, he could not make out the words she was yelling at him above the noise of thunder and howling wind. The next thing he remembered was that horrible man, Littlefield, climbing a ladder up to the roof and demanding he turn over the papers.  When he refused to release him, the burly janitor began pummeling him in the stomach, his fists falling over and over again, until Kevin felt too sick to react.

       Now awake, he realized that his stomach did in fact, feel awful.  Nausea came in rolls, and the cramps in his lower belly made him dive from the warm bed in search of the chamber pot and his wash basin.  For several minutes afterward, he lay on the cold floor of his room, trying to feel well enough to stand.  Mrs. McBride had attempted to enter the room with his breakfast and clean linen, but he refused her admittance, embarrassed by the mess he had made, and the state he found himself in.  Eventually, he forced the energy to stand, and dress himself.  He needed to get to the church to say Mass.  It was the only chance he'd have to meet with Roxanne.

_____________________________

        As Maureen watched the rotund Mr. Belkins polish off his sixth slice of buttered rye toast, she contemplated the absurdity of the moment.  She had come over this morning for the specific purpose of spending time with her brother.  Of getting answers from him about his strange behavior.  Instead, she was now acting as cook and waitress for some pompous jerk from the diocese, while said brother was haggling over the parish accounts in the rectory parlor.  This would be the same brother who had flunked high school Algebra not once, but twice, and who had barely passed the business courses required by the seminary.  Numbers were not Kevin's forte.  Anyone who knew him was aware that he simply did not have a head for math.  So what the hell did he think he was going to accomplish in the hour it would take Fatso to fill his expanded gullet?

       She had attempted to offer her assistance, but he had rudely ordered her back to the kitchen with  instructions to keep the diocese's bulldog busy with breakfast.  She watched as he scribbled a list of numbers on a pad of paper, not a calculator or computer in sight, and sighed.  This was a disaster in the making, and she considered who she might seek for assistance.  A text to both her husband and eldest brother, Patrick, had come back with virtually the same reply.  Kevin was Pastor, and Kevin would figure it out.  She should mind her own business, and do as he had asked.  But this was Kevin we were talking about.  Her favorite brother.  There had to be something she could do to help him.  That's when the idea came to her.  If someone in the family suddenly took ill, then of course the meeting with Belkins would have to be postponed. Without further thought, Maureen closed her eyes, and dropped to the floor.

Maureen's plan to help her brother escape the clutches of Mr. Belkins

__________________________________

      Mass was late in starting, due to its officiant needing to spend additional time in the privy out back.  This delay neither surprised or annoyed the handful of faithful in the pews, and when Fr. Kevin made his appearance at the altar, no one seemed shocked by the priests gray pallor, leading him to believe that his host spent many a morning seemingly under the weather.  But he had little energy left to worry about the mysterious Fr. Murphy.  He, himself, felt wretched.
     
       It took every ounce of self fortitude to get through the liturgy of the Mass in an upright position.  There were several moments when he thought he might just throw up where he stood, but by the grace of the Almighty, he was able to give the final blessing without embarrassing himself in front of his flock.  He tried peering into the gloom of the church for confirmation that Roxanne was in attendance, but couldn't verify he saw her.  And she would not come up to take communion, not in the form she found herself in, so he couldn't be sure she was truly there until Mass was over.

       Weak and sweaty, he plopped himself into a chair in the sacristy, and prayed she'd show up.  It was risky meeting in the sacristy, but they needed light and space to inspect Webster's documents, and the confessional wouldn't do.  He mopped his damp brow with a handkerchief, and gave a shudder.  There's was little doubt in his mind why he was ill, the memory of the night before etched in his mind.  He went over and over the scene, like a replay button in his head.  The moment the loosened stone slipped out, the moment it hit the privy hole, and the exact instant the putrid offerings hit his face.  He remembered the smell of it under his nose, and the sour, rancid taste in the corner of his lip.  When it had happened, the logical side had taken over.  The likelihood of him contracting cholera from that little exposure was unlikely.  The weather was cold.  Too cold for the bacteria to reproduce.  The odds were with him.

      But this morning, feeling the way he did, reality was quickly sinking in.  He wondered if when he died, would it be his soul returning to the Lord, or Fr. Murphy's?  Would he return to his own time, or would Fr. Murphy finish his time on Earth in Kevin's body.  He forced himself not to think about his family.  About his mother, or his brothers, or Maureen.  The thought that he wouldn't see them again until they all met in heaven was, at the moment, too much to bear.  He pushed these thoughts away, focusing on ways to help Roxanne get to her own time.  If these were to be his last days, then he needed to make them count.

      There was the sound of the heavy door creaking open, and repeated footsteps against the wooden
floor.  When she came into view, he was surprised that her present appearance no longer startled him.  Even when she spoke in that strange, lilting accent, he heard only Roxie's voice, the one that always made his heart beat faster.

       "Sorry, I'm late, Kev.  I had to wait until the coast was clear.  A lot of people seemed bent on hanging around today."  She removed the woolen scarf from around her head, and only then looked at him directly.  Seeing the sweat on his forehead, and the gray tones of his skin, she blanched.  "Holy shit, Kevin!  You look awful!  What's wrong?"  She reached in to feel his forehead, but he pushed her away.

       "Don't get too close to me, Rox.  I don't remember if you can get this from personal contact.  I don't want to risk it."

        "Get what?  What the hell are you talking about?"

       In response to her question, he rushed from the chair, vomiting into a slop bucket in the corner of the room.  He heaved until there seemed to be nothing left in his stomach.  When he was finished, he sat against the wall exhausted, too weary and sick to offer up any kind of apology or explanation.

         Disregarding his warning, Roxie sat down next to him, and pulled him close.  "Oh, Kevin.  It's cholera, isn't it?  Somehow you got infected retrieving those documents, didn't you?"

       Her voice was higher than normal, and he knew, if he looked, her eyes would probably be full of tears.  So he took the cowards way out, and kept them shut.  If he looked at her now, he'd loose any hope he had left of keeping his dignity intact.  She used the scarf to wipe his face, and he worked at moving away.  "I told you.  You shouldn't get near me.  I'm not sure if I'm contagious.  There's no reason for us both to...to... be ill."

        She must have decided, as he did, to keep herself together.  When she answered, she was more in control.  "That's nonsense.  You don't get cholera from person to person contact.  I'd have to cover myself in your shit or vomit, and frankly Kev, as much as I like ya, I have no plans to do so.  So knock it off, and let me help you."

        The blunt statement sounded so much like his Roxie, that he smiled, in spite the fact he felt horrible.  "You always did have a way of putting things, Rox."  He pointed to his coat, slung across the chair he had occupied moments before.  "The papers.  Webster's.  They're inside the coat pocket."

        "Don't worry about Webster.  Tell me why you think you have cholera."

       He related the story of the night before, leaving out the part where Littlefield threatened him.  There was no need to alarm her any further.  He doubted the strange papers had anything to do with their time travel, and there was little to be gained in making her nervous.

       When he explained about the stone falling in the privy, and the subsequent splash to his face, she went still, and was quiet for several seconds afterward.  Then, with what seemed like a new dose of determination, she rose from the floor, and gathered up the papers. She spread them on the floor in front of him, and settled herself right back next to him.

        "Did you have a chance to look these over last night?"

       "Yes, but honestly, they don't make any sense at all to me.  Just a bunch of equations.  Strings of numbers with no rhyme or reason.  If you recall, I was never very good with science or math."

       She smiled, and nodded.  "Yeah.  I do remember that.  Didn't you almost not graduate because you were flunking calculus?  Came almost down to the wire, and you slipped by with a D+."

      He started to laugh, and then remembered that when he was senior, she had already withdrawn from their school after the arrest of her father.  He wondered how she'd known about his Calculus woes, and realized she had still cared about him. Had asked after him.  Even after the lousy way he had treated her.  The guilt made him feel worse than the physical symptoms of cholera, and he wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

      But the memory was obviously not painful for Roxanne, and that shamed him even more.  She poured over the papers, her lip bit in in serious concentration.  He sat in silence, and watched her mumble to herself.  Finally, she sat back down, her attention somewhere far away.

       "You're wrong, Kevin.  I think these papers hold the key for us.  For getting back to our own time."

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

   

Due to responsibilities with the day job...and life in general...I will be on hiatus for yet another week.  I hope you will come back next week to find out what's going on with Fr. Kevin, Roxie, Maureen, and the rest of our friends in Dollyville.

Thank you for your support and patience.

The Author