Reprisal

He'd been right! The priest had been right! The kid was still alive—buried for five years and still alive! Five years in the ground! This couldn't be happening.

Yet it was, dammit! He'd seen it with his own eyes. No question about it—something hellish going on here.

From the far side of the wall he could still hear Father Bill's voice, ranting at the empty winter sky.

And then he heard something else. Footsteps approaching.

Re

"Get out of here," Re

The old man didn't even slow his pace; unperturbed, he continued forward. When he stepped into the glare from the streetlight, he stopped and stared at Re

"You've opened the grave, I gather," the old man said.

Christ, who else knows about this?

"Look," Re

"You're quite right about that, but…" He paused and almost seemed to be considering taking Re

Re

"I don't understand."

The old man jerked his head toward the cemetery.

"For whoever was buried in that unmarked grave. It's the only way to end it."

Instantly Re

But it meant going back over the wall, seeing that thing that was all that remained of Da

It was quiet on the other side of the wall now. Father Bill was alone in there with that tiling that had been—and in a way still was—Da

He grabbed the gasoline can and hopped up on the car hood. As he straddled the top of the wall, he looked back at the old man.

"Don't go anywhere. I want to talk to you."

"I'll wait in your car, if you don't mind. I came by cab."

Re

Bill sobbed as he held Da

He heard a sound and stretched to raise his eyes above ground level. Detective Augustino was returning, carrying something, stumbling toward him on legs that looked like they were ready to give out any second. For an instant he reminded Bill of Ray Bolger's Scarecrow.

Augustino picked up the flashlight and pointed it into the grave. Bill winced in the brightness.

"Let him go and come out of there, Father," said Augustino's voice from behind the light.

Bill was startled by the "Father"—it was the first time the detective had called him that since their reunion a few hours ago. But he wasn't going to abandon Da

"No!" Bill said, clutching the animate remains of the boy more tightly against him. "We can't just cover him up again!"

"We won't just cover him up." The detective's voice sounded flat, almost dead. "We're going to put an end to this once and for all."

Bill looked down at Da

He laid him back and crawled out of the hole. He saw the gasoline can at Augustino's feet.

"Oh, no," Bill said. The response was instinctive. The thought was appalling. "We can't."

"Look what's already been done to him. Can you think of anything worse?"

No. He couldn't. He could barely think at all. Yet somewhere deep inside he knew fire would work. The cleansing flame…

"It's got to be done," the detective said. "Want me to do it?"

Bill could hear very plainly in his voice that it was the last thing in the world Augustino wanted to do.

"No. It's my job. I put him into her clutches; I'll get him out."

He grabbed the can and unscrewed the cap. The odor of the fumes set something off within him and he began to cry as he poured the gasoline into the hole.

"Forgive me, Da

When the can was empty, he turned to the detective. Augustino already had a matchbook out. Bill took it from him and paused.

"I can't do this to him."

"Then do it for him."

Bill nodded—to Augustino, to the night, to himself. Then he emptied his mind, struck one match, used it to light the rest of the pack. As it flared, he dropped the whole thing into the hole.

The gas exploded with a wooomp! and the heat staggered him back. There was no cry from the hole and he could see no movement within the flames—he was grateful for that. But he couldn't watch. He had to turn his back, walk away, lean against the tree. Part of him wanted to cry, part of him wanted to be sick, but he was tapped out, dry, empty. He was little more than skin wrapped around a void.

Only anger remained.

What had happened to Da

And make them pay.

Re

"Is it over?" the priest said.

"Yeah," Re

Nothing moved down there. Da

"Peace, kid," he said. "Peace at last."

He picked up the shovel.

"You want to say a few words?"

"I'm sorry, Da

"No prayers?"

Father Bill shook his head. "I'm through with prayers. Let's cover him 'up."

They filled in the hole quickly, then started back toward the wall.

"I suppose you'll be taking me in now," Father Bill said.

Re