Marked Chapter Seventeen (Patreon)

The stabbing, shrieking pain in my arm has died down to a jarring throbbing that flares in time to my pulse by the time I'm back at St. Bosco's. I don't really feel the cold but I'm sort of sluggish by the time I get there, and both those factors strike me as probably not good. I knock on the door as firmly as I can with my right arm, my left still not wanting to do much of anything. It's disheartening to hear how feeble it sounds.

Still, it must have been loud enough. About ten seconds after I knock, the door opens, and the worried face of Father DiMaggio appears. "Titania? Thank you Father, for delivering her back to safety- Come IN, girl! Come on, you look pale. Where's your- Never mind that. Get in here, hurry." As I enter the church, Father DiMaggio crosses himself. "What happened?"

"Empire Eighty-Eight," I say weakly, feeling a bit wobbly. "Lost my bowl."

"How... what were you doing in Empire territory?" he asks, clearly bewildered.

"I wasn't, I went to the junkyard. Turns out the guy who runs it is Empire, or a sympathizer. I thought the Boat Graveyard would be a good place to try out my new thing but there's a lot of water there and I didn't think I should swim so I went to the junkyard instead but there were cameras and I had to hide for hours..."

"Shh, shh. You need to sit down. Come, let's go to my office. I have a first aid kit, we can tend to your injuries there."

"It's just my arm," I protest. "Think I sprained something."

"Perhaps. We'll have a look, and then I will decide if we need you to seek a doctor."

I don't say anything further. My legs feel like a plate full of bathtub noodles. Sitting down sounds REALLY good right now.

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"You definitely need an x-ray," Father DiMaggio comments. "For the time being, let's immobilize this as best we can."

"I don't want my dad to find me," I counter. "And any hospital that takes me in has to notify him, don't they?"

He grimaces, as he begins to splint my bare arm. "Your troubles with your father are... a problem. I will see if I can arrange something through Heals on Wheels."

"Through what now?" I reply.

"They're a mobile clinic that cares for the homeless in the city," he says, fitting together the rigid plastic braces from the kit. "They operate on a shoe string budget, but I'll arrange for a sizeable donation for them. They could certainly use it, and you need professional medical attention. If you have a broken arm, left untreated it can cripple or kill you."

I sigh, nodding with resignation. I hold my arm as still as I can while he begins wrapping the wrist to the blue plastic. "Tomorrow?"

He nods. "Unfortunately, they're not on call, and they're usually closed by five. They work early in Brockton; it's the safest for them that way."

I nod in return, trying not to jar my arm. I brighten, though, and then say, "I found out what my new power does! But... I already used it. So I can't show you tonight." I pause. "And... I kind of want to go back to the homeless shelter. So that when I use it, it doesn't go to waste."

He raises an eyebrow as he finishes taping my elbow. "Oh? You've certainly garnered my attention, now."

I grin at him, remembering the supplies Inga was working with to feed all those homeless guys. I could make her a kitchen with... well, anything she wants. I could probably even make it so all the food is raw ingredients. "It's better if I show you, though, then try to describe it. But it's REALLY cool!"

He chuckles at me, and replies, "I'm sure it is, Titania. But that's for later. I'm sure you're... Now that I think of it, probably not hungry, but I brought some takeout Mexican food to the church for you. Even if you are able to make your own food, I'm sure you'd enjoy variety and flavor now and again." The taping of my upper arm to the brace complete, he puts away the tape and starts wrapping an ace bandage around it. "Tell me if it's too tight."

Despite the fact that I had the soup and breadsticks-- or maybe because that was ALL I had before I left-- my stomach suddenly growls loudly. "It's fine. And... Mexican sounds really good, actually."

He laughs. "I'm glad to hear it. And I also brought both horchata and jimaica tea; I don't know if you've had either, but both are flavorful drinks that I enjoy. Whichever you decide you like, I'll drink the other, because I happen to enjoy both."

I nod, then feel a little bit sobered. "I never really expected you to be..." I trail off, not really wanting to offend him. Especially not after how nice he's been.

"You thought 'catholic priest' and didn't expect a person?" He finishes for me. He doesn't sound offended. "There's many things a title or label are good for, but a human isn't really one of those things."

"Well... kind of," I say after a second. "More like... I expected religion to be everything you'd say or do."

He doesn't say anything for a while, just finishes wrapping my arm. When he's done setting up the sling for my arm, he closes up the first aid kit and sits back in his chair without returning it to the shelf he took it from. "Would it surprise you to learn that my faith IS everything I say and do?" he finally responds. "Faith isn't about platitudes or preaching or trying to look good and holy in front of everyone. It's about putting into practice the intent of the scripture and teachings, not merely the words. You aren't truly serving God by technicalities." He pauses, now. "Which is why I feel I must let you know. I spoke to Armsmaster of the Protectorate today, after the rolls going bad this morning. Years ago he left a number to call if I ever had concerns; today I took him at his word and asked him to analyze the bad ones and the good ones, to determine if there was something dangerous about them that made them go bad quickly."

I feel a little hurt, actually. But at the same time, "Yeah, I understand. If you're gonna donate them, you have to be sure that the people who are gonna be eating them won't get sick." I slump a little, looking up with a bit of dread in my stomach. "Do you... know yet?"

"The food is safe, just highly perishable. Armsmaster did get back to me perhaps a half hour before you came back. He was," Father DiMaggio looks like he's weighing his words, before he continues, "he was very focused on attempting to learn more about you. He made some concerning statements regarding how clean the church was. Which does remind me... did you clean the church this morning?"

I nod. "Did my minions miss something?"

"Quite the opposite, actually. They did an impeccable job. Thank you for that. But it garnered the attention of Armsmaster in a fashion that felt... concerning. I worry that he is going to pry heavily into your identity, despite that I told him that I intend to hold your confidence and that you wished your identity to remain private." He grimaces. "I am sorry for this; I put your identity at risk through misjudging his interest in the bread. Although he asked me to convey a request for more of it."

I blink, then nod. "Sure. It doesn't cost me anything, and someone may as well get some use out of it. I can do it three times a day... and it sort of saved my bacon today."

"Really?" Father DiMaggio shifts in his chair, tilting his head a bit. "I'm curious, now."

I relate to him the rough sequence of my escape, how from my hiding place I called up my minion to smear sticky poi over the cameras and the lamps-- at which point he frowns. "That... hm. That could be dangerous, actually."

"Dangerous?" I ask, mystified.

"Light bulbs, especially those which are used to illuminate large, outdoor spaces, generate a lot of heat. Smearing that paste over the bulbs would trap more of it on the bulbs, possibly igniting the... poi?... and starting one or more fires. Hopefully it won't be an issue, in a junkyard, not much tends to be especially flammable there, save maybe for tires and upholstery. I advise against using that tactic anywhere there's foliage or housing, though."

I wince. "I didn't-- I was just trying to get away. I didn't want to damage anything."

"Well, let us hope that I'm concerned over nothing. It wouldn't be the first time, you know." He shrugs. He looks almost disappointed. And I hate it. I hate the idea that I did something to earn his disapproval.

"I'm sorry, Father DiMaggio. I wouldn't have done it if the cape wasn't looking for me. I thought, I thought maybe my Dad sent them." I hang my head, the motion sending a twinge through my arm. "I just didn't want to test my powers out here, and-"

"Shh. It's alright, Titania. I'm not mad at you, I promise."

"But you're disappointed in me. I let you down."

"No, child. The world is not a clean or easy place, and you acted as best you could to escape a difficult situation. You even paid your way in when you had no intentions of taking anything or causing any damage." He folds his hands across his chest, looking at the shelves. "I am genuinely not disappointed in you, truly. But... There is a saying in Spanish: 'Dios aprieta pero no ahorca'."

"... And what's that mean?" I ask after a second.

"The literal translation is something like, 'God squeezes but doesn't strangle' or something along those lines, but the semantic meaning is that nothing God places on your shoulders will break you; you will never be called upon to bear a burden you cannot withstand or overcome." He shakes his head ruefully. "God must think very highly of you, I think. But such regard is never easy to live through."

I huff a snort. "I... don't believe in that." I hate just saying it like that but I don't want to lie about it to him by word or omission. "I think if there is a deity or being that made everything, EVERYTHING, like you say-- or religion? Christians?-- then our world is too small for him to care. If you look at what we've learned is out there, we're too small to matter to something that powerful. The most amazing, incredible, beautiful, surprising thing any human or group of humans ever did, the most beautiful piece of art or music, the most sublime act of good, would pass by unnoticed because to something that could hold all of the universe in his awareness we're just not worth noticing."

"Hm." He gives me a pitying look. "You really don't think much of people, do you?"

That wasn't the response I expected. "Uhh..."

He lifts his mug almost on reflex, like he's going to sip from it, then looks into the bottom of it and frowns. "Ah, forgot to get more coffee. Mm. Well, as you say, if that was all there is to it, then I suppose that you can be forgiven for thinking that. But, in fact, we have no idea what else He was doing out there when He created everything. For all we know, we may be the only life, which would make us pretty special indeed. On the other hand, if He made life everywhere, then that suggests something significant too. It suggests that there's something special about life itself-- which in itself, means that we are STILL special to Him."

I feel like Father DiMaggio might have a meaningful point there, or at least, a counter to my thoughts on the matter. Which is an uncomfortable thing. And I can't even blame him, because I sort of brought it all up. "Can we talk about something else?" I know in my head, that there's something off about the religion thing, but I can't think of WHAT and I know there's some logical fallacy or failure that I'm missing here.

"Of course." He sits back in his chair, setting his mug down again. "Getting back to the issue of Armsmaster prying into your identity."

"Well, I haven't commited any crimes," I say after a second. "So if he does find out who I am... so what?"

"There IS the matter of both truancy and being a runaway," Father DiMaggio points out. "Until you are enrolled in some kind of high school or GED program, you ARE technically truant from school. But moreover, you did not want to become a hero, you said?"

I nod.

"Either you would be returned to your father, or the state would take custody of you. And, I'm sorry to say this, but they would almost certainly impress you into the Wards program if you were in custody of the state. It's a standard procedure for powered minors, ostensibly to ensure that they have all available resources to learn to deal with their powers." He scowls at his mug. "The Church has disputed the policy for eight years, now, but thus far without traction. Some would say that most minors, given the chance, would leap to the program feet first, but that it is policy to do so without consulting the minor is still a sticking point."

I feel a chill at this, not even remotely liking that idea. "That... sucks. I don't want to be a hero. I just want to... do like this. Help at the church. And the shelter."

"Indeed. I don't mind you helping us, but we need to take some steps." He pauses, as his cell phone vibrates on the desk. He picks it up and flips it open, reading the screen-- who uses a flip phone these days? Apparently him-- and brightens. "Ah, that's good. Titania, how would you feel about meeting someone tomorrow? A bishop is flying in to the Bay on my invitation, and I would like very much for you to meet him." He aims a stern look at me. "AFTER you are seen and cleared for health by Heals on Wheels, of course, provided you don't need to go to the emergency room."

I can't help but huff a laugh, earning another twinge from my arm. Huh. That ibuprofen I took earlier is working pretty well, all things considered. And I kind of like the sort of stern thing he's doing, even if it DOES feel like something I want to eye roll at. It feels like he genuinely cares. "I would like that."

"Then let's get some of that food into you, and set you up to sleep. Broken bone or not, sleeping with an injured arm isn't very easy." Father DiMaggio stands up, picks up the first aid kit and his coffee mug, and sets the former back on the shelf behind his desk where he got it from. I get to my feet also, and by the time I do, he's already holding the door open for me.

"Thanks," I say to him. "For everything."

"You're very welcome," he replies.

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