Felim and St Patrick stopped me as I walked past. In them, I saw

togetherness, a unity that induced fluttering warmth in me. Forcing

myself away from the image of the Cathedral dwellers, I turned and

walked down the aisle to re-focus on my mission.

Happy I was alone in the beautifully ornate entrance area, I rushed

outside and scanned left and right. There was no one around, satisfied

my coast was clear, I took the pistol from my pocket.

My breathing was heavy, and my hand shook as I dipped the barrel

of the pistol into the Holy Water font. Taking deep, calming breaths, I

pulled slowly on the plunger. The sucking sound of the pistol filling

with saintly imbued liquid filled me with a spiritual serenity. Satisfied

I was fully loaded, I wiped the pistol on my t-shirt and placed it in my

pocket.

......

I strolled down the sweeping drive of the Cathedral, my head down,

deep in thought about my mission—how to create a scenario wherein I

could shoot Maria in the stye. But I stopped – it was Felim and St

Patrick that grabbed me again.

The image of them together popped into my head, physically halting

me. Their togetherness confused me, for, in it, I saw the same

connection that seemed to be pulling Maria and the boy with Bruce Lee

hair together. I turned to go back and look again to see if their image

would give name to the emotional feelings they were both instilling in

me. But a voice called out to me, "Gerard, turn away and stop this

wrong-thinking – immediately!" I spun around, "The Devil is devious,

don't have him divert you with these thoughts," he shouted. I raised my

head to the sky and sucked in the air to stop myself from drowning in a

clammy shame. "Get back to your mission, now!" This voice was my

own, yet it was so loud and clear that it seemed to come from someone

else in another time and place.

The sun behind me elongated my shadow, making me tall, like a

man. I stood, transfixed by the shadowy image of myself stretched in

stature, grown into adulthood. My inner voice returned, "That's your

future, Gerard, run away from it!" The words hit me with force, and I

bolted down the driveway of the Cathedral like a rabbit out of a trap.

On the pavement, I slowed and wandered onwards, perturbed by the

maturity in this authoritative inner voice that had been released by St

Patrick and Felim.

......

A familiar figure ahead gave me a welcome distraction, and I

walked towards her.

"Well, hello, young Smith," said Milly. The warmth in her voice

pulled the shutter down on mine, instantly easing me.

"Hiya," I said.

She smiled, "What has you up visiting the Cathedral?"

I stalled, wanting to tell her of this strange new voice that spoke of

my future. But I wouldn't, shouldn't, couldn't. So, I answered with a

partial truth, "I was praying for Maria's stye to go away because it's got166

worse."

Milly's smile dropped, "Didn't I give her the cure – give it time, the

Saints will do God's good work," she said, her hand instinctively resting

on the line of Saintly Medals at her breast.

Her eyes flickered over me, resting at my head, "Is them Rosary

Beads you have round your neck?" she asked.

"Yes, I got them at Connelly Brothers."

My response gladdened her, "Aren't you a great wee lad? It's

special you are." She placed her hand on my head, muttering a prayer.

Her prayer lifted me from the doom of my inner voice as I felt being

blessed by one of the Guardians of the Congregation would help me

with my mission. Also, I'd never been told I was 'special' before, so it

was with a spring in my step that I bid Milly, "Goodbye,' and skipped

off on my mission to shoot Maria in the stye.

......

The day was warm, and I absorbed its pleasantry while I walked,

buoyed by Milly's appraisal of me. Strategies for 'Mission Stye'

tumbled through my head. On reaching the summit of the hill leading

down to Granny's house, I decided the best option was to simply

pretend I was playing with my new toy – and – "KERPOW" – shoot

Maria in the stye.

To achieve success, I needed to ensure two things: one, to get Maria

alone. That wouldn't be a problem. The second thing was more so; I

would have to concoct some kind of contrivance to convince Maria of

my newfound interest in this boy thing, the gun.

And with a literal bolt, I found it – in the boy with Bruce Lee hair.

He used a 'bolt pistol for his work, and I was using a 'water pistol for

mine. Positivity surged through me, as I knew the Saints were aligned

and giving me answers to guide me with Mission Stye.

My motivation was bolstered further when I realised that Maria

would want to spend more time with me now that I was interested in

guns and learning to use them, just like the boy with Bruce Lee hair.

......

The revelation that the Saints knew of my knowing greatly relieved

my burden. I felt a physical weight lift from my shoulders. This

newfound lightness turned my amble into a steady walk down the hill

to the House in The Hollow.

A white van approached the house, stopping at the door. I watched

my uncles Michael and Peter appear from it and into the house. Their

arrival from the chicken farm told me it was lunchtime.

Knowing Granny's table would be busy, I decided to wait a little

before going in for my helping of rhubarb and custard, hoping Granny

would let me skip straight to my favourite part of the dining experience.

But the experience of my inner voice flickered back to me, and I

looked up into the expanse of blue, looking for crow, wanting his

distraction. I saw no sign of him nor any other avian life. I sat in warm

silence, fighting the strange feelings from the cathedral that were

beginning to creep back into my head. "NO!" I said aloud, jumping up

and striding toward the house.

......

Smoke from Granny's range rose from the chimney like swirling168

plumes from Lofty's pipe. I jumped down the short steps and into the

darkness of the tiny hallway, a space I always paused in as it made me

feel safe.

"Are you coming in, or will you eat your dinner in the hall?" asked

Lofty, opening the door and stooping to accommodate his stature in the

small space. "No," I said. He tousled my hair, "Go on in; there's a space

at the table for you." He inhaled his pipe and exhaled a plume before

leaving to complete his working day.

Dermot launched himself onto Lofty's chaise-lounge. "Yesssssss,

Evel Knieval misses the ramp," he shouted, feigning a death-defying

roll onto the floor, coming to a halt at my feet.

"Where's our Maria?" I asked, scanning the room. Nobody

answered.

Instead, I saw Dermot looking up at me, "Our kid, look at yourself,"

he said, judgement in his tone, disgust on his face.

"What?" I asked, seeing Michael, Peter and Granny looking at me

with crumpled faces. "What's up, what've I done, what you all looking

at?" I asked, trying to control my creeping dread.

Dermot pointed to my nether region, "You've pissed yourself!"

His exclamation filled me with horror; I looked at my trousers,

drenched from my crotch down, "Nooooo!" I shot towards the

bathroom, the words, 'Please God,' on a silent loop in my head.

In the bathroom, my hand shook as I grappled with retrieving the

pistol from my sopping pocket. My inner voice angrily criticised me,

"Idiot, you've all the Saints on your side, and you let this happen; you

should've learned from the chop and dog incident," while my outer169

voice quietly countered it with a pleading whisper, "Please God let there

be some left, please!"

I tried to look into the barrel of the gun, but my hand shook, and I

couldn't see it properly. I placed it on the toilet cistern and stared

closely.

Nothing, not even a drop of Saintly Salvation remained.

My Holy Ammo soaked my nether regions and would get nowhere

near Maria's stye – Mission Aborted.