SINS OF OUR BROTHER

COPYRIGHT 2010 BY JOSEPH RIOTTA ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. EXCEPT AS PERMITTED UNDER THE U.S. COPYRIGHT ACT OF 1976, NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED, DISTRIBUTED, OR TRANSMITTED IN AN Y FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, OR STORED IN A DATABASE OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, WITHOUT THE PRIOR WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.

REGISTERED WITH WGA: REFERENCE NUMBER VLCA2E162E6F BY: JOSEPH RIOTTA 38 WILLA WAY MASSAPEQUA, NY 11758 CELL PHONE 516-582-7751 E-MAIL: joeriotta@yahoo.com

He has obviously done this before. Assembling a rifle to ill someone has been a part of his life for a long time; first in the Army, now in his civilian life. Whether illing an insurgent or, as in this case, a mentally challenged little boy, the process was the same, the f eelings were the same, the outcome was the same. The only difference was the loc ation, the "environment", as hunting magazines li e to call it. In this case, th e location was the Broo lyn neighborhood of Red Hoo . Good old Red Hoo , Broo lyn. A part of the city that never ma es it onto touris t brochures or those cheesy "I Love New Yor " commercials. A depressed, dirty, d ar , downtrodden neighborhood. The only brightness coming from the sun, shining down on the city's early dawn, ta ing its rightful place as a beacon from the h igh heavens, dispersing hope among the forgotten. As always, there are three or four homeless people sleeping on the front steps o f the Washington-Jefferson Hotel. The "Wash-Jeff" had certainly seen better days , but, just li e the middle class people that once lived in this neighborhood, i ts luc had ran out. A once-proud establishment had been reduced to a Single-Roo m Occupancy hotel: A rat hole not meant for human habitation. Perhaps that is wh y many of its would-be customers chose to sleep off their drun en nightmares out side, on its stoop rather than endure its inhabitable conditions. In star contrast to the mess, the trash, the filth both outside and inside the Washington-Jefferson, the occupant of room 1018 has placed his possessions very neatly on the tiny bed. He spreads a towel on the dilapidated des , and then pro ceeds to line up the des perpendicular to the bed, to facilitate the assembly p rocess that is about to begin. Once the des 's position satisfies him, he goes to the bathroom to carefully was h and dry his hands. As he comes out of the bathroom, he slowly glances about th e room: Not the type of environment he is used to, but it will do. The end justi fies the means. He sits down, pic s up the first part of the rifle and, slowly, methodically, gi ngerly, proceeds to assemble it. Carefully polishing each piece, chec ing it twi ce and then placing it in its proper place. The practical part of his mind thin ing of nothing else but the mechanical process ta ing place. The abstract part of his brain focusing on nothing more than the justice, the exacting revenge tha t the assembly of this firearm will facilitate. Once the assembly is completed, he slowly puts his finished product on the towel resting on the des and glides his fingers across the joints and barrel, enjoyi ng the smooth feel, relishing what the weapon will allow him to do. Once finished, the man prepares the case, positioning his Bible and other person al items so that everything will fit smoothly. The case too longer to get than anything else: It, of course, could not loo li e a typical rifle case, so as to not arise suspicion when wal ing around the crowded city. Yet, it had to be abl e to hold a fully assembled rifle, his personal items and, of course, his Bible. "Justice will be done" As he says this, he partially disassembles the rifle so it can fit in the bag. H is movements are controlled, precise. Not a move is wasted. Once done, he carefully chec s around the small room and the bathroom to ma e su re that he is not forgetting anything. The place loo s li e no one has ever been here: He paid cash, signed in with a fictitious name and even dyed his hair (wh ich this morning he washed bac to its original jet blac color): There would be no trace of his stay. Once satisfied with the room conditions, he loo s out the peephole to ma e sure that nobody is coming out onto the hallway at the same ti me: The complete silence in the hall tells him that it is safe to exit the room. As he closes the door, he heads for the stairs and runs down the four flights t o the lobby. Boy! All those early morning platoon wor outs sure paid off! Everyt hing for a reason. Outside, the air is heavy, li e his heart, his mood. Heavy, somber, determined.

He exits the fleabag hotel, holding his large, nondescript bag; wal ing fast, wi th a purpose. On his way down the stoop, he accidentally bumps into one of the homeless people lying down on the filthy floor. "Sorry, my fault" He carefully steps over the homeless person and, once past him, jumps down the l ast step, lands on the sidewal and resumes his fast pace. He is obviously goin g somewhere; he is wal ing with a purpose. Every second accounted for, every ste p with a meaning. What a neighborhood, what a place. Why would you stay here? Why would you let y our life get so bro en down, so miserable? Homeless fol s, drun s, prostitutes, they all somehow found their way to Red Hoo . All inds of people found their way to Red Hoo , including Carl Remolo, a pries t running the "Santa Marta of Velez Sarfield Roman Catholic Church Home for Hand icapped Children", which was nothing more than a respite provider for handicappe d children; a place where weary parents could drop off their mentally and/or phy sically disabled children for a few hours. The Church also organized trips for t he children which, for most of them, would be the only times that they actually got to go anywhere outside of Broo lyn. As Father Carl (as everybody called him) ma es his way through the neighborhood, he is greeted by the characters inhabiting its streets: They all now him, appr eciate him, respect him. As he greets people, he does so by using their names, occasionally as ing about their families, ailments, activities. He finally arriv es at an institutional loo ing building. An old, decrepit place that has clearl y, just li e the rest of the neighborhood, seen better days. The sign out front says "Red Hoo Community Home" "Sponsored by Saint Marta of Velez Sarfield Roman Catholic Church". Father Carl loo s at the front door and wal s right past it. He continues about 20 feet past the door and quic ly darts into an alleyway containing innumerable large trash bags from the adjacent low income project building. He covers his nose with his free hand as he quic ly meanders through the maze of alleyways int erconnecting the buildings. After darting in and out of four different passagewa ys, he finds a nondescript door, leading to a basement. He noc s: No answer. He noc s again, this time harder and announces himself. "Hi, it's Father Carl!" Still no answer. He stands there, thin ing. Suddenly, an idea hits him; he smi les. "Buen Dia! Soy el Padre Carl"(Good morning, I'm Father Carl, in Spanish) His command of the Spanish language had become substantial. He had found, bac i n his Army days in the Middle East, that people often responded much better when addressed in their native tongue. The metal door opens, ma ing a loud, squea y noise. A Hispanic-loo ing woman op ens the door, which she had been standing behind all along, loo ing through the peephole, trying to ensure that the person noc ing on the door was really a pri est. Her fear of crime and Immigration Agents made opening her front door a ris y, possibly life-changing endeavor which she did not ta e lightly. The woman guides Father Carl through the small, cramped room where two beds, a s tove and an old TV compete for space against an old itchen table and 4 chairs. A middle aged man and his teenage son, who had been sitting at the table, immedi ately get up and greet the visitor. The son, the only person that spea s English , loo s at his father, who nods. The son, having been given tacit approval, spe a s: "I spea English, Father, but my parents don't. We called the church to see if someone could see my little brother, who is dying" "Well of course, of course" The woman points to an adjacent room, even tinier than the one where they are al l standing. She loo s at Father Carl with supplicant eyes. "Se est muriendo de complicaciones al corazn...El es retardado. Precisa su Bendic ion Padre" (He's dying of heart complications... He has Down syndrome. He needs your blessi ng Father)

The young boy lying on the bed, who has Down syndrome, is about ten years old an d is clearly dying. The teenage son starts to translate: "She said..." But no translation is needed. "I got it, than you" Father Carl bends down by the small boy's bed and starts to pray as he holds the boy's hand.

2 As he stands outside the alleyway connecting the decrepit buildings, the man loo s around to ma e sure nobody sees him. Once he is convinced that he is all alone, he reaches into his poc et, pulls out a ey ring and swiftly opens a gray, filthy steel door. He goes in, closes the door, turns on his flashlight and immediately reaches for the alarm panel next to the entrance. Quic ly, he punches in the required combination and disables t he alarm. He now runs to the bac of the basement, pulls a chair next to the gr ated window, climbs up and pee s outside. Through the grates protecting the gla ss, he can see a bunch of children, most of them physically and/or mentally hand icapped starting to assemble in the building's courtyard. Through the window, h e can hear one of the attendants calling the children to gather around the outdo or picnic table where they will be having their brea fast. He loo s at his watch and nods to himself. He climbs down from the chair, puts it bac where it belongs and rushes to a door mar ed "STAIRS". He is in the bas ement of the Group Home and needs to get to the roof, which is above the fourth floor, in a hurry. He starts to run up the stairs, s ipping every other step. Once on the fourth floor, he stands by the door before opening it and listens to ma e sure there is no one in the hallway. Once he is satisfied with the silence , he opens the door, runs down the hallway and, with another ey, opens a door m ar ed "STAIRS TO ROOF/AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY". He runs up the stairs, effortl essly, quic ly; his heart is racing, not because of the activity, but because of his excitement. He is now outside, on the roof. He wal s over to the edge of the roof, and neel s down next to the short perimeter wall. While on his nees, he pee s above the wall and sees, down in the courtyard, the children lining up by the table, being directed by a few nuns and some helpful volunteers. Still on his nees, he opens the rifle case and quic ly and expertly proceeds to

assemble his weapon, adding the long view scope at the end. As he aims down on the courtyard, he slowly scans the children. As he continues to scan, he starts his prayer, in a whisper. "Dear God, please allow me to relieve his family's suffering as well as his own. Please don't let me falter or miss, please allow my aim to be precise, accurate and merciful, so I can carry out this just mission..." He continues to scan the children until he finally stops over a young boy about 5 years old wearing a bright, red T-shirt and blue shorts. The boy's movements, just li e those of his peers on this sunny morning, are somewhat aw ward, roboti c at times; typical of his handicap. He, li e most of the ids in his group, has Down syndrome. As the man fine tunes his scope on the boy, he whispers: "Good Morning Timmy, May the Lord be with you, in this, your final hour, May Jes us grant peace to us both..." As he prayed, he always marveled at the fact that everything continued to ta e p lace, that life just continued to happen, as he prepared to end another human be ing's life: Almost as if he thought that the action that he was about to ta e sh ould somehow stop the world, or, at the very least, have some ind of deep effec t. But it sure did not, the world continued on its merry way, as if what was abo ut to happen meant nothing. As if this moment, this truth which would change a f amily's life forever was an infinitesimal grain of sand in a desert. Nothing cha nges, the cars continue to go by, blowing their horns, the children continue to play, the sun continues to shine, ominously, as if all its rays suddenly converg ed on Timmy's sole existence. As the attendants start to call the children over to the table for a snac , the time has come. He nows this is his turn. In his ears, in his mind, the only sounds are those of his prayer and, within his soul, the amplified clic of the trigger, followed by the ic of the rifle, followed by the "swoosh" of the bullet that he has forced to fly through the air. After a couple of seconds, Timmy hits the floor, bleeding. The bullet has hit it s mar , as planned, on his right temple. The scene in the courtyard is one of co nfusion, mayhem. He has forced the world to stop and ta e notice, to pay attent ion to his message. At least in this courtyard, nothing is as it was a minute ag o. Kids are roc ing bac and forth, running, screaming. The attendants and nuns are running around trying to protect the children, loo ing up, trying to spot th e shooter, as if that would be of any help. Someone yells "Call 911! Call 911! " By the time they start to loo up to the roof, almost as if, at the same time, t hey were loo ing for an answer from God, he is gone. No trace left behind. Everyone is in a hurry at the Deli. Sandwiches, bagels, coffee, whatever the or der, whatever the need, it has to be dealt with fast. A typical Broo lyn deli. As he waits on line, Father Carl's cell phone rings. It has been more than 25 mi nutes since the shooting. He ta es his phone out of his poc et and, without loo ing at the screen to see who it is, he answers it. "Father Carl" Father Carl is in his late twenties, in excellent shape, with a military style c rew cut. He ta es care of his body by exercising and eating all the right things . His morning ritual of coffee and a buttered bagel is his only vice. As he list ens on his cell phone, the deli cler as s him: "The usual, Father?" Father Carl nods and about a minute later the cler hands him a bag as Father Ca rl gives him money and wal s out. As he wal s out of the Deli, he is still tal ing on his cell phone. "Clara, this is horrible! Are the Police there yet? I'm on my way, I'll be ther e in two minutes!"

As the nurse holds Deborah's hand, she whispers that everything will be OK. The doctor rushes into the room and starts bar ing orders. The Television in the bir thing room blares on, with nobody paying any attention to it. The year is 1983, New Yor City. A baby boy is being born. Jeff Remolo, the proud father, is standing next to Deborah, holding her other h and. Although he has done this once before, Jeff still stands there somewhat aw wardly, wishing he new what to do next, how to help, what to say. Carl Remolo, who will be later on in life be nown by most people as "Father Car l", is being born. Two days later, the Remolo family, with their new baby boy, is inside the family van, heading home from the hospital. Jeff, of course, is driving, while Deborah and Johnny are sitting in the bac , on either side of newborn Carl. As he drives home, Jeff turns around and ta es a quic loo at his wife and two sons, beaming with pride; the ind of pride that emanates from a father sure tha t his sons will be healthy, good, smart and will accomplish great things. He loo s at Deborah, smiles, and then addresses John, the "older" brother. "So, Johnny, how does it feel to be a big brother? Cool, right?" Deborah gets in on the action. "You are such a big boy Johnny! Mom and Dad are so proud of how mature you were at the hospital!" Johnny, straightening out his bac to ma e himself loo bigger, tries to sound l i e a big boy. "Dad, I now he's just a baby and can't do the stuff I do, but how soon until Ca rl can play ball with us?" Jeff loo s at Deborah in the rear view mirror, smiling. "Oh it'll be a while son, it'll be a little while until we can teach him how to play. But he can watch us and hang out with us until he's old enough..." While the boys are tal ing, Deborah ma es sure that the window sun screen is all the way down, protecting baby Carl. The sun eeps shining bright inside the Rem olo's world. Inside their van, everything is perfect. After a few miles, Deborah loo s at her watch. "John, while you were bringing down all our stuff, I had the nurse pushing my wh eelchair stop by a payphone in the lobby so I could call the house and told ever ybody we'd be home in about an hour, so they should all be ready for us!" "Well I'm sure glad you thought of that honey, it totally s ipped my mind!"

Meanwhile, at the Remolo's home, the family continues to get everything ready fo r Baby Carl's arrival. The local flower shop has delivered its giant wooden stor holding a "Welcome Home" sign, which is sitting outside, on the front lawn, ad vertising, for the world (or just the bloc ) to see, Baby Carl's name, date of b irth, length and weight. Christine, Deborah's sister, is, of course, at the Remolo home, and, as the fami ly's matriarch, she is in charge of orchestrating the family's efforts for the w elcoming party. As is her custom, she is in charge, and wants everyone to now i t. Suddenly, she stops in the middle of the living room, as people are putting up streamers, arranging flowers and putting out food, and announces to all: "Hey everybody, it's about an hour since Deborah called, so they should be near, time to get our cameras ready!" As the men in the family rush to get their cameras and camcorders ready, the sou nds of Deborah and Jeff's van are heard outside. As the Remolos pull up, the ext

ended family comes out of the house in celebration. Everybody wants to hug the n ew baby, cameras are going off and, as soon as he gets out of the car and before he even says hi to anyone, Jeff grabs his movie camera from his brother-in-law, Michael, so he can record Baby Carl while he is still in the car. As he records , he ma es a moc grand announcement: "And, as the laws of the land mandate, I'm the Dad, taping everything and never being seen in any family movies! These ids will wonder if they even had a Dad when they watch these tapes!" With a big smile, Michael grabs the movie camera from Jeff and continues to reco rd everything. "Go ahead Jeff, get into the picture for a change, just ma e sure your ugly mug doesn't brea the camera!" As Jeff runs to ta e Baby Carl from his other Sister-in-Law, June, he also summo ns Johnny to his side. "Johnny, Johnny, come here, stand next to Dad and Carl, so Uncle Mi e can get us on camera!" Johnny runs over and hugs his Dad. The two of them are flexing their muscles, p osing for the camera, and Jeff grabs Baby Carl's arm and holds it out so he can "flex" as well. Immediately, Baby Carl starts to cry. Immediately, Deborah compl ains. "Jeff, what are you doing? Why is the baby crying? Stop clowning around!" Luc ily for Jeff, Christine steps in to help. "Here, here, let me hold him, you lunatic" Christine then concentrates on yelling at her own husband, Louis. "For God's sa e, Lou, shut that thing off, you are getting everybody in trouble! " "Alright, alright, I'll shut if off in a minute. Why don't we just go inside an yway, I'm starving! As the family heads inside, Deborah goes over to Jeff, isses him and grabs his hand.

Four years later. It is 1987, and the Remolo family is welcoming its newest mem ber. As the doctor continues to yell "push", the nurse tries to hold Deborah's hand, while Jeff reminds her to breathe. Deborah, who has done this twice before, can sense that something is not going well. "What's going on? Why isn't he coming out, damn it?" A wee later, after many tests and consultations with different specialists, Deb orah is on a wheelchair outside her hospital room, with Jeff right behind her, r eady to ta e her to the car. She has a tissue in her hand, she has been crying all morning. The doctor approaches them. "Mr. And Mrs. Remolo, I see that you are ready to go. I just wanted to touch bas e with you one more time to give you the name of a good friend of mine, Doctor S imanics; he's a pediatric neurologist and I highly recommend him to you. He's d one wonders for many other people and I'm sure he can help you. A lot of times, having babies at our age can create problems..." Jeff ta es the business card that the Doctor is offering him and whispers a half -hearted "than s". The doctor continues tal ing. "You now, Down syndrome is not the same as when we were ids. There have been many advances in this field and these ids can grow and lead fruitful lives. It' ll ta e a lot of wor from both of you but it can be done..." "Than s Doctor, we appreciate your concern. (Loo ing at the business card) We w ill contact Doctor Simanics as soon as possible. Than s again" "Sure. Good luc to you both of you" As they get in the car for the ride home, Deborah starts a low, almost controlle d cry. Jeff puts the baby in the car, helps Deborah get in, closes her door and then proceeds to load up the van with their items. The ride home is quiet, somber, almost silent, except for Deborah's subdued, gen tle crying. The baby, named Robert, is eerily quiet. Jeff puts his right hand o n Deborah's left and holds her occasionally, ta ing turns between holding the st eering wheel and her hand. As they arrive home, only Christine and Michael are there, watching Johnny and C arl, who are now 8 and 4 years old, respectively. As the van pulls into the dri veway, Christine, Michael, Johnny and Carl come out to greet it. Jeff gets out of the car, and Michael comes over to give him a big hug. The men embrace for a minute, with Jeff starting to cry.

"It's going to be OK, Jeff. It's going to be OK..." Christine wal s over to the passenger side and helps Deborah out. She is now cry ing hysterically and Christine tries to console her. The boys run over to their new brother and stare at him. Johnny tells Carl: "I told you he'd loo different!" Johnny's cold, scientific observation is diametrically opposed by Carl's sorrow and sympathy. The older brother merely stated how he saw things; the younger bro ther, in contrast, already had feelings for his younger sibling and was mortifie d by Johnny's attitude. "Shut up! He loo s nice!" Michael and Jeff finally stop hugging. Michael goes to the bac of the van and starts to unload it. Jeff goes over to Baby Robbie's side, undoes the car-seat' s seat belt and pic s up the baby. "C'mon guys, stop staring and say hello to your new baby brother. Let's get in the house, it's cold out here" The cloudy, damp, dar day complements the way everyone is feeling. The four adu lts start heading into the house, Jeff holding Baby Robbie, followed by Johnny a nd Carl. As the family slowly enters the house, they hear thunder in the bac gro und and, slowly but surely, rain starts to fall.

Five years later, 1992. Robbie is in the bathroom and needs help. As he screams for his Mother, Johnny w

al s right by the bathroom's open door, loo s in at his brother and sha es his h ead in disgust. "Jesus Christ! This id just shit all over himself, oh my God!" Deborah, who is two floors down, in the laundry room, cannot believe her oldest son's attitude and lac of caring, although she has been exposed to it for many years now. She yells at him. "Johnny, instead of being so disgusted, do you thin that for once you could act ually help your baby brother? What's wrong with you?" "Wrong with me? Wrong with me? Are you idding me? You should be as ing what's wrong with him! He just shit all over himself and you as what's wrong with me?" Deborah is wal ing up the stairs with a bas et full of laundry, barely able to s ee above the pile of clothes and having a hard time climbing the steps. Johnny loo s at her and wal s away, towards the itchen. He opens the refrigerator and sha es his head. "I can't believe this! Again, there's no peanut butter! Mom, you now I need my protein to bul up! I need to be strong if I'm going to be a Police Officer!" Deborah sha es her head, still unable to comprehend her son's egotistical ways. She is still slowly climbing the stairs with the bas et full of laundry while Jo hnny ma es no attempt to help. "Listen, Mr. Police Officer, you are 13 years old! How about helping your Mothe r with the laundry, or with your baby brother! And the Peanut Butter is not in t he fridge anyway!" "He's not a baby Mom! He's not a baby! He's 5 years old and he eeps shitting h imself!" In the meantime, Carl, as always, is trying to help his younger brother. "Mom, I got it, I'm helping Robbie, don't worry!" That evening, Deborah, who is extremely upset over their oldest son's behavior, is telling Jeff how little attention Johnny pays to Robbie and how Carl is the t otal opposite. "I'm telling you Jeff, it's li e day and night with these two. Carl is li e a b uilt-in baby-sitter while Johnny is in his own little world. It's almost as if h e doesn't even want to admit that Robbie is his brother!" "I'll tal to him after dinner honey, I promise. Remember what the shrin said, ids may have a hard time accepting Robbie, they may actually feel embarrassed, especially teenagers" "I now what the shrin said, Jeff. I now what he said. I'm just loo ing at you for some help here. We are practically robbing Carl of his childhood, letting him do nothing but ta e care of Robbie while we let Johnny get away with everyth ing!" "You are right honey, you are right. I'll tal to him after dinner, I promise" Suddenly, their conversation is interrupted by Robbie's crying upstairs, in his room. Jeff motions to Deborah to stay put, he will ta e care of it.

Three years later, 1995. Robbie, who is now eight years old, is crying at the itchen table, with Deborah trying to find out what is bothering him. Just another after school afternoon a t the Remolo home. "Robbie, what's the matter? What happened in school today that has you so upset ? Did something happen? Did you forget a boo again?" As Deborah continues to as questions, Robbie continues to cry and try to tal a t the same time. His sounds are unintelligible. Suddenly, the door opens. It i s Carl, also just getting home from school. He immediately runs over to Robbie, whose face clearly lights up upon seeing his middle brother. Robbie stops cryin g and, in what has become their after-school routine, points to the itchen cabi net: "Coo ie!" Carl is, of course, also familiar with the routine, and responds accordingly. "Yep, you got it man, I'm getting them right now, I'm getting them right now" As he tended to do, Robbie repeated Carl's last words. "Right now! Right now!" Carl gets a sleeve of chocolate chip coo ies, sets them on the table and gives a few to Robbie and to himself. Robbie is getting excited, this is obviously a lot of fun for him.

"Carl sit! Carl sit!" "I'm going to sit, but I have to get the mil first!" Deborah sees an opportunity to find out why her youngest son was crying and whis pers to Carl. "As him what has him so upset, he was just crying hysterically before you came in" Carl, as always, has a plan. "Robbie, do you want me to sit next to you and have our coo ies?" "Carl sit! Carl sit!" "I will sit but you have to tell me what happened in school today" "Carl sit! Carl sit!" With exaggerated movements, Carl pulls out his chair and points to it, clearly s howing Robbie that he has every intention to sit, after Robbie tells him what ha ppened in school. Carl now spea s very slowly, ma ing sure that Robbie understan ds his "deal". "I will sit as soon as you tell me what happened in school today" Robbie does not move. Carl tries a simpler approach: "Robbie, school, school! Today! What happened?" Still no reaction. Robbie just stares at Carl and at the chair where he wishes C arl would just sit. Carl tries again, hiding his exasperation with his younger b rother. "Robbie, for the last time, school! School! Today!" Finally, Robbie brea s down. He starts to cry again, obviously upset about havin g to tal about what happened in school today. Deborah cannot stand her youngest son crying and tries to help. "Did you lose a boo again?" Robbie is now wailing uncontrollably. Deborah's questioning is obviously upsett ing him even more. Carl glares at his Mother, his eyes telling her to stay out of this; he whispers, not wanting Robbie to now his plan. "Mom, I got this, I got this, let me do what I do, OK?" Deborah cannot believe that her middle son, all of twelve years old, is as ing h er to let him parent her younger child. She whispers to herself. "I can't believe this, my 12 year old is telling me how to be a parent" Carl ignores his Mother and resumes his prodding. "What happened, Robbie? Did somebody ma e fun of you? Did somebody hit you?" Suddenly, Robbie stops crying and loo s down. Carl has hit the nail on the head. "Hit you" Carl is gesturing as if he was hitting the chair. "Somebody hit you, r ight?" "Hit you, yes, body hit you" "OK, OK, I got it. Who hit you? Richie Cowens? Richie Cowens hit you?" Carl new Richie Cowens very well; actually, the whole school, the whole town n ew him: A bully, a coward, a reject. Robbie loo s down and says nothing. Total s ilence. Deborah can no longer stay quiet. "I can't believe this! Again with that id! (She grabs the phone) This will be the fourth time this year! I'm calling the Principal, my son has a right to go to that school and not get beat up every day!" Carl gently grabs the phone from Deborah, and hangs it up. He is obviously wise beyond his years. He has a plan but has to first get Deborah's buy-in. "Mom, please, don't call anyone. That doesn't fix anything. I got this, I got this..." Deborah wal s out of the itchen, in tears. She is trying to ma e sure that the boys do not see her crying. Robbie stops crying and loo s up at Carl, hoping. "Carl fix so I no get hit no more?" "Yes, yes, Carl will fix so you don't get hit anymore" The brothers smile at each other and eat their coo ies. All is well again, and D eborah smiles to herself as she secretly watches them from the top of the stairs .

The next afternoon, Carl is waiting for Robbie to come out of school. He is surr ounded by parents, baby-sitters, au-pairs. He is a man on a mission, and the mis sion culminates today: He cannot wait to execute his plan. Finally, the school doors open up and, after a few minutes, Robbie comes out, ob viously upset. Upon seeing Carl waiting for him, his face lights up and he smile s. He runs over to Carl and hugs him. "Carl, Carl! You are going to fix it! You are going to fix it!" "Yes, yes, I promised and I'm going to fix it! Don't worry! Now, just act cool and follow my lead, OK?" Robbie was so happy. Not only was Carl, his favorite person in the whole world, here to fix everything, but he had also just as ed Robbie "to act cool". Robbie's happiness was short lived. A few feet away, a bunch of losers are ma i ng fun of another id. Sure enough, it is Richie Cowens and his band of merry m en. Robbie's expression changes to one of angst, fear. Carl notices it right awa y. "Robbie, nothing is going to happen to you, do you understand me? Nothing is goi ng to happen to you!" Slowly, with trepidation, Robbie loo s up and grabs Carl's hand and holds it so tight that Carl was going to say something. Instead, he thought of it and just l oo ed down and smiled at his younger brother. Carl sees Richie and reassures Robbie that everything is going to be fine. As th e brothers loo at Richie Cowens, he starts to wal home, with two of his thug pals, pushing other ids, pulling girls' hair, and just acting obnoxious to anyo ne in their path. Secretly, Carl and Robbie follow them. After a couple of blo c s, it is time for Carl's plan to move to Stage 2. Carl and Robbie are about 20 feet behind Richie and his friends. Carl calls out Richie's name. As Richie tur ns around to see who is calling him, he sees Robbie, by himself; there is no sig n of Carl, who has hidden behind a large SUV par ed nearby. Richie gloats, inst antly savoring another pleasant torturing of one of his favorite victims. With a big smile, he calls out to his friends, who are a couple of feet in front of hi m, trying to catch a stray cat. "Hey loo guys, it's Robbie Retardo Remolo!" Richie's friends put their cat chase on hold for a second, loo bac at Robbie a nd laugh. Richie is in charge now, ready to perform. "Hey Retardo, what are you doing here? Didn't I ic your ass enough today?" One of Richie's friends feels he has to throw some more wood into the fire. "Hey Richie, I guess you didn't man! You must be losing your touch" Fighting words indeed. Richie immediately pic s up on his friend's challenge. H is face shows his anger as well as his determination to be nown as the ultimate bully. Time to ic it up a notch; he menacingly wal s up to Robbie. "C'mere, you moron, I guess it's time for some ass ic ing!" As soon as Richie finishes his threat, Carl comes out from hiding and jumps on R ichie, whose face betrays his terror. Carl grabs Richie's nec and, without lett ing go, pushes him against a building wall, ma ing the bac of Richie's head hi t the wall hard. Carl's face is right next to Richie's. His left hand is holding his nec while h is right one is formed into a fist, menacingly close to Richie's face. "You are damn right, you fuc ing moron, it is time for some ass ic ing, but the only ass that's going to get ic ed is yours!" As Richie's friends stand there, motionless, Robbie's face lights up with a smil e. Carl delivers his ultimatum. "Now listen up, you piece of shit, and listen good. This here is my brother, his name is Robbie, do you understand that?" Richie is too terrified to answer. His brain, his body are loc ed in a fear-driv en rigor mortis state. He nows what is coming. Carl's first blow goes right to Richie's bulging gut, the second, again, hits th e same spot; a couple of more follow, now to the face. Richie is doubling over i n pain, while his friends watch, motionless. Carl still did not get the answer h e wants, and he presses harder on Richie's nec . "I didn't hear you, you fat slob, I didn't hear you!"

Finally, Richie manages to spea . "I, I, I understand, I understand! He's your brother!" "Good, very good. Now comes the real important part: As of today, you are his fuc ing bodyguard. Meaning, if anything, and I do mean anything, happens to him , if anyone touches him, it is your fault, and I'll be waiting for you the next day to ic your fat ass. Do you understand that?" As soon as he finishes uttering his last word, Carl follows it with two more har d blows to Richie's gut, accompanied by a swift ic to the genitals. As Carl fi nally lets him go, Richie falls to the ground, in immense pain. Carl now switch es his attention to Richie's friends. "There's more where that came from, just in case you idiots didn't understand me . Anything happens to him, I ic your ass, clear?" The boys just stand there, motionless, terrified, unable to answer. "Clear?" They all almost answer in unison, fearing that their lac of response will get t hem a fate similar to that of their fallen friend, who is still moaning on the f loor. "Yes, yes, yes! Very clear! We get it, don't worry, you don't have to explain a nymore!" "Good, I thin we are done here. Let's go Robbie, I don't thin you'll have any more problems with these jer offs..." As they wal away, Robbie grabs Carl's hand and loo s up to him. "Than you Carl, than you for always fixing everything"

Ten years have passed. Carl, twenty two years old and a soldier, is standing at attention, in front of his Captain and Sergeant. They are inside a small outpost , in a foreign land, in the Middle East, surrounded by nothing but scorching hea

t and endless sand. The "conversation" has been going on for a while, and the O fficers are not getting the responses they would li e from their prized sniper, Corporal Carl Remolo. The Sergeant, trying to ease things a bit, ma es one more attempt. "Corporal Remolo, Captain Rainier has come a very long way to personally discuss this matter with you. We have all been at this for a while now, and the heat in this room is not getting any better... I hope you understand that we are both t rying to help you here..." Carl remains at attention, in spite of the already granted permission to rest "a t ease". His sight is focused in the distance, not ma ing eye contact with his S ergeant or the Captain. He has no use for either of them, or for the Army for th at matter, and his indifference is the only way to show how he feels without get ting in trouble. The Captain and the Sergeant loo at each other, exasperated. The Captain, who does not now Carl as well as the Sergeant, is obviously puzzled by his demeanor . The Sergeant, again trying to help Carl and ease the tension in the tiny room, feels he should try to explain. Perhaps he is just trying to help himself, to g et this over and be able to get the hell out of this room. "That's how he is Sir. 100% by the boo , every time, all the time. Best sniper we got in this here army, you can count on Corporal Remolo to ill an insurgent from miles away, but don't try to have a conversation with him-" The Captain interrupts the Sergeant. He obviously does not want to ma e Carl any more uncomfortable than he already appears. "Corporal Remolo, so you are not a very tal ative sort, are you?" "Sir, no sir" "Corporal, let's see then if we can cut to the chase here: I'm here because of y our impressive record as a sniper" "Than you Sir" "You do understand that, due to your impeccable record and your s ills, you qual ify to join any elite sharpshooting squad that you fancy, correct?" That was it: In a nutshell. The Army ta es care of its own and it was time to ta e care of Carl, who had become an expert sniper/sharp shooter, called upon to c arry out the most difficult missions. After what he considered a great offer, the Captain remained puzzled by Carl's s ilence, by his lac of emotion, by his continuing to stand at attention and star e into the distance. Captain Rainier loo s at his watch: It is time to ic this up a notch and get the hell out of here. "Corporal, I'm addressing you, can you hear me?" "Yes Sir, I can hear you" "While we all appreciate your time here, and your contribution to the country's mission, we all feel that you are capable of moving on and up, son" Again, no response from Carl. "Corporal, you got some more time left in this Army and I'm offering you an oppo rtunity that every enlisted man would give his right hand for! A chance to get out of this piece of shit sandbox and go play with some real elite fol s who wou ld appreciate your s ills and would ta e care of your career! Do you understan d what I'm saying? How does this grab you?" Carl remains silent, still staring into the distance. The Captain, out of motiv ational speeches, tired, exasperated, and anxious to get out of there, loo s at the Sergeant for help. The Sergeant pic s up on his queue. "Corporal Remolo, is it because of what happened to the convoy?" Nobody had spo en about the convoy incident since it happened. Of course, the A rmy shrin tried helping Carl, but, after a few unsuccessful sessions, it was de cided to let the matter drop. The Sergeant new that it was a gamble to bring u p the incident, but it was his last card; he could sense that the Captain had ha d enough and was ready to move on. His gamble paid off: Carl finally spo e. "Sir, I let one of my childhood friends get idnapped by insurgents, I did nothi

ng to protect him, nothing! Corporal O'Toole and I were altar boys together! Our families went to Sunday Mass together! We spent every summer vacation away with each other... I could go on and on here Sir but it wouldn't matter. Suffice it to say that this is not why I signed up, not to let family friends get ta en by the enemy and do nothing about it. I'm done here Sir. Corporal Patric O'Toole was a great friend and a deeply religious person: I can only hope that his faith will allow him to forgive me for what I did, but I have a problem forgiving mys elf..." Seeing that Corporal Remolo was finally reacting, the Captain decides to give it one more try. "Loo , son, you followed orders. That's what we do in the Army: We follow orders . I'm aware of what you are tal ing about and I understand your frustration, but your job was to protect the convoy, and that's what you did. You protected the many, instead of the few. Anyway, I also understand that your friend was recove red two months later via a prisoner swap and he's bac safe and sound, isn't tha t correct?" "Sir, with all due respect, that's not my point-" The Sergeant loo s to the ceiling, sha ing his head; he has been here before. Be fore he can say anything, the Captain responds. "I now, I now, I got it. I now what your point is soldier, but this is the ar my, and we follow orders. You don't have much longer to go here, and I want to r eward your great s ills and the sacrifice you've made by transferring you wherev er you want, but, if you just want out of the army son, well, I can't stop you f rom doing that, although I thin it's a mista e...." Carl does not move, just li e the conversation. "You are dismissed, Corporal" Carl salutes, and wal s out of the room. The Captain and the Sergeant stay bac in the hot, humid hut, trying to figure o ut what happened. "Well, we tried Sergeant, we tried but did not succeed" "Yes Sir, that's Corporal Remolo alright. A illing machine that can snipe the l ife out of a miserable insurgent leader from the top of a mountain: He can outli ve, outlast any terrorist anywhere, but, after that convoy incident, don't as h im to join you for some chow and a beer because you'd just be wasting your breat h!" "His loyalty to his friend is a rare gift Sergeant, a rare gift indeed, but that incident is going to drive him crazy... Keep him as a sniper until his tour is up... Let the VA Hospital ta e care of his brain when he goes bac home..." "Than you Sir, we can certainly use him around here, he's-" The Captain has heard enough and dismisses the Sergeant with a wave of his hand. "I now, I now. That'll be all Sergeant" As he wal s towards his barrac s, Carl fights bac tears. He could not comprehen d why the Sergeant would bring up the convoy incident, what its significance was , what the value of that conversation was. All he new is that he had let his ch ildhood friend Patric down; left him unprotected, to die at the hands of the en emy. Yes, the Captain was correct, Patric had been returned safe and sound as part of a prisoner swap but that was not the point. The point, yeah, what was th e damn point? He had been over and over this story a thousand times. First, by himself, then with the shrin . Hec , he had even tried telling it to one of the local prostitutes but she could not spea English and ept laughing, thin ing th at, li e most soldiers that she must have seen, he was drun and was telling her jo es. But all the thin ing, re-hashing and re-living of those ey moments in h is life brought Carl absolutely no peace, no joy, no closure. Lately, he had eve n tried to be nonchalant about it: Hey, why go torture yourself thin ing about t hat; soon you will be bac home Carl, soon this will all be just a memory. Carl tried tal ing himself out of the abyss, to get his mind to thin of better thin gs, better times. One thing that always wor ed was to thin of his childhood. He remembers the night right after he defended Robbie from the school thugs. Carl and his older brother Johnny had a few laughs that night. They were both lying i

"Carl, let me tell you something, I want to be a Cop, you hear me, a Cop! That's what's important to me, that's what I focus on! I can't get into a fight with some little pun , ic his ass and then be suspended from school, have that on m y record and never get into the Police Academy! You get it? I got a vision! Be sides, that's why we have Mom and Dad! Robbie is their responsibility! Not ours ! Mom was going to call the school Principal but you wanted to be macho guy and go ic Richie's ass! That's your fuc ing decision, that's fine with me, I'm n ot judging you, but don't you judge me!" "Don't judge you? Too late for that, man, too late for that! I have already judg ed you! You wal around here li e it's a fuc ing hotel and you are a guest! You don't help with anything, you don't give a crap about anyone, it's all about you and your fuc ing "Police Officer" career, as if the rest of us don't matter! Y ou are the most fuc ing selfish person I've ever met!" Johnny stands up right next to his brother, screaming. "Hey, save your saliva, bro, I am focused, you hear that, focused! I now what I want, I now what's important in my life and I'm going to get it. That's all, I have a vision, a mission, and you don't, you are just all over the place, tryi ng to be Robbie's careta er, his baby-sitter, his little fuc ing assistant! Wel l, good for you! But that's your thing, you hear me?! Your thing! Don't try to pin that on me, because that's not who I am!" "Oh, we all now that's not who you are, you selfish pric ! Who you are is all

n their beds, in the small bedroom that they shared. The windows open, just to piss off the parents, "letting the heat escape" out of the house as Dad used to say. Who cared about the damn heat! Maybe it was cold if you were old, but to th em, the open window signaled that they were free, that they were not li e their parents, they were not old. Besides, Carl loved hearing the wind rustling the le aves outside. The sound of the trees struggling against the wind was a mystical bac ground to Carl's heroic story. Carl is laughing, leaning bac on his bed, as he recounts the day's events to hi s older sibling. Johnny cannot hear the story enough and eeps as ing Carl for more details, especially when it comes to his favorite parts. "Holy shit, you ic ed his balls? You ic ed his balls?" "Yeah, I felt I had to add a little "meaning" to my message, so the bastard woul d remember and leave Robbie alone... Besides, I was playing for effect in front of his loser friends: I wanted them to see what I was capable of! Johnny could not stop laughing. "You are sic , you are a sic man! What about his buddies, what'd they do?"John ny had heard this story a hundred times, but he loved to hear it again and again . He new what the other bullies had done, just li e he new every single part of the story, but he just loved having Carl telling it again and again. "They just stood there, scared shitless. They wouldn't even move!" "Awesome, man, what a show! Awesome!" But even this happy memory had a sad moment, a dar cloud. Lately it seemed that everything in Carl's life had a sad, unfinished, depressing hue to it. Suddenly , as Johnny continues to crac up, Carl becomes silent. He just lies there, loo ing down, not parta ing in the fun that Johnny is having. After a few more laug hs, Johnny eventually notices his brother's change of mood. "What's the matter? What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong" "Oh c'mon Carl, don't bullshit me. What is it?" "Well, if you want to now, I mean, you could have helped Robbie, you now, you could have stepped in and helped him. Johnny cannot believe his ears. "Me? And why would I do that?" "What do you mean "why would I do that"? He's your brother! That's why! What ar e you, a fuc ing robot? Don't you care about him? Don't you care about anyone? " Johnny sits up on his bed, tense. He is going to let his brother now how he fe els and he needs the right pose for it.

about you, your Police Officer career and your bodybuilding, that's all you are! It's all about you!" Johnny goes to hit his brother, thin s about it and, instead, just turns around and wal s out. As he leaves the room, he has a few choice words for his younger brother. "Fuc you Carl! You want to be a baby sitter, go ahead man, but don't expect me to do the same! You are ruining your life! You hear me? Ruining your life! You' ve got no friends, no girlfriend, no hobbies, you are not on any team, your whol e life revolves around helping Robbie! I'm out of here, I've had enough of this shit. See you la-ter ba-by-si-tter" He says the last words in sing-song fashion , ma ing fun of Carl. As Johnny wal s out of the house, Deborah and Jeff pull up onto their driveway. Robbie is in the bac of the car, finishing an ice cream cone, unaware of what is going on around him. Jeff lowers his window and yells at Johnny, who is wal ing away. "Johnny, where are you going at his hour? Don't you have school tomorrow?" Johnny barely loo s bac at his Father. "Yeah, I do. I'm going to the gym, I'll be bac in a little while!" Jeff sha es his head and loo s at Deborah, who does not loo happy. Once again, Johnny gets to do whatever he wants and Jeff is instantly ready to chal it up t o "boys will be boys". Her father would have fixed this in a heartbeat. "Are you going to let him go to the gym at this hour, when he has school tomorro w?" "What am I supposed to do? Hold him down? He's 16 years old! And there you have it: Jeff's beliefs must have indicated that, at sixteen, a bo y can just do whatever he wants. "So what? You are still his father, Jeff! Aren't you ever going to discipline hi m again because he's 16? He still lives in our house!" "Honey, he's going to the gym, to the gym! The id loo s phenomenal and he's wor ing so hard getting ready for the physical!" "The physical? If you are referring to the Police Department's, may I remind you that he can't ta e the test until he's 18 years old! In the interim, and a long interim it is, how about studying, doing homewor ? Helping around the house? I can't believe you, Jeff, you just let him get away with murder!" Throughout the argument, Robbie remains in the bac seat, lic ing his ice cream, as if nothing is going on. Jeff opens his door to get out of the car, tired of arguing, sha ing his head. He decides to, once again, ignore his wife and focus on his youngest child. He had found himself doing these two things in tandem a l ot more often lately, as if they went naturally hand in hand. He lac ed the will to fight Deborah anymore, especially over things that he considered not importa nt. At the same time, he wanted to do more for Robbie. It was an easy choice: He saw it as a simple diversion of energy from one outlet to another. "Come on Robbie, let's go in, time for bed son" As they enter the house, Robbie runs into the older boys' bedroom, as he usually did, and catches Carl by surprise. Carl is crying, and Robbie runs bac into th e living room, to tell the parents. He runs bac into the itchen, very excited , flapping his arms. "Carl crying, Carl crying!" Jeff tries to calm him down. "OK, Robbie, OK! Why would Carl be crying? Did you do something? Why's he crying ?" Deborah, as any good mother would, immediately jumps in. "I got it, let me go see" But Jeff, true to his latest modus operandi, stays involved. Both Deborah and Je ff wal into the boys' room, where Carl is trying to compose himself and pretend everything is OK. Robbie, of course, follows his parents into his brothers' be droom, without them being aware that he is right behind them. Carl, upset at the invasion of his privacy, lashes out. "My God! Anyone else need to come in here to see the frea show? Don't you peop le ever noc ?"

Jeff responds first, closely followed by Deborah. "Son, nobody wants to see any "frea show", we just heard you were crying and we re concerned about you, that's all!" "Carl, what's the matter? Why would you be crying? What's going on with you? "Yo u loc yourself in this room for hours, you don't tal to anyone, the only time you come out is to ta e care of your brother!" "Mom, don't say that please! Don't say that!" Carl, who could see Robbie standing right behind Deborah and Jeff, was trying to stop Deborah from saying anything that would ma e Robbie feel uncomfortable. S uddenly, after an aw ward pause, Deborah and Jeff realize that Robbie is standin g right behind them, staring at all of them. Carl is loo ing at his brother, as if their parents were not there, staring right through them, obviously uncomfort able both for Robbie and himself. Jeff catches the loo and as s Robbie to step out of the room. "Hey Robbie, what if I let you stay up another half hour, huh?" Robbie's face lights up. Deborah frowns and opens her mouth to complain, but, be fore she can say anything, Jeff spea s. "I got this honey. Robbie, go watch some TV, pic a half hour show and be good O K?" "Sure Dad! Alright!" As Robbie wal s out of the room, Jeff closes the door and sits next to Carl. "Now tell me, son, what the hec is going on around here? What's the matter with you?" Suddenly, Carl starts to cry uncontrollably, as Jeff and Deborah try to console him. Deborah puts her hand on her son's bac . "Carl, Carl, what's the matter?"

JFK airport, Queens, New Yor , can be an intimidating place for anyone, from exp erienced travelers to, of course, neophytes. Even those who fly all over the wor ld often sometimes have problems navigating the old, maze-li e structures of the famed New Yor airport. Its sheer size, noise, pace were enough to challenge a seasoned traveler, which she, of course, was not. She had never been on an airpl ane before, never been outside of her native Jujuy province, in her native Argen tina. Ana Alvarez was aware of her limitations, she new she was a poor farm gir l, a campesina, her whole life, but she never new how little she new until thi s moment. This place was li e another world, another planet. A planet where ther e were more people in a hallway than she would find at her local plaza on a sunn y Saturday afternoon. A place where everybody was in a hurry and most people di d not loo at each other. The flight had been long (eleven hours), arduous, tedious, boring. Stuc between Father Sanchez and Mr. Coldwell (Caldwell? She had no idea how to spell it or p ronounce it), one of the biggest contributors to Catholic charities in South Ame rica. While the two men engaged in lively discussions about everything from reli gion to politics, she was stuc in the middle. At first, she made polite attempt s at following the conversation between the two men but, she really could not co ncentrate on anything they were saying: Her mind was somewhere else, in the Unit ed States, to be exact. Thin ing of her new future, her new life. After a few mi nutes of pretending to be part of the conversation, she found herself just turni ng bac and forth between her seat-mates, as if she was actually listening to th em. This physical strain on her nec quic ly led to her nec hurting and feeling as if she was watching a tennis match, her head rapidly facing left and then ri ght as the ball, or rather the conversation, was being carried by a different pe rson. She lost interest by about the first half hour into the flight, but, as a good nun, especially one from a Latin American country, she pretended to be inte rested in what a priest and a church benefactor, both of whom responsible for he r transfer to the United States, had to say; at least she managed to seem intere sted for a little while, until her daydreaming too over. Sensing that they were losing their "audience", the men would, sometimes, especi ally in the beginning of the flight, switch topics and try to involve Sister Ana . But most of the attempts were feeble and short lived and, after the first hour or so, they quic ly died down. Excusing herself, and pretending to do it so the men could spea and see each other easily, she reclined her seat as much as she could and pretended to sleep. While the men's chatter was loud and obnoxious at the beginning, Sister Ana quic ly learned to ignore it and managed to focus on her own world for the remainder of the flight. In a way, of course, she was excited and loo ing forward to her new life: A diff erent country, a different culture and an opportunity to immerse herself into th e English language. Were all Americans rich? Churches were probably palatial in the United States, than s to the well-to-do, generous benefactors who doted thei r local ministry with the best of everything. What a contrast to her little tow n church, where the biggest luxury was a big asado (barbecue) and wine on Christ mas Day. But, on the other hand, she had plenty of doubts about what she was doing with h er life. A nun? A nun? She who loved telenovelas (soap operas) where the young poor girl was swept away by the handsome, rich gentleman. She who, more than any thing, wanted to love a man, to have children, be part of a family, a "normal" l

ife. She was throwing away any possibility of ever having those family dreams co me true. She new that this was something she had to do to ma e her family's lif e easier and, for the most part, she carried on li e a good soldier but sometime s, sometimes she just felt li e bursting out in tears. Her infancy had been lost , her youth was now being robbed and, as far as she could see, the rest of her l ife would be dedicated to a calling that was not hers, a mandate that would fore ver prohibit her dreams of being someone's wife, of having a family, a baby. After the death of her father, when she was thirteen, things became unmanageable . While they had always been poor, Dad had been the provider, not just in financ ial terms, but also in terms of advice, fun, hope. He had a positive outloo in life and radiated it so all who new him could bas in it. In spite of their po verty, he always managed to bring her favorite sweet treat from the factory (onl y later in life she found out that the sweets she so loved to get were "rejects" from the factory where her dad wor ed). Not even her younger sister Juliana's m ental retardation could dampen the man's spirits. On the contrary, Juliana's han dicap just became part of their life, their routines, who they were. But once he passed, once his cancer too over his lungs and too him away from the family, things changed. Without any means of support, her mother had gone to the local p riest see ing advice and help and, in the traditional Argentinean way, especiall y in places as desolate as her little town in the most rural part of the remote, poor Jujuy province, everything was a barter, a negotiation. Padre Gonzales agr eed to hire Ana's mom to do chores around the church but, at the same time, made it clear that the two nuns running the three-room school were getting old and n ew blood was needed. Ana would ma e such a vibrant, charismatic nun! She would b e a great new asset for the church, plus, as he often made sure to remind Mrs. A lvarez, the church had the means and resources to ta e care of Juliana now and f or a long time after her family was no longer around, in loco parentis. Ana remembered that night as if it was yesterday. Mom and she had been tal ing a bout it for days but tonight her mother wanted a decision, a commitment. Padre G onzales wanted to get the process started to transform Ana into Sister Ana and t hings needed to get moving. Her mother presented her case while they were cleani ng up after dinner. "Everything is changed Ana, everything! This is the best solution to all of our problems: a job for me, a vocation for you, care for Juliana. We have to be prac tical, face our problems and choose the best solution" There, she said it. "Choose the best solution". As if giving up her life to bec ome a nun was the same as deciding what to coo for dinner tonight. As if they w ere pic ing up dresses for the local dance. No mention in mom's "solution" that Ana's entire life was ruined: No career (she had wanted to be a hairdresser), no love, no family, none of the things she had wanted so badly for herself. But, c ould she bear to bring more suffering onto her mother? Her sister? And, after al l, what was she really going to be able to accomplish in this meager town? What was she exactly giving up? The conundrum ept bouncing inside her head li e the loose tennis ball that she had been watching bac and forth between her two traveling companions. While she would never forget that night, she had tried to move on. She had become a nun, and done good things for good, decent people. She never did have a "calling" as she had heard that those in the service of God often do. No shining light in the middle of the road, no sign from God as ing her to ta e on the habit. Her menta l conversion from Ana to Sister Ana had been slow, gradual, painsta ingly calibr ated and, her secret, never fully accomplished. For every good deed, there was a good feeling; a feeling of satisfaction, of accomplishment, of realizing that t his had been the right decision. But had it? The nagging doubts had never gone a way: Their omnipresent, daily sabotage of her wanting to want to be a nun as cle ar and dangerous today as they had been years ago when she chose this path. But her dad always told her to ma e a decision and get on with it: "Don't second gu ess yourself into oblivion". He was such a smart man; a ind, good, smart man. Having inherited her father's positive disposition, Sister Ana would soon chase away her bad thoughts and replace them with positive ones, with good feelings, w ith the anticipation to ta e on her new challenge, her new start. Who would have

ever thought it? Ana Alvarez, born and raised in the dirt poor rural town of La Quiaca, province of Jujuy, in rural Argentina, coming all the way to New Yor . It was so ironically funny when the Immigration Agent at JFK airport horribly mi spronounced "La Quiaca" (he pronounced it "Lay Ca ay") and as ed her where that was. She, ready and eager to try her English on an American, proudly went out of her way to inform the Agent that La Quiaca (she made sure to pronounce it the r ight way, for his benefit)was a very small, poor frontier town in the Jujuy Prov ince, in the north west of Argentina, near its border with Bolivia. So here she was, on her way from one of the poorest towns in the world to one of the richest cities in the world; and to do what? To help the people of this powerful, rich country no less! A poor country girl now flying to the United States to help Ame ricans! Who would believe it? She, who was doing it, could certainly not believe it. But one thing her modest upbringing had taught her was to always, always lo o for a chance to improve, to better herself, to progress. And this, this was d efinitely one of those chances. As a young girl, she had always had a nac for languages and, of course, since most of the music she listened to came from the United States, English had become a passion. She had pretty much taught the lang uage herself: Riding to town as often as possible to visit the small, dilapidate d library. She had become such a fixture there that the local librarian would of ten jo e that Ana spent as much time at the library as she did.

About 10 minutes away from the Remolo's home, in the local Shopping Center's par ing lot, Carl, dressed in his Army fatigues, gets off a bus. He is carrying hi s belongings in an Army-issued bag. He loo s disturbed, li e those fresh twentyyear old men loo ed when they were coming home from Vietnam, instead of a mature twenty-four year old coming home in 2007. As he proceeds on the slow wal home, many of his neighbors, who have not seen h im in a long, long time, stare at him. Some wave, some greet him, some loo awa y, wary of his appearance, his ruffled, unfriendly loo . They have heard and re ad about the different disorders affecting veterans, about their state of mind. Some come home happy, some sad, some disturbed. Better leave this one alone... Carl just ignores everyone, his mind someplace else; his gaze, just as he learne d in the military, focused straight ahead. Finally, he reaches his parents' home and rings the bell. Deborah answers the door, incredulous, surprised to see her son. She had no idea he was coming home. Communication between them had been s trained since the convoy incident. "Carl! Carl? What are you doing here? I thought you weren't on leave for anothe r month! Are you OK? Is everything alright?!?!?" Before Deborah can fully open the door, Carl wal s up to her and starts crying. "It's OK son, it's OK now, you are home, safe and sound, you are home..." "I couldn't do it Mom! I just couldn't do it! I tried, but I couldn't do it..." Deborah hugs her son and helps him wal in the house. "Carl, it's OK... Whatever it is that you could not do, it's OK, you are home no w... I don't now what you are tal ing about, but we have all the time in the wo rld to tal about it. I just don't want you to cry! Why are you crying? What ha ppened to you?" Suddenly, the conversation is interrupted by the sounds of a horn outside. They both loo towards the door. "Oh my God, it's 3:30 already, your brother Robbie is home from his therapy, I h ave to go let him in; he li es it when I meet him by the curb. He'll be so happ y to see you!" As Deborah wal s outside, the Bus Driver opens the door to let Robbie get off. D eborah and the Bus Driver exchange greetings and he informs her that Robbie had a good day. As Robbie steps onto the sidewal , he turns around to wave to the Bu s Driver. "Bye Mister Bus Driver!" The Bus Driver responds, closes his door and starts to pull away. As Robbie runs to his Mother, she opens up her arms to welcome her youngest son home. "I have a big surprise for you..." "A surprise?! Is it pizza?" "No silly, it's much better than pizza!" "Wrestling? Are we going to see a wrestling show?" "No... Come in, wait 'til I show you who's home!" Robbie, not very good at thin ing in the abstract, has no idea who his mother co uld be referring to; he loo s at her, puzzled, but happy: Whatever, whoever it i s, he now it is something good. As they approach the house, the door opens, and Carl is standing by it, with open arms. Robbie's face lights up, his favorite person in the world has come home. He runs to him. "Carl! Carl! You home! You home! You come to ta e me to wrestling!" Carl and Robbie hug for a long time. Deborah just stares at her two youngest children, still babies in her mind, alth ough Robbie is now 20 years old. "Well well Carl, someone has missed you terribly. He as s for you each and ever y day!" "You come to ta e me to wrestling? Mom and Dad never ta e me, they always busy!" "Sure, sure I'll ta e you to wrestling man, of course! We'll have to see when th e next match is and then..." Robbie interrupts. "Saturday! Saturday the WWE is at the Garden! I'd love to go there! Tic ets are 29.50 and up, get your parents permission before ordering!" Carl laughs a hearty laugh. He has missed Robbie so much.

About an hour later, Jeff pulls into the driveway. He gets out of the car, grabs his briefcase and two pizzas from the bac seat, closes the car door with his fo ot and heads towards the front door. While carefully balancing everything, he ri ngs the bell with his elbow. He yells out, trying to get everyone's attention. "Hello! Pizza Man!" "Robbie, Robbie, it's your Dad and he has pizza! Why don't you go get the door?" Robbie, who had been sitting right next to Carl, enjoying Army stories, gets up to get the door. "Don't go anywhere Carl, I'll be right bac !" Deborah and Carl exchange glances. While he might be 20 years old, Robbie still has the mind of a child. Robbie opens the door for his Dad. "Hi Dad! You got pizza! What a day! First Carl is home and now I get pizza!" Jeff puts down his briefcase, hands the pizza boxes to Robbie and wal s over to Carl. They hug. "Son! Son! How have you been? How are you doing?"

"And we can go for pizza right before! We get to hang out! I get to see wrestlin g! Mom, Mom, can you believe it, Carl is home!" "Yes, yes, Robbie, I see, I see...But Carl has traveled a long time to get here, we need to give him a little brea so he can rest!" As Carl and Robbie sit on the couch, the phone rings. Deborah answers it: It's J eff, calling from wor . "Hello" "Hi honey, it's me! I'm actually going to be home on time today so I figured we could celebrate that and I could bring home a pizza" Deborah is dying to tell her husband that Carl is home, but stops herself. Inst ead, she acts coy. "Well, I don't now... I might have other commitments..." "C'mon baby, what could you be doing that's better than having pizza with me and Robbie?" "Oh, I'm just a popular girl you now! Right now, for example, I have not one, b ut two men sitting here with me..." There is a pause at the other end of the line. Jeff has no clue what she is tal ing about. "Two men? What are you tal ing about? Who is there?" "I'm not going to tell you but I suggest that you bring home some Sicilian pizza " Another, longer pause. And then, Jeff explodes with happiness. "Sicilian? What do you mean? The only guy that li es Sicilian is... Is Carl home ? Are you idding? Oh my God, is he alright? What's going on? How come he's h ome?" Of course, Jeff's happiness quic ly turns to worry. He nows quite well that his son was not supposed to be home for another month. He also nows what life has been li e for Carl since the convoy incident. Deborah, trying to ma e light of t hings, interrupts. "Hey, stop the interrogation and get your butt home, with some Sicilian pizza!" "Let me tal to him!" Deborah obliges and puts Carl on the phone with Jeff. "Hi Dad!" "Hi son! How are you? What are you doing home?" Perhaps not the best way to welcome someone home, but Jeff had to as . There is a long pause. Carl, defeated, loo s down, wishing he did not have to address thi s issue. Jeff continues. "I mean, you now, I am happy that you are home of course, and that you are alri ght and all but, but (he is searching for the right words) but you weren't suppo sed to be home for another month or so..." "Dad, I now what you mean, you don't have to explain why you are as ing. I'll e xplain when you get home..."

"I'm OK Dad, I'm OK..." As Jeff and Carl continue with what seems to be an endless hug, Deborah and Robb ie set the table and summon everyone to the itchen to eat "while it's hot". Jeff pulls a chair for Carl to sit next to him and pours him a beer. "Nothing li e a good beer and some pizza to celebrate our Army veteran being hom e!" They clin their glasses and cheer. Jeff continues. "So, you haven't told us yet, how come you are home earlier than expected? Did y ou get more time off?" Complete silence. "OK... I guess I'm supposed to answer my own question! (Jeff does his best impre ssion of his son) Hey Dad, I just got a promotion and part of the new job was to ta e a couple of days off until my new post was ready" Deborah, who does not want the moment to turn sour, tries to intervene. "Jeff! Don't start your crap" "Crap? What crap honey? Because I as my professional army-sniper if everything is OK I'm suddenly starting crap? What are you, afraid he'll shoot us?" Robbie, agitated by what he just heard, drops his pizza slice on his plate. "Carl is not going to shoot us! Carl loves me!" Exasperated, Carl throws his nap in on the table and stands up. "Great, just great Dad! As always, you managed to get everybody riled up over no thing. The usual around here, every time we tal it ends up in a fight!" "That's not true! Plus, it's not my fault! I'm not supposed to as my son how co me he's home early from the Army? You even said on the phone that you would expl ain!" Carl loo s at Deborah, loo s at Robbie and sha es his head. He wal s away from t he table and goes into his old room. Robbie follows him. Deborah pushes away her plate and glares at Jeff. "Why can't you just enjoy what's going on? Your son is home, safe and sound, an d you have to start an interrogation!" Deborah gets up and starts cleaning up. Jeff ta es one more bite of his slice, p uts it down, and spea s very softly, sadly. "You now, I didn't mean to start anything, but he just, he just-" "I now Jeff, I now. He doesn't seem right. Something is definitely wrong with him, but he won't tal about it" "God only nows what he saw, what he did. I was never in the service, but I hear stories, horrible stories... I'll go up and tal to him, apologize and bring hi m bac down. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spoil a nice night" "I now you didn't honey, I now you didn't"

10

Two days later, Saturday, Deborah has made a big family brea fast, and they are all sitting at the table, except for Johnny, who, still, at twenty eight years o ld, ept to his daily morning-gym routine. Carl has been searching for the right words, and figures this is as good a time as any. "Mom, Dad, I need to tal to you guys" Deborah, who was standing up ma ing herself a cup of coffee, stopped what she wa s doing. "Sure Carl, we are here for you, what is it?" Jeff, sitting at the brea fast table, put down his newspaper, focusing all his a ttention on Carl. "What is it Carl? What's on your mind?" "Well, I don't now how to tell you this, but I'm not in the Army anymore..." "Well, we ind of figured that since you are home-" "Please Dad, please, this is hard enough as it is..." Jeff grabs his coffee cup and ta es a long sip. He had read somewhere that this was a good way of remaining quiet, of not interrupting. Carl continues. "As you now, I was a sniper in the service, and I thought that I'd li e doing t hat, you now, helping my country, fighting the enemy, doing the right thing..." He stops and tries to compose himself. "Well, it wasn't quite what I thought it'd be. You basically did nothing for day s and then, one day, all of a sudden you get an order to ta e out a guy..." "Ta e out?" "To ill, to ill a guy Mom" Deborah loo s away, visibly upset. It is not as if she did not now what her son did in the Army, but she did not li e to hear about it. "As I was saying, you get an order to ill a guy. You are given a location, a de scription, a time and that's it: Off you go, with your equipment, your orders" And that's what I did, I illed guys and I had no clue who they were, what they were doing, I didn't even now why I was illing them!" "Well, I'm sure they were bad guys son, the U.S. Army wouldn't waste a valuable resource li e you illing a guy that didn't deserve to-" "Dad, please, don't butter me up. I'm sure they were bad guys, but that's not t he point. That's not what I signed up for. I wanted to help our country, to do the right thing. I wanted to stand for something, other than just being good wi th a rifle!" Jeff and Deborah are loo ing at each other, puzzled, not nowing what to say. T hey want to help their son but are afraid that if they interrupt him he will cla m up and that will be the end of the conversation. "And then, to ma e matters worse, you get stupid orders to leave a soldier, some one you've nown since you were a id, a friend, alone, unprotected, just so som e animals can idnap him and trade him for more animals, and you can't question anything, you just do, you just shoot and move on, li e a robot..." And there it was, the convoy incident. Although details had been s etchy, Debora

h and Jeff new that Carl had been ordered to protect a convoy while leaving his childhood friend, Patric O'Toole, who had been part of the convoy, to fend for himself. Patric was idnapped by the insurgents and later returned to the U.S. Army in a prisoner swap. Carl puts his hands on his face, trying to stop himself from crying. He composes himself, and goes on. "Anyway, I've been doing some research and I've decided to do something differen t, something where I can really help people, people that need help, people li e Robbie..." Everyone is in silence. "I'm going to join the Monastery, to become a priest" Jeff almost falls off his chair. He cannot believe what he just heard. "A what? A priest? Are you idding me? You are going from the Army to the Church ?" Deborah's glare freezes Jeff right where he is. He shifts his mode of operation. "OK! OK! I'm listening" "I want to find myself Dad. I want to now who I am! I want to stand for somethi ng, to help people, to do good..." Deborah wants to encourage her son and jump out the window at the same time. "Carl, we now you are a good person, we now you want to do good things, you al ways have..." There is a hesitation in her voice: Her sentence trails off towards the end. "Sure Mom, but you are not happy with my decision, right?" "Well, of all things, a priest? You now it ta es years to become one, you are n ot going to be helping people tomorrow, and you'll be away from us, from your fa mily. You can be assigned anywhere in the world!" Carl marches on. "Well, I'm not as ing you guys, I'm telling you what I'm doing. I've thought abo ut this long and hard and I've found something that will allow me to help others , to bring peace to people's lives, to help families..." Deborah is getting teary eyed. Jeff cannot believe what he is hearing.

11

Two years later, the year is 2009. Robbie is 22, Carl is 26 and Johnny is 30 yea rs old. Inside his office in the Catholic Diocese building, Carl has a few minutes to sp are before the next couple is due to come in for their counseling session. He ca nnot help but smile to himself: He, of all people, counseling others; he, who co uld barely hold it together most of the time. He always, in a way, admired peopl e li e John, so full of vigor, of passion for something, of conviction. If anyon e should be counseling people, it should be John. His brother had wanted to be a police officer for as long as Carl could remember. Sure, every boy wants to be a police officer, a fireman and an astronaut, but the vast majority grows out of it. With John, it had been different: He new what he wanted, he had a vision, almost a quest to achieve his goal. He had his mind made up since he was a littl e boy, and no, he never grew out of it; on the contrary, he wor ed at it, incess antly, until he achieved it. Yes, someone li e that should be counseling these m arried people; someone who new what he wanted, who loved what he was doing, who had no regrets, no self-doubt. Many times, when alone with his thoughts, Carl would engage in deep, soul search ing, meaning-of-life self questioning sessions. Sometimes he attributed it to hi s left-leaning, liberal upbringing. Or, as John would say, his elitist, privileg ed life. John would often moc Carl's self-questioning, simplifying it, almost d owngrading it to a mere show. Or, as John would put it, "You want all of us to s ee how smart you are by questioning what you do, what you believe in". Although he would never admit it, Carl thought that there might have been some truth to J ohn's critique. Was he just wallowing in his own self-absorbed river of deceit, of doubt? Was it just "cool" to sit there, with time to spare, with nothing to d o, no phone ringing, no due dates to meet, no customers on line, just you, you a nd your thoughts and all the time in the world. All the time to contemplate and show the world how thoughtful, how smart, how flexible he could be with his deci sions, his beliefs. John would often "wa e" Carl up from these sessions with a moc ing attitude, say ing things li e "I wish I had time to question my emotions, my beliefs, my actio ns; but I don't. I have to act, to react, to do. I might not be an intellectual li e you, a thin er, but I'm a saver of lives, a decision ma er, a doer. I don' t have time to ponder". That last sentence would play in Carl's head over and o ver again, constantly. Carl, of course, had the intellectual luxury of being abl e to go over his decisions, his thoughts, ad nauseam. Maybe John was right, but, be that as it may, Carl would very often find himself dong exactly that: ponder ing. Questioning. Doubting. He had wanted to do so much, to accomplish so much, to help so much. But had never found the right vehicle. He had thought the Army was the right place, only to find himself robotically following orders, procedur es and processes that many times had little to do with the matter at hand and mo re to do with some bureaucratic edict published a hundred years ago. No, he had

not helped anyone while in the Army; if anything, he had hurt, hindered, handica pped not just his beliefs, his dreams, his desire to help, but people as well. A nd not only "bad" people, but many times the very people that he was supposed to be helping. His becoming a priest was almost a direct consequence of his time in the Army. H e explained it to himself many times, almost as if trying to convince himself th at he had done the right thing, that this new path to salvation, to growing, to cleansing his soul and finally achieving his goal to do something right was full y reflected in the waters of Catholic priesthood. Sure, he had been an altar boy and attended mass regularly as a child but that did not in itself qualify one a s a candidate to be a priest. So then, what did? What made you special? What gav e you that calling that he so often heard about in the monastery? He certainly d id not now the answer to that question. In all honesty, all Carl new was that he did NOT want to be a priest, but he wanted to be in a position to help, himse lf as well as others. He wanted to be in a position to believe, to really believ e in something, to be passionate about something. He always marveled at his frie nds that would spend entire Sundays at a football stadium, tailgating, hanging o ut, coo ing, drin ing, watching a game. Or other friends who golfed, fixed cars, collected spoons, anything. Anything that made people passionate, made Carl env ious; because deep down he new that he had never been passionate about anythin g, that he had spent his young life ta ing care of his younger, handicapped brot her because it was the right thing to do. And that, that, in a nutshell, was the synthesis of Carl Remolo: Too busy doing what he was supposed to do to have any time to do what he wanted to do, what he li ed to do, or to merely develop a des ire to do something. His mother would often say that all he needed was a good gi rl to give him passion; Carl would laugh and go along with Deborah's remar s, hu moring her as good sons often do. Maybe the old lady was right, but where would one find a good girl? Neither the Army nor the monastery seemed to be the right place... The soft noc on the door brought him bac to reality. Mr. and Mrs. Fernandez w ere here for their session. Carl managed to pretend that he had been loo ing at their file as he welcomed them in and as ed them to sit down and get a cup of co ffee or a soda. As they went into the brea room to get a refreshment, he actual ly did loo at their file. A couple in their thirties, with two young ids, one of them mentally handicapped. The "Remar s" section of the file pointed out that Mrs. Fernandez had made various appointments that had been cancelled at the las t minute due to her husband's unwillingness to attend. As the couple comes bac , they sit down, barely exchange greetings and, right aw ay, Mrs. Fernandez, who is feeling very emotional, points to a picture of her so n. "This is Luis, that's our son, he's 7 years old" Carl, as he always does, loo s at the picture for a few seconds and says somethi ng nice. "He loo s li e a nice little boy" "He is. He's handsome, and he's such a good boy, such a good listener" Mrs. Fernandez goes on for a couple of minutes, gushing about their son. Carl, a s always, ma es sure to listen, ta e some notes, not to interrupt. When, finall y, Mrs. Fernandez stops for air, he jumps in. "Mr. Fernandez? Anything you want to say?" Mr. Fernandez, unli e his wife, does not want to be there and he does not hide i t. There is no response. Carl tries again. "Mr. Fernandez, when Mrs. Fernandez called me, she said that you had a lot of fe elings that should be expressed, that should come out. We are here to tal about our feelings. If you don't tal , I can't help you..." Mr. Fernandez groans, loo s at his wife, as if to say, this is for you, you owe me. "I now this is going to sound li e I'm some ind of monster, but, but..." He stops. "Go on, Mr. Fernandez"

Mrs. Fernandez is glaring at her husband, she nows what he is about to say and has some choice words for him. "Go ahead, you selfish-" She stops herself, not wanting to curse in front of Carl. Mr. Fernandez loo s ba c at his wife, and her comments, instead of shutting him down, give him the str ength to spea . "He ta es up her entire life. There's nobody else, it's only Luis this, Luis tha t! We have another id, I'm not sure if she even nows her name!" Mr. Fernandez, who has found his voice, continues. "Father, I now that Luis has Down syndrome, but it's as if he's the only one th at matters to her! The poor id has no life! And we have no life either! Nobody in our house has any ind of life! Why would God do this to a child? Why would God do this to our family? You are a Priest, why don't you explain this to us? D oes God not care about our son?" Carl thought of telling Mr. Fernandez that he was not a priest yet, but decided that it was irrelevant at this point. Besides, Mrs. Fernandez had something to s ay. She first does the sign of the Cross and then blurts out: "He's a child with special needs Alfonso! Special needs! He's your son, and he's handicapped, do you understand that?" "Yes, I understand that, but Rosie has needs too! And she's only 5! How about he r needs? And how about, how about..." He pauses, hesitates. "Go on, Mr. Fernandez, go on" "How about my needs? We are not a family anymore, we don't do anything but ta e care of Luis! It's Luis 24 x 7! I love him, and I want to help him, but I also have a responsibility to our daughter! And to you! And to me! How about our liv es? Our needs? Our desires?" "Would you li e me to forget about our handicapped child and ta e care of your l ittle desires, you selfish monster?" "I would li e to go bac to the old days, I would li e to have a life again, to have a family, to be able to worry about normal things! Aren't we entitled to a normal life?"

12

Six wee s later.

I t is a beautiful, sunny day in Prospect Par , in the borough of Broo lyn, New Yo r . As it did every year, the Broo lyn Diocese was again running the Special Oly mpics this year. A group of young, handicapped athletes is sitting on the grass, listening to ins tructions from a church volunteer. "So, you all got it, right? Stay with your partner. All these fol s with the b right red shirts, they are here to help you. You need anything you as a person with a red shirt" One of the athletes raises his hand. "Yes, young man, what is it?" The young boy spea s. "My name is Luis Fernandez, and I'm here to run a race" "OK, OK, that's great, Luis Fernandez!" The rest of the young boys and girls erupt into applause and laughter. Their han dicaps range from Down syndrome to autism. All of them are accompanied by a volu nteer "partner" wearing a red shirt. The applause and laughter of the group can be heard from the Registration Table set up by a tree, about fifty feet away from the group. A young man wearing a re d shirt is registering some late comers and their proud parents. Carl wal s by the table. "Good morning Stephen" "Good morning Father. The athletes and handlers are assembling in the bac , as u sual" "Than you Stephen, and remember, I'm not officially a "Father" yet! But, God wi lling, I will be one soon!" Carl than s Stephen as they both smile at each other; he then continues wal ing, away from the table, at a bris pace. Stephen loo s at Carl with a puzzled loo ; it stri es him as odd that the priest is carrying a big, long bag, hanging from his right shoulder. He was going to m a e a comment, half jo ing about the priest's sense of fashion, or what did he h ave in the bag, but, no matter how nice and friendly Father Carl is, he is still a priest, or an "almost priest", so Stephen decides to eep his comments to him self. Bac where the group is gathered, the volunteer who had been addressing the ids is trying to regain control. As he tries to calm them down, he addresses Luis F ernandez. He figures it might be a good idea to humor the id and let them all relax for a couple of minutes. "So, Luis, I'm glad that you are here to run a race, what else are you doing tod ay?" "I'm also part of a Volleyball team!" Luis is standing up now, loo ing around as he spea s, loving the attention from his peers. His mannerisms, although mild, are typical of those with Down syndrom e. While they would ma e him stand out in a setting with typical children, here , he was the star of the show, capturing everyone's attention and loving every m inute of it. Unfortunately, his peers' is not the only attention that Luis is at tracting today. About two hundred feet away, someone is loo ing at Luis from the roof of a four floor wal -up building adjacent to the par . Luis is being loo ed at through the

lens of a long-range rifle scope. The shooter has done this before. His aim is precise, his hold steady. He whispe rs, to himself: "Dear God, it's been a long road of pain and suffering... Please allow me to res tore peace, to ma e things right, an eye for an eye..." The shooter adjusts the sight on his rifle. Luis' image gets blurry and then sh arp, clear, crisp. A shot rings out. Almost immediately, Luis falls to the floor, he has been hit. The place erupts in a pandemonium. As the volunteers yell for help and try to eep the ids calm at the same time, the ids are running all over the place, their "partners" just as scared as they are. Everyone is running for cover, screaming, crying. The shooter expertly pac s up his rifle and other belongings in a hurry. His jo b is done, it is time to move on out.

13

Three Wee s Later. The Archbishop is addressing the group of young men that, in a few minutes, will officially be nown as priests. The young men, proud, happy, anxious, are seate d at the front of the church. Their parents and families, glowing with pride, are sitting throughout the rest of the church. "Today, my sons, is a very important day for you, for us, for the Church..." As the Archbishop continues his address, Carl is in the front row, smiling, tal ing to the young man next to him.

The speeches go on and on, indistinguishable from one another. Long, mellow affa irs extolling the young men's principles, vocation and, of course, their calling . Somewhere around the middle of the first speech, Carl's mind started to wande r, to wonder, yet again, if this was the right decision, the right move. All thr oughout, the one constant that he ept hearing was that this was not just a job, or an opportunity to do good for others (although, of course, it was) but, more importantly, that it was more, deeper than all that, this was a calling. A div ine connection with God, an ephemeral longing to not just do good unto others, n ot just help disseminate peace but, to hear, to listen, to obey a summons from a higher place which would, in turn, bring him to a higher place; a higher place within himself, where he could truly understand the plight of others and then, a nd only then, truly begin to help himself as well as others. Was he wrong to be here? He new he was a good person: A caring, thoughtful individual who put othe rs' needs first, who wanted to do the right thing, who cared. But, as good as al l those things were, he always came up short. In the middle of the night, when t he young men in the monastery would stay up and steal a few moments to be young and tal and dream, the topic of why they were becoming priests would always com e up and, almost without exception, everyone else would always attribute it to a need to help, a higher vision for peace, a calling. It was not a convenient, on e-word-fits-all answer. These were deep, good, intelligent young men who wanted to tal , who were not loo ing for a shortcut or a quic way to end a conversatio n. On the contrary, tal ing in the middle of the night, away from the priests th at taught and supervised them constantly throughout the day, was their only luxu ry, unless you counted the extra dessert available whenever someone was sic and did not ma e it to dinner. Eventually, his turn would come up and, much to his chagrin, Carl could not conjure the word to exit his lips. Yes, he had many reas ons for becoming a priest; many good, stoic, solid reasons, but the word calling did not describe any of them. He would often feel a tinge of pain, of fear, att ac his body whenever he thought of this topic. Was he throwing his life away? Was he doing something that he should not be doing? After all, everyone that is good, thoughtful and caring does not necessarily become a priest! What if this w as just another wrong move, li e the army? Was not the army the place where he was going to find himself? To help his country, his fellow man? Carl must have been nodding, because the young man sitting next to him abruptly ended his philosophical day dreaming with a quic , sharp jab of his elbow right into Carl's waist. Carl loo ed at his mate, nodded to express his than s and pre tended that he was really absorbed by the speeches. He leaned forward and held h is jaw with his left hand, signaling his complete attention. A few rows bac , Deborah is squeezing Jeff's hand, whispering. "Can you believe this? Can you believe it? Our son, a priest? And loo at how he is concentrating on what's being said!" Jeff, although proud of his son's accomplishment, does not totally share Deborah 's optimism. He is not sure that everything is fine with Carl. Or maybe he had, unli e her, just noticed his sleep-induced nodding a few minutes earlier. "I just hope this will ma e him happy. I hope that this will help him find himse lf, his meaning, you now, what he wants to be" As the ceremony continues, Deborah and Jeff loo on, teary eyed, while Robbie e eps ta ing pictures of everything and everybody. John, who got stuc with a last minute arrest, could not be there but promised that he would join the family fo r lunch at their favorite restaurant following the ceremony. As the ceremony finally comes to an end, Jeff, Deborah and Robbie exit the churc h, by themselves, leaving Carl and his peers inside the church, where they will spend a few more minutes with the Archbishop, the Bishop and other Church hierar chy; a more private welcoming before going out with their families and friends t o celebrate this all important day. Outside, Robbie continues to ta e pictures of everything, including par ed cars, trees and other items not remotely connect ed to the day's events. Jeff, as usual, ma es a motion to correct Robbie's behav ior but catches Deborah's pleading loo and decides against it. The two smile at each other, as if they were secretly ma ing a one day pact to let Robbie just b e himself. As they hold hands and watch Robbie, he suddenly runs around a tree a

nd points towards the Church's door, where Carl is just exiting, surrounded by s ome of his peers. Robbie runs up to Carl, who gladly opens up his arms to hug h is brother. As the two of them approach Deborah and Jeff, Jeff ids around with his middle son. "Hey, do I have to call you "Father" now?" They all laugh as they wal towards the car. They drive over to Carl's favorite restaurant, where they go in and sit down for dinner. The restaurant is a bustling, noisy place. The food is good, the service prompt and the hamburgers are just the way Carl li es them. As the family is sitting ar ound the table, they order a round of drin s, eager to celebrate Carl's day. In their happiness, they do not notice that Johnny has just entered the restaurant. He is dressed in full police uniform and is accompanied by Patric O'Toole, Joh nny and Carl's childhood friend, who is also a police officer. As they enter th e restaurant, Patric glances over to where Johnny's family is sitting and acts as if he has seen a ghost, an evil ghost that he had thought excised. Something has clearly upset him. He glares at John and pulls him to the side, behind the b ar, out of sight of the Remolos. "I can't believe it John, you brought me here and he's here! I should have nown when you insisted in paying the bar tab that you were trying to get me hammered ! I thought we were just going to eat something after all those drin s! I shoul d've nown better!" "Patric , relax dude, he's my brother! If I told you he was going to be here you would've never came! Listen to me, he's OK man, that was years ago! You now he was just following orders! If I told you he'd be here, you would've never come. Come on, this is going to be good. Good for you, good for Carl, good for every body! You guys used to be such good friends!" "He left me there to die, John, to die! Fuc orders man! You never leave your bu ddies!" The curse words ma e people at the bar stare at Patric and John. John tries to calm Patric down. "Hey, Officer O'Toole, watch your mouth man! You are a police officer! All that stuff is behind you! C'mon Patric , you guys have nown each other since we were all ids, you were in boot camp together, for Chrissa es! You were altar boys t ogether! Doesn't religion tell you to forgive and forget?" Patric will have none of it, and starts to turn to leave. John grabs him, pushe s him against the bar and is practically surrounding him with his body. John is wal ing a fine line between being forceful and not attracting a lot of attention at the bar, as if that was possible while practically wrestling Patric . "You now what Patric ? I don't now the whole story about what happened bac t here between you two! I don't now because neither my brother nor my best friend will tal to me about it! But I wish you would just let it go man, I wish you t wo would just let it go! At least Carl is trying to move on with his life. Loo at him, Patric , loo at him and try to move on with your life too!" John is grabbing Patric 's head and trying to turn it towards where the Remolos are sitting; needless to say, people at the restaurant are all loo ing at them; John no longer cares: He wants to fix this once and for all. "At least Carl is trying to get on with his life: He quit the Army, he became a priest, he's moved on from whatever the hell happened to you guys... Why don't y ou get over it too and have a nice meal with us? C'mon Patric , let it go-" Patric does not wait for Johnny to finish his sentence: He slaps Johnny's hands away from his shirt and, as he starts to wal away, has some parting words. "I'll let it go when it's even John! When he goes through the hell I went throug h, when he goes through what I went through, when his life is destroyed, that's when I'll let it go John! That's when I'll let it go! Have a nice lunch, brother !" Johnny just stood there: Trying to ma e sense of Patric 's strong, very strong w ords. They did not sound li e words from someone that was just mad, or that just harbored a long standing grudge. No, they sounded more li e an omen, a threat. Patric turns around and leaves, giving the finger to two guys wearing suits and sipping vod a that were standing next to them and staring. Johnny just stood t

here, sha ing his head. He wished he new what happened between Carl and Patric bac in their Army days. He new it was something major, but, since neither Pa tric or Carl would ever want to tal about it, the chances of ever finding out were pretty close to nil. After a minute or so of just standing there, Johnny co mposes himself and wal s over to his family. Jeff is the first person to see John approaching the table. "Well loo who is here, my other accomplished son!" John quic ly changes his demeanor: He li ed it when his dad made a big deal of h is police career. Whatever just happened with Patric had to be put on the bac burner and, quic ly, very quic ly, John needed to put on a smile: It was time to celebrate with his family. With a smile from ear to ear, he greets his Dad. "Father!" John then loo s at Carl and tries to be funny. "Father!" The play on words is not lost on anyone as the family laughs and John wal s arou nd issing and greeting everyone. "Mom, Robbie, how's everybody, sorry I'm late" Johnny wal s over to Carl, who stands up to greet his brother. They hug. "Congratulations, man! You did it! You are a frigging Priest!" Deborah scolds her son. "John, for God's sa e!" She stops herself, realizing that she has just ta en the Lord's name in vain and covers her mouth, embarrassed. Jeff puts down his beer, trying to stop himself from laughing. Jeff tries to ma e light of it and ma e everyone feel comfortable. "Oh please, just relax Deb... Johnny, how are you son!" Deborah isses John and puts her arms on his shoulders. "You loo so handsome!" John ta es a step bac and puts his arm around Carl. "Sorry I didn't ma e the ceremony bro, I was stuc on an arrest!!!" "Don't sweat it Officer, I'm glad you're here now" Everybody seems really happy, big smiles all around, except for Jeff, who, altho ugh seems happy, John can tell has something on his mind. As John finally sits d own, across from Jeff, he questions his dad. "What's the matter dad?" "Oh nothing major, it's just that I saw you when you came in and it loo ed li e you were having an argument with someone but he wal ed out. I could be wrong, I mean, my eyes are not what they used to be and I have had a couple of drin s, b ut that's what it loo ed li e from here. Am I right? What was that all about?" Deborah cannot resist ribbing her husband. "See Johnny? Your Father thin s he's a detective too!" Johnny smiles, trying to gain some time and thin of something. He did not thin that anyone had seen him. "Mom, how many times I gotta tell you, I'm not a Detective, I'm an Officer, an O fficer! And it's OK Mom, Dad is actually right, I did wal in with someone..." Jeff and Deborah realize that their jac ets and her bag are ta ing up space on a n empty chair and start to pic them up to ma e room for whoever Johnny had wal ed in with, thin ing the person might have just gone to the bathroom and would b e joining them momentarily. "Well, let's ma e some room for him then!" "Oh don't bother guys, he's not coming bac , he's not going to sit with us" Jeff finishes hanging Deborah's poc etboo on the bac of her chair. "Well why not? Who was it? We can always ma e room for one more!" "Well, actually, it was Patric , Patric O'Toole. I had invited him to have lunc h with us, but..." Deborah and Jeff fall immediately silent as they steal furtive glances at Carl,

feeling uncomfortable for him and themselves. While nobody nows the full story, they all now that something happened between Carl and Patric during their tim e together in the Army, something bad, something that neither Carl or Patric ev er wants to tal about. Something that changed their relationship, their friends hip, their lives, forever. John realizes that the mere mention of Patric 's name has destroyed the festive mood and tries to change the subject. "Hey, what do I have to do to get a soda here?" John raises his hand, motioning the waitress over. As she comes over, Jeff order s another round for the table. As the waitress leaves, John notices that she is pretty and is wearing a short s irt; he elbows Robbie and points at her. "You li e that? What you thin ?" Robbie gets all flustered, loo s down, up, everywhere but at the girl. Deborah, as always, jumps in to rescue Robbie. "Johnny, don't embarrass your brother!" John cannot resist ma ing fun of the situation. "Oh my God, now we got two guys in the family that won't loo at girls! Right Fa ther?" Carl ta es the jo e in stride and smiles. "It's good to see some things never change, you are and always will be a ball bu ster" Johnny feigns surprise. "Me, a ball buster! You should tal ! Whatever you did to Patric , he won't come anywhere near you! He wal ed in with me here, saw you and it was li e he saw the Devil himself!" John, as always, had just said what came to his mind, not realizing that, again, he was about to ruin a happy occasion. This time, Deborah is quic to jump in to defuse the situation. "Let's not bring up old stuff, that's all in the past!" John ta es a big gulp from his soda and puts it down hard. Deborah and Jeff do n ot mention it, but John's breath smells of alcohol and the way he is acting clea rly shows that he had been drin ing prior to joining them. Sure enough, alcohol allows him to bring up a subject that has been taboo in the family for a long, l ong time. Vino veritas. "Mom, it may be in the past to you, but it sure ain't in the past for Patric ! He wouldn't come anywhere near Carl!" John now loo s straight into Carl's eyes. It is time to address this thing. "What the hell happened between you two? Are we ever going to find out what the hell happened when you two were in the Army together?" Carl ta es a sip of his drin . He also has been drin ing, although nowhere near as much as John, and it shows in his demeanor. Deborah, who usually would try to defuse this ind of thing, is speechless. She is loo ing at Jeff, pleading with her eyes for him to intervene. Jeff finally ju mps in, trying to ma e light of what is going on. "Oh leave your brother alone, Johnny! He's been celebrating since before the cer emony and I don't thin he's in any shape to tal about that old stuff!" As soon as Jeff finishes tal ing, they all laugh, happy that they can cover thei r inadequate feelings with laughter. Carl interrupts the jo es with a toast. "Here's to old army buddies, and may they one day forgive our sins!" They all join the toast and ta e a drin . Robbie, in one of those rare times th at he is involved with what is going on around him, actually heard Carl's toast. "Carl, but you are a priest, you don't have sins!" Robbie's comment catches everyone by surprise and there is a moment of silence. Finally, Carl addresses Robbie's comment. "We all have sins, Robbie, we all have sins, even your brother, even priests" Robbie loo s astonished. Carl hesitates, then continues. Maybe it was the drin s, maybe it was his becomi ng a priest... Whatever it was, it was time to get some closure on this thing th at had been hanging over everybody's heads for such a long time.

"As a matter of fact, let me tell you about a sin I committed a long time ago. L et me tell you about something that your brother Carl did a while ago, to a very dear friend named Patric , while we were both in the army..." Deborah and Jeff exchange uneasy glances. Carl is feeling the effects of his man y drin s and they now this is not going to end well. "Carl, there's no need to tal about that now, this is a time for celebration, f or happy stories!" "You are right Mom, as always, you are right, and that's why I want to tell all of you this story, so John and Robbie and Dad and you can finally now what real ly happened, and we can move on, celebrate, in our own way. In my way, I'm celeb rating, I'm finally able to tal about what happened, to get it off my chest as I embar in my new mission in life, as I try to ma e up for my sins..." Carl pauses for a minute, just enough to get another gulp of his drin . He motio ns for the waitress to bring another round, and then continues. "As we all now, Patric and I were both soldiers, went to boot camp together an d even shipped out together..." Everyone at the table stops dead in their trac s. John and Robbie want to hear t he story. Jeff and Deborah wish they could ma e Carl stop, but he continues. It was 2002, I was twenty-two years old... Hey Robbie, that means you were 18 an d you, Mister Police Officer, you were an old man of 26! Nobody laughs at his jo e. Carl ta es another sip of his drin , and continues. "A hill, somewhere in the Middle East. I'm an Army sniper: I'm the best there i s. I'm the guy they call in when they want a real bad-ass Muslim Terrorist shith ead dead..." Deborah was going to say something about the cursing but caught herself. Maybe i t was better to just let Carl get on with this thing and get it over with. Carl continued. "But that day, I'm not there to ill anyone. I'm at the top of that hill and my mission is to protect a convoy traveling north on a crappy piece of road that wa s once a highway. That's it: just watch and protect. Ma e sure nobody gets hurt. I m guarding a U.S. Army supply convoy traveling down a ma eshift road that's see n better days. I'm alone, all the way at the top of the hill, watching the convo y with my binoculars, occasionally putting them down to tal on the radio. Just another day in life of a U.S. Army sniper" "As I loo at the convoy, I see that the rear is being brought up by a Jeep, wit h two soldiers in it. I'm bored so I zoom in on the driver, what the hec , I got nothing else to do. As I zoom in on the driver, I see his face and almost piss my pants! It's Patric , Patric O'Toole, my friend! Son of a bitch, I'm screamin g to myself on top of that hill: It's Patric ! Patric O'Toole!" Carl ta es a quic pause, grabs Johnny's hand, almost sha ing it: "Our friend, Johnny! Our friend! Can you believe it?" Johnny just sits there, mesmerized. He says nothing, in fear that any utterance may brea Carl's momentum and stop the story. Deborah ma es a motion as if she i s about to try to stop Carl, but gets a dirty loo from Jeff. Carl catches the w hole exchange, smiles to himself and, before Deborah can try to stop him again, goes on. "Patric is accompanied by another soldier, sitting in the passenger seat, surel y his radio guy. I immediately contact him via my radio, identify myself and tel l the radio guy to tell Patric that he drives li e a girl!" The family laughs. The waitress delivers another round of drin s. Jeff nervousl y grabs his beer, not sure if he should stop this story, as Carl goes on. "So the passenger says "Hey, I don't now if I can tell him that, Carl!" But I e gg him on, push him" "You now, it's a long day, it's boring up on that hill and I've just found a ch ildhood buddy, I'm not going to let this go! Finally, the guy tells Patric ..." Carl mimics the way Patric 's passenger tal ed: He pretends he is holding a radi o and loo ing at his side, as if sitting in a Jeep, tal ing to the driver: "Hey Patric , I got this guy, Carl Remolo, who says he's a buddy of yours from w hen you were ids... and he says you still drive li e a girl, and that's why we are at the rear of the convoy. He says bac home his brother would never let you

drive!" "You should've seen Patric 's face when the guy mentioned my name!" Carl ta es a sip of his drin . "Anyway, the radio guy was real cool, he holds the radio up to Patric 's face an d I can hear Patric as if he was standing next to me! And he says:" "Remind that measly sniper that I have been accepted to Sniper Training and will be ic ing his ass as soon as I get my orders!" Everybody laughs again. Carl goes on. "While we are all laughing and enjoying a moment, all of a sudden, I see a flash out of the corner of my left binocular; the all-too-familiar flash of mortar fi re and, a second later, I see that Patric 's Jeep has been hit Just li e that, w e go from three guys chillin' on the radio to being bac in the middle of our de sert war... Can you imagine that feeling?" Carl does not wait for an answer. It was not really a question: He well new tha t none of them could imagine or have any clue as to what that felt li e. None of them had been in the service, none of them had ever lived through what he lived through. "I helplessly watch through my binoculars as my childhood friend and his passeng er are roc ed by the hit. The convoy, which was traveling at a pretty good speed , remains blissfully unaware, although not for long, of what has happened to its last car and its occupants. I watch as Patric 's Jeep swerves, as he tries to r egain control, as he immediately loo s to his side to ma e sure his passenger is OK. My life, his life, flash in front of me. Patric struggles to eep control of the vehicle but can't, as the Jeep careens off the road" Carl loo s at his beer, contemplates ta ing another sip but decides to eep on w ith his story instead. "The rear passenger side tire of Patric 's Jeep has been hit by the projectile. As the Jeep finally stops, I can see the panic in Patric and his passenger's fa ces. They now what's coming up. Patric grabs his passenger's arm and is yell ing: Sean, Sean, are you alright?!?!? That's when I found out the passenger's n ame was Sean. Anyway, Sean, who is as pale as a ghost, tells Patric that he's f ine and that he can't believe that they got hit" Carl's story telling capabilities had always been impressive. Even as a id, he made the listeners feel as if they were there. The sounds, the voices, everythin g told in a level of detail that completely mesmerized his audience. "Holy shit man! Yeah, I'm OK, I'm OK, I can't believe we got hit!" Carl, again, is even loo ing to his left, pretending to be Sean tal ing to Patri c . He continues. "As Sean gets off the Jeep and wal s to the bac to loo at the damage, Patric gets on the radio. As I watch the two soldiers go about their actions, I scan th e vicinity, hoping for the best, but nowing that the worst is coming. From the left, I see a group of insurgents hiding on the side of the road. They shot the Jeep using a silencer" No noise was heard anywhere. Patric establishes radio contact with the caravan 's Lead to inform him of his predicament. Now Carl faces the other way and pretends to be Patric , tal ing on the radio to his Sergeant, at the front of the caravan. "Attention Flag, attention Flag, this is Tail Wind. Equipment has been hit by en emy fire. One tire is blown out and we are non-operational. Repeat: Non-operatio nal!" Carl loo s around the table to ma e sure that everybody understands what is goin g on. "You guys gotta understand that, while I'm up in that hill, my radio monitors al l the communication going on. I can hear what they are saying to each other, I can hear when they contact Central Command, I can hear everything! So, anyway, all the way at the front of the convoy, the lead Jeep, or Flag, is being driven by a Corporal, with the Sergeant in charge of the caravan in the passenger seat and a Radio Man in the bac . As Patric 's message comes through, the Radio Man relays it to the Sergeant"

"Sergeant, Tail Wind has been hit by enemy fire, one tire blown-out, vehicle non -operational. NO casualties. Tail requesting assistance!" "That's a Roger. Tell him we'll stop convoy and send mechanics and cover bac to help him, just sit tight. Signal for convoy stop!" "Yes sir" "As all this is going on, I'm the only one that can see the insurgents starting to get up from their hiding spots: the hunt is on, and they have just hit their prey. Through my binoculars, I can see about seven to ten insurgents, starting t o run towards Patric 's Jeep, automatic weapons drawn. I am finally able to mov e, to react. I contact the Caravan's lead through my radio" "Attention Flag, this is Protector Wolf, loo ing over your shoulder, need to tal on the double!" I can see the Radio Man in the caravan's lead Jeep listening to my message, rela ying it to his Sergeant and handing the Sergeant the radio. This is too "hot" t o waste time relaying messages. "Sergeant, Protector Wolf Surveillance on the line" "This is Lead Flag, what's up Wolf" "Sergeant, I'm loo ing at seven to ten insurgents running towards your tail Jeep . Tail Wind's tire was blown by silent projectile. Do not recommend that you st op convoy!" "Wolf if we don't stop we ris losing the two men at the rear of this convoy" "Understood Sir, but if you stop you will ris losing entire supply convoy. Ene my is on foot but armed and ready and I cannot ascertain their total number. Aga in, recommend that you proceed at full speed and allow me to handle insurgents!" "Protector Wolf stand by, let me engage Central Command "Standing by Sir" Carl ta es a sip of his beer and loo s around: All eyes are on him. Every membe r of this family has been waiting for a very long time to hear this story and no t one of them dares to ma e the slightest of moves, fearing to brea "the spell" and disrupt Carl. He goes on. "The Sergeant immediately contacts Central Command. He is sweating, worried, try ing to eep his cool" "Central Command, this is Happy Convoy Lead Flag, need assistance ASAP, over" "This is Central, what's going on Sergeant?" "We have a situation where our Tail is stranded and about to be surrounded by in surgents on foot. We have one sniper as protection advising us to proceed at fu ll speed and allow him to handle insurgents" Carl pauses for effect. He truly enjoys telling a story, even one as tragic as this one. "The next few seconds seem li e an eternity. I continue to survey the situation and see that the insurgents are getting closer to Patric and Sean. I have to te ll the Sergeant what I see" "Sergeant, insurgents getting closer and closer, awaiting instructions, ready to -" Carl suddenly stops. The family loo s at him, waiting. He resumes his story. "You see, I was trying but my communication is interrupted by Central Command, w ho, in no uncertain terms, lays down the law" Carl tal s in a deep, distant voice, putting his hand in front of his mouth, as if it was the radio's microphone. He pretends to be someone from Central Command . "Lead Flag, proceed at full speed, repeat, proceed at full speed, do not stop co nvoy. Protector Wolf remain with convoy and protect" Patric , who is on his radio, hears the communication from Central Command. "This is Tail Wind, it's only two of us on this Jeep and there's no way we can f ight all these insurgents, please don't leave us here! Please don't leave us he re!" "You see guys, Patric , of course, has been listening to the whole exchange and realizes that Central's orders are to leave him alone! Alone, you get it? Patri c now figures since Central Command doesn't give a shit about him, he might as

well tal to me directly, which, of course, does away with all protocols:" "Carl, Carl, I now you are up there somewhere, this is Patric , I repeat, this is Patric , Patric O'Toole, your friend! Don't leave me to die!" "So there's my friend, my childhood friend, pleading to some asshole at Central Command, who is reading what to do from some boo ; there's my friend, Patric , g etting nowhere with Central Command and then pleading to me!" Robbie, who has seemingly not breathed or moved since the story started, as s: "So what did you do Carl?" Carl responds. "I got bac on that radio Robbie, and told them: This is Protector Wolf, I'm abl e and ready to engage insurgents, requesting permission to assist stranded Tail Wind" "Protector Wolf, this is Central Command, you have received your orders, stay wi th convoy. I repeat: Stay with convoy" Loo ing at his whole family now, for agreement: "Can you guys believe this crap? Anyway, the Sergeant puts up his hand, stic s u p his index finger and points forward. As the convoy starts to move faster, the insurgents realize what is going on and almost seem encouraged by the fact that this is going to be one easy catch, one easy fight against two terrified young m en left to die by their brethren. Out of nowhere, a shot rings out. Sean is dead . Patric 's panic is so obvious from the top of my hill, as if I was standing r ight next to him. He's is screaming into his radio:" "This is Tail Wind, Sergeant, we are under fire! My passenger has been shot!" "I move my binoculars to focus on the Sergeant, hoping that he'll have the balls to disobey Central Command, to do the right thing. I'm telling you, the Sergea nt's face reflected his pain. The guy loo ed tough and weathered and li e he ha d been through tough situations before. His driver, however, is younger and gre ener: He's almost in tears as he accelerates" "Anyway, I loo bac at Patric and see that he reaches for his gun and starts s hooting but, of course, I now that it is only a matter of time until he has to surrender or die. I get bac on the radio" "Command, this is Protector Wolf. Tail Wind's passenger has been shot and driver is being ta en hostage. Requesting permission to engage" "Protector Wolf, you have received your orders: Stay with convoy. We'll request air cover. Over and out" "Air cover?! By the time anyone gets here these guys area gone!" Carl is exhausted from telling the story, from reliving the worst moment of his life. He ta es a deep breath before continuing. "That's when I new. That moment, it hit me li e a roc being thrown straight at my eye, hitting me right as I stared at it. I new that the Army and I had not hing in common. My mission was not theirs, their mission did not involve me, at least in any sense other than illing. As I wal ed away, leaving my childhood fr iend on his own, I new I had to leave the Army, to get away from this idiocy as soon as possible. I had joined to help my country, to help others, to do the r ight thing. Instead, I was going to get on a Jeep and ride away as a childhood f riend was being surrounded by enemies" "I don't thin I ever cried as much in my entire life. I remember tears falling, covering my eyes, ma ing it almost impossible to see in front of me, to drive a way" "I turned bac , I had to loo . As the insurgents start to approach and surround the Jeep, Patric reaches for his radio one last time" "Carl! Carl! Help me! Carl! Help me!" "But I wasn't helping him, I was busy following orders and driving away. The las t thing I saw, the picture that I will have forever embedded in my mind, is of i nsurgents approaching the Jeep and one of them hitting Patric in the head with the bac of his rifle. Patric falls to the ground and is carried away..." Carl ta es a long gulp of his beer and puts down his glass to finish his story. He seems ready to cry and, at the same time, relieved that he has told the story , that he is near the end of it. "Patric never forgave me. He thought I should have stayed with him, that someho

w I could have helped him" The family is in complete and utter silence. All eyes are on Carl. Even Robbie i s paying attention and, to everyone's surprise, as s another relevant question: "Dad said that Patric was here so he is OK, right?" "Yes, Robbie, he's OK now. He was a Prisoner Of War for a couple of months but h e was finally released in a prisoner exchange and became a sniper, just li e me Another moment of silence. Nobody nows what to say. "So there you have it. That's why I left the Army, that's why Patric hates me so much" John finally manages to spea . "Wow! I never new..." "Sometimes life is a bitch" John, as always, tries to lighten up the mood. "Mom! Did you hear that? The Priest just said a bad word? So, what do we do now? Say 97 Hello Marys?" "That's Hail Marys, you idiot!" The family laughs, perhaps a little too heartily, but they were happy to be able to move on from the story that Carl had just told them. The waitress delivers a nother round of drin s and wal s away. John loo s at Robbie, win s and elbows h im as they both ogle the waitress and laugh. John lifts his soda that he just go t from the waitress and proposes a toast. "Here's to my Brother, Father Remolo, who has been to Hell and bac , and who has finally found his peace in life, who has found what he wanted. Congratulations to you!" Everybody wishes Carl the best as they all clin each other's glasses. As they are eating, the banter continues, with Carl and John playfully zinging e ach other. Jeff, always the father, figures this is as good a time as any to ge t some information from Carl. "So, let's see if we can stop fooling around for a minute and tal seriously. F ather Carl, what will you be doing starting tomorrow? Have you been assigned a p roject, a location? Your mother tells me that there is an assignment in Florida waiting for you" Carl loo s at Deborah, unhappy. Jeff pic s up on his loo . "Oh, I guess this was yet another of those "don't tell dad" things!" "Well, the truth is, dad, that there was an opening in Florida but I chose somet hing else, something closer to home" "And why would you do that? I mean, it's not as if you'll be able to live at hom e!" "No, you are right. I chose this assignment because it will allow me to do what I really want to do..." After a pregnant pause, Jeff spea s. "Why do I feel as if I'm the only one here that does not now what's going on? Deborah, did you now about this?" Deborah loo s down and cuts another piece of her fish. She spea s after a few se conds. "Well, yes, we ind of discussed it. You now, a few days ago, nothing concrete. .. You were at wor and he needed to ma e a decision!" "Oh never mind! Cut the crap already! What will you be doing Father Carl? What m a es a man give up a cushy assignment in sunny Florida? Tell me, tell me so I ca n envy you!" "Well, Dad, I'm going to continue wor ing with handicapped children and their fa milies, specifically children with neurological disorders, such as Down syndrome , Autism and so on. I've been doing it for a while and I really enjoy it" Jeff immediately loo s at Robbie, who continues to eat his meal, totally unaware of the conversation going on around him. It was as if the mere tas of eating t oo up all of his mental resources. A bit relieved to see his younger son unawar e of what was just said, he catches his breath and ponders Carl's words. "Well that's great Carl, that's just great. I'm so proud of you! (Jeff loo s at Carl and John, ma ing sure that John nows that Dad is tal ing to both of them)

I'm so proud of both of you! Here's to finding out what you want to do in life and doing it!" Jeff raises his glass while ma ing his toast, and the rest of the family joins h im.

14

Two months later. A yellow bus has just pulled up to an outdoor par by the wate r in Broo lyn and, as the bus comes to a stop, one of the nuns, Sister Ana Alvar ez, gets up to address the passengers, who happen to be all mentally handicapped children. Sister Ana is young, pretty and very efficient. "Now ids, stay in your seats until we come and get you. This is going to be a real fun place but we have to follow some rules: Rule Number One, Nobody goes b

y the water without an adult holding their hand! Rule Number 2-" As she continues to list the rules, life, as always, continues to go on. In anot her part of town, a middle age couple is pulling up to their home. They have bee n arguing, again. Their body language is terse, tense. The woman is full of cont empt for her husband. "You are some piece of wor , Gregg, you really are" "And why is that? Because I spo e my mind? Because I said how I feel? Maybe you should say how you really feel, get some stuff off your chest! Maybe-" She, as always, does not let him finish, interrupts: "Oh don't start that crap again, with your feelings and your thoughts! He's our son, damn it! Our son! Why don't you get over your damn self and realize that! W hat the hell do you thin is going to happen? He's not going to be normal tomorr ow! He's never going to be normal! Do you get it? And, oh, by the way, he's not going away either!" They pull up to their driveway, get out of the car and continue arguing as they enter their house. The house is a nice, neat middle-class home. She loo s at him, disgusted, ready to throw something at him. "Your crap was just out of line today, totally out of line" "He as ed us how we felt! I'm sorry that I did not as your permission to spea , control frea ! I love our son as much as you do! But I also realize that I'm en titled to a life, that the rest of this family is entitled to a life! And yes, s ometimes I do feel that life would have been better if he hadn't been born! What ind of life do you thin this id will have? Don't you thin the priest needed to now that? The id has Down syndrome, for crying out loud, and God only no ws what else he'll get as he gets older! There, does your God ta e care of that ? 'Cause your priest sure didn't have an answer for me! There, I said it!" "You said it? Don't act li e it's the first time you said it! You've said the sa me crap a million times before Gregg, a million times! Just not in words, but in the way you act! In the way you are "busy" whenever you need to do something wi th him, in the way you loo disappointed when he can't hit a ball, or go to a re gular school, or do the things that other ids do!" "By "other" do you mean "normal"? Why are you so afraid to use that word? And yo u get on my case!" Gregg Ward wal s away, going upstairs to the home office, cursing under his brea th. Gregg and Sylvia Ward have had this type of argument before, and, God nows, they will have it many times again; not that it fixes or changes anything, ma e s their son better, or improves their relationship in any way. No, the constant arguing does not help in anyway, but they are caught in this trap, and are unabl e to get out. As Gregg sits in his office chair, his home office door closed, he can still hear Sylvia tal ing to him, unaware that he is no longer in the same room as her. Sylvia has opened the refrigerator and its open door, partially bl oc ing her view of the rest of the itchen, does not let her see that Gregg is n o longer there. "Are you idding me? I'm the one that has to go to school and sit in on meetings with the teachers, I now what he is! I've faced up to our life!" Of course, there is no answer from Gregg since he is no longer in the room. Afte r a few seconds, she has moved to the family room, where she is preparing hersel f a drin , still unaware that Gregg is no longer there. She quizzically loo s to wards the living room, where she thought her husband was; she is wondering how c ome her husband is not answering. "Do you hear me? Oh, you have nothing to say now, how convenient!" Again, of course, no response. "Gregg! Can you hear me? Gregg! Gregg!" Bac at the beach playground, Sylvia and Gregg's son, one of the handicapped chi ldren on the trip, has gone on his own and is now missing. The nuns are frantica lly loo ing for him. They call out his name as they search. "Gregg! Gregg! Where are you?" "Gregg! Gregg! This is not funny! Come bac here!" The beach front playground was right next to an old Italian restaurant that was

well past its prime. Still, because of its prime waterfront location, the first floor, which had a nice setup with outdoor tables, had a sizable crowd; this wa s where most of the business too place. The inside of the first floor was scar cely populated as most people wanted to be outside to enjoy the nice weather. T he second floor had been, in better times, a catering hall. Lately it had been p rimarily used for storage and as sleeping quarters for the itchen staff. The man had no problem whatsoever getting to the second floor of the restaurant using the service stairs. He new exactly where to go and what he was doing. He had learned in the Army to do his recon. It was funny how many things that he h ad learned in the Army were helping him now. As he climbed up the stairs two at the time, he was whispering to himself, completely absorbed by the homicide that he was about to commit. On the beach, the nuns continued their frantic search for Gregg, who, blissful i n his innocence, was unaware that a man, set up in the nearby restaurant's roof, with his rifle at the ready, was watching him, close-up, through his rifle's sc ope. As always, the shooter continues to unnecessarily adjust the scope, almost as if acting out a nervous tic. He is annoyed, the sounds of his whispered praye rs intermingling with the nuns' desperate cries trying to find the young boy. The image gets clear and then blurry; clear and the blurry, as he continues med dling with the scope. Slowly scanning, focusing and refocusing, as he moves from left to right. He quic ly scans the young couples sitting outside, having a dri n . The grandparents, carefully warning their granddaughter as she wal s towards the water. As he continues to scan the scene, the man starts to slow down his m ovements as he focuses on the nuns trying to find Gregg. In a hushed tone, he laughs to himself, as he witnesses the nuns' moot efforts. With the advantage of his long-distance scope, he quic ly has ascertained the y oung child's whereabouts. Gregg is hidden from the nuns' sight by the ever popu lar and tall beach grass so common in this part of the country. Little Gregg is unaware that the nuns are searching for him, or that he is about to die. The man's whispered prayers become a little louder, a little faster, more terrif ying. His level of excitement is clearly betrayed by his escalating volume and t he increasing speed of his words. He now has little Gregg clearly in his rifle's sight and continues to nervously, unnecessarily, twea the focus. Gregg's image gets blurry and then it becomes perfect on the rifle's scope. Anyo ne else would have stopped adjusting the focus by now. "Dear God, grant me the aim to carry on my mission, to bring peace to another su ffering family, to bring justice to myself. Let this innocent pawn stop sufferin g and, at the same time, help bring the justice that is so sorely needed" Little Gregg is so happy that he starts to do a little dance by the water. His s inging gives up his location to a nun that had been close by. "Gregg! Is that you? Gregory, are you behind these bushes, praise the Lord!" The man curses under his breath: The nun's finding of Gregg clearly is messing u p his timeline. He loo s at his digital watch: it is 4:58 p.m. "Two more minutes, two more minutes to justice, please give me the patience" Gregg does not respond to the nun and, instead, he crouches behind an old lifegu ard chair structure, where she cannot see him. The sniper laughs. "Good, id, very good. Than you Lord!" It is now 5 p.m., and the local church, located only up the bloc from the beach , announces the time with its loud bells. It is the sign that he had been waitin g for. "I hear you loud and clear my God, loud and clear! Than you for providing my co ver" As the bullet flies out of the rifle, its sound is partially muffled by the asce nding sounds of the church bells. "Grant me the aim to carry on my mission, to bring peace to a family that needs it, grant me the fortune to see another mission carried out" As the man continues to loo through his sight, we see the bullet stri e little Gregg in his chest, and the child falls on the beach. "Than you Lord for allowing me to carry your word, your will has been carried o ut, let justice reign"

15

The nun that had been close to Gregg hears him fall to the ground and ma es her way through the tall bushes. She finally comes upon Gregg's limp body. As she be nds down, she notices the blood. She puts her hand on the child's nec , to see if there is a pulse and realizes that he is dead. "Oh Dear God! Oh my God, he's dead!" The nun starts screaming for help while holding the child close to her. "Sister Ana! Sister Carol! Here, by the lifeguard chair! Call 911!!! Call 911!! !" Expertly, smoothly, the man disassembles his rifle, pac s it up and proceeds to, quic ly but not so fast that it would loo out of place, leave the restaurant. As he wal s down the stairs, he passes by one of the young Hispanic boys that w or s in the itchen, going up to retrieve something from storage. The boy loo s surprised to see anyone coming down the stairs, since the upstairs is closed to the public, and then he is even more surprised to hear the Anglo loo ing man's p erfect Spanish greeting. "Buenas tardes!" The boy loo s at the shooter, puzzled, and cannot help but do a double ta e. He finally murmurs a response. "Buenas tardes" Before the wor er can as what he was doing upstairs, the man quic ly turns bac , smiles at the boy and continues to rush down the stairs. He continues to run t o the par ing lot, gets in his car and leaves. In the distance, he can hear the police and ambulance sirens. Far away, he can see the Coney Island Cyclone.

The next morning, in Broo lyn, a Police Lieutenant wal s up to the sidewal coff ee/newspaper stand and, as he does every morning, purchases his daily coffee and the paper. The stand's attendant recognizes his daily customer and greets him. "Good morning Lieutenant! (As he points to the newspapers) When are you guys goi ng to catch this guy already?" The Lieutenant pic s up The New Yor Post and reads the headline: HANDICAPPED BOY SLAIN IN CONEY With the caption, underneath HANDI-KILLER TAKES 5TH VICTIM. POLICE HAVE NO SUSPECTS "We are trying Mali , we are trying..." The Lieutenant pays Mali and wal s away, holding his unopened coffee in one han d and reading the paper while wal ing and sha ing his head. "Oh well, it's going to be another great day..." As the Lieutenant wal s into the precinct, he starts to head to his des , but th e Des Sergeant bar s at him. "Don't even try it! (He coc s his head in the direction of the Captain's office) He's been waiting for you since he wal ed in, an hour ago" The Lieutenant ma es a disgusted face and, without even ta ing off his jac et, w al s bris ly towards the Captain's office. He was usually there a couple of minu tes before the Captain, who was, just li e the Lieutenant, an early riser and on e of the first to arrive at the precinct on a daily basis. Needless to say, it was never a good sign when the Captain was there before him, an hour before him. As the Lieutenant wal s into the Captain's office, he greets his boss, who loo s as if he just had a fist fight with someone. "Good morn-" The Captain interrupts him. "Good morning my ass! I've been here for an hour and I've yet to have a cup of coffee. This goddamnn phone hasn't stopped ringing Ri chie! Do you hear me?!?!?" The Captain is yelling so loud that everyone on the floor can hear him, and all heads are turned towards his office. Lieutenant Richard Clayburn just sits there, motionless. The Captain continues h

is tirade. "That's five!" He is holding up five fingers, right in front of the Lieutenant's face. "Fuc ing five handicapped ids illed within the last two wee s! No motive, no letters, no reason, no nothing! The Mayor, the Mayor's wife, even the Mayor's mi stress has called me this morning and, of course, as soon as he finishes his lat est press conference, the fuc ing Commissioner will be calling me as well AND I GOT NOTHING TO GIVE HIM, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? Nothing!" "I understand Sir, I certainly do. We are trying to-" "No, you don't understand me, you now why? Because the politicians in Broo lyn Palace want the Feds in on this! Did you hear me? The big shots are calling in t he Feds because some Cardinal is pulling strings telling everyone that will list en that we are too damn fuc ing stupid to catch our own murderers! You sit there with your nice cup of coffee and your paper and loo at me li e I got three hea ds and you do NOT understand that my precinct is gonna be overrun by a bunch of fuc ing empty suits in an hour" The Captain stops for a second to catch his breath. "I need to show that we are doing something or the Feds are going to be the new Police Department in Broo lyn!" "Well, Sir, if you'll allow me, I'd li e to explain" The loo from Captain Fahrbach froze Lieutenant Clayburn mid-sentence. He just stopped tal ing, as if the life had been pulled out of him. It was not often tha t the Captain got this upset, but, when he did, you better stay out of his way. "If I'll allow you? If I'll allow you? Where are we? In grammar school? Tell me what you got, tell me what's going on..." Before Lieutenant Clayburn can begin tal ing, the Captain wal s out to the hallw ay, cuts in front of two officers waiting on line to ma e themselves a cup of co ffee by the coffee machine, pours himself a cup and wal s bac to his office. He slams his office door closed and sits down. "Tal " "Well, sir, the problem is that this is not your average serial iller illing p rostitutes or homeless people..." Captain Fahrbach just continues to sit there and stare. "This guy's is targeting two very narrow, "protected" (he ma es the quotation si gns with his fingers) slices of the population. Two groups that we virtually ha ve no access to, that are virtually impossible for us to get close to" "To the point, Rich, to the point" "He's targeting handicapped children Captain. Handicapped children that, at the time they are shot, are being ta en care of by Catholic Church-run organizations . It's almost impossible for us to get in there, to get close, to set up shop wi thout disrupting their operation and pissing off some handicapped-people rights activist and/or a Bishop which, of course, loo s li e we already did..." "So what are you saying Richie, we have nothing and we are incapable of getting anything? "So far, we have-" Lieutenant Clayburn is interrupted by the sound of the intercom on the Captain's des . The Captain, irritated, puts up a hand to silence the Lieutenant and, with his o ther hand, pushes down the "tal " button on the Intercom. "Yes?" It is the Des Sergeant. "Feds are here" Captain Fahrbach almost blows up, again. He loo s straight at the Lieutenant as he screams. "Holy Shit, they waste no time!" (Yelling into the intercom) "Tell them to wait, I'm busy" "They've been waiting for 45 minutes and are threatening to call Federal Plaza" "Tell them to come in (he hangs up the intercom). Great, just great, now the day gets really shitty"

Two thin, well dressed men wal into the office and introduce themselves, handin g out their cards in the process. "Good morning gentlemen, I'm Special Agent in Charge Reynolds and this is Agent DiGiovanni" The men exchange greetings and handsha es. Special Agent Reynolds continues. "Captain, I trust that you now why we are here" "Actually, Agent, I don't now. It's the first time in my career that the Bureau comes into Broo lyn to investigate crimes that fall strictly under my boundarie s! So, why don't you tell me why are you here, Agent" "Sure. That's Special Agent, by the way. As I'm sure you now, Broo lyn has suf fered the death of 5 children with Down syndrome or Autism within the last three wee s and, as of this morning, you have no leads, no suspects, nothing to show for your investigation" "Well, that's mighty presumptuous of you, Special Agent Reynolds, to come in her e and presume that we have nothing! You got some pair"Sir, we just watched your Commissioner's Press Conference. I'm assuming that if you had something your Commissioner would have announced it" The Captain loo s at his Lieutenant, to get a quic indication of the status of the investigation. The Lieutenant quic ly loo s down, sha es his head and holds up his hands, signaling that he has "nothing". Captain Fahrbach tries to waste some time until he can thin of something. "So who called you? Who the hell called the Feds to be the NYPD in Broo lyn? I love this crap!" "Well, actually Sir, we are here under special orders from the Mayor and the Com missioner. If you'd li e, you can call them yourself-" Special Agent Reynolds has pretty much told the Captain that he has to play nice from now on. The Captain gets the message and tries to mend the situation. "On the other hand, I don't want to start out on the wrong foot. You fellows ar e here to help and we, as always, welcome your help with open arms. Why don't y ou guys sit down and we can tal . Would you li e some water?" Yes, it was over the top, almost comedic. But Captain Fahrbach felt that there w as no "nice" way to put an end to the hostilities so he might as well have some fun with it. Special Agent Reynolds, on the other hand, stays on target, not eve n a smile. "No Sir, we are fine. Now, if I may, I'd li e to continue. As far as the FBI no ws, your investigation has resulted in no tangible evidence or leads to go on so far, therefore, the reason for our visit. Agent DiGiovanni here has actually s tudied this type of serial iller and I believe he has some great insights that he can share with us..." "Yes sir. As Special Agent Reynolds informed you, I have spent years studying t his type of iller, the type that zeroes in on a specific part of the population , helpless victims such as homeless people, or, as in this case, children" Lieutenant Clayburn interrupts. "Handicapped children" Agent DiGiovanni continues, as if he had come up with the correction. "Handicapped children. While we all now that this type of perpetrator is a mino rity within this strand of psychopath, there have been a few in the past and the y, for the most part, share some traits that we will find helpful in our investi gation" The Lieutenant opens his briefcase, which was on top of the Captain's des , reac hes for his pad and starts to ta e notes. "The first, and perhaps the most stri ing of the traits, is that this is NOT you r average criminal by any stretch of the imagination. No sir, this guy, and they are usually guys, is extremely smart, extremely motivated (which I will expand on in a second) and his motives are very seldom, if ever, criminal in nature" The puzzled loo s on the police officers' faces were always a pleasure for Agent DiGiovanni. He relished these moments, when he was the big shot, the one that new more than everyone else. He enjoyed his dramatic pause another second, befo re resuming. "What I mean by that is that his prime motive for illing his victims is not to

ta e their money, or to ma e them suffer, or ma e their families suffer. He's n ot doing anything to them before or after shooting them. And, after he ills the m, he's not as ing for ransoms to stop or warning anyone that more will be ille d" The Captain needs a clarification. "OK, so? What is he driving at? What does he want to accomplish?" "Oh, well, that's the million dollar question Captain. The great question that g ets answered with the Great Motive. Most of these individuals who prey on helpl ess victims are usually motivated by a "higher" principle, a divine mission if y ou will. They are trying to get rid of the wea among us, or they are trying to bring "rest" or "peace" to the families of the victims" "What is he, li e Hitler? Trying to create a superior race?" "Not at all, Lieutenant, not at all. Our iller is trying to either allow his vi ctims to stop suffering, or, at the very least, help those around them, those wh o have to ta e care of them, to have some peace" "Holy shit! This guy is playing God!" "Very perceptive Captain, very perceptive. These individuals are very often moti vated by a voice from beyond that's guiding them, by a higher mission, or, somet imes, by a very basic desire to ma e things right. To avenge something, somethin g that happened to them, first hand, very personal" "OK, so maybe he's not playing God, maybe he just has a beef with someone or som ething. So, in other words, we have no clue as to his motive. So how do we start ? Where do we loo ?" Captain Fahrbach has very aptly summarized their first obstacle. The FBI agents loo at each other. Agent DiGiovanni ta es a step bac and Special Agent Reynol ds steps forward "Agent DiGiovanni, if I may" And, just li e that, the well coordinated show goes on; these guys have obviousl y done this before. Special Agent Reynolds continues. "It's not so much where we loo , Lieutenant, but who does the loo ing. The who i s the most important thing" "Clarify" "Glad to. We (draws a circle with his right hand, encompassing the four men in t he room) are used to dealing with criminals. Criminals who have a criminal mind and do criminal things for criminal purposes. This guy, of course, while he is a criminal, does not thin of himself as one, does not have the motives of a cri minal. In other words, aside from illing innocent handicapped children, this gu y is as law abiding as you and I" "Go on" "So, here comes the problem for us. We need someone that is not just criminally trained, as we all are, but someone that has the bac ground that our perpetrator has. Someone who has lived his life, who has experienced what he has experience d. This guy has been deeply affected by a few things in his life: Since the ids are usually under the care of a Church group when they are shot, we believe tha t religion plays a major part here. Of course, handicapped children are also par t of his mental map. We need someone that has grown up around these items, some one who has been affected by these conditions, someone who sees things that our iller does, who feels or has felt things that our iller has felt" The Captain and the Lieutenant loo at each other: They are lost. Reynolds sens es this and ta es advantage of the moment to once and for all, show them why he will be in charge of this investigation from now on. "Gentlemen, we'll be glad to expand as time goes on, but, right now, I feel it's best if you'll allow us to set up so we can move forward. We'll ta e it from he re, let you now what we need and, of course, eep you appraised of our progress . For starters, we'll need an office or conference room to set up and we'd li e to tal to your roll-call Sergeant: We need to discuss this with your Officers tomorrow morning and as for volunteers. If any of your men has the type of bac ground we need, he's our guy and we need to get him to wor with us ASAP" The Captain swallows hard. He does not li e ta ing orders from anyone. Relinquis hing his command, especially to the FBI, is not on his list of favorite things.

However, he has been around and understands that he cannot fight this one; so he gets up, his body signaling that he has heard enough. "Rich, get these guys set up in the main conference room and introduce them to S ergeant Fitzimmons so he can ma e the announcements tomorrow morning at roll cal l" The Agents wal away with the Lieutenant. The Captain stays in his office, stand ing, loo ing at his cold coffee. The intercom buzzes, it is the Des Sergeant a gain. "I already told him you were at a meeting with the Feds and that he should call bac . He's calling bac now and told me to get you even if you had the President in your office" Captain Fahrbach ma es a face. "The Commissioner?" "On Line 2 with the Mayor"

16

Next day. Morning roll call at the precinct. Sergeant Fitzimmons, as always, is doing his usual recount of what the officers need to now before they go on thei r rounds. "And that's the deal on Church Avenue: Be firm but be tactful. We don't want any civilian complaints!" The crowd of Police Officers laughs. The two FBI Agents are standing to the side . Fitzimmons continues. "One last item guys and girls. As you all now, we have seen the murder of 5 han dicapped children in the last couple of wee s. We got no clues, no suspects, we got nothin'" The officers mumble their frustration and disapproval, focusing on their favorit e topics. How they are "restrained" by "stupid laws", wea judges, society, etc. Sergeant Fitzimmons lets them vent for a couple of minutes and then ta es bac control of the meeting. "Alright, alright, settle down, we all got our opinions, but, what's more import ant, we got these two FBI agents here that want to tal to all of you regarding our investigation"

The officers' mood changes: the FBI is never welcome inside their precinct, espe cially when, as they can imagine, the Feds will now be ta ing over this very hig h profile case. One of them yells out. "Hey Sarge, if the Frigging Bureau of Investigations is on it, can we all just h ead home?" The rest of the Officers immediately voice their approval, with laughter and cat calls filling the room. A couple of Officers even get up as if to leave, but th ey quic ly sit down when they notice the glare from their Sergeant. "Very funny O'Shea, very funny. (Loo ing at the officers getting up) Sit down, w here the hell are you going? Nobody is going anywhere until I say so!" Everybody sits down. The room falls eerily quiet: Sergeant Fitzimmons is not so meone to fool around with. The Sergeant has regained control of the meeting, and it is now time to turn it over to the FBI. "They are all yours" Special Agent Reynolds steps forward. "Good morning officers, I am Special Agent Reynolds with the FBI" A couple of boos and catcalls from the crowd. Special Agent Reynolds swallows ha rd and counts to 5 under his breath. "OK, now that we got that out of the way, I want to tal to you about this parti cular situation" The room eeps getting louder and louder, with no one paying attention. Sergeant Fitzimmons steps up to the front of the room again, the FBI Agents move over. "Hey, shut the hell up and pay attention, this is actually good for you and, if we find the right volunteer, it'll involve wor ing undercover, so listen up!!!" The combination of Sergeant Fitzimmons' yelling and the possibility of wor ing u ndercover ma e the crowd instantly quiet. The FBI has everybody's attention now. Special Agent Reynolds continues. "Than you Sergeant. As Sergeant Fitzimmons said, we need someone to help us: As you now, all the children that were illed were handicapped and were, at the time of their murders, being ta en care of by a care organization being run by the Catholic Church..." You can hear a pin drop in the room. "As you also now, all of us have spent considerable amounts of time wor ing on this, but we are not getting anywhere. It is almost impossible to get the Church to open up and tal to us and, just as difficult, to get the parents of the chi ldren to even see us, never mind tal to us" The Officers are riveted. They all want to get involved and cannot wait to hear where this is going. After a pause, Reynolds continues. "What we are dealing with here, in a nutshell, is not just a serial- iller probl em, which would be bad enough, but the possibility for a public relations nightm are for both the NYPD and the FBI. We need someone with the right bac ground, t he right history, that we can set up to actually tal to the church officials as well as the parents of the illed children" Not one person is moving. All eyes are on Reynolds, who loo s around the room t o ensure that he has everybody's attention; satisfied that he does, he goes on. "So here's the deal: I need one of you that has a Catholic bac ground, preferabl y experience dealing with the Church, or who has family involved with the Church ..." As he spea s, Reynolds ma es an effort not to loo at John Remolo, whose bac gro und Reynolds is fully aware of. He continues tal ing as if he did not now that the person he needs, the person with the exact bac ground he desires, was sittin g in the bac of the room, being elbowed by his good friend Patric , who whisper s to John. "You..." Reynolds ta es a sip of his water. The tough part is about to come up. He loo s around the room, trying to individually zero in on all the officers before cont inuing. "And... perhaps just as important, I need that person to have personal nowledge of someone who is mentally challenged, preferably a family member, or a real cl

ose friend. The upside for whoever steps up is wor ing undercover with us on wh at's going to be a very high profile case" The officers in the room all loo around, waiting for someone to volunteer. Nob ody does. Patric elbows John again, this time almost violently. He finally gets his atten tion, and, again, whispers. "Hey, John, what's the matter with you? This is your dream, man! Undercover! Wit h the Feds! Why aren't you volunteering, you fit the profile they're loo ing for !" John ignores him, but Patric is undeterred. "Are you crazy? Why aren't you volunteering? This assignment's got your name w ritten all over it!" "Shut up Pat! Just shut up!" A couple of heads turn bac , wondering what is going on between Patric and John . The Sergeant and the FBI agents loo at each other. Sergeant Fitzimmons taps on his wrist, ma ing the "time" gesture, letting Reynolds now that his people h ave to get out on the road. "OK everyone, I realize that I've given you a lot to thin about here. We'll be here, so, if you or anyone you now fits this profile, let us now, we'd love to tal " The Officers start to wal out of the room. As Patric wal s by Sergeant Fitzim mons, the Sergeant reaches out and holds Patric 's left arm with his right hand. "O'Toole! Everything alright?" Patric O'Toole loo s li e he has been caught with his hand in the coo ie jar. H e loo s at the Sergeant and also at his friend, John Remolo, who just wal s by h im and informs him that he will wait for him in the car they are sharing today. But, no matter how nonchalant Patric and John act, Fitzimmons can smell somethi ng. "Officer O'Toole, is there anything you want to discuss with me?" Patric still has the "deer in the headlights" loo . "Not at all, Sir. Not at all" "I saw you tal ing to Remolo in the bac and thought there was something I shoul d now..." "No, not all Sir. You now, we just li e to id around" "If you change your mind, you now how to find me" "Yes Sir, I do" Patric wal s away, in a hurry to catch up to John. Two hours later, Patric and John are in the patrol car together, riding through the Red Hoo section of Broo lyn: A collection of empty lots, boarded up store fronts and filthy streets. John, as always, tries to lighten up the mood. "What the hell's the matter with you? We get to ride together one day and you ac t li e someone died!" "Hey, there are only two areas that get two cops in a car, and I thought it'd be a good idea to volunteer for one so we could hang" "Agreed, so what's eating at you?" "Eating at me? Eating at me? You got some pair of balls putting this on me! You are the one acting li e an asshole!" "What the hell are you tal ing about?" "You now perfectly well what I'm tal ing about! Why wouldn't you volunteer for the handi- iller assignment?" John squirms in his seat, upset. "You now I hate it when people call it that!" "What? Handi- iller? Why does that bother you? That's just what everyone calls i t!" "I now that's what everyone calls it, but I hate it! You, of all people, you n ow my brother Robbie's got Down syndrome! Fuc ing "Handi-Killer" ma es it sound li e some ind of cleaning product! It's demeaning! It's bullshit!" John needed to vent; in a way, needed to show someone that he had feelings, that he cared, that he was human. Everyone always thought of Carl as the caring one, the one that would empathize with others. Carl had helped raise Robert: He had

given up his youth to ta e care of his younger sibling while John worried only a bout himself. There, in one sentence, was how he new people perceived the famil y dynamic. But it was not entirely correct. He still remembered when he realized that Robbie was different, that he had a mental handicap. He was still a young boy and had overheard mom and dad tal ing, trying to decide what they could do t o help their youngest son. Mom and dad would always do that; every night, they h ad their routine: ma e sure all the ids were safe and sound in bed, iss everyo ne good night, tuc them in, close their doors and then go to the living room, w here they would have a snac , watch TV and, many nights, have "meetings" where t hey would discuss family finances, problems and, of course, Robbie. His handicap was a constant source of sadness and discussion in the Remolo home; a tide that although went in and out, always managed to be present in the ocean of their li ves. Many nights, John would just get up after being put to bed and put his ear next to his door, which faced the hallway leading to the living room, downstairs. So me nights, depending on what television show mom and dad were watching, dad, who always had control of the remote, would lower the volume so he and mom could ta l . Most nights, after tal ing about their day, money and sometimes wor , the to pic of Robbie would always come up; often, it was then that mom would start cryi ng. He remembers feeling so lost, so sad, so powerless. A young boy, listening t o his parents wonder, question, cry. He would loo over at Carl, the good id, t he thoughtful one, who would be asleep li e a roc , without a care in the world. While he, the selfish one, the one that only cared about his biceps, becoming a cop and loo ing cool, was neeling by the door, listening to his parents' plig ht, crying, but in a hushed tone, so as to not add yet another burden to their a lready heavy load. Nobody would ever now his suffering, his plight, his hearta che. The pain he felt, for himself, for his family, for poor Robbie, no one woul d ever now it. That, in a nutshell, was his contribution to his family; that wa s how he would help, by carrying on, by moving on, by not adding to his parents' misery. And, one day, he would be a police officer, and, in his own way, on his own, he would help remedy many of the world's ills and injustices, punish those who committed crimes and, more importantly, help those, li e his younger brothe r, who needed help. Patric swerved to avoid a bas etball darting onto the street, which, as he new , would immediately be followed by its owner, li ely running to catch it without loo ing for cars. Sure enough, a id about seven years old comes out of nowhere running after his ball and Patric 's deft reflexes manage to avoid tragedy. The sudden maneuver jo lts John out of his thought trance and bac to reality where Patric , as he wags his finger at the id, does not miss a beat and resumes their conversation. "Well that's exactly it, John. You got a handicapped brother, you got a brother in the church, you are familiar with all the stuff the Sarge was tal ing about a nd yet you don't thin that this is worth getting involved with!" "How about you? You are more religious than anyone I now! Why aren't you volunt eering?" "I am religious but I don't have any exposure to the handicapped, li e you do. C 'mon man, admit it, this is got YOU written all over it" John says nothing and continues driving. After a pause, he spea s again, but tri es to change the subject. "So what are you doing for Than sgiving, you coc suc er" Patric laughs. "I'm not stopping by your house, you moron..." "You still hate Carl, don't you?" "Just drive, John, just drive"

17

Than sgiving dinner at the Remolo home. As always, the whole family is there, t rying to have a good time. This was Jeff's favorite holiday, especially as he g rew older and, as he li ed to say, hopefully, wiser. While he enjoyed Christmas, he always thought that its commercialism too away from what was really suppose d to be celebrated. Not that he was very religious, but he was spiritual. Jeff was not an avid church attendee and definitely not big on praying. But he believ ed in many things, things that, as he put it, "could not be touched or seen". He had lost count of how many times he had had that conversation with Deborah, his friends and guys at wor , as well as anyone else who would ta e him on. He enjo yed a good discussion, where he often would ta e on the role of the Devil's Advo cate. His goal was never to win the argument, but rather to expand the minds of those having it, including his own. To his religious friends, he was an atheist, or, at best, an agnostic. To his Republican friends, he was a leftist liberal w hile he was "stuc in the middle and about to fall to the right" to his liberal friends. It was this flexibility, this ability to understand different perspecti ves, that made him so popular at wor , with his friends, with his children. Whil e Deborah was the blac -or-white General, he loved to see gray, even when there was not any, sometimes just for ic s. His sons, being acutely aware of the diff erence in personality between mom and dad, new who to go to, who to as what, d epending on the question. Jeff was definitely the philosopher, the questioner, t he person you went to if you wanted to express a different opinion. And, while J eff often relished in the improbable, the what-ifs, there was nothing that gave him more pleasure, more satisfaction, more joy than dealing with his family. His biggest reward in life was to see the Remolos around the dinner table, banterin g, laughing, even arguing, as long as they were doing it together, as long as th ey were doing it while still passing the bread to each other. And, Than sgiving was, if anything, about family. The one holiday celebrated by one and all: No ma tter what religion, ethnic bac ground or political ideology you subscribed to, e veryone had something to be than ful for, everyone could enjoy this festivity, w hich did not require gaudy lights hastily strung outside the home, or massive cr edit card outlays to give unnecessary presents, or catchy songs and jingles. No, in a way, Than sgiving was a holiday that Jeff could see himself creating and s haping it after his beliefs: A straight-forward, no-nonsense event that appealed to most. Where the joy, the celebration, was sitting around a table with your l oved ones, eating, drin ing and tal ing (his "favorite sports" as he often descr ibed them). Things had not been easy lately, but the Remolos were all under one roof, and if that was possible, everything else could be fixed. If there was a Heaven, this

was it for Jeff: His home, his family, his place to be with his loved ones witho ut having to worry about what the rest of the world was going through. Because, although he did not want to thin about it at this very moment, all of New Yor was acutely aware of what was going on. A maniac, a soulless being was out there , exacting random deaths among the city's angels: Its children. Even worse, even more incomprehensible, its handicapped children. Because, no matter how much Jeff wanted to concentrate on the joy of his family time together and what was going on inside his home, there was no denying what w as going on outside his home. In the outside world, the serial illings continue to ma e headlines, while the Police Commissioner, the Mayor and every politicia n worth his weight weighs in with their opinion, trying to calm a public that is growing wearier by the minute. A public that senses that those in charge have n o idea what is going on; not a clue. As much as he must have hated to do it, the Police Commissioner had to admit that no progress had been made in the investig ations, no suspects had been identified. In other words, nothing to report. Jeff , of course, figures John should have some inside information to share so he as s his son what is going on. "So, Officer Remolo, any news on the serial iller in Broo lyn? Are you guys ge tting any closer?" John eeps piling up his plate with mashed potatoes and ignores his Father. Debo rah has seen this interaction before and nows it never ends up well so she now s she has to intervene quic ly before they start arguing. "Oh Jeff, why don't we just enjoy the holiday and not tal shop for one day?" Of course, Jeff does not appreciate her meddling. "Here we go, every time I try to tal to one of my boys my wife has to edit our conversation. I wasn't trying to "start" anything honey, I'm just curious as to what's going on!" John finally responds. "It's OK Mom, it's OK... actually it's a good question. We haven't really gotten anywhere with that, Dad, no leads, no suspects, nothing. It's almost impossible to get the ids' parents to tal to us and the church (loo s at Carl, uncomfort ably), well, you now..." Carl puts down his for ; he feels he needs to spea up for the church before Joh n just puts the whole blame on it. "Oh great, I guess now you are going to start with the "impenetrable church" myt h, and how uncooperative the church is!" "Well, not for nothing Carl, but you must admit that you guys won't rat each oth er out, you won't tal about anything that you might have done wrong, you won't" "You got some nerve! A cop complaining about people not ratting each other out!! ! Unbelievable! Tal about the pot calling the ettle blac !" Out of nowhere, Robbie chimes in, although, as he often does, with a totally dif ferent subject. "I want to hurry and watch the Parade, Mom!" "Don't rush while you're eating, Robbie, I don't want you to cho e on your food! " "Do I have to eat everything?" Carl, upset, angrily chides his younger brother. "That's not what we are tal ing about Robbie! Can't you ever just stic to a top ic? Besides, the parade was this morning!!! What's wrong with you?" The tone, as well as what he said have a chilling effect on everyone. The conve rsation comes to a screeching halt. Finally, Jeff feels it is his place to try to bring bac some semblance of order to the table. "Carl! That's no way to tal to your brother. What's the matter with you? I've n ever seen you so agitated, so... so out of sorts..."

"Oh please Dad! Don't you thin it's time for Robbie to be able to follow a conv ersation? Loo at him! He doesn't even now what's going on here, right around h im!!!" Before Jeff can answer, Deborah jumps in, she is livid. "Carl! You are his brother! And you are a priest! I would expect a lot more from you! You are acting li e a monster! You never tal about Robbie li e that!" "Li e a monster?!?! I'm acting li e a monster because I'm merely saying what's o n everybody's mind? You got someone sitting at a table who has no clue that he's surrounded by people or what those people are tal ing about! What ind of futur e do you thin he'll have? What ind of life do you thin he'll have?" "We have made sure that Robbie is well ta en care of for the rest of his life" "Of course you have! Because you have money! But not everyone can do that! What if you didn't have money? What if he was born to a poor family? What would he do then? What ind of a life would he have? And even with all your money, his life will be that of a ta en-care-of vegetable, at best!" "Carl! What the hell has gotten into you?" Deborah was not usually that direct, but she was tired of beating around the bus h. Feeling out of place, she loo s at Robbie, who, as usual, is not aware of wha t is going on around him. John, who has been quietly chewing on some tur ey, finally re-joins the discussi on. "Hey Carl, what are you saying man? Doesn't this go against everything that you preach? Isn't life precious and all that other bullshit? Are you saying a handi capped life, a down-syndrome life, is worth less than ours? What ind of religio n do you practice, brother?" "No, I'm not saying that at all! What I am saying is that their lives are worth the same, but, and here's the ey part my police officer brother, what ind of a life will they have? Is what they have an actual life? And what about what they do to those around them? Aren't those people entitled to a life?" Deborah loo s at her two older sons, wishing she could telegraph her wishes to e nd this argument. "I thin we should stop this conversation right now" "Of course we should Mom! Of course! Why should we ever tal about anything that might create some controversy? Anything that's on anybody's mind?!?! Let's just tal about the same inane crap that we tal about all the time, which nobody ca res about!" "Carl!" "Sorry Dad! You got a million of these ids, with no lives, with no hope. If you read the papers, the numbers are getting worse, we are in the middle of an auti sm epidemic and all we do is have these fuc ing "wal athons" to raise money so u niversities can build more buildings and hospitals can build more wings but nobo dy is getting cured, nobody's life is improving, we're just stirring the shit ar ound hoping that it'll smell better next time we wal by it! I mean, Robbie is o ne of the "luc y" ones! He comes from a good family, with money, where he's prov ided for and his future will be ta en care of, and he still has no hope of a nor mal life! Can you imagine the ones out there that have no money, or have health complications derived from Down syndrome, with no cure, with no hope, nowhere to go?" John nows what his brother is tal ing about. "You mean li e the ones that you see every day?" Complete and utter silence. Carl loo s as if he has been stopped dead on his tra c s. He wipes his mouth with his nap in, throws it down on top of his plate, whi ch still contains most of his uneaten meal, and gets up to leave. "You have no idea what I see every day, the destruction, the pain, the sadness t hat I see every single day" "Hey, I see a lot myself, don't forget where I wor !" "I now where you wor John, and yes, I'm sure that you do see a lot, but at lea st half of those you see are criminals, people that brought their disgrace on th emselves. What I see are poor people, people struggling to ma e a living, strugg

ling to survive, with only one thing that can give them happiness: Their childre n. And God for some reason decides to give them an autistic son, or a down-syndr ome daughter and now their world, which was awful to begin with, is destroyed. D estroyed, for no reason, for no reason whatsoever" "Hey, that's your God dude, your "almighty being" that decides who gets screwed and who doesn't!" "I'm happy for you that you can oversimplify the whole meaning of life to that o ne sentence and be OK with it" "I'm not oversimplifying anything Father! I'm just telling you what I see! And that's why I'm a cop: I enforce the law, I ma e things happen, and if sometimes I have to ma e battlefield decisions to ma e something right, I do it. I'm not waiting for some invisible being up in a fuc ing cloud to ta e care of me. I'm m y own God, my own Jesus and fuc ing Mary if need be!" Deborah cannot believe John's words: She's tempted to throw the plate with strin g bean casserole that she is carrying to the table right at him. "John!" To ma e things even worse, Carl loses his temper as well. "Why don't you just put your dic on the table and impress us with how big it is ? Everything is a pissing contest with you: big manly John is in charge!!!" Seeing that Deborah's plea got nowhere, Jeff tries. "Hey, guys, this is not why we are together here today. We are here to give than s-" But Carl cuts him off. "To give than s for what Dad? For a young man (pointing at Robbie) that has no c lue what's going on around him, for a young man that has no life, no future or f or the irreparable damage that he has done to the rest of the family?" "That's enough Carl! Enough!" All eyes are on Robbie, who is busy reading a comic boo while eating non-stop. He is totally unaware of the conversation ta ing place around him. Carl continue s. "You guys be than ful by yourselves, I can't pretend that everything is fine any more" Carl goes to the hall closet, ta es his jac et and storms off. Robbie notices h is favorite brother is leaving and starts to cry. He loo s at Deborah and, in a pleading tone, as s: "Is Carl not having dessert?" "No honey, Carl had to go bac to the church to wor , he couldn't stay" Jeff wal s over to Robbie and tries to console him, while John cannot stop sha i ng his head. Finally, he swallows his tur ey and spea s. "That guy is fuc ed up" Jeff and Deborah loo at John, glare at him and then they loo at Robbie, who is almost crying. Definitely not the sort of Than sgiving that Jeff had in mind. J ohn gets the loo s and apologizes. "Sorry guys, but that's how I feel" Deborah, in an attempt to ma e Robbie feel better, had gone to the itchen; she now returns with desert and promptly serves him first. "Here, since nobody is having much of a meal anyway, there's no reason to hold o ff on desert! I made your favorite, pecan pie" "That's Carl's favorite too Robbie has stopped crying: He just concentrates on eating dessert. Jeff is still glaring at John. "Why would you say something li e that about your brother?" John buys himself sometime to answer the question, serving himself a slice of pi e deliberately slow, as if he does not really want to provide an answer. Jeff's patience is quic ly waning. "Could you move a little slower? Don't thin you are going to tire me out, I rea lly want to now how you could spea li e that about your brother, use that word , that tone" Finally, John stops serving himself, wal s bac to his seat, sits down and loo s at Jeff in the eyes.

"You really want to now?" "Of course I want to now, what are you tal ing about?" "He's fuc ed up, that's why" "Again with the language" John clears his throat, as if it was his throat's fault that he cursed. "No Dad, I don't mean disrespect to you by my language, what I mean is that I've seen that loo before, that attitude, that hatred" "What! Hatred? What exactly are you saying John?" "Loo , Mom, Dad, I've seen that loo before, but I've seen it only in criminals" Deborah gets up again. "Oh my God! I'm not going to allow you to tal li e that, you are out of control !" John leans bac , his body language saying "well, I guess you don't want to hear what I have to say". Jeff catches on and tries to get him to continue. "Let him tal Deb. Go on John" There is a pause, and then John resumes tal ing. "Are you sure you want me to continue?" Deborah ma es a disgusted face, but Jeff tries to dismiss her. "Yes, go on" "Well, I've been in some investigations where we got the perp and he's tal ing a bout what he did" "You mean li e after a robbery?" "No mom, not li e after a robbery" "Well then li e after what?" "You now, something worse" "Something worse! Not only are you comparing Carl to a criminal, now you are say ing that he's li e the worst of them!" "I'm just telling you what I've seen and the commonalities between the way that perps that we caught tend to act and the way that Carl was just acting. He just wasn't himself! He was saying very nasty things, he was being mean to Robbie, w hich he never is! Something is bothering him and it seemed as if he wanted to ge t it off his chest!" Deborah starts to ta e the bottle of wine off the table, sending a signal that the Than sgiving dinner drin ing is coming to an end. "I thin you've had too much to drin young man" She wal s away with the wine bottle. Robbie follows her into the itchen with hi s plate in his hand, still eating his pie. Jeff gets up, gets a bottle of Sambuca and two shot glasses and comes bac to th e table. As he is pouring drin s for John and himself, he spea s. "These are serious things you are saying Johnny, very serious things, about your brother, nonetheless. Have you thought about what you said?" Johnny grabs his drin and clin s Jeff's glass. He whispers "Salute" as he downs his cordial. "Have I thought about it? No, I didn't have to Dad, I didn't have to. I've seen this behavior before, I now where it comes from, and I now what it means..." "Well, you seem to just now everything don't you, you seem to just now everyth ing..." John gets up, pours himself another shot of Sambuca, gulps it and wal s to the h all closet to get his coat. As he puts on his coat, he opens the front door: "I'll tell you what else I now Dad: I now how to deal with this. I've been thi n ing about it for too long now, and I'm finally going to deal with it. No more thin ing about it, from now on I'm ta ing care of business" John slams the door as he wal s out. Jeff sits there, downs his drin , pours him self another one and downs that one as well. Deborah wal s in to the dining roo m; she is crying. She sits next to Jeff and he hugs her.

18

The Monday morning after Than sgiving, John wal s into the precinct and approach es the Des Sergeant. "Good Morning Sarge, I'd li e to see the Captain" The Des Sergeant never even loo s up. John just stands there, uneasily. He coug hs to draw attention. Finally, the Des Sergeant, still not loo ing up, ac nowle dges him. "I heard you and he's waiting for you" John loo s puzzled. "Waiting? How-" "Never mind. It's about time you got the balls to do what you are doing. You do n't need no appointment: He needs you. Go right in, I'll buzz him while you wal " Still puzzled, John wal s up to the Captain's office. As he approaches the offic e, he hears the Des Sergeant tal ing to the Captain on the intercom. "Remolo is coming in, I suggest you ma e 5 minutes to see him Sir!" "Why do I sometimes feel that you are running this precinct instead of me? The Captain notices John at his door, hangs up the intercom and loo s up. John s tands at the doorway, hesitant. "Sir, I'm sorry to come in without an appointment, but the Des Serg-" Captain Fahrbach interrupts him. "Never mind that, never mind, come on in, my door is always open! What do you wa nt to tal about?" John nows the Captain is a straight shooter so he figures he might as well come right out with it. "I want to volunteer for the "handi iller" tas force sir" "You do? And what qualifications do you have? You now we are dealing with two v ery touchy contingents: the handicapped and the church..." "Absolutely aware of it sir and please let me tell you about my bac ground and w hy I'm the perfect fit for this assignment..." As John tal s, the Captain gets up, closes the door, ta es a bottle of water fro m his office mini-fridge and places it in front of John. He then wal s bac to

his chair, and starts to write as John spea s. After about twenty minutes, John finishes telling his story. Captain Fahrbach is shoc ed. "Well, Remolo, I never new your life story, but now I do and you do have the ri ght bac ground for this case. Welcome to your first undercover assignment son. W e're going to need to get you a fa e FBI ID with a different last name so you do n't tip off anybody at the church..." John was happy: He had managed to get on the tas force without tipping his hand . He had been prepared to tell the Captain that he thought his brother, Carl, wa s the serial murderer, but only if absolutely necessary. The Captain was so imp ressed with John's bac ground and story that John never had to mention what he t hought was the most important part of his story: That he believed that his broth er, Carl, was the serial iller terrorizing New Yor . He told his story, his bac ground, his desire to help and that was all Captain Fahrbach needed: John was on the "handi- iller" tas force according to plan, without telling anyone his r eal reason for being there, to stop the illings, to apprehend his brother. Two hours later, John and the two FBI agents are in a conference room, discussin g the case. They have a white board on a wall with the pictures of the murdered children, dates, locations, everything pertinent to the crimes. John cannot be lieve that he is part of this. "There's gotta be a common denominator... Nobody gets in and out of the Church w ithout belonging there, somebody has to have seen something!" As John spea s, Agent DiGiovanni's cell phone rings, he ta es the call, hangs up and addresses John. "John, go see the Des Sergeant, he's got your new identity, Bureau credentials and everything you'll need to be "one of us". We'll wait for you here" John, still not sure that this is all really happening, wal s out of the confere nce room and starts to head downstairs. Is it him or are his old buddies loo ing at him differently? Is the word out already that he is wor ing with the FBI? H e nows very well what this will do to his career, and he nows very well what t his will do to most of his friendships at the precinct. Going down the stairs, he stic s to the right, as two officers are going up, on the opposite direction. Usually, one of the two people going in one direction would stay bac , since th e old station house stairs were narrow and decrepit and they could barely accomm odate two people at the same time. John, noticing that neither of the other officers stays bac , leans all the way towards the banister on his right, trying to ma e room for the other men, thin i ng that, preoccupied with their conversation, they did not notice him. As they meet halfway on the staircase, one of the officers bumps John, not too h ard, but not too soft either. Caught by surprise, John just loo s at the officer . "Hey!" "Hey yourself, "agent"! Sorry, but this is an NYPD station house, and the stair s are made for NYPD personnel! Maybe you FBI pussies should use the elevator so you don't have to be near the unwashed!" The two officers start laughing and slap each other five. Obviously, word has s pread that John is now helping the FBI solve a case that the NYPD could not. So much for eeping it a secret. He finally reaches Sergeant's Williams des and f eels a little better: Williams had ta en him under his wing a long time ago and showed him the ropes. The Des Sergeant was tough and no-nonsense, but also ve ry nowledgeable and helpful when needed. John waits by the side of the des , a s Sergeant Williams is giving instructions to a patrolman regarding his assignme nt. He notices that the Sergeant does not loo in his direction to ac nowledge h is presence but attributes it to his being busy with his conversation. After a f ew minutes, the officer has his instructions, than s the Sergeant and wal s away . To John's surprise, Sergeant Williams just turns around, pic s up the phone an d gets on a personal call, tal ing to one of his buddies about last night's game . A non important call about a subject that could have waited. The message was c lear: John was being ignored. John decided to ta e his "punishment" and just wai t there, chec ing his emails on his blac berry while the Des Sergeant discussed

last night's game with his friend. After about ten minutes, Sergeant Williams' friend had to go bac to wor and the call ended. As the Sergeant hung up the p hone and started to head bac to his computer, which was located about two feet behind the old wooden des , John decided that the "shunning" had gone long enoug h. He cleared his throat to signal his presence but the Sergeant pretended not t o hear him. "Excuse me, Sergeant, I was told that you had something for me" The Sergeant did not loo at John, nor did he loo away. In a perfect balancing act between ignoring him and ta ing care of him without ac nowledging his existe nce, Sergeant Williams pic ed up a large yellow envelope that was sitting by his computer, threw it on the des facing John and, as John reached out to grab it, Sergeant Williams slapped a white piece of paper on top of it, quic ly followed by a pen and a curt order: "Sign" John loo ed at the old gizzard, who avoided his glance. He signed the paper, wai ted for it to be ta en away, pic ed up his envelope and wal ed away, sha ing his head. Obviously, things were going to be somewhat different at the precinct fro m now on. He new that helping the FBI had a price, and he was just beginning t o pay it. Consumed by his thoughts, John was surprised to find another man with Agents DiG iovanni and Reynolds. As John wal ed bac into the conference room, Reynolds di d the introductions. "John, this is Agent Klotz, he is with the Bureau, he is a profiler" A profiler. He had heard about them and expected to see one soon, but was not pr epared for how quic ly things were moving. The FBI certainly wasted no time to bring in whoever they needed. Profilers, who are specialists who develop detail ed outlines of suspects' personal, physical and psychological characteristics, a re brought in on high profile cases and, obviously, this one fit that bill. Agent Klotz and John shoo hands. Reynolds continued. "Agent Klotz is here to start wor ing up the victimology, to get us up to speed" There was a word John had not heard since the Academy. Thin , John, thin ! Reme mber what the hec it means, because there is no way in hell you can as these g uys what "victimology" means. Finally, he remembered. Victimology: who the vict ims were, who they associated with, their habits, their li es, disli es. He almo st let out a smile, so happy with himself that he was able to remember. He could have sworn that Agent Klotz pic ed up on it; these FBI fuc ers new everything. Klotz loo ed at him as he spo e. "Without the victimology, you don't have any ability to ma e a profile. The purp ose of profiling is to start narrowing down the possibilities" "Possibilities? I thin I have some ideas" John figured the best thing to do here would be to assert himself and show how m uch he new, how much he could help, right off the bat. His offer to help was cu t off at the pass, quic ly, almost abruptly, by Reynolds, who, once again, asser ted his command. "John, Agent Klotz' time is precious, so let's listen to him and learn from what he's about to tell us. When he's done, the three of us can stay bac and we'll listen to your ideas" OK then, John had just been put in his place. Reynolds was in command, and Klotz was going to do the tal ing. As much as he hated to admit it, Klotz new his st uff. "The patterns so far suggest what we call an "organized" serial iller. That's a broad category of suspect who is typically physically fit, socially adept and p lans his hits to the tiniest detail. This guy, and ma e no mista e, it's a guy, nows what he is doing, is extremely smart, and extremely motivated" Excellent, John thought, why don't you just describe my brother, use his name no w and plaster it all over the paper. Klotz continued. "We have people going over the crime scenes, pic ing up whatever physical eviden ce they can gather as well as, of course, witnesses accounts. We'll put all this together with patterns, methods and everything else we find to start delineatin g a pattern, a personality profile that should help you guys get your man"

Without any further comment, or as ing if John had any questions, Reynolds gets up, signaling that they are done for the day. John chec s his watch and realizes that he better s ip any other plans if he is going to have any chances of getting a suit tonight. One of the advantages of be ing a police officer is that getting dressed in the morning is a cinch: Get your blues on and you are ready to go out the door. No color coordinating, no guessi ng, no having to remember when was the last time you wore these slac s in fear t hat the office cubicle neighbor might remember. Now, as an FBI agent, he needed suits, shirts, ties, soc s, shoes... And, oh by the way, he had none! His off-du ty wardrobe consisted mainly of polo shirts and jeans, with the occasional "nice " sweater thrown in for special occasions. He had the afternoon to go shopping f or suits, so he better get started. With any luc , he would find something that did not need any alterations and could be worn the next day. Of course, he would

Did he say "we have people"? John could not help but wonder how many more FBI a gents were out there wor ing on this. The more he found out, the more impossibl e it was going to be to eep this under wraps, to solve this on his own and eep it out of the media's eye. He had to as a question. "How many agents you guys got wor ing this? I thought it was just going to be t he three of us?" Klotz loo s annoyed that he was interrupted: He was obviously used to people lis tening to him. Reynolds and DiGiovanni loo ed upset, and embarrassed. As Reynold s was about to put John bac in his place, Klotz chimed in: Obviously, FBI proto col dictated that this was his part of the show. "Officer, I have recommended, as is customary, to have a special tas force set up, whose members will be briefed regularly on the case and who will, of course, gather and report all of their findings bac to Special Agent Reynolds. Why? I s there a problem with that?" John actually contemplated answering "yes" to that question. He contemplated it only for a millionth of a second, but he did contemplate it. Of course, his answ er was a resounding "no". "No, not at all! I'm sorry, this is all new to me and we've been at it for a co uple of hours..." Reynolds, loo ing at his watch, interrupted. "Hey, John, we understand. For you, it must be li e drin ing out of a fire hose. Besides, Agent Klotz needs to go to City Hall to update the Mayor's fol s so, w hy don't we wrap it up for the day?" Agent Klotz agreed. He pac ed up his belongings as he got up and put on his jac et. He then quic ly shoo DiGiovanni's hand, too longer to say goodbye to Reyno lds with a promise to stay in close contact and then turned around to face John, on his way out. "Welcome aboard John, I'm here to help. I will continue to help you and will sta y in touch primarily with these two guys" He coc s his head towards Reynolds and DiGiovanni. "You got a long way to go here, but, from what I hear, you're up to it. Good luc " As agent Klotz left, Reynolds motioned for DiGiovanni and John to sit bac down at the conference room table. "Guys, let's just figure out what we are doing tomorrow" As the three of them sat down, Reynolds as ed John to open his envelope and tell them what his new "name" was. John obliged, too out his brand new FBI identifi cation card and, with a smir , advised the two FBI agents what his new name was. "Guys, my name is Jeremy Pantina, that is, FBI agent Jeremy Pantina, pleased to meet you!" Everybody chuc les, sha es hands, pretending they just met. After a couple of jo es, Reynolds brings things bac to business, as he usually did. "OK, Pantina, DiGiovanni, from an administrative point of view, we are all ready to go. John, I mean Jeremy, tomorrow at o seven hundred, be here and be wearing a suit, since that's what we FBI Agents wear. Our first order of action tomorro w will be to we visit the Convent and burrow our way into what's going on there"

also need suits for the rest of the wee , so he better hit one of those stores that advertised on TV with a "buy one suit, get one free" deal. With everything on his mind, it was unbelievable that he had to worry about his wardrobe, but, a s with every other plan, there were the grandiose details, and the mundane ones. It was a Herculean effort, but John managed to find the clothing he needed at a price he could afford. After buying three cheap suits, John made a quic stop at the local Taco Bell. It was cheap, convenient and on the way home. Of course, h is excitement about what was to happen the next day, combined with the fast food eaten so late and his guilt and concern for his brother and doing the right thi ng for the rest of the world did not contribute to a good night's sleep.

19

Regardless and uncaring of John's state of mind, his inability or need to rest, the alarm cloc did its job and went off at five o'cloc in the morning. Way ear lier than needed but John was not ta ing any chances. There was no way that John was going to be late for his first FBI meeting. He went through his normal morn ing routine and, coming out of the bathroom after his shower, it was almost funn y (it would have been funny in any other setting, especially one that did not in clude him starting the process to apprehend his brother for being a serial ille r) when, out of habit, he pulled a set of blues out of the closet, started putti ng on his pants and, half way up the right leg, he realized that the blues neede d to be replaced with a suit. As he shoo his head in disbelief, he too off his uniform pants, folded them neatly and put them bac in the closet. He then navi gated through the myriad of pins, rubber bands and tags holding his new suit tog ether, ma ing a mental note to prepare tomorrow's suit tonight. When he was fina lly done, he too a quic glance at the garbage can holding all the items that h ad been holding his suit together and shoo his head at the waste. He then loo e d at himself in the mirror a few times. He was pleased with how he loo ed: Still had the young, smart loo . He was hungry, driven and fit. He would ma e a fine FBI agent some day. John made sure to arrive at the precinct a full half hour early, figuring he wou ld have time to have a cup of coffee and settle in. To his surprise and dismay, Reynolds and DiGiovanni were already there, jac ets off, sleeves rolled up, with a brand new flow chart on the white board and three copies of the day's activit ies already printed. He could swear they acted as if he was late, instead of a h alf hour early. "Good morning gentlemen" "Good morning Pantina" "Yep, mornin' it is. Here's the Activity Log for today, we got a lot to do, so l et's get going" At least DiGiovanni gave him a full "good morning". Reynolds could not even affo rd that. It was all business, all of the time with this guy. After a quic goin g-over of the day's itinerary, answering a few questions and going over differen t procedures ad nauseam (Reynolds was a thorough guy, you had to give him that), it was time to go; coffee would have to wait. "Let's hit the road Pantina, Mother Superior is waiting for us" As they ride to the Convent, just John and Reynolds in the unmar ed car, John ha s mixed emotions. As horrible as he feels about it, he nows that what he is doi ng is right: He believes in his heart that Carl is the "Handi-Killer" and it is his duty to catch him. At the same time he also feels good about being in an unm ar ed car with an FBI agent: Definitely a plus for his career. But, of course, h e feels awful about the reason why he is part of this investigation... After a short ride, they arrive at the Rectory. They chec in and, after waitin g a few minutes, a nun comes to get them and escort them. As the three of them wal down the marble corridors, their footsteps are amplified by the emptiness o f the place. John figures he might as well say something. "Once again, Sister, we really appreciate your ta ing the time to see us" "Well, it's not me you have to than Agent, it's the Bishop. I hear he was quit e insistent and pushed hard to get the NYPD to bring the FBI in, than God! Moth er Superior did not want any more police inside the church. The last Officer we had was quite rude and disrespectful!

The "last Officer" comment puzzles John and Reynolds, who loo at each other, co nfused. John decides to eep this in the bac of his mind and not show the Siste r that they do not now who was here previously. "I apologize, on behalf of the NYPD and I will bring that comment bac to my sup eriors" The nun nods her head and they eep wal ing through the immaculate hallways. Fin ally, they get to a door, labeled "OFFICE and the nun gently taps on it. From inside the office, Mother Superior tells them to come in. The nun slowly op ens the door and introduces the agents. "Mother Superior, Agents Pantina and Reynolds, from the FBI, here to see you" "Than you Sister Andrea, that'll be all" As she leaves the room, Sister Andrea and the Agents exchange polite nods. "Please sit down gentlemen" Mother Superior is clearly not happy about the FBI being in her office. As the Agents sit down, she is all business. "What can I help you with?" Special Agent Reynolds starts to answer. "Sister, we are here-" John notices that she is upset about Reynolds using the wrong title: Obviously, the church did not play a very big role in Reynolds' upbringing. John decides th is is a good time for him to jump in, and interrupts Reynolds. "Mother, first of all, than you for ta ing the time to see us, we understand th at this is an imposition and appreciate your cooperation" Mother Superior shoots a disapproving loo at Reynolds and then, gladly, focuses on John. "The Church is as concerned about these murders as the FBI is, Agent" John loo s at Reynolds very quic ly: his eyes are very clearly telling the FBI a gent to stay quiet. "Absolutely, Mother Superior. Absolutely. And, as the person in charge of this i nvestigation, I promise you that we will conduct ourselves in the utmost profess ional and respectful of ways. I will have my men clear everything through me and I will clear everything through you, of course" While Reynolds was able to suppress his anger when John said that he was "in cha rge", the Special Agent was not so successful at containing his anger at John's mention of "his men". "We, we will have everything cleared through you..." Mother Superior's angry loo at him shuts Reynolds right up. John, amused, and nowing he has the upper hand, continues. "Mother Superior, we've probably ta en too much of your time already and I reali ze it's probably time for your rounds so, with your permission, we'll excuse our selves. If I may, I'd just li e to schedule a convenient time when I can come ba c , by myself, to tal to some of the Sisters as well as get some more informati on on the victims..." Mother Superior was very happy with the fact that John had mentioned just himsel f coming bac , without Reynolds. She opened her des calendar: "Certainly Agent, how is Friday at 2:00 p.m.?" "That wor s. I will see you then and, once again, than you for your time and co operation, I now this has been tough on all of you" As they are escorted to the door, Mother Superior barely ac nowledges Reynolds w hen saying goodbye. As the door opens, both officers are surprised to find Sist er Andrea on the other side, waiting. Mother Superior obviously ran a tight ship . "Sister, please escort these gentlemen" "Certainly Mother Superior" They all wal the hallways in silence. Sister Andrea, who had had her ear right next to the door during the entire meeting, has the loo of a little girl who h as been up to no good: She now has tons of gossip to share with the other nuns. John has the opposite loo : He nows that he is in deep trouble and that, as soo n as Sister Andrea is out of earshot, he is going to hear it from Reynolds. Reyn olds loo s li e he is about to explode.

Once they are in the car, Reynolds explodes. ""My" men? I" will have everything cleared? "I" will come bac ? What the hell are you doing Officer? This is my fuc ing case! You are just helping here! Have you forgotten that? Do I need to remind you who the fuc you are and what the hell y ou are doing here?!?!?!" There is a long pause as John figures the best way to tac le this. He nows he has the upper hand and that, without him, this investigation is going nowhere. He is also just about had it with Reynolds' pomp and his ego. "Hey, "Special Agent", I might not be so "special" and, technically, I may not b e in charge, but, I've gotten further in one day than you have since you started . Now you can let me do what I'm doing and ta e the credit when we are done or y ou can go rat me out to the boss when we get bac , that's up to you. But I'll te ll you this, I'm catching this guy, I'm running this show or I'm out! Now you ca n be Special Agent in Charge and ma e a decision on that!" A gutsy move, but he had to do it. He needed to establish himself and his positi on clearly and from the beginning. Reynolds' silence settled it: John was in.

20

It is Friday, 1:50 p.m. John has arrived, promptly, and by himself, at the Recto ry, for his appointment with Mother Superior. She is obviously pleased with his punctuality. "Well, Agent Pantina, I'm glad you are bac and ready to wor . Before you start, however, there are some rules that I need to discuss with you" John ta es out his pad and ma es sure to loo as attentive as possible, ready to write down her rules. Again, she is impressed. "This investigation is being allowed as a courtesy to the FBI. In no way does th e Church or the Diocese admit to any degree of involvement, suspicion or culpabi lity whatsoever" John writes on his pad and nods. "The information that you gather must be cleared by me before it leaves this bui lding: I will not let any of those under my charge be in any way harmed by or in volved with this endeavor John continues writing, saying nothing. "And, lastly, you are not to tal to anyone, go anywhere within our campus, touc

h or move anything without my explicit permission, is that understood?" John is writing very fast, trying to get it all down. He finally finishes. "Understood, agreed, and appreciated, Mother Superior. I will gladly operate by your rules" "Now, if I may, I'd li e to as you a question, before you begin your job" "As away, certainly" "You are not the FBI type... and you are not acting li e the policeman that was here already Once again, a remar about previous visits by law enforcement: He had been so bu sy arguing with Reynolds that he forgot to chec on who it was that visited the Rectory before. Who was here? How come the FBI did not now? He would have lov ed to as her who had been there before but was afraid to show his ignorance. Jo hn remains silent, afraid he has blown his cover.

"Why are you here? You are a young man, too young to be in the FBI. You loo li e you are barely out of the academy and you already have the nerve to displace a senior FBI agent, a "special" agent nonetheless! Don't thin I did not notice what was going on between the two of you last time you were here!" She moves forward on the des , towards John. "Tell me, young Agent Pantina, why are you here? What's in this for you? I see a lot of sadness in your eyes young man, and I hope you are not using this as you r way to fix some personal problem" John is ta en abac by the question. She continues. "I li e you, young man, you seem honest and trustworthy, but you carry the weigh t of the world on your shoulders, and my experience shows me that people under t hat ind of pressure sometimes act irrationally. I'm going to be watching you" Finally, John manages to spea . "You are very intuitive Mother Superior... Very intuitive. We all have our Demon s and hopefully I'm in the right place to get some divine help to excise mine... " "God wor s in very mysterious ways my son, you should learn to ta e a bac seat and let him guide you" She gets up, signaling that their time is over. "I'll ta e you to Sister Ana, who oversees our program for handicapped children, she's the best person to start with" John follows Mother Superior through the silent, polished hallways. Not a word i s exchanged between them. Finally, they get to Sister Ana's office. As Mother Superior introduces John to Sister Ana, she reminds the young Sister o f the rules of engagement. "And don't forget Sister, if not sure, clear the information with me first As both Sister Ana and John agree, Mother Superior starts to wal away. As she a pproaches the door, she turns bac and loo s at John, sternly. "You've been warned: I'll be watching you. I'll see you in a half hour" As Mother Superior wal s away, Sister Ana and John sit down. John loo s at his w atch. "Well Sister, since I just found out that I only have a half hour with you, if y ou'll forgive me, I need to get right down to business" Sister Ana, who is young, very pretty and more worldly than most of her counterp arts, is very excited to be part of something different than what she does every day. She loo s mesmerized: It has been a while since she has dealt with anyone outside of her normal church duties. She is clearly very happy to help. "Well certainly Agent, certainly! You just tell me what you need and I'll be hap py to oblige" John smiles: it was nice to see the change of pace from Mother Superior. "Why don't we start with who was watching the children when they were illed: n ames, bac ground? I realize that you have mostly nuns doing this but I understa nd you also have some volunteer help" The conversation continues: Pleasant, polite, friendly. John can sense that he h

as found a indred spirit in Sister Ana, an ally. And, God forgive him, but she is not bad to loo at either.

21

Carl is wal ing into his office at the Diocese. He barely said hello to Jennifer , the receptionist, and seemed to be in a bad mood. He is extremely neat with his office and especially the items on his des , and, immediately upon entering his office he notices that things have been moved. He ta es his pen, which has been left sitting on top of a note on his des , and de liberately puts it inside its holder, where it belongs. Tic ed off, he yells out onto the hallway: "Jennifer, has someone been in my office?"

"No Father, no one has been in your office" Carl continues to straighten other items on the des , when he notices the note: "NEXT ONE MUST HAPPEN ON SUNDAY'S TRIP. AMUSEMENT PARK IS PERFECT SPOT" A jolt of electricity shoc s his body: Another note. Carl pic s up the phone and calls Sister Ana, who is still tal ing to John. As the phone rings, Sister Ana excuses herself to John. "Oh, pardon me" "Would you li e privacy, should I step out?" "Oh no, not at all! It's just the main office, I'm sure it'll be just a quic qu estion" As John sits there, pretending to pay attention to the emails on his blac berry, Sister Ana answers the phone. Because of Caller-Id, she nows who it is. "Hello Father Remolo" "Hi Sister" Tal about a small world: Of all people, his brother is on the phone with Sister Ana at this very moment, while he is starting the process that will eventually culminate with Carl's arrest. John hopes that Sister Ana did not notice his mome nt of surprise, does everything he can to regain his composure and decides to re sume pretending that he is addressing the emails on his blac berry. As the phone conversation continues, he ma es sure to listen to every word. "Sister, please give me the details of this Sunday's trip" "Sure Father! Will you be coming with us?" "Yes, yes, I most certainly will" Sister Ana can tell that Father Remolo is not in a good mood or does not have th e time to chit-chat. She efficiently loo s through her des as she spea s on the phone, trying to find the trip's information as quic ly as possible. "Oh, here it is, Father. We are scheduled to arrive at Fun Land Sunday, at 11 a .m. The bus will leave the Rectory at 9:30 a.m." "Perfect, than you Sister. I will see you Sunday then" "I'll see you then Father" As she hangs up the phone, Sister Ana notices John's quizzical loo . "What's the matter?" "Who was that?" "Oh that was Father Remolo, calling from the Diocese, that's li e our main offic e, in case you don't now. He wanted to now about our trip on Sunday" "So, why is he calling? Why does he want to now about the trip? Aren't the tri ps something that you are in charge of? "Well, yes, I do run the trips but I'm sure you have a Superior Officer or someo ne that you must answer to, and, just li e you, I have to answer to the Diocese and Father Remolo, who is in charge of our Handicapped Children's Program" "So he goes on every trip?" "Well, no. Not exactly. Although he has been very interested in the last few tr ips... He never used to even care what I did as long as I stayed on budget, but, lately-" "So when is the next trip? The one you were just telling Father Remolo about..." "Sunday... this coming Sunday..." "And he was interested in this trip..." Sister Ana was not quite sure if Carl was as ing her or telling her. It was that odd way of phrasing things that she had seen police officers and FBI agents use on TV shows. This did not help how she was feeling: She did not quite understan d what was going on here, but decided it was best to continue to provide informa tion. "Yes, he seemed very interested" "So, excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing. If I heard you right, the bus l eaves at 9:30 a.m. Sunday, going to Fun Land, that's out on Long Island, right?" As he spea s, John writes down the trip's information and draws a big arrow next to it on his pad. This is a trip he is not going to miss. "Yes, agent, that is correct. Anyway, let's get bac to wor : These are the name s and addresses of the families whose children were murdered, although I'm not s ure I should be giving you that, but I'm sure you can get that somehow if you wa

nted it anyway!" "Oh you are doing the right thing Sister, most definitely" Out of nowhere, the door opens suddenly: Mother Superior surprises them both, pi c ing up on John's comment: "I certainly hope so, I certainly hope she is doing the "right thing", Agent Pan tina, but I'm afraid your time is up" The loo of disappointment is obvious in Sister Ana's face: She was starting to enjoy spending time with Agent Pantina, but Mother Superior had other plans. "Don't be so sullen Sister, when Agent Pantina leaves, you will still have your regular job to do the rest of the afternoon!" Having "warned" Sister Ana, it was now time to ta e care of Agent Pantina. "Agent Pantina, I'll see you out" "Certainly Mother Superior" John and Sister Ana exchange a quic , longing loo with one another. Too quic t o be called anything, too long to ignore. As they are wal ing down the hallway, Mother Superior complains to John. "I have to watch these new ones, they are all over the place" John says nothing. He just loo s at Mother Superior and nods. "I suppose you'll be needing more time with us Agent?" "Yes Mother. I'm going to need a lot more visits with Sister Ana (catching hims elf) or, I mean, whoever handles the children's excursions..." "Oh that she does, and quite well may I add! Since she hasn't been with us for t hat long, she still remembers good places for our ids to go" John wanted to as more about Sister Ana's bac ground and how long she had been a nun but thought about it and realized it would sound out of place. As they get to the door, they exchange pleasantries and Mother Superior reminds John to sch edule his next visit with her as far in advance as possible. A couple of minutes later, John is bac in his car, driving bac to the precinct . As he drives, he calls Patric . "Hey man, you are not going to believe this" "What's up?" "I'm interviewing one of the nuns and guess who calls to find out about the next trip "I don't now, who?" "My brother, that's who! I new it! I new he was up to something! Remember that conversation I told you we had at Than sgiving dinner with my parents? The guy' s flipping out, he's losing it..." John is fighting bac tears. He pulls over and, while he remains on the phone wi th Patric , he is holding his face, almost crying. "Every day I have less doubt that he's the iller, Patric . I can feel it. I tol d the Captain what I felt and now I gotta bring him in, I gotta tell the FBI wha t's going on" "Are you crazy? The fuc ing Feds will destroy him! And you! And your family! Y ou now how they are! They love this shit! You can't do that!" "Well, what do you suggest I do? Let him go? He's illing innocent children and I should just let him go because he's my brother?" "No, of course not. You gotta bring him in, you gotta arrest his ass, but you g otta do this one on your own" Patric stopped tal ing for a few seconds, wanting to let his last statement sin in before he continued. "You trac him, you ta e him down and, one more thing, and I now you don't care about this, but you will in the future, you get the credit. There's no upside t o telling anyone what you now, no upside whatsoever. You gotta fix this one on your own: You gotta bring him in John. This is a family thing, and it's gotta stay within your family" John feels much better after listening to Patric . He wipes the tears off his fa ce, composes himself and starts to pull away from the curb. "Than s Patric , you are a friend. I appreciate it" "That's what friends do. Listen, he's a criminal, but he's still your brother. You gotta do this, no one else man, no one else. You have to close this, you h

ave to end what he is doing. He is bad news John, bad news and you need to put an end to it. Now go do what you have to do and ma e sure to call me and let me now how it's going. And I'm here to bac you as you need me"

22

It was not often that Sister Ana got to sit in during a meeting with Bishop Harl ey. Usually, Mother Superior would handle this ind of thing and communicate wha t was needed to everyone else. Today, of course, it was different. The Church hierarchy was concerned with how wise it was to have yet another trip with the " handi- iller" still on the loose. Bishop Harley was stern, his frown underlying his concern. "I do not see the benefit of this trip, Mother Superior. While I understand that the children are excited and appreciate the good wor that everyone has put in towards organizing this outing, we are concerned with putting the children as we ll as our nuns and volunteers at ris " Mother Superior, for a change, had nothing to say. How could she? There was not hing to say: The Bishop was right and this meeting was a mere formality. The tr ip should be cancelled and, judging by how this meeting was going, it was going to be. This, of course, would mean that John would never get to catch Carl and t

he illings would continue. If not this trip, some other trip, done by some othe r church, by some other convent, with some other poor innocent souls. Ana had to say something: It was either now or never, but she had to do her part. She new she would catch Mother Superior's rage later for spea ing out of turn, but it w ould be worth it. "Bishop Harley, Mother Superior, if I may..." Her whisper was barely audible. Embarrassed, Sister Ana cleared her throat, and then she cleared it again. Once she was certain that she had drawn enough attent ion to herself, she dived in, this time in a volume that could be heard. "Bishop Harley, Mother Superior, if I may..." The Bishop loo ed at Mother Superior as if to say "It's not bad enough that you have invited a nun to this meeting, but now she has to spea ". Daggers were flyi ng out of Mother Superior's eyes, hitting Sister Ana, trying to deter her will, trying to stop her. Mother Superior had brought Sister Ana to this meeting merel y to provide logistical and historical information in regards to the trips just in case Bishop Harley as ed for it; she thought that she had made this abundantl y clear to Sister Ana during their preparatory meeting. Sister Ana could feel the wrath in Mother Superior's eyes. She new there would be a price to be paid for this: Spea ing out of turn was not welcome. She had be en warned: "You are here to listen, ta en notes and only spea if spo en to" Her career would be affected by this affront but she had things that were more impo rtant than her career on her mind. In what seemed li e an eternity, Mother Superior finally ma es a move to dismiss her but, to Sister Ana's surprise, she is overruled by Bishop Harley, who allow s her to spea . "Go ahead Sister, please spea " This is her chance, her only chance. To do the right thing. To bring Carl Remolo to justice, to stop the illings of innocent, handicapped children, to allow Jo hn to move on with his life, and hopefully enable her and John to perhaps contin ue this crazy thing that she thought was going on between them. Yes, she had not nown him for long, but there was something there and she was going to play it to the hilt. Yes, perhaps it was a bit premature to thin of John and her as an item, as a couple, but she always enjoyed dreaming, she always enjoyed doing th e "out of left field" thing, and this was certainly out of left field. Finally, Sister Ana finds her voice. "Mother Superior, as you now, and Bishop Harley, for your information, I have b een wor ing with the Police Department, providing them with information and what ever is necessary in their investigation of the serial illings that have been t a ing place within our community..." Mother Superior's loo is one of threat and doom and hellfire at the same time. Sister Ana is brea ing every Church canon: Spea ing when not spo en to, spea in g out of turn, going over her immediate superior's head at a meeting with the Bi shop. But Sister Ana's determination and drive are unstoppable: Too many things , important things, are in the balance. She continues. "The New Yor City Police Department She too a pause: She really enjoyed saying that and wanted it to sin in. "As well as the FBI are wor ing together on this and they are ninety-nine percent sure that the "handi- iller" murderer will not be in our area during this trip. They have tips placing him someplace else. Reg ardless, and just to be sure, I mentioned to them that we were thin ing of cance ling the trip. They as ed me not to cancel the trip and offered police surveilla nce and protection for us and the children" Well, it was mostly a lie, but not a whole lie. The police would be there. She had their attention, everyone was just staring at her, waiting for her to co ntinue. And she did. "Besides, the FBI stressed how important it is to continue all normal activities just in case there is a "copy cat" murderer out there" Sister Ana goes on. "Our trip would attract such a person and, with all the undercover support that they promised me, it would be easy for them to catch the criminal during our tri

p and send a message to the community, to the children's parents, that the Churc h and the Police Department cared and were out to protect them and had everythin g under control" She almost ran out of breath at the end. She was so concerned that Mother Superi or was going to interrupt her, to stop her, that she said her whole piece all in one breath, without stopping. She stopped herself and let her words sin . "Let me see you stop the trip now", she thought to herself. The Bishop consults with his two advisors, who are sitting right next to him. Th ey whisper, write notes, whisper again. After about fifteen minutes, Bishop Harl ey puts up his hand, signaling to his advisors that he has heard enough. He turn s and addresses Mother Superior directly, as if Sister Ana and the rest of the r oom did not exist. "Mother Superior, I suggest you call each of the children's parents and fully ex plain the measures that we intend to ta e to protect their children and how impo rtant their attendance will be. Please also ma e sure to cover this with the res t of the Convent and volunteers. May God bless you all"

23

She could never get enough of seeing how the children came alive on trip days. I n spite of their handicaps, their suffering, their problems, children were still children and they could sense that something fun was happening. If they only n ew what she had had to do to get this trip approved! Sister Ana also enjoyed the trips, it was hard wor but seeing the joy in the i ds' faces more than made up for it. Maybe this was her calling; maybe all her do ubts were nonsense, maybe dreaming about John and a life outside the church was just that, a dream. Maybe being a nun was her calling after all. While she thoug ht about how to ma e their trip better, she ept going around chec ing on things , ma ing last minute decisions, ensuring that all the children got on the bus. A s she carries on with her duties, her cell phone rings. She hesitates before ans wering, after all, she has a lot to do, but, upon noticing that it is Father Rem olo, she, of course, pic s it up. "Hello Father!" "Sister, it's Father Remolo. Something's come up and I won't be able to ma e the bus, but I will meet you at Fun Land. See you there" Sister Ana is disappointed: She always enjoyed Father Remolo's company. "Well, that's too bad Father, we certainly could have used your help here! We'll see you there then!" Father Remolo hung up without saying anything else. She thought that was odd, j ust li e his sudden inability to catch the bus with everyone else. Father Remolo had always been so punctual, so well organized. Whatever it was that had come up had to be really important. Meanwhile, in another part of town, Carl is trying to ma e good time on his way to Fun Land. He hated to have had to lie to Sister Ana, but the end justifies th e means. He needed to do what he needed to do. He was prepared, he had thought o f everything, including having his rifle in the trun . At the same time, someone else is also speeding towards Fun Land: John is in his undercover vehicle, driving as fast as the car would go. He was also prepared; he new what he needed to do, but could use some encouragement from his friend P atric , whom he calls. "Hey, I just wanted to than you for your advice and let you now what I'm doing " "Hey dude, not a great time to tal right now, in the middle of something. I on ly go 30 seconds..." "I'm on my way to Fun Land: I'm going to bring him in" "You by yourself?" "Yeah" "Good man: go to it. Tal to you later" "Later" Bac on the school bus, Sister Ana is standing up, trying to get everyone excite d about the trip, doing her usual comedy/advice routine. "Oh boy, we are going to have so much fun today!" Some of the ids react to her prompting, while others, more severely affected by Autism or Down Syndrome, stare into the distance, unaware of what she is saying or doing. The par ing lot at FunLand is almost full. Carl pulls right up to a Handicapped spot, ignoring the sign; he smiles to himself: one of the per s of having a "Cl ergy" sign on his dashboard is being able to par just about anywhere: Cops defi nitely do not li e to give tic ets to men of the cloth. Unbe nownst to Carl, he is being watched. His brother John has his binoculars tr ained on him, following Carl's every move. As Carl gets out of the car, he open

s his trun and ta es out a large bag, which John, no matter how much he adjusts his focus, cannot tell what it is or, more importantly, what it contains. Final ly, after trying a few times, John realizes the bag is something that, as a poli ceman, he has seen a few times: A well camouflaged rifle case. Carl grabs his rifle case, wraps his long coat around it to disguise it and star ts to run towards the entrance. John frantically gathers his items, gets out of his car and starts to run behind Carl: He cannot lose him now. He has to catch him in the act but before he ills another id. Once they get to the entrance, there are long lines waiting to get to the tic et booths. Carl desperately loo s at his watch and immediately loo s up, trying t o scope the taller structures in the par . He finally runs up to the head of th e line and cuts some people off, which, of course, does not go unnoticed. Some o f the people on line complain: "Hey buddy, there's a line here" "Who are you, the Pope?" As the people on line laugh, Carl turns around and points to his priest's collar . He spea s to the person at the front of the line. "I'm so sorry, but I have an emergency, would you mind if I cut in front of you? " The man, who is with two young ids, loo s Carl up and down, almost as if trying to find out if he is a real priest or some nut wearing a costume. Once he is sa tisfied that Carl is the "real thing", he nods, signaling his approval. Although he does not understand what ind of emergency would ma e a priest come out to F unLand, he begrudgingly lets him go ahead of him, but not without giving Carl a dirty loo . "Go ahead" Others on line are not as nice. "Wow! I guess he is the Pope!" "I wonder if he has to give the last rites to the roller coaster!" Carl, ignoring the catcalls, tal s to the tic et booth attendant and, after gett ing her OK, proceeds through the gate. As he runs through the par , he continue s to scan the structures, loo ing up, loo ing for the tallest tower or building. In the meantime, John is stuc behind some severely obese people riding extrem ely slow on their scooters. Eventually, John is able to go around them, but he has now lost sight of Carl. Finally, John ma es it through the gates. He cannot find Carl and is running aro und desperately trying to find a tall structure where he figures Carl is going t o ta e position. Carl finally finds the two tallest structures in the par , which happen to be ac ross from each other: The three story "Haunted Mansion" ride and the equally tal l "House of Mirrors". He hesitates, loo s at both, starts to run towards the Hou se of Mirrors, and then changes his mind and runs towards the Haunted Mansion. H e runs past the line of people waiting to get on the ride and goes straight to t he tic et cler . "I'm sorry, but I must get on this ride right now!" The Tic et Cler , a young blac girl who seems more preoccupied with finishing h er text message on her cell phone, loo s at Carl with a puzzled/sarcastic loo , not understanding why a priest might be in a hurry to get on an amusement par r ide. "Don't matter to me who gets on this ride and who don't, just help yourself prea cher!" Again, Carl cuts the line (and people of course complain) and gets on the ride. He pulls the safety bar towards the seat, but, instead of letting it go over his legs, he sits on top of it. As the car moves along, he sees a "First Floor Emer gency Exit" sign on a wall, next to a picture of an old lady which alternatively changes to the face of a ghost. The ride continues, and now he sees a "Second F loor Emergency Exit" sign. Carl pic s up his coat, which is wrapped around his rifle case. He is ready to ma e his move. Outside, John is still running around the amusement par , trying to find Carl, l oo ing up, trying to find the par 's tallest structure. He finally sees the thre

e story Haunted Mansion and, immediately after, to his dismay, the equally tall House of Mirrors, directly across. He cannot believe his bad luc and mentally c hastises himself for not chec ing out the par before hand. He feels unprepared but does not have time to dwell on it and nows he has to ta e a chance. Carl, with his coat and his rifle case in his hands, is ready to jump off his ri de car at any moment. He eeps loo ing at the signs on the wall, anxiously. He s ees scary pictures and monsters until, finally, he hits the jac pot: The "Third Floor Emergency Exit" sign. As the ride car slows down to go under the long hai rs of a witch, Carl jumps off and heads towards the emergency exit sign. A few feet away from the Haunted Mansion ride entrance, Sister Ana is blissfully unaware of what Carl and John are doing so dangerously close to her. She has a job to do and, as always, she is going to ma e sure it gets done: With the help of three other nuns, Sister Ana is gathering the children, trying to get them to get on line so they can start wal ing towards the Haunted Mansion ride. "C'mon boys and girls, get on line, get on line! The faster we get on line the f aster we get to go on the scary ride!" While some of the children listen to her, the more severely handicapped children need the attention and the help of the other nuns, who are trying to get everyo ne, regardless of the severity of their handicap, to enjoy the day. A few feet away, as he continues to run, John sees the church group ids lining up in front of the Haunted Mansion and starts to curse to himself: He nows he i s not going to ma e it. He loo s at the ids and loo s at the top of the Haunte d Mansion and the House of Mirrors and nows that he needs to get up there immed iately, but, which one should he go up? As he decided earlier, he is going to g o with his first instinct and charge up the Haunted Mansion. He runs past the li ne of people waiting to get on the ride and flashes his badge to the tic et cler . "Police! I need to get on this ride right now!" The Tic et Cler , still trying to balance her job duties with her all-important text messages, loo s up from her cell phone and gives John the same quizzical, b ored loo she gave Carl earlier as he was cutting the line: "You too? Jesus Christ, everybody in a damn hurry to get on this shit ride today ! Go ahead, noc yourself out Mister 5.0!!!" John finally gets on the ride, and, just li e Carl, sits on top of the safety ar m, ready to jump off his car at any second. As his car travels about 10 feet, h e hears a shot outside, followed by the usual screams and commotion after someon e has been illed. John curses under his breath, jumps off his car and starts to run bac to the en trance. By the time he gets outside the Haunted Mansion, the place is in total c haos. He loo s over towards where the church group children had been and sees Si ster Ana bent over the body of a child, lying on the floor as the other nuns are trying to gather the rest of the children. People are running around, yelling for help, loo ing up. Kids that had been on rides are loo ing for their parents , who are desperately trying to find their children. Sister Ana is trying to get things under control. "Call 911!!! Someone call 911! This child has been shot!!!" John runs over to Sister Ana to help. She cannot hide her surprise to see him. "Agent Pantina! What are you doing here? Help me, this child has been shot!" John ta es the child's pulse and loo s up, towards the third floor of the Haunte d Mansion and then towards the third floor of the House of Mirrors, trying to sp ot Carl, while, at the same time, nowing perfectly well that Carl, the shooter, is long gone. The child is dead. John loo s down, in disbelief. Sister Ana, who is crying unco ntrollably, moves closer to John and see s his embrace. He hugs her, pulling her tight towards his chest, as she cries. Emotions are running rampant through hi s head: Hatred for his brother, pity for the poor child that was just illed, a nd for his family. And yes, as out of place as it may seem, a warm, good feeling

brought upon by having Sister Ana's head on his chest. It felt so good, even un der these awful circumstances, to have her near him, to hold her, to be so close . But the good feeling lasts for what seems to be nothing more than a millisecon d: Uniformed police officers and EMS crews start to arrive and secure the area a nd he needs to get up and help.

24

Every Monday morning was bad for the Captain: He enjoyed his wee ends, his famil y, his private life, and he viewed Monday mornings as a rude, capricious interru ption of all he held dear. The "job" had become just that lately; maybe it was t ime to start seriously thin ing of retirement. Or maybe this Monday morning was just worse than usual. The events at FunLand, while in Long Island, had repercus sions that reached all the way to Broo lyn, to his precinct. His door is closed. The Captain, who loo s as if he is about to ill someone, ha s summoned Special Agent Reynolds, Agent DiGiovanni and John to his office. He is furious, and his red face is about half an inch from John's. He is screaming at the top of his lungs. "Officer Remolo, since I just got my ass chewed by the goddamn Mayor, and then b y the goddamn Commissioner, I figured it's time for me to ta e it out on someone . And that someone is you: Do you want to tell me what the fuc you were doing i n a Long Island par yesterday when yet another child was illed?" John loo s down and has no answer. He nows that all he can do is eep quiet and ride this out. As the Captain, of course, continues with his tirade, John nows that this is going to be a tough one. "Now, according to these two fine FBI agents, no goddamn investigation was going on on Sunday, or, if it was, they, who are leading the investigation, were not aware of it! Have you any clue as to what ind of trouble you are in Remolo?" Again, John loo s down and does not answer. "OK, I can see that, for the first time since I've nown you, you are speechless . Well, then, let's play it this way: I can suspend you right now and you can g o get your PBA Delegate so I can tell him also to go fuc himself and then I wil l do everything in my power to drag your goddamn union grievance for years. Or, since I now that you now something, you can start tal ing: you got 10 seconds to ma e up your mind" John has never seen Captain Fahrbach this way. His veins are about to pop out of his nec , his tie is undone, his jac et is almost falling off him (the Captain had always been a neat dresser) and, to ma e matters worse, he is not moving awa

y from John. Captain Fahrbach's face is literally right next to his. As the Capt ain spea s, or rather, screams, he, perhaps on purpose, lets some spit hit John' s face. "You got 3 seconds to go Remolo" John loo s up, loo s at the agents, loo s at the Captain, and finally spea s. "I need to tal to you, alone. I will tell you everything, but I can only tal t o you, alone" Special Agent Reynolds, who was half-sitting on a low piece of furniture holding a couple of pictures and trophies, jumps up, noc ing a family picture. "Are you idding me? You cannot allow this!!! This is a total breach of protocol !!!" Captain Fahrbach glares at Reynolds, then loo s at his family picture, now layin g on the floor, which made his mood worse, if that was at all possible. "First of all, pic my family off the friggin' floor. Second, I will decide what I do here, this is still my precinct, agent!" As Reynolds starts to pic up the picture, the Captain moves a couple of inches away from John, who is than ful to Reynolds for diverting the attention off him, albeit temporarily. "I'm going to humor this bullshit request for 10 minutes. 10 minutes, that's how long you got Remolo, so you better be quic and you better be good" He then turns to face the FBI Agents. "Gentlemen, please step outside and give us 10" The Agents reluctantly step out of the office. Captain Fahrbach closes the door, sits behind his des , loo s at his watch and bar s at John. "You got 10 minutes. Go" "I now who's illing the handicapped children" Captain Fahrbach has been around for a long time and he has heard lots of bogus confessions, people thin ing they did something, dreaming they did something, or just wishing they had done something. He has heard druggies confessing to anyth ing so they can get a couple of buc s for a fix and, of course, desperate people trying to cover for a son, a brother, or their mother. After so many years on t he job, he had heard it all; so, of course, he had learned not to get excited wh en someone comes out of nowhere and hands him an easy solution. Nevertheless, th is deserved some attention. "You better not be bullshitting me Remolo, 'cause it'll cost you your goddamn ba dge!" "Captain, I'm telling you the truth. I now who's doing it. I can catch him, bu t I got two conditions" And, just as the script usually went with these spontaneous miraculous confessio ns, there was a catch: "I'll tell you what you need but my son goes free" or "I' ll confess if I get immunity". Same old crap, different day. Normally he would h ave just chal ed it up to just another day on the job, but not this one. This ca se was attracting too much attention from the brass, the days had been too long for a very long time and his patience was diminishing in direct proportion to th e increasing attention the case was getting. The Captain stands up and glares at John; it is time to play the game, and he su re nows how to play it: Part one, intimidation: "You got conditions?!?!? Conditions?!?!? You are luc y I don't fire your sorry ass for being out of your jurisdiction without authorization and now you got co nditions? Are you idding me?" John just sits there, staring straight at the Captain, not budging. Time to mov e on to Part two, listen to the pitch: "Well, I did promise you 10 minutes, so spit out your frigging conditions" "I want to do this on my own and, when I bring the guy in, I want the DA to give him a special deal that I've thought of" "You got some pair of balls Remolo... why don't we give him a red carpet too? Wh o is it?"

25

As always, she was always smiling and wor ing: One of the first ones to arrive a nd last ones to leave. Carl always thought whatever the Diocese was paying Jenn ifer, the receptionist, was certainly not enough. And she was pretty, but he was not supposed to thin li e that, he was a priest. "Good morning Jennifer" "Good morning Father" That was it: no chatter, no pretending that she cared how "he was doing" or anyt hing else. He li ed it that way: She was efficient and focused. If he needed any thing, she was there. If not, there was not idle chat. Carl wal s into his office, hangs up his coat on the hoo behind his door and wa l s over to his des , to turn on his computer. Same routine, every day. Everythi ng had a rhythm, a place, a time. All the way to his neatly arranged "To Do" she et, placed, as always, in the middle of his des . This morning's sheet was somew hat as ew, somewhat out of place. The sheet, one of those "old school" pre-pri nted things with the words "TO DO" at the top had been touched, moved. He loo s at it again: The first item on the list said: "It's Christmas Time, time to carr y His will. The whole group or Robbie, this Sunday. Time to even out the score: Protect One or Protect Many. Mission will finally be over" Carl pic s up the phone and calls Sister Ana, who sees his number on her Caller Id display "Good morning Father" "Good morning Sister. I want to go over all the details of this Sunday's childre n's trip" Three hours later, Carl is ma ing a rare, unannounced visit to his parents' home . As Deborah opens the door, she cannot hide her excitement: Her children rarely s top by. She does not get that many visitors, her life is almost consumed by Robb ie's handicap. She lets Carl in, her smile betraying her joy. "Well good morning Carl! This is a surprise! To what do I owe this? You visitin g me on a wee day? And sounding so secretive when you called?!" Carl is not happy and is not playing along with his Mother's idding around. He wal s in, does not even ta e off his coat, and sits at the edge of the couch. "Mom, I don't have a lot of time. I need to as you something"

"Let me ma e you a cup of tea and we can chat, li e we used to" He is trying to eep his cool, but this is going to be hard. "Mom, I didn't come here to chat! I came here-" "What is the matter with you Carl? You are so abrupt all the time, li e you're o n pins and needles, so nervous always! Even John said you were acting strange!" "What? John said what? Why was he tal ing about me? What were you guys saying? " "That's what families do, Carl: They tal about one another, they worry about ea ch other, they-" Carl has to interrupt and get this done, otherwise he will never get out of here . "Never mind, Mom, never mind. I have to as you something, something that is ex tremely important, but I cannot tell you why I'm as ing it..." Deborah uses a K-cup coffee/tea machine to ma e herself a quic cup of tea and s its down. She is trying to ma e her son's visit a fun occasion, but he is defin itely not helping. "Well, this is interesting... it must be really important because I've never see n you this worried! You are a nervous wrec , and you loo awful!" "Than s Mom, but I have bigger things to worry about than how I loo , I have to" "A person should always worry about their appearance-" "Mom, please!" She loo s at him: Surprised, scared, disappointed. This was not her child, her Carl. Whatever this was, this was going to be bad. Before she can say anything, Carl grabs the opportunity to spit out why he is here. "I need Robbie to come to the Church's children trip this Sunday" There, he got it out. Now sit bac and let her deal with it for a minute. Deborah just sits there, astonished. "Carl, what ind of request is that? Robbie is not a child, why would he go with you on a children's trip? The last place I want Robbie is around children on a church trip! Haven't you heard about the "Handi- iller"? Are you crazy?" Carl loo s down and does not answer. This is going to be harder, a lot harder th an he thought.

26

It too him a while, but John was finally able to convince Sister Ana to go with him. She, of course, bal ed at first, but, deep down, he new that she wanted t o be part of this, part of something "dangerous", something "different". Plus, o f course, it allowed them to spend more time together, so how could she say no? As they travel in his unmar ed car, she is staring at the laptop computer juttin g out of the dashboard, listening to the constant police radio chatter, ta ing i t all in. They are on their way to Father Remolo's office. "I'm not sure I should be doing this, plus, it's not li e I visit Father Remolo everyday! His receptionist sounded suspicious..." She is so beautiful, in a peaceful, radiant way. He could not help but stare at her, to wonder how, why did she ever become a nun. He cannot believe how quic l y their relationship is moving, or how much both of them are ris ing by what the y are doing. He should never be involved with someone so close to a case he is i nvestigating, he new better than that! And, worse of all, a nun!!! On the other hand, whatever he was ris ing was nothing compared to her ante: While he did no t now exactly what the punishment would be for a nun to get romantically involv ed, he new it had to be ten times worse than anything he would endure from the Police Department if they were ever found out. She catches him staring: He better come up with something to say, and fast. "I could have gotten a warrant and gotten in there anyway. You are only ma ing the whole thing just easier and quieter. You are doing the right thing" "So, what are we loo ing for?" "Anything and everything. Notes, drawings, newspaper clippings, these guys love to read about themselves..." "If anyone finds out, I would be in so much trouble" "Nobody will ever find out" As he whispers the last words, John continues to drive with his left hand, while his right hand moves across the seat towards Sister Ana's hand. Without loo ing down, she grabs his hand and squeezes it. The rest of the ride is spent in silence. A quiet, unobtrusive, peaceful, not aw ward silence. When they arrive at the Diocese's offices, they let go of each other's hands: No thing said, no comments, no loo s are exchanged. As they wal in, past the main reception, John follows Sister Ana, who nows exa ctly where she is going. Jennifer, Carl's receptionist, as always, is her cheerful, efficient self. "Good morning Sister Ana" "Good morning Jennifer" "Li e I told you on the phone, Father Remolo is not here..." "I now, I now. He's as ed me to pic up a chec from his office for this Sunda y's snow tubing trip. The money is due and we don't want to lose our reservation !" Jennifer smiles and loo s over at John, wondering who he is. Everything in her des is functional, proper, conducive to wor ; down to the last detail, includin g her boom box, which is softly playing Andrea Bocelli's Christmas CD. Sister A na notices Jennifer loo ing at John. "Oh Dear, how rude of me (she hesitates, trying to thin of a name), this is Mr. Bocelli, from the bus company!" John loo s puzzled for a second and, luc ily, Jennifer does not notice it: She i

s only half loo ing at them now, as she is trying to read her emails at the same time. Sister Ana continues. "Mr. Bocelli needs the ids' names and all the information, which Father Remolo forgot to send him!" John extends his hand to the Receptionist, who suddenly stops loo ing at her ema ils. Andrea Bocelli's music can be clearly heard over the silence. "Andrew, Andrew Bocelli, pleased to meet you" He thin s to himself what an idiot he is, of all the names, of all the people he nows, "Andrew Bocelli" is the best he could come up with? Jennifer does not r ealize that he is lying, on the contrary, she is impressed with the name. "Oh wow, almost li e the singer!" John smiles. Jennifer continues, this time addressing Sister Ana. "Well, Father Remolo didn't mention it to me Sister, and I'm surprised because h e's so well organized! But, if you say he forgot to send in the information, the n let's get that fixed. Let me open the door for you so you can get what you nee d" Jennifer gets her eys, gets up and escorts Sister Ana and John to Father Remolo 's office. She opens the door and just stands there, trying to establish a conv ersation with John. "So, are you li e, related to Andrea Bocelli? I mean, I now it's a long shot, but I figured I had to as !" Sister Ana and John want to get rid of Jennifer so they can loo through the off ice but, not wanting to arise any suspicion, they play along. "Oh, don't I wish! I wouldn't be a manager for a bus company if I was related to him!" They all laugh. Sister Ana, realizing that Jennifer will not leave on her own, t a es the bull by the horns. "Jennifer, we'll ta e it from here. I'm going to have to call Father to as him where he put the chec s and the information. It's going to ta e me a few minutes and I don't want to ta e you away from your wor " "Oh, of course, help yourself Sister. I'll be outside if you need me" As Jennifer wal s away, Sister Ana closes the door and breathes a sigh of relief . John immediately starts to loo around the office, not nowing how much time they have before the receptionist returns. He moves quic ly, in an organized, pr ofessional way. Sister Ana sits at the des , not wanting to be in his way. As sh e sits down, she notices Father Remolo's "TO DO" pad. She freezes for a moment. The longest minute of her life goes by until she eventually regains her power to spea , but does not. Instead, afraid to say anything, she taps John and points at the des , specifically at the TO DO pad. She does not want to ris Jennifer h earing them, in case she is right outside the door, listening. Unfortunately, John, who is busy carrying on with his systematic, extremely orga nized search, does not ac nowledge her soft tap. She spea s now, albeit so softl y. "John, John, loo at this!" John finally pauses his search momentarily and turns around, only partially able to hide his being annoyed at her interruption. Sister Ana points to the pad, John reads it, and then re-reads it: ""It's Christmas-time, time to carry His will. The whole group or Robbie, this S unday. Time to even out the score: Protect One or Protect Many. Mission will fin ally be over. An eye for an eye"" John nows they have found what they came to get. "That's what we are loo ing for" After finding nothing else remotely connected to the note on the TO DO pad, they leave. Once in the car, Sister Ana wants to tal , to find out more about what is going on. John has other plans and gets on the phone with his Mother as soon as he enters the car. "Mom, I'm coming over, I need to tal to you right now" "Oh my God, this must be my luc y day! Your Brother Carl is here, and needed to tal to me as well!" "Carl is there? What did he need to tal to you about?

"Well, he wanted to tal to me about ta ing Robbie on the church's snow tubing t rip this wee end!" Immediately, John flips on the roof lights and siren on his police cruiser and f loors the gas pedal. Sister Ana holds on for dear life, giving John a dirty loo , which he does not notice, being so engrossed in his own conversation. "Mom, don't say yes to anything, I'm on my way. Do you hear me? Don't agree to anything!!!" "And why not John? What's going on?" John hangs up the phone and concentrates on driving, which he is doing incredibl y fast. As he drives, Sister Ana puts her left hand on his shoulder. She questi ons John, wondering why they are going to see his mother, nowing that something is going on here, more than she nows, more than John has told her. As he drive s, or rather speeds, through the crowded streets, John finally comes clean and t ells Ana everything, his relationship to Carl, his history, everything. Deborah only realizes that John has hung up the phone after as ing him the same question three times and getting no response. Today's visits by her sons are not panning out to be the ind of visits a parent longs for. She does not tell Car l what just went on and instead pretends that everything went fine as she wal s bac into the family room where Carl is waiting. "Isn't this great? Your brother is coming over also! I couldn't have planned a b etter afternoon!" "John is coming? What did he say? Why is he coming? Did you tell him I was here ?" Carl gets up, wal s over to the front door and stands there, as he tal s to his Mother. He did not accomplish what he wanted during this visit and does not want to ma e it even worse by being here when John shows up. "Mom, I gotta go, I'll call you and we can tal about this just the two of us. B elieve me, this is good for Robbie" Deborah cannot believe that Carl is not waiting for John: This visit just eeps getting worse and worse. "Why are you leaving so soon? Why aren't you waiting for John? We could all have a cup of tea together!" "Sorry Mom, gotta go. I'll call you later" Carl leaves the house in a hurry. Confused, Deborah watches him run to his car through the front window. While she does not understand what is going on, she n ows it is not good. About a half hour later, John is sitting down with Deborah in the family room. T he atmosphere is tense: John has been tal ing for a while and his mother cannot believe a word he is saying. Deborah just wants to now what is going on with he r family and the more she tal s to her sons the less she understands. "Mom, all the evidence points out to Carl. I now this is extremely tough to bel ieve, but everything points to him" One hundred buc ets of freezing cold water have just been poured over poor Debor ah's head: John just finished telling her his theory about Carl being the serial iller targeting handicapped children. A Mother's worse nightmare, made only wo rse by the fact that the only reason that she is finding out at all is because o ne of her children is telling on the other. "You better watch your mouth John! You have no clue what the hell you are saying ! What's wrong with you! What the hell is wrong with you?! Carl is my son, he's your brother! He loves Robbie!" "Mom-" What is a parent to do? How do you react when one of your children tells you tha t his brother is a serial iller of handicapped children? What God do you pray t o to ma e this nightmare go away? How do you bring bac the babies that you so c arefully held in your hands, that you so cherished, that you so gingerly placed on the floor one day while holding their hands and encouraged to ta e their firs t steps? No matter what she thought, what she imagined, this was happening. No matter wha t she tried, John was in front of her telling her that Carl was a criminal, a i ller, a iller of handicapped children. Her son, Carl, according to her son, Jo

hn, was the handi- iller, as the media so loved to describe him. Her attempts to bring bac the life that she had a couple of hours earlier are futile: No thoug ht, no wish, no prayer is going to change this reality. She never thought that she would long for her earlier life, the life that she ha d grown accustomed to, but now she was. As images raced in her mind, as thoughts converged, drifted in and out, she somehow, for a split second, actually wished for her old life. Not that her "previous" life was so good, so perfect, so idyl lic, but the events of the last couple of hours had given her a new perspective. She starts to cry uncontrollably. "He's your brother! How can you say such things! He loves Robbie!" "I love Robbie too Mom" "Oh don't give me that crap, John, don't give me that crap! You couldn't wait to get away from him, you were always ashamed of Robbie, always afraid people woul d thin you weren't as "cool" if you spent time with him! Meanwhile Carl too ca re of Robbie the entire time! And now you have the nerve to tell me that Carl wa nts to ill him! Wait until I discuss this with your Father! If you thin I'm ma d..." "Mom, we need to concentrate on what's going on here-" "Oh, I'm aware of what's going on here, are you? You are telling me that Carl is a liar, that he is a psychopath, a serial iller! And if that isn't bad enough, you also want me to help you catch him, and put him away for life! All this, w hile, of course, using Robbie as bait!" God only nows what's gotten into you, b ut you are crazy if you thin I will use my youngest child as bait for a serial iller! I don't now what you are thin ing of, but I refuse to believe that my m iddle son is a serial iller! A murderer! A murderer of handicapped children no less! Children li e your brother Robbie, who, according to you, he wants to ill this Sunday!!! How do I now that you are not a liar? What ind of son puts his Mother in this predicament? What do you expect me to do?" "Mom, I'm telling you the evidence-" "That's enough John, that's enough! Please leave, I've heard enough!!!" John nows that he is going to need his parents' help to execute his plan and ge t Carl on Sunday when he tries to ill Robbie. He also nows this is going to b e extremely hard. He tries one more time. "Mom, you could help me here and ma e this easier, but, either way, I'm going to do what I have to do, and that s bringing Carl in. He's my brother, but he's als o a criminal" The last words just stay there: Hanging in the air, li e a smo e cloud; visible, but impossible to grasp. Heavy, impossible to ignore, just hanging in mid-air. Deborah cannot ta e anymore. "Just leave John, please, just leave" John wal s out of the house and bac to his police cruiser, where Sister Ana is waiting for him. She can tell by his face and demeanor that things did not go we ll. "How did it go?" "Not well, not well at all. Somehow my mom has a hard time believing that my mid dle Brother is a serial iller of handicapped children who wants to, for some re ason, now ill our younger brother... "So, what do we do now?" "Now, Ana, it's your turn to perform: We go see my Captain and you gotta sell hi m on what you can do for me on Sunday so we can eep the FBI out of it. I don't want the FBI involved. Carl is a criminal, but he's also my brother. I want to d o the right thing here for society but also for my brother, for my family" John turns on the police lights and pulls out of the par ing spot. They head bac to the precinct. No siren, no sounds, no words are exchanged. The weight of th e world on their shoulders, the decisions of a lifetime, decisions that most peo ple never have to even thin about, they are all in front of them, li e targets, moving targets that they cannot afford to miss. Once at the precinct, John and Sister Ana are sitting down in the Captain's offi

ce. Captain Fahrbach loo s li e he has aged in the last few days. As Sister Ana and John sit down, he closes his office's blinds so nobody can see in; this meet ing is not going to be a good one. Captain Fahrbach finishes closing his blinds, closes his door, sits behind his d es and faces Sister Ana. At his level, he has to be careful how he treats someo ne whom he believes is here to represent the Catholic Church, so he puts up a go od front: He figures he might as well give it a try before things degenerate. "Sister, I'm glad that the Church has sent you here to tal to us" "Me too, Captain, me too. Mother Superior was emphatic that I should come here to tal to you and get this done. I'm glad I can be of help Captain. I'm not onl y helping the Police but also the Church: Nobody wants this to be on the front c over of the papers so, the faster we solve this, the better for all of us" John is so proud of her: She is on message, perfectly. He helps her out. "Captain, than you for ta ing the time to listen to us, I now this is a huge g amble for you and I appreciate your giving us a chance. As we discussed, all th e evidence that we have gathered in this case points to my brother, Carl, being what has become nown in the papers as the "handi- iller". I now, better than a nyone, how my brother operates, what ma es him tic , what motivates him. As I to ld you last time we spo e, I can get him, Captain, I can get him but I don't wan t the FBI involved. You now as well as I do that if we bring the Bureau in, the n we have to do it by the boo and after they catch Carl, they'll want a press c onference and all the bullshit that goes with it. After that, there's no way Car l can get any sort of brea as to where he does his time" Captain Fahrbach loo s at Sister Ana when John says the word "bullshit"; the utt erance, in front of a nun, has made him uncomfortable. Sister Ana catches the lo o and smiles. "Don't worry Captain, I've heard this ind of language before, I've only been a nun for a short amount of time..." "Sorry An-" John stops himself. He cannot believe it: Not only did he almost jus t call her by her name, but he almost did it in front of his Captain. He almost just single-handedly blew his entire plan. "Sister Ana, I'm so sorry. I meant all the publicity and press stuff that follow s every FBI arrest. While I obviously want to catch him, he's still my brother: I don't want his face on the cover of the New Yor Post" The Captain loo s at his watch: Time to move this along. "John, while I sympathize with you, I really don't care about your brother's rep utation being "tarnished"" "I now you don't Captain, I now you don't: A criminal is a criminal, even if h e's my brother. But here's something you do care about: Catching criminals. An d this criminal, this criminal can be caught by me, better than anyone else. We found a note on my brother's des in his office that tells me he's going to stri e this Sunday and it's going to involve my younger brother, Robbie, who, as I'v e told you, has Down syndrome. I don't now why Carl is switching gears since he has been illing little ids all along but, whatever the reason, it loo s li e he's switching gears and, instead of illing a little id, li e he has been doin g, he wants to ill our brother Robbie. Tal ing about switching gears, I thin I need to switch gears myself, and, instead of fighting my little Brother going o n this trip on Sunday, li e I had been doing, I need to encourage it so I can fi nally catch Carl. However, if I'm going to sell this to my parents, they need to now that their name is not going to be mud. They need to now that Carl, while imprisoned, at least will be in a somewhat decent place..." The Captain still does not loo convinced. John and Sister Ana loo at each oth er: She needs to step in to seal the deal, she needs to put the whole weight of the church on this, to ma e the Captain thin about it twice. She needs to bluff , to put all her chips on the table and let it roll. "Captain, if you bring in the FBI, I'll be forced to inform Mother Superior of t he publicity consequences and their ramifications to the Church, which I'm sure will prompt her to cancel the trip immediately" There. Her hand is played. Go ahead Fahrbach, go ahead big man, ta e on the Cath

olic Church if you got the balls. Sister Ana stops and lets her words sin in. There is a pause while the Captain thin s over his options. "Sister, with all due respect, I've been in the Police Department for 27 years a nd I don't thin I ever been threatened by a nun before" He was not stupid. He had been around and new when he was being played. However , he also new when he had no other options. Captain Fahrbach turns to face John . They loo at each other for what seems li e an eternity. Neither dares to say an ything and yet both are saying plenty with their eyes. It is as if both of them were in on the secret. Somehow, Captain Fahrbach, with all his years of experien ce, of having been around, of seeing it all, somehow he new what was going on h ere. Somehow, Fahrbach's sixth sense was telling him that Sister Ana was not goi ng to be a "Sister" for much longer. Somehow the old man figured out that there was something going on between her and John. He loo ed at John, dead in the eyes , for a few seconds. Spea ing the unspea able, with his eyes. Telling John, with out spea ing, that he new, that he approved, that he wished him well. That, whi le Life was ta ing a brother away from him, Life was giving him Ana. The circle of life, providence, luc , or whatever you believed in, was active here, and it was trying to reward John for what he was doing. The two men just loo at each other, waiting for the other to flinch, to give, t o ma e a move. Thirty seconds go by; finally, Captain Fahrbach gets up: He has m ade up his mind to go ahead with this. He loo s at John, and only at John when h e spea s. "If you can get your parents to allow your brother to go on the trip, you ta e t hree guys that I pic and you got this Sunday: This Sunday and that's it. If you mess up, you are on your own: The three other guys weren't there and I new not hing about it: I'm retiring after the holidays and I'm not about to lose my pens ion because of this. If it goes well, you'll loo good Remolo, you'll loo real good and, of course, the price you'll pay for loo ing so good is that you'll be slapped on your wrist for this "rogue" operation. That's the deal, ta e it or le ave it" John puts out his hand to sha e the Captain's and seal the deal. "Than you Captain, I won't let you down" "Good. Sister, it has been a pleasure to "never have met you". John, do what yo u need to do with your fol s tonight: Tomorrow, I'll wal by your des and you w ill either nod or sha e your head letting me now whether we are on or not. If w e are on, I will arrange for three officers to approach you about Sunday, and yo u will deal with them. We have never tal ed and I don't want to tal to you aga in until after this is done. Good luc to both of you"

27

That evening, Deborah, Jeff and Robbie are sitting down to dinner. It is a very tense, silent gathering. Jeff, not nowing what has gone on during the last few hours, tries to lighten the mood. "Good ravioli honey, really good!" No response from Deborah. Robbie continues to loo down as he practically devou rs the contents of his plate. The faster he finishes the faster he can go to his room and watch TV or play video games. "Mom, I'm going to watch TV in my room, OK?" "Sure, Robbie, go ahead" Robbie leaves the table and runs up to his room. Jeff gets up to clear his plate . He figures this is his chance to find out what is happening in his home. "OK, now that Robbie is gone I assume you are going to tell me what's going on?" Deborah gets up and proceeds to clear the table. After the second trip with dish es to the itchen, Jeff follows her, puts his arms around her and gently stops h er from continuing to clean up. "OK, whenever things are bad, you clean up. What is it? What's going on?" Deborah turns around to face Jeff, who is still holding her. He notices that she is fighting bac tears; this is worse than he thought. "Deb, what the hell is the matter?" "Jeff, I can't even believe what I'm about to tell you, but, I have to discuss t his with you, as bizarre as it is. Sit down, please, sit down" They move to the living room and sit. Deborah gets a tissue from the box on one of the end tables and wipes her tears. "Carl was here earlier, and so was John, and they were both here to tal to me a bout Robbie going on a children's snow tubing trip this Sunday with the Church.. ." "What? Robbie doesn't li e snow, he's not part of the church group and he's not a child! Why would he go on a Children' trip with the Church?" "Jeff, this has nothing to do with anyone li ing snow! They bring the ids up th ere, show them the sights and maybe some of them actually ma e it onto an actual tube" Jeff is totally lost, but, loo ing at the way Deborah is acting, he figures the best thing to do is remain quiet, stic this one out and let Deborah tal : She w ill eventually let him now what is going on. "OK, I still don't understand... please go ahead" "Jeff, remember on Than sgiving when John thought that Carl was acting strange? The way he was tal ing about Robbie?" It too about 40 minutes for Deborah to finish her story. All Jeff could do was just sit there, unable to spea , to move, to comprehend what he had just heard. Deborah loo s at him and nows how he feels: She feels awful for him, she nows how it felt to hear this disaster from her ids... "So, that's what went on today..." There is another long pause before Jeff is able to react in any way. Finally, he gets up, goes to the liquor cabinet and ta es out a bottle of gin. He goes to t he refrigerator, ta es out a bottle of tonic water and ma es himself a drin . He slowly wal s bac to the living room, where Deborah is now crying. Jeff sits d own, loo ing at the floor. After yet another pause, he finally spea s. "So, what you are telling me is that one of our children is lying to us, you are telling me that either Carl is a serial murderer that ills handicapped childre n and now wants to ill his younger, handicapped brother or that John is a crazy

zealot that wants to frame his brother and arrest him for God only nows what r eason" He always had a nac for summarizing things, for providing an "executive briefi ng". He could loo at the most complex business transaction and, after a few min utes of familiarizing himself with the documents, of as ing his guys for informa tion, he could delve into it as if he had been wor ing the deal all along. It wa s a great s ill that had served him very well in business and, of course, he was using it now to ma e sure he completely understood what was going on. However, unli e his business partners, Deborah could not answer; she just sat there, cryi ng, sobbing. Jeff went on. "And you and I are supposed to believe one of them, and only one of them and put our younger son's life in the hands of one of his older brothers, depending on which one of our own children we believe" That was it: Jeff, a good business executive, had just prepared the Executive Su mmary: The environment, the ey players, the consequences. The "environment" was his family. The " ey players" were all three of his children. The "consequences " were that one of them could very li ely die if they made the wrong decision. H e ta es a big gulp of his drin , finishes it and slams his glass down on the cof fee table "And, of course, if we ma e a mista e, Robbie dies" And there was the final caveat: The crux of their decision. A decision no parent should ever have to ma e. As Deborah and Jeff loo at each other, the phone rings. Jeff wal s over to it, sees that it is John on the caller ID and pic s it up "Hi John" "Hi Dad, I assume that you've been tal ing to Mom?" "You assume correctly" "Dad, I thin I have the best possible solution to this" "Well I'm glad somebody does, 'cause I can't believe that I'm even living throug h this, never mind being able to ma e a decision" "Dad, let Robbie go on the trip with Carl. I wor ed out a deal with my Captain a nd I can follow them and ta e care of this. If I'm wrong then nothing happens. I f I'm right, then I'm the guy that gets Carl: No FBI, no press, it all stays in the family" And there it was: His older son had just given him his version of the Executive Summary, just li e John had taught him to do: Get the facts, the next steps, the who does what when. "Son, do you understand what you are as ing me to do? Do you have any idea how y our Mother and I feel right now?" "Dad, I have no clue how you and Mom feel, I'm not a parent, but I can tell you how I feel as a brother. I can only imagine what I'm putting you through, but w e need to move Dad, we need to ma e a decision. I'm sure Mom told you about the note we found in Carl's office; he's about to ma e a big move this Sunday and we need to stop him Dad. Kids' lives are at sta e, Robbie's life is at sta e here, and we don't have time to waste" Jeff loo s at Deborah, sitting on the couch, crying, then at his empty drin and , finally, at the telephone receiver. The whole thing seems surreal. "John, your Mother and I are going to tal about this all night and we'll have t o ma e a decision by the morning" "Dad-" "Son, I'm going to go now. I need to tal to your Mother. I need to understand what's going on here and, if possible, ma e a decision in the morning" John realizes he has to push his Father, and he does. "Dad, I need to now right now-" "Tal to you in the morning son" "Dad, I'll call you in a couple of hours-" Jeff does not let John finish, hangs up the phone and resumes tal ing to Deborah .

28

At the precinct, the next morning, a couple of officers are bantering by the cof fee machine. The two FBI agents are sitting by John's des , tal ing to him; by t he loo in their faces, they do not li e what they are hearing. Agent DiGiovanni loo s furious. "So, is that what she said? Are you serious?" John is loo ing down, as if he cannot believe the news he is delivering either. "Yeah, she was furious! She threw me out and told me because of all the press th e children's trip had been cancelled and for me to come bac after New Year's, n othing going boys..." John's plan continues. He is now getting rid of the FBI, by telling them that Mo ther Superior had practically ic ed him out and stopped, or at least postponed, the investigation until after the holidays due to the negative publicity it wou ld create for the Church. As John continues to tal to the FBI agents, Captain F ahrbach wal s by and loo s at John for his signal. John, without missing a beat , continues to tal to Reynolds and DiGiovanni and, almost imperceptibly, nods t o the Captain, secretly letting him now that he heard from his parents and that they are "on"

29

Sunday, li e everything else in life, came. The most important day in the Remolo family was here and John new that all the pressure was on him. As he is drivin g the unmar ed car to the Highland S iing Resort, the other three officers in th e car are either sleeping or pretending to be asleep. He figures this is a good time to call Ana, who answers on the first ring. As always, no matter what time of the day or night, no matter what is going on, she is bubbly and happy to be t al ing to him. "Hi, I missed tal ing to you last night!" "Hi" At first she is ta en abac by his short answer, but then she realizes that he m ust have company in the car. "Are other officers in the car with you?" "Yes" "OK, I'll tal then and you just say yes or no" "OK" "Remember those doubts you had, as to whether you were doing the right thing? Wh ether Carl would do such a thing, and all that?" "Yes" "Well, he called me" "Who did?" "Father Remolo, Carl. He called me to tell me that he was bringing his younger b rother, that he has Down syndrome, that I needed to ta e "special care" of him, and never let him out of my sight" "What? He said what?" "You heard me: To never let him out of my sight. I'm so afraid John, I'm so afra id! John, listen to me: Carl was acting as if he wanted me to protect Robbie ins tead of setting him up to be illed! Why would he want me to watch Robbie if he' s going to ill him? This is so weird, so incomprehensible! And, by the way, do you thin he nows?" "Do I thin he nows what? About us?" His big mouth: Right in front of three other cops, for everybody to now; he cou ld ic himself sometimes. John loo s at the three Police Officers in the car, w

ho loo as if they are asleep. Maybe nobody heard him but he will still try to fix what he said, just in case. "About us, you now, us wor ing together? About you giving me all the informatio n?" That was the best he could thin of. Not bad, he thought to himself, not bad; ma ybe he actually fooled his sleep-feigning partners. But his happy feeling is sho rt lived. His cover-up was to be undone by Ana's actions: It was as if now it wa s her turn to lose it; she now forgets about the other cops in the car and tal s as if John and she were free to spea , without anyone listening. "No John, I'm not tal ing about the information, I'm tal ing about us, you and me, you and I John, do you thin he nows about us? Why does he want me to watc h Robbie if he wants to ill him?" He was holding his cell phone right next to his ear but the volume was loud enou gh that he was sure the other cops heard her. "Ana..." The Officers in the car, who had probably been pretending they were asleep so th ey could hear John's conversation, all loo up, loo at him when they hear him s ay "Ana". John senses that they are listening and tries to compose himself. He s witches his tone, trying to sound official, as if tal ing to an informant. "Sister, Sister Ana, we are on our way, we are literally 5 minutes away, you don 't have to worry about a thing. I got two sharpshooters and a Sergeant with me. We are ready to ta e care of business" The cops go bac to pretending that they are asleep: Who nows what gossip they will start tomorrow. The mood in the car turns bac to a silent, sober anticipat ion of the incredible events that are about to occur. The environment in the police car is in direct contrast to that of the school bu s. The noise on the bus seems to increase with every view of a snow topped mount ain and, as they start to get close to the s i lodge, the mountain views become more frequent and so do the screams and oohs and aahs; many of these ids have n ever been anywhere, much less s iing or snow tubing. While many of them are not aware of what is going on, many of them are and their raucous behavior is slowly but surely starting to get emulated by the rest of the ids, even if they do no t now why they are screaming. As the bus continues its slow climb toward the re sort, just about every child on the bus is excited, even those who do not now w hy. They are loo ing out the windows, pointing at the snow and the s i lifts an d screaming with happiness. Sister Ana is beaming: While she has questioned her vocation many times, especially since her nascent relationship with John, seeing the joy in the children's faces reminds her why she became a nun. She tries to focus bac on her telephone conversation "John, I hope we are doing the right thing, I'm so afraid" John, of course, also has doubts and hopes they are doing the right thing as wel l, but nows that there is no turning bac . "We are, we are, trust me. This will all be over soon" "I can't wait, John, I can't wait" "Neither can I" The bus pulls up to the s i lodge and the ids' screaming is extremely loud. Sis ter Ana needs to get bac to her duties. "I have to go John" "I'll see you there. You have the radio right?" "John..." "Yes" "Be careful, I don't want anything to happen to you" The noise on the bus is drowning Sister Ana out; it is impossible for John to he ar what she is saying. "What? I couldn't hear you! Do you have the radio?" "Yes. (Screaming into the phone) we are here, I have to go. Don't forget that we are starting out in front of the school, in the Learning Area!" She hangs up the phone, loo ing at it as she puts it away in her purse, almost a s if the phone itself could somehow extend, or continue, their bond. As if by me rely loo ing at the phone it would ma e it possible for her to still be able to

hear John, to help him, to get what they have to do accomplished and move on wit h their lives.

30

He studies the map one more time as he ta es a short brea from running. The s i school is one of 4 three-story buildings surrounding the flat parcel or "Learni ng Area" where beginners learn to stand on their s is and gain confidence. There is also a small patio-li e cement rectangle of about ten by ten feet, where gro ups or non-s iers can gather. He loo s at the map one more time and tries to mem orize it, just li e they used to do in the service. Ma e it loo li e a cloc , h e thought to himself. Twelve o'cloc being the north end, three o'cloc east, si x o'cloc south and nine o'cloc west. He tried it again, using the cloc sample this time. The Learning Area, in the middle of the campus, the school at twelve o'cloc . The Restaurant/Bar at three o'cloc , the Welcoming Center at six o'clo c and the small motel at nine o'cloc . Simple, yet efficient; it wor ed, just l i e in the old days. That is how they would have described it in the Army, but t hat was a long time ago. Not too far away, Carl, his face partially hidden by a scarf and s i hat, has sp otted his brother John and the three police officers ta ing their place at the t op of the motel. They now he is here, he nows they are here, let s see who is sm arter. John, as always, had done his homewor and had ta en the best vantage po

MOTEL ROOF: John and the other three Officers are getting ready. The two Sharpshooters loo i ng through their rifle sights. The Sergeant is on the radio. John is tal ing on the radio with Ana and using his binoculars to follow Carl as he runs towards th e Restaurant, following the southeast perimeter of the Learning Area. As he fol lows Carl, he updates his Sergeant. "Sergeant, I got him. He had gone in to the Welcome Center and was there for a f

int; nonetheless, according to the maps and brochures, the Welcome Center offere d a good panoramic view from its roof, so that is where he would go. His heart i s racing, his breath labored as he rushes up the service staircase, s ipping eve ry other step. When he gets to the door leading to the roof, he finds a resort e mployee bloc ing his way. "Hey buddy, where you going?" Carl is speechless; he is shoc ed to find anyone up here, bloc ing the way. He had not planned for this and hesitates before giving an answer. "I wanted to ta e a few pictures from the roof, I spo e with the Manager and he said it was OK..." Bad, real bad. No way this id is going to believe it. Not that the id seemed v ery smart, or could care less, but the line was just not believable, by anyone, even this id. He was one of those big brutes who, after dropping out of their f reshman year in college, corporations loved to hire at minimum wage to perform m enial tas s: While he was obviously not too bright, he was also too big for Carl to try to get past. As soon as he finished uttering his lame excuse, Carl new the id would not buy it. "Listen, I don't now who you spo e with, but I'm under direct orders from the m anager who was told by the Police not to let anyone up here. I don't now what's going on here today, but I was told I'd be fired if anyone else goes up to the roof, so just beat it man!" "Anyone else? What do you mean, anyone else? Someone is already there?" The id was done with this conversation. His cell phone was vibrating and there were important text messages from his buddies that he had to return, and Carl wa s preventing this from happening. He loo s at Carl, loo s at his phone and sha es his head. He puts the phone bac in his poc et, pic s up his hotel radio and contacts the hotel's Front Des . "Front Des this is Manny at the Welcome Center roof access. I have a guy here t elling me that he is authorized to access-" Carl does not wait for the id to finish his sentence. He needs to move and to m ove now; he loo s at his watch and turns around, running away, running down the stairs. Manny sha es his head again, not believing what a waste of time the last few min utes were. He gets bac on the radio. "Never mind, Front Des , ignore my previous message... Although I'd still li e t o now what the hell is going on here today..." Having made it bac to the lobby of the Welcome Center, Carl is running past gue sts, pushing people out of the way. He finally ma es it to the door. He loo s a t the Learning Area and sees the nuns trying to line up the children. He loo s a t the Motel, to his left. He loo s up, nowing his brother John is up there wit h three other cops, probably watching him right now. Time is flying and he is no where near where he should be if this thing is going to end today. He ta es a de ep breath, trying to summon his sniper spirit, the coolness, the frame of mind t hat helped him carry so many missions bac then. He feels the calm invading his body: He is in control again. He surveys the area, just li e he used to do, loo ing for another vantage point, a place where he could carry his mission. He spot s the distant School building, perpendicular to his location, a straight line ac ross, right on the other side of the Learning Area; no good. He would have to ru n through all the ids, the nuns, the beginners falling all over the place. His only remaining choice is to ma e it to the top of the Restaurant/Bar, which is, anyway, much closer, to his right. Meanwhile, throughout the S i Lodge, everyone continues to set up:

ew minutes; I assumed that he would set up on the roof, but, for some reason, he came down from the Welcome Center and is now running towards the Restaurant..." The Sergeant pic s up his radio. "Second Unit, subject has abandoned prior location and is now running towards Re staurant. Move towards Restaurant and await my order to intercept" John cannot believe what he just heard: As far as he new, the two Sharpshooters and the Sergeant sharing the Motel roof with him were the only Police presence here today. This is what he had discussed with Captain Fahrbach, this was part of the deal. Absolutely no one had mentioned anything about a Second Unit. "Second Unit? What do you mean "Second Unit"? Who are you tal ing to on the radi o? Who else is here?" The Sergeant waves him off; he has no time or desire to explain what is going on to John. But John will not let it go. "Sergeant, I want to now, I have a right to now!" "Don't worry John, it's just more cops, no FBI. It's all part of the plan. We wa nt him alive, John, alive" The Sergeant reinforces his previous statement. "It's all part of the plan John, we are just ma ing sure he goes nowhere" John starts to say something but realizes that this is beyond his control. He is better off spending his time eeping trac of his brother than arguing with and tic ing off his Sergeant. At the northeast corner of the Learning Area, there is a nondescript van, its en gine shut off, no one visible through the dar windows. Four undercover Police O fficers, the "Second Unit" that the Sergeant was tal ing to on the radio, are in side the van, monitoring what is going on outside through binoculars and TV moni tors. The Officer manning the radio receives the transmission regarding Carl's c hange of location from the Sergeant and responds. "10-4. Second Unit abandoning vehicle and proceeding towards restaurant's roof. Will await your order to intercept. Over and out" MOTEL ROOF The Sergeant puts down his radio and pic s up his own binoculars: Everything is falling into place.

LEARNING AREA As Carl runs towards the restaurant, he nows he is being watched by John and wh oever else is up there with him. What he does not now is that he is also being watched by someone else, from the top of the School building, the same exact bui lding whose roof he had tried to go up to initially. LEARNING AREA, IN FRONT OF RESTAURANT Carl finally reaches the restaurant, spots the Service Staircase and runs toward s it. As usual, most service doors are unloc ed. He runs all the way up to the 3 rd floor, reaches the roof door and slams it open with his foot. He rushes to t he edge of the roof and starts to set up his rifle. If there was ever a moment w hen time was of the essence, this was it. Everything that he believed in, his re putation, his life and the life of his brother were both at sta e here. MOTEL ROOF The Sergeant focuses his binoculars on Carl, perpendicularly across from him, on the East side of the Learning Area, on the roof of the Restaurant. He sees Carl setting up a rifle and immediately yells his information over to the Sharpshoot ers standing a couple of feet away from him. "Subject has reached his destination, perpendicular to us, roof of Restaurant. T rain your sights and await my command" The Sharpshooters aim their rifles across the Learning Area, setting their scope s on Carl. From the top of the Motel to the top of the Restaurant, there are no

obstacles, nobody else on the roof; they loo at each other for a split second. This is an easy shot. RESTAURANT ROOF Carl is finally set up. Rifle is ready, Bible by his side. He loo s through his scope, aiming, re-aiming, he's found who he came to ill. "There you are, finally, finally I'm able to see you. Dear God, please grant me the aim and the strength to carry this through, and please forgive what I'm abou t to do. Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name" LEARNING AREA Sister Ana and the other nuns finally have the children in something resembling a formation. They have finished accounting for all of them, and they start to wa l . She is holding hands with Robbie. "Robbie, we are so glad that you could come and help us watch the children; it's very nice of you" SCHOOL ROOF Sister Ana and Robbie are being closely watched through a rifle scope, its owner positioned at the top of the School building. He, li e Carl, has done this befo re; his movements are precise, controlled, not a single move is wasted. The rifl e scope moves slowly and focuses on Robbie, following him along as he wal s hold ing hands with Sister Ana. RESTAURANT ROOF Carl adjusts his sight one more time; his subject had moved over. He assumes his shooting position, ready to absorb the weapon's ic , to compensate for it and remain stable, to launch the bullet that will ma e everything right. He continue s his Our Father. "Thy ingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this d ay our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses," MOTEL ROOF The Sergeant, his binoculars still trained on Carl, realizes, by Carl's newly as sumed stance, that he is ready to shoot. He is an old Army man himself and is fa miliar with Carl's new position. The time has come. He pic s up his radio and ba r s orders. "Second Unit, ta e over roof and intercept immediately, subject is ready to fire !" The Second Unit, huddled on the stairs landing near the roof door in the restaur ant building, receive their orders from the Sergeant. Their time to act has come . One of the Officers whispers his ac nowledgement to the Sergeant over the radi o and then screams to the others: "Move in! Let's go!" The 4 Officers start running up the steps towards the roof door. RESTAURANT ROOF Carl continues to recite the Our Father as he chec s his aim one more time and p repares to pull bac on the trigger. "As we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, b ut deliver us from evil. Amen." MOTEL ROOF John, distrustful of the Police Department's adherence to the deal they had made , continues to scan all the buildings and the entire area. He does not now what he is loo ing for, but does not believe that his Sergeant has told him the enti re story. His mind is racing with questions: Where is this Second Unit located? Is there a Third Unit? He is now wondering if this was a good decision after al l. As he moves from right to left, he sees the Welcome Center. The Welcome Cente

r's roof shows nothing, as expected. As he continues to move north, or to his le ft, he sees Carl on the Restaurant's roof, also as expected. His lac of trust in the people that are there to support him ma es him continue to scan north. He quic ly surveys the School's roof and continues to move past it, starting to mo ve bac to the right, when, suddenly, he spots something moving. His reflexes ta e over and ma e him immediately move his binoculars bac to his left: There is someone on the roof of the School. Someone that he does not now about. As he re focuses, he sees a man, on the roof of the school, in a sniper's position, with a rifle pointing down. The un nown man has his rifle pointing towards the Learni ng Area, where the children are, where Robbie is, where Ana is. As he suspected, there is probably a third unit, or some FBI detachment/special force type who i s here to monitor things or, worse, to ma e sure that things go according to his plan. As John incredulously zooms in on the man, he cannot believe his eyes. Al l of a sudden, what he thought was the worst nightmare of his life, has become t he worst nightmare of a thousand lives. His best friend, the guy that has been g oing through the whole thing with him, the last person he would expect to see he re, is here, on the roof of the school and he has a rifle, a sniper's rifle. His good friend Patric is on the roof of the school, actually at the edge of the s chool's roof, with a rifle, aiming down at the children, pulling on his trigger, firing. While everybody is focused on Carl, Patric is operating without anyon e at all even being aware that he is here, pointing his rifle, shooting his rifl e straight at the children! Patric 's shot reverberates through the Learning Area, li e thunder on a stormy sea. The Sergeant, hearing the shot, bar s into his radio, out of reflex. The S ergeant, unaware of Patric 's presence, assumes that the shot has come from Carl . "Fire! Fire! Subject has opened fire! Second Unit, what's going on! You were sup posed to intercept! Your subject is firing! What the hell is going on!!!? The Sharpshooters, following the Sergeant's orders, fire at will at Carl, who ha d yet to fire a single shot. Carl is dead instantly, painlessly. RESTAURANT ROOF Carl's "Amen" is, appropriately, the last word he will ever say. His body goes l imp and falls on top of his rifle, on the floor. He never got to fire his first shot. MOTEL ROOF The Sharpshooters standing next to the Sergeant and John put down their rifles, having accomplished their mission. One of them informs the Sergeant of Carl's de ath. "Subject is down, Sergeant. Mission accomplished" After a few seconds, a message from the Second Unit comes over the radio. The S econd Unit officers are standing on the roof of the Restaurant, by the ledge, lo o ing at Carl's dead body, screaming into their radios. "Hold your fire! I repeat, hold your fire! No shots fired from Restaurant roof, our subject is down! Repeat, no shots fired from Restaurant, our subject is dea d!" While unable to fully comprehend what has just ta en place, the Sergeant does re alize that a mista e has been made. If Carl did not fire any shots, then who did ? Within milliseconds, the Sergeant realizes the ugly, unconceivable truth: The wrong man, Carl, has been shot and illed, as per his orders. But there is no ti me to feel sorry, he now has to stop his people from continuing to shoot in the wrong direction and find where the real shooter is. An old lesson from the army as well as the police department taught him to always ta e one more loo , especi ally when things did not turn out to be as they originally seemed. As he quic ly scans the rooftops, he sees Patric running on the School's roof, ma ing his ge taway. As he zooms in, he sees Patric 's rifle against the roof's wall. "Hold your fire! Shooter is on the roof of the school. I repeat, shooter is on s chool roof!!! Second Unit proceed to School and secure the building!"

The Sergeant now turns his attention to the two Sharpshooters standing next to h im and tells them to focus their sights on the School building's exits. He loo s at John, who is loo ing at him with a mixture of anger and desperation. John do es not now exactly what has happened but suspects the worse. LEARNING AREA Robbie, hit by Patric 's bullet, is on the ground. Sister Ana, neeling by him, is crying desperately for help. The place is in total chaos; children running, scared. The nuns trying to contro l their charges, while at the same time scared for their lives. People running, hiding, while at the same time everyone, in fear for their lives, loo s up to t he rooftops, wondering if more shots are coming. Suddenly, out of the mayhem, John is running out of the Motel, towards the Learn ing Area. He is yelling for Ana and Robbie, not nowing if either of them is sti ll alive. Ana ta es Robbie's pulse one more time and realizes he is dead. She gently puts down his arm, gets up, and runs towards John.

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Two wee s later, as the case continued to enthrall the populations of not just N ew Yor , but the nation itself, the news media continued to showcase it on the n ightly news, the newspapers, the internet. A city that had seen it all, lived it all, felt it all and was often blas about events that would shoc others, had it s communal heart brea for the handicapped children that had been illed, the in nocent victims of a deranged man; a lunatic that saw justice, peace and fair ret ribution in illing those less fortunate, those who had done no wrong. Of course , as Jeff would say, given the particulars of the case, it should have been easy to hate the villain; after all, any guy illing children, illing handicapped c hildren, for God's sa e, is up there with Osama bin Laden and Hitler, easy to ha te, an easy target allowing all right wing politicians to scream for capital pun

ishment, tough law enforcement, more cops, Mom, apple pie and the Flag. But, for those who actually bothered to read past the headlines, for those who too the time to delve, to carry the conversations a little deeper, the facts were not as clear. Patric O'Toole had been an altar boy, a U.S. Army veteran, a police of ficer, for crying out loud! Can you get anymore civic minded? Anymore patriotic? Any more lovable? And there it was, the "gray" that Jeff always argued about, t he "in the middle" position that often seemed just an easy way not to have to ha ve a position, the independent view that did not clearly fit, that could not be encapsulated in quic and convenient sound bites for the public at large to dige st. Yes, the man was evil, he had tortured an entire city, his enemies were enem ies of no one. His hatred unleashed on those who had done nothing to him, to his brethren, or to anyone at all. To top it off, Patric O'Toole had almost acc omplished his desire: To ruin Carl Remolo's life, to vindicate what he perceived to be Carl's uncaring, selfish and unforgivable act of leaving him to die, at t he hands of enemy insurgents, that hot, proverbial day in the sand of a foreign land. And while Carl's life had not been ruined, it had certainly been ended, ab ruptly cut short by Patric 's actions. Patric , in his depraved mind, sincerely believed that the actions of his once good friend Carl deserved to be avenged. He believed that Carl's treason, his leaving Patric to die that day in the dese rt deserved punishment, and his life's mission had become to avenge what Carl ha d done to him, to destroy Carl as Patric felt Carl had, by not helping, tried t o destroy him. The media had a field day with Patric . The tal shows could not stop tal ing ab out the madman serial iller who focused on handicapped children. Calls would co me in daily to the Remolo home for either parent to appear on TV, the radio. Deb orah would ignore them all and Jeff would sometimes get into an argument with wh oever was calling trying to boo him on a show. As Jeff was nown to do, he woul d ta e the odd-man out position, the "left-field" approach, the road less travel ed. Yes, Patric O'Toole had threatened an entire city and pic ed on those who c ould not defend themselves. Jeff should now: Patric 's actions had caused the d eath of one of his sons! And yet, Jeff, with a vacancy in his heart, with an ang er that saw no limits, never could publicly condemn Patric . Somehow, he could n ever join the tal shows, give the injured parent interviews, blog incessantly a bout the mad man. Instead, he chose, as he often did, to share his feelings with his family. To mourn outside of the public realm. To feel what he felt, but ins ide the walls of his home. As repugnant as Patric 's actions had been, as vast a s the hole that he drilled in Jeff's heart was, as indignant, sad and forsa en a s he felt, Jeff Remolo saw no good in castigating Patric in public: He felt tha t Patric 's punishment was to exist with himself, with what he had done to other s and to himself. A few days later, about three and a half wee s after the incident at the s i res ort, Patric pleaded to criminal insanity and was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole for the murder of Robert Remolo. The District Attorney, in an effort to get Patric in jail as soon as possible, did not even attempt to g et him for the murders of all the children: She new that those charges would ad d more time to the trial, they would be hard to prove and, more importantly, she had all she needed with the one charge of Carl's death to put Patric away fore ver. At his trial, his defense was that God wanted him to ruin Carl's life, jus t li e Carl had ruined his while they were in the Army. His last words, before t he Judge's sentence, were "An eye for an eye". It is a fact of life that no matter what life throws your way, no matter how dee p the wounds inflicted upon you by others, by events, or by Life itself, Life ha s a habit of going on, of continuing, no matter how long your river of pain is. There is an old Spanish saying that, loosely translated, says "All bad things th at come bring some good with them" ("no hay mal que por bien no venga"). Jeff, e ver the philosopher, would often quote this and other sayings while Deborah, the realist, would cry, vent and fail to understand why things had happened the way they did. But, as the Sun rose every morning, as the tides changed, as life had its way of

not s ipping a beat, so did the Remolos, whose life, just as those of the other families that had suffered because of the serial illings, eventually started t o get bac to normal. A different, more cautious, tentative ind of normal, but a "normal" nonetheless. They say that "...what doesn't ill you ma es you strong er..." and the events of the last few months had definitely made the Remolos a s turdier bunch. Life would never again be what it once had been, but, it also did go on and eventually, we all have to play with the cards we are dealt. The new normal, as it pertained to the Remolos, was putting up with the comments of friends and neighbors as John as ed Ana to marry him. The news media, who ha d left the Remolos alone for a while, rejoiced in reporting that "The Nun and th e Cop" that had must made news during the "Handi- iller" saga, were now getting married. If leaving the church was not hard enough for Ana, it certainly was mad e even harder by the incessant news exposure. And yet, she marched on as she lis tened to the drumbeat of her heart. She quit the Catholic Church, became a "civi lian" (as John would call her) and moved on, in the direction that her heart poi nted. The hardest part was telling her mother, who had seen Ana joining the church as the family's salvation; a lifejac et that would allow Ana to get out of La Quiac a and have a future. They both had tacitly agreed, way bac when, that the churc h was not Ana's calling, but they also new that there were no other avenues, av ailable to her or to the family. Momma Alvarez's cried many nights for what she had to do to her oldest daughter but they both new that this was the best decis ion for the entire family. Two months later, John was promoted to Detective. His investigation revealed tha t Carl had ept a diary, including all the notes that he had received from Patri c ; all of them always left in the middle of his des , written on his TO DO pad, always letting Carl now when the next victim would die. All of them, except f or the last note, the one telling Carl of Robbie's impeding death, warning Carl not to call the police or Robbie would be next. John's investigation painsta ing ly described what Carl's life had become during the serial illings. Carl had, f or all practical purposes, become two men, with two separate, distinct lives. F ather Carl, the loving, loved, gracious soul whose life was devoted to helping h is congregation, with special care and attention to those who, li e his younger brother Robbie, suffered from mental disorders, especially Autism and Down syndr ome. The other Carl, the total opposite from his split self: a hunter, a mar sma n, an avenger, trying to stop senseless illings entirely on his own, since enli sting the aid of the police would result in the death of his younger brother. J ohn spent many a night unable to sleep, wondering, wondering what it must have b een li e to be Carl. To be trapped in his quandary, nowing that he and only he could stop this deranged iller of young handicapped boys, that he could not get help from anyone, that he could not trust anyone. Just li e in the Army, Carl h ad ta en yet another mission. Just li e when he was a sniper, he could not confi de in anyone, see help from anyone, or let anyone now what he was doing. Poor Carl, how lonely he must have been, how isolated he must have felt, how powerles s. Against all odds, at the ris of losing his vocation, his floc , his mission as a Priest, Carl had underta en a one-man crusade to stop Patric , without bein g able to divulge anything about what he was doing, about his secret mission. C arl understood that he and only he could stop the illings of innocent, handicap ped children. Imagine how he felt when he realized that the only way to save chi ldren, to save his family, to save himself, was to ill Patric . To everyone's surprise, Deborah seemed to be the person that embraced recovery f irst and best. She too on a voluntary position with a local charity that helped the handicapped live in group homes. She enrolled in a gym. She even signed up for a class in the local community college. But, as magnificent as those things were, the thing she did that surprised everyone, was to become a champion for An a and John's relationship. Everyone was surprised by her enthusiasm and strong w ill to move on, everyone but her. She had always been the family's "glue"; the s ubstance that held everyone and everything together. While Jeff was out wor ing, traveling, doing everything he could to support the family financially, she sup ported the family spiritually. And now, again, she new what she needed to do to

get everyone living again and that was to encourage her son to move on with his life, to accept the gifts of love and a new life that Ana offered. Slowly at first, little by little, Deborah and Ana became good friends. Or, bett er yet, they became partners, partners in a win-win proposition: To get the Remo los' life bac and to start Ana and John's new life. Deborah welcomed Ana's joy , her positive outloo , her energy. Ana embraced Deborah's matriarchal leadersh ip, her spirit, her love for her family and her attitude. The two of them too o n organizing John and Ana's wedding as if its completion would give them the clo sure they needed, the signal that it was fine to finally get on with their lives . Six months later, in a small chapel in Long Island's east end (where the Remolos had a small bungalow, John's only inheritance) John and Ana were married. The c eremony was small, private; just a gathering of old friends and family. And, thr own in with the old, some Police Officers and FBI agents thrown in for good meas ure, some new friends that the Remolos had pic ed up along the way. A year later, Ana and John's first son, Carl Robert, was born.

THE END