In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

right. I feel like I’m between worlds. The one that was, the one we have.” She took her husband’s hand. “And that I won’t ever be all the way in either again.”
    “Why was he here?” Tony asked Eve. “Do you know? I think it would help to know.”
    “Yes.” Teresa steadied herself. “It would help to know. Why was he pretending to be this priest? I raised him to have respect for the Church. I know he went wild. I know he went bad. But I raised him to have respect for the Church.”
    “I think he was hiding, and I think he was waiting. I don’t know why yet. But I think some of the answers go back to when he was with the gang. Do you know what the Clemency Order was?”
    “Yes, they told me. I didn’t know where Lino was, but he contacted me after it passed. I begged him to come home. He could start fresh. But he said he wasn’t coming back until he drove back in a big, fancy car with the keys to a big, fancy house.”
    “Due to the Clemency Order, even though it was later repealed, all of Lino’s police records from when he was a minor were deleted. What can you tell me about the trouble he’d been in?”
    “He stole. Shoplifting, that was first. Little things, foolish things . . . at first. If I found out, I made him go back to the store with me, take back what he stole. Or I’d pay for it. He broke into places after they’d closed, and into cars on the street.”
    She sighed, then reached for the water Eve had on the table. “He broke windows, tagged buildings, started fights. The police would come, take him, question him. He went to detention, but it didn’t help. It was worse after. He got into more fights, worse fights. He’d come home bloody, and we’d argue. They said he cut a boy, and put him in the hospital, but the other boy said no. He lied, I know, but the boy said he didn’t see who cut him. He killed, my Lino. He took a life.”
    “Whose life?”
    “I don’t know. They never came for him, never arrested him, not for that. It was always smaller things. But I knew he’d killed. I knew what it meant the night he came home with the mark under the tattoo on his arm. We fought—terrible, terrible fight. I called him a killer. I called my son a murderer.”
    She broke then, tears rolling. Pulling out a tissue, she mopped at her ravaged face. “He told me I didn’t understand, that he did what he had to do, and he was proud. Proud, and now the others, they knew he was a man. Now, he had respect. He was fifteen years old. Fifteen years old when he came home with the kill mark still raw on his arm.”
    She stopped, struggled. “I wanted to get him out of the city. If I could get him away from the streets, the gangs. But when I told him what I planned to do, that I was buying two bus tickets to El Paso . . . My godmother lived there, and said she’d let us come, help me find work.”
    “Your godmother?”
    “A friend of my mother’s, from their childhood. My mother was dead. My father beat her to death when I was sixteen. I ran away, and he beat her to death. So I married the same kind of man. I know it’s typical, it’s a cycle. It’s a sickness. But my godmother had a house and work, and she said to come. I told Lino, and he refused. I threatened, argued, and he went out, slammed out. He was gone a week.”
    She stopped, sipped water.
    “Terri, it’s enough.” Tony stroked her arm. “It’s enough now.”
    “No, I’ll finish. I’ll finish it. I went to the police, afraid then he was dead. But a boy like Lino, he knew how to hide. He came back when he wanted. And he told me I could go, but he wouldn’t. Go, he said, he didn’t need me. But if I thought I could make him go, he’d just run again. He wouldn’t leave his family. He wouldn’t leave the Soldados. So I stayed. He defeated me. He lived as he chose, and I allowed it.”
    Eve let her get it out. “He kept the medal, Mrs. Franco.”
    Teresa looked at her, eyes blurry with tears and gratitude.
    “Mrs. Franco, you said he’d left before, for days, even a week. But this last time he told you he was leaving—leaving New York, when he’d objected and refused to leave New York before, when you had somewhere to go.”
    “Yes, yes, that’s true. I didn’t believe him, even when he packed his things. I didn’t really believe he was leaving, and part of me hoped he was. That’s a terrible thing to feel, but I did. Still, I thought he was just angry, in a mood. I know he’d fought with Joe—Joe