Chapter IV: A saint’s lie

John checked his watch; it was six o’clock. They needed to make haste. “Liz gimme a hand will ya?” he shouted as he was trying to adjust some antennas.

Liz was frustrated that she had demoted herself to cleaning this place while John was readying the equipment; on the other hand she didn’t trust him enough to make this place as clean as she wanted. But what really infuriated her was that he was whining that his job was harder. Suddenly, a knock on the door froze both of them.

“What the heck” Liz muttered, “junkies don’t knock. They find a locked door and they just move to another joint to take their fix…”

A short pause. Liz and John waited patiently for the intruder to leave. Yet, the knocking persisted.

“For Christ’s sake, open up Liz before this one attracts a commotion here.”

With her hand ready to draw her pistol, Liz opened the door.

Her nose was suddenly invaded by filth. A rugged young man was staring weirdly at her. From the way that he moved, it was obvious that he was completely drunk. His greased brown hair seemed like a solid mass of dirt as they framed almost all of his face, denying Liz the opportunity to study his features. Even if the hair wasn’t in they way, the unkempt beard that reached almost to his chest would have done the same job. His clothes were a mismatch of grey and brown rags that seemed like that the last time they were washed was when it last rained, and it was summer now…

He raised his hand and took a sip out of a bottle, a move of defiance on his part, Liz thought. But while his hand indicated to her that he thought nothing of her being there, his gaze was fixated upon her, looking her like she was simultaneously the first and last thing he wanted to see. Suddenly he tried to move forward, to enter the house, as if she wasn’t there, as if he could march on, trampling over her. Her body took over; with a quick move she grasped his arm and twisted it almost a half circle, immobilizing him with pain and causing the bottle to fall with a dull sound to the ground. But his face didn’t registered pain, only shock. As he opened his mouth to speak a foul stench engulfed her.

Through his vile breath, a gurgle of sounds came forth, sounds that at some point they could have registered as words, but not as he spoke. Liz tried in vain to understand, but only some random words were audible.

“…Go… Really go… Die... Shoo… Shoo…”

“I think he wants me to leave” Liz mused, “he’s threatening me and then he’s speaking to me like I’m a dog or something… He is clearly pissed. Literally…” She told, over her shoulder, to John.

“Well throw him out and be done with it”

“Go. Leave. Don’t come back. You understand me?” Liz shouted to the drunk. The effect was unpredictable as he started to laugh.

“…Rum… DIEEEEEE.” His words more clear now. Liz’s hand moved to her pistol holder. John started to run towards the door too.

“Shit! I think he’ll become violent.” Liz shouted.

Suddenly a cracking sound came from his shoulder as he twisted his hand free, probably disjointing or breaking it. For a moment Liz and John froze with shock at his effort. Then they rushed out trying to catch up with him.

The sounds of breaking glass were followed by a dull thumbing noise of a body hitting the ground. As Liz’s body turned towards her back, towards were the sound originated, her hand had already released her pistol and pointed towards that same direction.

John was lying on his back with an expression of pain masking his face. Beneath his foot were the remains of the tequila bottle he had stepped on, a step that led to his fall. Should the situation wasn’t so dire, Liz would have burst out laughing, but now the only thing that filled her senses was rage; rage for the ineptitude of her partner.

“Fuck” John shouted as he gripped his sprained ankle. “Move Liz, Move. Don’t just stand there. Catch him quickly, if he tells anyone about us the whole mission will have to be canceled.” John shouted to her.

Liz was barely following the shadow of the drunkard as he ran. For his condition he was extremely fast; continuously gaining distance. But Liz hoped, she hoped that his lungs wouldn’t last him, that he would fall on his knees fighting for air in any second now. She would only have to tail him till that happened.

As she turned in the corner, a string of incoherent curses escaped her mouth; a crossroad; and she had no way of knowing were he went at. A curled body lay at the center of it, dressed in black. Maybe…

Her trail of thoughts was cut short as she looked at the body that was slowly trying to stand up. ‘What the hell does a nun do in such a place?’ She wondered as she rushed subconsciously to aid the elder woman.

Small, broken words escaped the thin lips of the elderly woman. “…My daughter… Thank you. Yes, yes, I’m ok… Just a random drunkard pushed me down as he was rushing towards there…” The nun said pointing to the right path. Liz was already sprinting towards there before the elderly woman had the chance to finish up her sentence.

As she saw the agent’s shadow vanishing in the dark alleys Maria stretched her body. Her wrinkled hands started to dust the dirt off her shirt. Within less than a minute, the disheveled old lady had regained her majestic stature, her movements themselves instilling respect to everyone who was to look upon her. The wrinkles in her hands and face, the only flesh that was visible through her outfit, contradicted the mirth of her eyes as they shone with the light that one can only expect from a teenager.

“I’m sorry my child” she whispered towards the, now gone, agent. “This one is worth trying saving. I won’t let him go to jail for some petty crime without doing at least that…” She ended her small speech with a melodic voice that seemed to belong to a prayer. Merrily, she started skipping with agile steps, like she was almost dancing, towards the left path, towards were her target had run off…

She found him in a heap made from dirt and his own blood; his hazy eyes and filthy skin of no consequence to her. She knew who she was; she knew why she had been gifted. When others just passed by a drunkard, she could really see the blinding white aura of pureness that enveloped this man, an aura almost as strong as hers. His gaze fell upon her for just a second, and then, probably feeling the calmness she emitted, she saw his eyes closing, surrendering himself to Morpheus' peaceful embrace, allowing him to pass out and maybe rest.

Her bright eyes rose to the sky “Thank You Lord. Please grand me the strength to bring a worthy man back to a righteous path.” She whispered her self-made prayer.

As she gripped his shoulder, she felt doubt entering her mind. It was the first time she wasn’t completely sure about her actions. She shrugged her shoulders and stood still for a second, thinking something. And then she repeated the now changed prayer. ‘Thank You Lord for granting me the privilege of doubt. Thank You for allowing me to choose my own path. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’ll fail You. But I can only see this as a test for my faith… and love.’ This time, the words, were never spoken. Instead she formed them in her mind, after all, she knew that God really only listens to hearts, not words.