Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“I sent her away. I could tell she was in with the wrong crowd already.”
“What kind of crowd?”
Gulliver got up and began to clean the soup pot. “I only heard rumors that she was looking for sponsors for her childish dreams.”
“She has potential. Everyone has always told her she could be a successful model.”
Gulliver didn’t react as if my argument wasn’t even worthy of a reply.
“Where was she looking for sponsors?”
“You better not follow in her steps. What you might find isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“What does that mean?” I got up and carried the bowl over to the sink. “If you know anything, you have to tell me. Please, Uncle. We’re still family. Help me find my sister.”
Gulliver took the bowl from me and washed it with a stoic calmness, which drove me up the wall. I knew he was testing me, especially my patience, so I reined myself in and waited for him to tell me whatever it was he had to say on his own terms.
“Your sister chose the easy way, as expected. Instead of working for her money she chose to go looking for it in Sodom.”
“Sodom?” I barely managed to stop a scoff. Was he really going to use bible references for everything Imogen had done?
Gulliver shook his head. “That’s the name of the place where Imogen went.”
I’d never heard of that place before. “Is it in New York?”
“It’s the name certain individuals use for a city not too far from here. A city of sin, not a place I’d go by choice. I heard your sister sought her luck in the Doom Loop there. It’s a place of lost souls.”
“Lost souls who attend your worship?” I asked scathingly.
Considering he lived in the oldest Irish neighborhood of New York, one that was ruled by the second oldest son of the Devaney clan, I doubted he had stopped being the Irish mob’s confessor. I wished Mum had been more forthcoming with information. I didn’t like to go into a situation blindly.
Gulliver’s expression became wary. “Many people attend service. You should too. It would do you good. Your mother avoided church way too often.”
“I’ll attend church tomorrow, all right?” I said, hoping to get in his good graces. Uncle Gulliver had contacts that might help with my search.
“The Irish still confess everything to you, don’t they?” If one of them was connected to Imogen’s disappearance, they would have confessed to Gulliver. An icy chill spread through my body thinking about it. Mum expected the worst, but I still had hope.
“I made an oath, and I won’t break it.”
“An oath before God or before the Devaneys?”
Gulliver’s expression hardened. “I’m a man of God.”
“Then help me. Tell me if one of the mobsters confessed anything to you about Imogen!”
“I’m bound by my oath, Aislinn. Some things are more important than earthly matters.”
“Even more important than family?”
“Even that,” he said. “You should go to bed now. Worship starts at nine.”
He got up, dismissing me. I rose from the bench and trudged into my room. I had given Mum a quick call when I landed, and if money wasn’t an issue, I would have called her again just to hear her voice and feel a little closer to home. Even an hour after sinking into the soft mattress, I was still wide awake. I’d slept most of the flight, so landing in New York and being here with Uncle Gulliver now felt surreal. A dream I wanted to wake up from as quickly as possible, hopefully before it turned into a nightmare.
Uncle Gulliver woke me way too early to get ready for worship. I put on the only nice dress I’d packed, a white summer dress with buttons in the front. It reached my knees and the sleeves touched my elbows—chaste enough for church. According to Mum, it made me look like a good Catholic school girl. I’d also packed a matching white cardigan but it was supposed to be sweltering today, obviously not a rare occurrence for early September.
The church was still empty when Gulliver led me inside twenty minutes before service. He disappeared in the front to prepare everything. I shivered from the cold. The day was supposed to be hot, about 32 degrees Celsius, but the comfortable warmth outside hadn’t penetrated the inside of the nave yet.
I chose to sit in one of the last pews, mainly to have a good vantage point of the congregation. Sinking down onto the cold pew, I folded my hands on my lap. I went to church every Sunday, always alone, because neither Mum nor Imogen cared for the Catholic church. It calmed the raging flood inside of me. I found great consolation at the idea that there was someone watching over me, especially when I’d been alone at home while Mum was at work and Imogen had run off again.