Applaud the Hollow Ghost by David J. Walker Read Free Book Online

used to make whenever the principal at Saint Robert’s would speak of the “odor of sanctity.” In a few minutes, all but one of the people in the pews stood and walked up toward the altar to take communion.
    Now or never.
    Stepping forward out of the shadows, I moved quickly along the wall to the booth, and ducked behind the heavy curtain of the first doorway. It was pitch-dark inside, but using my hands I found a built-in cushioned bench seat. I sat down, facing the curtain I’d just slipped through, and ordered my breath to slow down. I hoped the woman would know I was there.
    I hoped even more that no one else saw me go inside that booth, because I was in no mood to hear anyone’s actual confession.
    Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I opened the little sliding door next to my right ear and sat there waiting. When the Mass ended, I heard what must have been the heels of the priest clicking across the marble floor into the distance. A far-off door closed. I heard people walking down the center aisle, then heard them push through the doors on their way out of the church. Meanwhile, from up in front came the sound of several voices mumbling in unison. The rosary had begun, just as the woman on the phone had said it would.
    I strained my ears, but that’s all I heard.
    Suddenly I felt a presence, very close by. Only a feeling, not a sound, and I decided it was my imagination. That’s why I jumped so high at the sibilant whisper just inches from my right ear. “This is Rosa,” she hissed, identifying herself as had been agreed.
    â€œMalachy.”
    â€œI must be gone before the rosary is over. I must not be seen.”
    â€œMe too.”
    â€œI am trusting you.” Her words were precise, her accent first-generation Italian. “You have sworn you will never speak of this conversation.”
    Actually, I hadn’t sworn anything at all. “What is it?” I asked. “What do you have to say?”
    â€œI wish to avoid a great injustice.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThis boy, this Lambert. I know him for many years. And his mother. They are … backward, perhaps. But this evil thing. I do not believe he did it.”
    â€œThen why did Trish—”
    â€œMy grandchild was afraid. They asked her so many questions. I was there, but I could do nothing. She did not mean to say what she said.”
    â€œShe told you she was lying?”
    â€œShe will not speak to me of what happened. But I have taken care of this child almost from the day she was born. I know her. She wishes to tell the truth, but cannot. She is too afraid.”
    â€œThen it’s you who’ll have to come forward. Tell the judge.”
    â€œI will not.” She paused, and I heard her soft breathing, scented with toothpaste and garlic. “Because I am afraid, too. Not for myself. I am old enough to be familiar with suffering, ready even to die. But I am afraid for Trish. My son-in-law, he loves her in his way, but—” She stopped. “Steven Connolly is … he is not a man prepared to be a father. With her mother gone to God already, the child needs me. If something happens to me I fear for her.”
    â€œLet me talk to Trish, then. I need to find out who it was.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œJesus, Rosa, you—”
    â€œThis is a holy place.” A new, harsh tone, threatening to rise above a whisper. “Do not take the sacred name in vain.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œThere is no need to ask Trish.” Her voice dropped again. Barely audible. “I know who it was who attacked the child.”
    â€œYou just said she won’t talk to you about it. How do you know who did it?”
    â€œI know it in my heart. Trish was fine when I left her at her Uncle Dominic’s on my way to bingo. Later, when I found her at home, she was crying. Steven, my son-in-law, was to pick her up and bring her home. Trish said her cousin