Sean Paul Murphy, Writer

Sean Paul Murphy, Writer
Sean Paul Murphy, Storyteller

Sunday, March 10, 2019

CHAPEL STREET - Chapter 13 - Bad News Betty


Here's another sample chapter of my upcoming book Chapel Street.  Keep checking back for more!


Chapter 13



Bad News Betty




When I regained consciousness, I vomited up what seemed like gallons of the worst imaginable filth into the mouth of a total stranger while Bob and Mike stood by helpless and confused.
Those first few minutes were a total blur. My chest ached, and my head throbbed. My mouth roiled under the taste of waste and pollutants from our large, dirty city’s sewers. I kept gagging at the thought. I was sure I wouldn’t survive an hour because of all the poisons. A large crowd of onlookers gathered around, despite the repeated pleas of the fireman to back away. One question was shouted to me time and time again— “Why’d you do it?”
 “I was trying to rescue that lady,” I replied; although, even in those first moments of consciousness, I knew there was no woman.
The mention of another potential victim led to a flurry of activity. People ran back to the water’s edge to search for her, while other eyewitnesses shouted there was no woman. They said I had simply run and jumped into the water. Questions were thrown at me from all directions. The mood of the crowd quickly changed from exhilaration over my rescue to anger. The arrival of paramedics thankfully halted the Inquisition. I was happy to be loaded on the ambulance and taken away.
The paramedics wanted to take me to nearby Mercy Hospital, but I insisted on being taken to Johns Hopkins. They relented after I explained I was a hospital employee. Mike rode with me in the ambulance. Bob followed behind in his car. Amid the preliminary tests, I asked Mike, “Did you see the woman?” 
He shook his head no.
I was admitted into the Emergency Room for tests. When Bob arrived, he told me that he called my sister Janet. She was on her way. I groaned audibly. That was the last thing I needed. I reached for my cellphone to tell her not to bother, but I couldn’t find it. The phone was probably at the bottom of the Inner Harbor, if indeed there was a bottom. Just the memory of being pulled down into that abyss was enough to get me shaking again. I held my hands together to make it less obvious.
The police arrived during the examination to ask about the other victim. Under their firm questioning, I modified my initial claim that I saw a woman jump into the water. Instead, I said I thought I saw a woman jump into the water, which was the truth. That didn’t placate them. They said if there were any possibility of another victim, they would have to drag the harbor for the body, which was a time-consuming and expensive process. I stood firm with the story that I had seen a woman. However, I conceded she probably stepped away while I was distracted, making me assume she had jumped when I looked back.
The police weren’t satisfied, but I wouldn’t budge any further. I certainly couldn’t tell them that an evil ghost, disguised as my late mother, tricked me into jumping in the Inner Harbor with the intent of drowning me. That would have resulted in my exit from the Emergency Room and my entry into the Psych Ward upstairs, where my brother had spent a great deal of time.
When the police left, I called my supervisor Agnes Wilson on the hospital phone. I tried my best to make light of the situation. Bob and Mike listened to the exchange quietly, no doubt noting the subtle differences in my current story from the final version I just told the police. God only knows what they were thinking, and I wasn’t about to ask. They were my best friends, but I still couldn’t trust them with the truth. I could barely handle it myself.
After I finished my tale, Agnes applauded my misguided heroism and told me to take a few days off. I agreed. When I hung up the phone, I turned to Bob and Mike who looked at me curiously but seemed uncertain what to say. You could have cut the tension in the room with a knife, until I asked,  “Who paid the check?”
They both started laughing. I raised my hand. Bob gave me the high five as he said, “Free eats.”
I turned to Mike and said, “The next time, you jump in.” 
He gave me the high five, too.
We were still laughing when my sister Janet arrived. The last time I saw her was about five months earlier at our cousin Mara’s wedding. Janet, a would-be sculptor who worked as a waitress to make ends meet, sported short, orange hair with red highlights and wore used, retro clothing that seemed more appropriate on an art student than a thirty-one-year-old, adult woman. Her look reinforced my opinion of her:  she refused to become an adult and take responsibility within the family. Bob and Mike greeted Janet before taking off to return to their normal lives.
“I’m sorry Bob called you,” I said to her after the guys left. “There was really no need.”
She sat down beside me. Her expression was dour. “You don’t think I need to know when you jump into the Harbor?”
“It was a stupid misunderstanding,” I explained.
She studied me for a moment before she asked, “Did this have anything to do with Gina getting married?”
“No,” I replied, insulted. “Do you think I was trying to kill myself?”
“Sorry for asking, but in this family...”  
She didn’t have to finish.
I hated confiding in Janet, but I knew I had to give her something, so I said, “I’m cool with Gina getting married. He seems like a nice guy. He makes her happy.”
“Yeah,” Janet said, nodding her head. “That’s what she says.”
Those words surprised me. I wanted to know how often they talked, but this was definitely not the time or place to pursue that subject. I had to deflect.
“Actually, I just started dating someone myself,” I lied. “She’s very nice.”
“What’s her name?”
“Teri.”
“How long have you been dating?”
Saying yesterday would hardly bolster my point, so I said, “Just a little while, but it’s good. She’s really nice, and we have a lot in common.”
“That’s great,” she said, smiling for the first time. “I’d like to meet her.”
“You will, soon,” I said. I forced a smile, too.
Awkward silence ensued, and then she leaned closer. “Rick, this isn’t right. We’re all we have left. We should be closer.”
“Yeah,” I said, and I meant it.
Granted, I harbored resentment toward her for escaping to college in California, but that was the past. Plus, if I was honest with myself, I was never there for her either. When I looked back, I always saw a sad, little girl desperate to tag along with her big brother after the death of our father. But I was too caught up in my own grief to give her much thought at all.
“I know we don’t have a lot in common,” Janet continued. “But I think we should make a commitment to get together at least once a month for dinner or something. You still go to the movies, right?”
“Yeah,” I replied. I loved going to the movies, but I hadn’t gone as much since I broke up with Gina. I found it depressing to go alone.
“Well, that might be a good place to start.”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I like real movies, not those stupid mumble core indies you watch.”
“I can stand a Hollywood film every once in a while,” she said, standing up. “You need a ride home?”
“No,” I replied. “I lost my phone in the water, but I still have my keys and wallet.”
Janet suddenly leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. I couldn’t remember the last time she did that. Even at our mother’s funeral, the most we did was hug.
“You scared me, bro,” she said. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
“Don’t prove Betty right,” she said under her breath as she left. She said it so quietly that I barely heard it, but I did, and the name definitely rang a bell.
Betty was a fortune-teller my mother visited at least monthly, more often when she was freaked out about something. Betty was supposedly the real deal. She was never wrong. My mother said Betty accurately predicted the death of both my father and brother—to the day. That’s why my mother called her Bad News Betty because everything she predicted was tragic. She only made one happy prediction, as far as my mother was concerned: that Gina and I would never marry. I wasn’t, however, aware of any other predictions about me.
Jumping down from the examining table, I sloshed over to the door. I called to Janet, who was halfway to the elevators. “Janet, what did you mean about proving Betty right?”
Janet turned to me. Her expression displayed her concern. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Please,” I said.
She weakened. She took a few steps back toward me. “Betty told mom that you were going to kill yourself, too.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “She never told me that.”
“She was afraid to mention it,” Janet said, stepping even closer and lowering her voice. “She didn’t want you to feel predestined.”
“Don’t worry. I plan to make Betty a liar.”
Then it hit me—Betty.
Betty was short for Elizabeth. Or Elisabetta.
Damn it!  It was her—Bad News Betty. I knew it was true. It resonated through every pore of my body. Who else could it be?
“Do you remember Betty’s last name?” I asked.
“No,” Janet said. “But I think it began with a C or a K.”
“Was it Kostek?” I asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“I saw her grave over at Eternal Faith.”
Janet spoke as she turned and headed back toward the elevators. “Good. I’m glad she’s dead.”
“Yeah, me too,” I replied.
I just needed her to be a little deader, and I was going to make it happen.
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Other Chapters:
While you're waiting for the next chapter of Chapel Street, feel free to read my memoir. It's a story of first faith and first love and how the two became almost fatally intertwined.


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