Dying Breath: A Suspense Novel

By Robert Walter Huge

Father Mike Lance relishes his role as assistant pastor of St. Olaf Catholic Church in Minneapolis. As a volunteer chaplain at the local medical center, he is witness to many a sordid tale. But when a gunshot victim dies in his arms, his calming hand and soothing ways are put to the test. For the man reveals something that has baffled the country for nearly four decades.

When the victim's daughter is thrown into the mix, Father Lance becomes part of an unseemly arrangement, for the seal of the confessional might surely be compromised. Finding himself involved in a mystery so compelling he cannot turn away, puts not only his priesthood in jeopardy but his life as well. He will need the grace of all heaven to see him safely through and then some, for what's that old expression..."God helps those who help themselves"?

About the Author

Robert Walter Huge is a retired insurance executive who has turned exclusively to writing. "I try to write something every day," he says, "even if it's only a paragraph or two. The golfer spends hours every day with a club in his hand... Why? To stay sharp, but more than that, you have to enjoy what you do. It has to be more than just a labor of love... It has to be a passion."

It is obvious Mr. Huge is passionate about his craft, for it shines through in his style and in his characters. "Characters have the ability to fortify or weaken a story," he laments. "The strength of each character reveals the author's strength, a trait that can often be humbling."

Robert Huge lives in Minnesota with his wife Diane, their four children, twelve grandchildren, and great-grandson. "There are more than enough 'characters' in our family to satisfy several novels"--he laughs--"including me! There are definitely enough intriguing characters in Dying Breath to make it an exceptional read."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885405324

Book preview

cover.jpg

Dying Breath

A Suspense Novel

Robert Walter Huge

Copyright © 2022 by Robert Walter Huge

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Scapular

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The Diary

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

The Sabbatical

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The Journal

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Arrivederci

Chatper 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

For Diane—my magnificent wife

They broke the mold, sweetheart… They really did.

Other books by Robert Walter Huge

Poetry

Fragments and Fragrances

Sometimes Laughter, Sometimes Tears

Blesser Cove

Novels

A Fond and Final Innocence

The Insurance Man

Man-eater

Craters

The Life and Times of Bobby Hu(gh)es

What Would You Do?

Short stories

Some Say Tomato, Some Say Potato

Tales from My Grandfather’s Porch

The Inspector Cahill Mystery Series

True Faces

Walk Down Any Street

Part 1

The Scapular

Chapter 1

Minneapolis, Minnesota

The day could not end soon enough for thirty-nine-year-old Father Michael Lance. First, there was Monsignor Boekke, asking for his assistance on the charity fund drive. Then Father Sullivan had a minor crisis on his hands and needed someone to fill in for him. It seemed the ladies’ guild of St. Olaf was sponsoring a children’s outing and so counting on one of the priests to lead them in prayer. So, of course, Father Lance filled in.

By midafternoon, he was sitting with an elderly parishioner too ill to make mass every day. Convinced the Lord would not be very understanding when at last they met, and fearful such a meeting might occur momentarily, the old fellow was panic-stricken. But a quote from St. Anthony was the only remedy necessary to put him at ease.

Remember, death is only a temporary ending, the priest said as he sat at the side of the parishioner’s bed, holding his frail hand. The miracle of death is that it marks the beginning of life without end.

You make dying sound like something to look forward to. The older man laughed, and it was the first he had done that in a very long while. The priest smiled then, assuring him there came a time when, indeed, death could be looked upon as a welcomed friend.

When finally he was able to return to the rectory, he was confronted by Betty Fraley, the daughter of one of the parish’s most respected families. Father Lance ushered her into the priests’ library and then pulled the gliding doors shut. Still clad in her tartan school uniform, the flaxen-haired senior from St. Margaret High had a dilemma. It seemed she was pregnant, about to begin her second trimester, and couldn’t possibly tell her mother without it breaking her heart. Oh, Father, she sobbed, I don’t know how this could have happened. I’ve always been such a good Catholic girl.

I think we both have a pretty fair idea how it happened, Betty. The priest smiled faintly as he wiped her tears with his handkerchief.

The Blessed Virgin must hate me, she sobbed anew.

Nobody hates you, child…least of all our Holy Mother!

"But what about my mother? she cried. I can’t tell her… I just can’t!"

How old are you, Betty? Father Lance asked.

Eighteen. She sniffled.

Well, I don’t think it will be possible to keep it from her much longer. Besides, at eighteen, the law considers you an adult.

What does that have to do with anything? she said with a quavering voice.

Well, since you are adult enough to conceive a child, you should also be mature enough to face the issue as any adult would.

But my mother…she’ll kill me!

I think your mother will handle it a lot better than you are doing right now.

Will you come with me, Father? We could tell her together.

I have a better idea. He smiled softly. Why don’t we let the expectant father do that? After all, why should he be left out of the picture?

I haven’t even told him yet.

Who is he?

Eric Reinhold, she said almost inaudibly.

Jumping Joseph! The priest gasped at the thought of the parish choir director learning she would soon become a grandmother, compliments of her high school son. "You think your mother will take this hard? I had better go with you when you tell Eric. Then the two of you will tell your parents together."

The priest began doling out a litany of instructions then as the young girl seemed startled by the change in his temperament. And one last thing…, he began.

Don’t worry, Father, she stated firmly. I am not going to terminate my pregnancy. I wouldn’t be here if that were even a consideration…and I’ll tell Eric myself. We got into this together, and we’ll face it together.

Wow! the priest exclaimed. Did you see that?

What? Betty frowned.

That statue of the Blessed Virgin there on the mantle just gave you the biggest smile.

Oh, Father Lance. She sighed in relief, for already some of her loathsome burden had been lifted.

*****

All Michael Lance ever wanted to be was a priest—from his Confirmation in sixth grade at St. Therese until his first retreat as a sophomore at Holy Angels Academy when the missionaries of the Sacred Heart came to address his class. It was all he envisioned for himself.

His head was swimming with their adventuresome stories of conversions and salvation in the rice fields of Indonesia, of perilous jeep rides through the winding mountain passes of Burma, the mesmerizing tales of jungle life in Sumatra and Borneo; and when the retreat was over, he ached to go back there with them. For what better glory could there be than to save souls and convert pagans? Long after the good fathers had departed to further spread the word, Michael Lance was left with surges of brotherhood, fellowship, and a rush like no other he had ever known.

Then that summer, Katie Quinn moved in next door to him; and in less time than it took to tie his shoes, he could no longer recall which order the missionaries said they were from, much less what message it was they were trying to spread. No, this new rush Michael Lance was experiencing had nothing to do with brotherhood or the saving of souls, for it seemed he had discovered a much greater glory.

Like most boys in their midteens, Michael had been aware of the changes his body had been undergoing; and like most of his classmates, he was also aware that members of the opposite sex were becoming more and more pleasant to observe. But none were so pleasant as Katie Quinn, to the point he found himself observing her almost incessantly.

She was a year older than he and, therefore, not very interested in him, though she seemed friendly enough. At least she said, Hi, when they were introduced by their parents, shortly after her family moved in and the unpacking was finished.

Michael’s mother had insisted upon bringing dinner to them, a Norwegian custom carried forth from her heritage. Naturally, he offered to come along in the event there were any remaining manly chores.

It wasn’t much of an introduction, and when she said, Hi, it seemed she had given him a scant once-over, then just as quickly dismissed him from any type of further consideration.

So Michael resigned himself to quietly observing Katie as she came and went about her daily routine that summer. Yet there did seem one activity they both enjoyed together, and that was sunbathing. For Katie liked to lie in the chaise, out on the back patio, and Michael liked to watch her from his upstairs-bedroom window. It may have always remained that way…he silently admiring the Lord’s handiwork had it not been for fate. Or perhaps it was an even stronger providence.

As was his habit, Michael would take the long way home from school during the fall months, for autumn was his favorite season. He seemed more in touch with himself and with nature as the leaves began to curl and fall. He marveled at how the wildlife seemed to know exactly when to start storing their winter cache, but mainly there was a closeness he found most exuberating…not to nature so much as to its creator, and he seemed almost spellbound by it.

But on one particularly crisp and brilliant afternoon, while plodding along in his usual manner, trailing a broken branch through the leaves, he heard a girl’s voice coming from an area off the normal pathway. He stopped abruptly, listening more intently, until he heard it again.

Curious, Michael began moving in that direction, his footsteps rustling through the leaves and brush as he made his way further from the trail he’d taken. When next he heard the girl’s voice, it seemed to be more of a panicky cry for help.

As he came upon a clearing, he saw Katie on the ground before him while two older boys were grappling with her. He did not know their names, for they went to public school, but he knew what they were attempting to do. They had ripped the top part of her dress open and were now trying to remove her underwear when Michael ordered them to stop.

Get away from her! he commanded in a voice that seemed to halt all life as it resonated through the woods. Now! he shouted while wielding the broken branch he had carried. Again, his voice seemed to be coming from somewhere other than himself.

The two attackers appeared frozen where they knelt as Katie scrambled away from them, rearranging her clothing while trying to keep the top of her dress from falling open. She now cowered behind Michael, who was ordering the two boys out of the woods. They hesitated for a moment as if contemplating more havoc. And as they did, he ordered them once again to leave, While you can!

Both had risen by this time, but when the first turned tail, the other followed, for whatever insanity possessed them to attempt such a dreadful deed had just as quickly passed. Michael—Katie shivered as he removed his school sweater and pulled it about her shoulders—you saved my life!

What happened here? he asked.

I thought this senior boy liked me, she began, her voice still shaking. At first, we just talked, and then eventually he would meet me at my locker and walk with me to my next class. When he asked if I’d like to go for a walk after school, I thought nothing of it. Then when we were going through the woods taking in the colors, another boy joined us, and that’s when I realized it had all been a setup.

She was sobbing as she finished relating her story; and Michael, who had put his arm around her, found Katie clinging to him even after they exited the woods. It was here that he realized something extraordinary had just happened, for it must have been the voice of the Almighty that emanated from him back there. Ordinarily, he would have been the one turning tail to run, but instead he had bested two toughs, bigger and older than he; how could there be any other explanation?

"What were you doing in the woods?" she had asked him; and he explained it all to her, even his struggles with wanting to be a priest. When he had finished, she looked at him in a way nobody had before.

I knew there was something about you…even that first night when you came to my house with your mom. There was something, and then when you came up on us just now…somehow I knew I was going to be safe.

That evening, Michael Lance made his first convert, for Katie Quinn had convinced her parents to transfer her to Holy Angels where Michael attended, and they had done so the very next day.

The two became the closest of friends through the remainder of high school. Even after she had graduated and gone on to nurses’ training, they continued to stay in touch with each other. But when her parents moved away, her letters became more sporadic, eventually dwindling until the last correspondence was an invitation to her wedding in Norfolk, Virginia. Katlin Marie Katie Quinn was marrying a Navy lieutenant; and Michael Lance, now a seminarian, was extremely pleased to send her a sterling silver chain and medal of Our Lady of Fatima along with his wishes for a happy and blessed life.

Afterward, he would never be able to think of her again without recalling how he ultimately discovered the road that life had paved for him. Years later, when Michael learned of her death, it only made her memory more vivid. Katie had stepped from a curb in Honolulu, where her husband was serving, and had been struck by a car.

It seemed Michael had saved her for that, a freak traffic accident; but in reality, he knew the truth all along. Katie Quinn had actually saved him for this, and for the remainder of his life, the divinity of his priesthood would be dedicated to her.

Hennepin County Medical Center

Father Lance seemed a bit out of step as he entered the staff quarters of HCMC to take up his chaplain duties. It had been another furious day of best-laid plans gone awry…topped off by his having to umpire a church league softball game between St. Olaf and Our Lady of Grace, thanks again to another of Father Sullivan’s near crises. Fittingly, the game had ended in a tie but had lasted far longer than promised.

As he donned the starched white jacket required of administrative personnel, Father Lance glanced in the mirror of the staff dressing quarters for a quick inspection. It contrasted well with his black slacks and shirt, offset by the white cleric’s collar…the mundane trappings of a priest’s daily wear. His auburn hair and still-boyish trim figure made the complement all the more complete.

On some rare occasion, he might even imagine this change in attire to be a formal dinner jacket while he was about to dine at someplace elegant like the Minneapolis Club or the St. Paul Grille. But these bouts of fantasy were usually replaced with the starkness of reality the very moment he stepped into the hallway to begin his rounds. For life was anything but elegant at HCMC.

He’d been conversing with his favorite hypochondriac, Mrs. Kleinfelt, when the STAT alarm sounded. The parameds were bringing in a shooting victim who was barely hanging on. He was wearing some sort of holy pictures around his neck, indicating he might be Catholic. A scapular…in this day and age? Whoever it was would have to be a throwback from a long-ago era, he mused to himself while hurrying toward the ER.

As he approached, the on-duty resident emerged from the stainless steel doors, placing an outstretched hand on the priest’s chest, halting him. We lost the patient, Padre. Why don’t you go with the orderlies to the morgue where you can perform the last rites? It was a request all too familiar to him.

Father Lance watched as two young men garbed in blue scrubs wheeled the victim down the hall to the elevator that would carry them to the basement floor and the hospital’s morgue. As he followed, he began removing from his pocket the ointments and balm which made up the material ingredients to Extreme Unction, the solemn last rites of the Roman Catholic Church.

Upon stepping from the elevator, he paused as one of the orderlies keyed in the access code and then waited for the buzzer that opened the automated doors. He watched as the two wheeled the victim into the main receiving area of marbled flooring and glazed tile walls. It was a place the priest had visited many times before.

We’ll leave you two alone. One of them smirked as he retreated outside. Father Lance smiled wanly, smug in the knowledge that one day the young man would also be atop a gurney—a thought undoubtedly absent from his mind.

As the priest pulled back the sheet that covered the victim’s face, there appeared to be bloody bubbles of air forming around the mouth. Realizing the man might still be alive, he turned to get help when he felt his arm being wrenched. An eerie sensation seized him then, freezing him where he stood as he turned back to the man lying on the gurney. The sleeve of his once-white jacket was now smeared with blood as the man, his face almost a pale blue, drew him closer, trying with great difficulty to speak.

Let me get somebody, the priest urged.

No time, the man barely whispered.

Do you renounce Satan, my son?

Screw Satan! he hissed. I’ll see him soon enough. Listen to me! He was gasping, and with each drawn breath, there seemed a hollow rattle emanating from somewhere inside him.

I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father…

Listen to me! the man pleaded once more, tightening his