mother’s birthday. Even his uncle’s birthday. He tried other dates that jumped out in his mind as important, but they also failed.
Nothing.
He needed those damn papers for his lawyer, or else he was going to be stuck paying rent to a bastard he didn’t owe money to. Years of owed rent, for that matter.
More irritated than before at his lack of knowledge of even the most basic things in his own damn home, Calisto stood and then promptly fell into his computer chair with a mumbled curse. A throbbing ache had started in the base of his skull, warning that a major headache was eminent. He’d had those damn things pretty regularly ever since he woke up in the hospital.
Your brain is constantly working too hard , he was told.
Stop pushing it , another doctor said. You’re not doing yourself any favors by demanding more than it can give you.
Fuck.
They just didn’t understand.
He couldn’t let it go.
Calisto spun the computer chair around, and scrubbed his hands down his face. The date and time flashed in the corner of his computer screen, catching his attention. It had been just three weeks since he found his priest murdered. The officials had finished their investigation inside the church, and thankfully, left him the hell alone after that first initial interview. They had yet to release Father Day’s body, despite the many requests from the Diocese to do just that. A proper funeral should be held for the man, and Calisto wanted to attend.
The police had marked the murder as a robbery gone wrong. Calisto still wasn’t sure he believed that nonsense, but he didn’t know what else to think, either. His uncle had known he was going there based on nothing more than a memory he wanted explained, Affonso’s attitude had been less than pleased, and then the priest ended up dead.
That wouldn’t sound good to anyone who heard it.
But why would Affonso do that?
What could he want to hide?
Calisto didn’t have a good answer for that, because obviously there wasn’t one. His mind was just making up its own end to a story to explain things it didn’t understand or know. But it still didn’t sit right with him no matter how he looked at it. Having no other options, he had to drop it and move on.
October had practically sneaked up on him before he even knew what was happening.
He hated how the world seemed to be turning much faster than he could keep up with.
Taking another look around his office, Calisto wondered just how scatterbrained he must have been before the accident. Papers and files were everywhere, piled on his desk and the chairs. Even the couch had taken a hit. Either he had been in the midst of reorganizing something—unlikely, as he kept shit organized anyway—or he had been looking for something and the mess was left behind.
Or you just didn’t care , he thought.
Calisto’s brow fell at the passing idea. That was probably closer to the truth than his other two options, given he hadn’t cared much about the space since he returned to his home. Actually, he’d added to the piles since then, dropping papers and a file here or there and then leaving it before he went off on something else again.
As if this place wasn’t important, and he was just passing through, using it to rest when the time called for it.
He supposed it didn’t matter, not at the moment anyway.
Other things needed attended to, and so his messy office and life had to wait.
Calisto found Affonso sipping on a glass of bourbon and laughing with his underboss, Ray. Neither of the two men tampered their laughter at Calisto’s arrival into the office, and so he assumed whatever it was that amused them wasn’t all that bad.
“Could have called if you were coming over, Calisto,” Affonso said, placing his drink on the desk.
Ray said nothing, just watched Calisto out of the corner of his eye as he took a seat in one of the high-back leather chairs across from his uncle’s desk.
“Do I need to?” Calisto
Nothing.
He needed those damn papers for his lawyer, or else he was going to be stuck paying rent to a bastard he didn’t owe money to. Years of owed rent, for that matter.
More irritated than before at his lack of knowledge of even the most basic things in his own damn home, Calisto stood and then promptly fell into his computer chair with a mumbled curse. A throbbing ache had started in the base of his skull, warning that a major headache was eminent. He’d had those damn things pretty regularly ever since he woke up in the hospital.
Your brain is constantly working too hard , he was told.
Stop pushing it , another doctor said. You’re not doing yourself any favors by demanding more than it can give you.
Fuck.
They just didn’t understand.
He couldn’t let it go.
Calisto spun the computer chair around, and scrubbed his hands down his face. The date and time flashed in the corner of his computer screen, catching his attention. It had been just three weeks since he found his priest murdered. The officials had finished their investigation inside the church, and thankfully, left him the hell alone after that first initial interview. They had yet to release Father Day’s body, despite the many requests from the Diocese to do just that. A proper funeral should be held for the man, and Calisto wanted to attend.
The police had marked the murder as a robbery gone wrong. Calisto still wasn’t sure he believed that nonsense, but he didn’t know what else to think, either. His uncle had known he was going there based on nothing more than a memory he wanted explained, Affonso’s attitude had been less than pleased, and then the priest ended up dead.
That wouldn’t sound good to anyone who heard it.
But why would Affonso do that?
What could he want to hide?
Calisto didn’t have a good answer for that, because obviously there wasn’t one. His mind was just making up its own end to a story to explain things it didn’t understand or know. But it still didn’t sit right with him no matter how he looked at it. Having no other options, he had to drop it and move on.
October had practically sneaked up on him before he even knew what was happening.
He hated how the world seemed to be turning much faster than he could keep up with.
Taking another look around his office, Calisto wondered just how scatterbrained he must have been before the accident. Papers and files were everywhere, piled on his desk and the chairs. Even the couch had taken a hit. Either he had been in the midst of reorganizing something—unlikely, as he kept shit organized anyway—or he had been looking for something and the mess was left behind.
Or you just didn’t care , he thought.
Calisto’s brow fell at the passing idea. That was probably closer to the truth than his other two options, given he hadn’t cared much about the space since he returned to his home. Actually, he’d added to the piles since then, dropping papers and a file here or there and then leaving it before he went off on something else again.
As if this place wasn’t important, and he was just passing through, using it to rest when the time called for it.
He supposed it didn’t matter, not at the moment anyway.
Other things needed attended to, and so his messy office and life had to wait.
Calisto found Affonso sipping on a glass of bourbon and laughing with his underboss, Ray. Neither of the two men tampered their laughter at Calisto’s arrival into the office, and so he assumed whatever it was that amused them wasn’t all that bad.
“Could have called if you were coming over, Calisto,” Affonso said, placing his drink on the desk.
Ray said nothing, just watched Calisto out of the corner of his eye as he took a seat in one of the high-back leather chairs across from his uncle’s desk.
“Do I need to?” Calisto
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