The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards
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I gotta call my mom.”
Winston wasn’t such a tough guy after all. “Make that your first call, okay?” Niccolo said.
“I’ll find somebody’ll know what to do.”
“Watch carefully for wires on the ground. Treat them like deadly snakes. Be very, very careful.”
“I’ll come back and let you know.”
“No, don’t. Go home.” Niccolo paused. “If you can get there.”
Winston nodded. “You think that twister did lots of damage?”
From the hillside, Niccolo couldn’t tell. Nothing looked out of place, except for the fact that no traffic was moving on the Shoreway. “Tornadoes are funny. They’ll take one house and leave everything else around it unharmed. It may have touched down on Lookout Avenue and no place else.”
“Hey, man, I’m ghost.” Winston raised his hand in goodbye and started across the hill.
“Good luck,” Niccolo called.
“Got my finger on the trigger.”
Niccolo, ignoring that imagery, turned and gazed up the hill. From the rear, what he could see of the saloon appeared undamaged. He was too far below the street to see anything that had happened there. He headed back into the tunnel just as Josh and Tarek led the first group of guests to the opening.
Niccolo explained how they would be exiting. “Is everybody okay to climb down to the road?” The climb wasn’t steep, but some of the older guests would need to take their time, since the path would be slick from the rain, and no one had worn hiking boots to the wedding.
“Apparently they’ve blocked it off, because there’s no traffic,” he continued. “We’ll gather down there as a group and walk along the road to the first exit. I’d rather do that than risk going up to the street. I don’t know what the rest of Lookout looks like.”
Everyone seemed in agreement. He ushered them outside, comforting and questioning each one about injuries.
For the next twenty minutes he consoled and assisted his wedding guests. Peggy came through clutching Kieran. He counted Andreanis until the last one came through. The rain had nearly halted by the time the last group arrived. Megan brought up the rear, with Casey and Jon just ahead of her. Megan didn’t mince words. “Nick, the gas smell is stronger.”
“Everybody’s out?”
She hesitated long enough that he wasn’t reassured.
“You don’t know?” he said.
“Did Josh come through? Aunt Dee thought she saw him opening the door to the apartment. One of the flashlights died, and earlier he’d said he was going to look for another.”
Niccolo had seen Josh come through at least twice, but he wasn’t sure if the young man had gone back inside to escort more guests or gone down to the Shoreway. He tried to remember, but the afternoon had become a blur of faces and situations.
“I went to the bottom of the stairs and yelled for him before I left, just in case,” Megan said. “I think he would have heard me if he was in the apartment. I’m sure he would have. He probably came through and you just don’t remember.”
Probably wasn’t good enough. Even though Josh was fully capable of finding his way outside now, he might not understand the urgency. They had played down the gas smell, so as not to unduly scare anyone. Panic was an even worse threat.
Niccolo decided to agree, at least outwardly. “I’m sure you’re right. Help the rest of the people down to the Shoreway, okay?”
“You’re not going back inside, are you?”
If Megan thought he was going back in, she would insist on coming with him. Niccolo asked forgiveness for lying to her on their wedding day. “No, I’m going to see what’s going on up above. I sent Winston to find a phone and call the fire department.”
Megan hesitated.
“Please, go on,” he assured her. “I can take care of myself.”
“Shouldn’t I come with you?”
“I think you should stay with our guests. Jon, will you and Casey help Megan make sure everybody gets to safety?”
Jon knew Niccolo was lying. Niccolo could see it in his eyes, but he nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll join you the moment I can.”
“Okay.”
Niccolo watched them go. Rooney had already made the climb, and no one was left at the mouth of the tunnel. He waited until Megan’s view was obscured; then he started back inside and climbed the steps up into the tunnel. “Josh?”
He tried again to remember if Josh had gone back inside. He started down the tunnel shining his flashlight on the floor just ahead of him, listening carefully. “Josh?”
He was almost at the entrance into the cellar when he heard an explosion. A split second afterward the world went black.
He awoke sometime later. Time had stopped for him, and when he opened his eyes he didn’t know where he was, or even who. He was lying on his back, staring up at a poorly plastered wall. The room was dark, but a beam of light shone at the wall’s bottom. He wasn’t in any real pain, although he was afraid if he moved too quickly that might change. He lay still, trying to put his thoughts together.
He’d heard a noise. He thought he remembered flying through the air, but how could that be? Unless he was dead. He’d heard afterlife tales of tunnels, of moving rapidly toward a bright, healing light. But if this was the afterlife, it was highly overrated. The floor beneath his fingertips was clammy. The air he breathed was smoke filled. Despite years in the priesthood, he’d never been a big fan of the biblical version of Hell, and he discounted that possibility immediately.
“Nick?”
He heard a woman’s voice in the distance. At the sound of his name, memory rushed in to fill the void. He had gone back inside the tunnel to find Josh. There had been an explosion…. He tried to sit up, but immediately his head began to throb. He decided against moving for the moment.
“Nick?” This time the voice calling him was a man’s.
“Here,” he croaked. “I’m here. I’m okay, I think.”
He heard footsteps, quick ones, and loud enough to make his head throb harder. He realized the light that illuminated the bottom of the wall was a flashlight. His flashlight. He had dropped it. He felt for it until he had it in his grasp. Then he shined it on the wall, hoping to guide his rescuers.
“Here,” he croaked again.
He waited. His vision was blurry, but as he stared at the wall, his eyes began to focus. Above him was an image. He struggled to focus more closely. A woman gazed down at him, an image as familiar as his own.
The footsteps drew closer, but now he paid little attention. He drew the beam along the edge of the image. Up, down, across. It was pronounced, certainly not the result of his injury. He was not looking at something that wasn’t there.
The Virgin Mary was looking down at him, and she was weeping.
“Nick, my God, are you all right?”
He heard a man’s voice. Jon. He was glad to put a name to it. Then he heard a woman’s, and he knew the worst moment of his day wasn’t over.
“Megan,” he croaked. He turned his head to see a vision in white running in his direction. She fell to the ground beside him.
“Are you okay? Don’t move. What happened?”
“Explosion. Gas leak. Maybe in the cellar. Fumes ignited by the—maybe the water heater. I should have