Prompt: " Sometimes things happen fast but you have to live through them slow." 12/99

Something was wrong.

The hushed tones and urgent whispers prickled over his skin, warning him that without a doubt, today was going to be one of God's more challenging assignments.

He tugged at the collar around his neck, the unrelenting heat and starch chafing his skin and mottling the artists' graceful work there. With perseverance, he walked humbly down the small chapel's aisle, intent on finding out what hell was about to descend upon them from above.

In a soft timbre that offered parishioners understanding and forgiveness, he spoke in a drawling Spanish asking the older men what was wrong. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, where indecision warred with conscience, before their native tongue pounded through the corridor like the staccato beat of his favorite hymn.

The fear that rimmed their gazes made it clear, this wasn't an ordinary problem. Their words beckoned him, spurred him forward, as they lead him out of the church and up the stone pathway on the far side of the holy grounds that led into the untamed brush.

The lush bounty the tropical heat provided grew like strands of emeralds floating from the sky to meet thick blades of jade, their sharp edges looking to reclaim the ancient route to the chapel in the clouds. Nature diligently tried but humanity wouldn't let it, whether it was devout locals paying pilgrimage to their forefathers traditions or curious tourists, the worn stones still carved a trail through the heavenly labyrinth.

As they neared the clearing, his guides' steps hurried, their unease growing.

He sucked in a breath at the damage done to the treasured landmark, the gaping roof was a heavy blow to the villagers pride but the men practically ignored it. Their focus intent on something within the skeletal remains of a once beautiful testament to peoples faith in the divine and that made shivers of apprehension itch over his skin like a scratchy wool cloak.

The stench of death drifted along the slight morning breeze, overpowering the intoxicating floral scents that normally hung heavy in the air and forewarned him of the human carnage that awaited him.

He stepped through the open doorway, prepared for the duties of his office. It was too late to give this man the sacrament of last rights, to hear this soul's confessions before he passed over. As he belatedly recognized the sandy haired dead man, he realized that he already knew far too many of this departed man's sins.

It seemed that God's will had finally caught up with Mr. Craig and he would no longer be terrorizing innocent people or wounding clergy. It wasn't easy to put aside his personal distaste for the wretched waste of humanity that lay sprawled before him but he did so. Without compunction, he knelt down beside the deceased man and gently offered up prayers of supplication on his behalf. As the final words drifted across his lips, his tattooed hand reached out to blessedly close the man's eyelids and let Mr. Craig's human form rest in peace.

He was doubtful that this man's spirit would be so fortunate but it wasn't his final judgment to make. He was no longer judge and executioner, he was simply a man who'd made a commitment to God and today his Maker was exacting a tough price.

His guides had been respectful during his ministrations to the departed soul, automatically crossing themselves as well, but now, their desperation was seeping out, more pungent than the odor of decaying flesh that penetrated his nostrils.

When his dark gaze landed on the prone figure at the other end of the church, Mateo knew that his Lord was once again testing his faith. Slowly, he approached the blistered and dirty face of the man who'd killed his brother. His lack of speed a deceptive cover for the rage barreling through his system, reminding him all too well that under the clergy's broadcloth, he was a man with a carnal lust for revenge.

***


It hadn't been a simple choice.

His Maker made all things possible through faith but He never promised that it would be easy. That's a lesson he'd learned long ago, that nothing in this life came without much strife when eternal salvation hung in the balance.

He flexed his fingers, the knuckles still tight around the phone he'd just used but his mind was already at peace with his decision. He'd done the right thing, remained true to his promise to God, and worthy of the mantel of authority he wore because he didn't exact revenge.

The crimes of his youth had happened fast but the redemption he sought in adulthood happened slowly, piece by piece, each day.

Cautiously, he scanned the area looking for any unusual signs but everything looked normal as he pulled the SUV out of its secluded location. His passenger was jostled by the motion but unresponsive in his deteriorating condition. Morgan needed medical attention in the worst way but he needed to get out of Mexico even more.

It wouldn't be long before the Federales tripped over the mess at the abandoned church and they'd be scouring the countryside looking for the second perpetrator. Since Craig was dead, they'd take vengeance upon the one that remained living and when the identity of their felon filtered back to his father, Morgan's existence within a Mexican jail would become more humiliating than any man should have to endure.

The dirt road was uneven but the car's sturdy frame could handle the hours of grueling driving that was ahead of them, he just prayed that his back seat rider survived the merciless jarring as well. In a few hours, Morgan would be over the border and Corinthos' problem but, until then, he didn't want to have to dispose of a dead man and his vehicle if he could help it.

***

He'd been pacing since he got the call.

He'd been expecting good news, assuming that Jason would be able to track down Michael and Kristina with minimal effort and bring them quickly home. He knew Jason would doggedly pursue even the scantest trail until the enforcer successfully completed his quest to make sure the kids were safe or die trying.

It was the latter part he'd never really anticipated happening after all the harrowing experiences Jason had already lived through but it was becoming a more likely reality as every second ticked by.

The SUV rumbled to a stop on the deserted tarmac, his men fanning out around the mud encrusted sides with weapons drawn. The vehicles running lights were like beacons, drawing them all closer as the priest stepped out into the scorching Texas heat. A brief inclination of his head was the only greeting Ruiz made before swiftly turning toward the back of the truck.

His actions spurred them forward, the immediate nature of the situation registering on them as the priest put a heavily inked hand on the back handle. The hinges subtle creak seemed to echo like a ricochet into the eerie silence as both doors came wide open. The dim interior couldn't hide the deathly pall that had descended upon the only occupant.

Sonny blanched at his best friend's condition, the angry sun-baked blisters across his face couldn't hide the lack of color, most likely from blood loss, and the gray tinge he'd acquired. Blood and dirt seemed permanently caked to his form and one leg was sprawled at an odd angle.

Fists on his hips, he demanded, "What the hell happened to him?"

Evenly, the priest returned, "I'm not really sure."

Before the don could challenge that answer, the father continued, "The other man was dead and Morgan had one leg pinned under a large chunk of a collapsed roof. He'd been shot twice as well. Obviously, he's not in a good condition."

"How long has he been like this," he worriedly inquired.

"It's just a guess but probably close to twenty four hours, he certainly needs medical attention but it couldn't be given to him in Mexico," the father honestly stated.

He needed to know and without restraint, the mobster prodded, "Why did you help him?"

Quietly, Father Mateo replied, "My brother was many things, most of them not very good, but your man risked his life to save others, me included, during that hostage crisis and, for that, I helped him evade the atrocities of a Mexican jail."

There was a hint of the hardened Ruiz blood still running through his veins as the clergy man added, "Whether Morgan lives or dies now is not my concern."

Understanding of a debt paid passed through the two men as Father Matteo faded away, heading back the way he'd come, and disappeared into the metal hanger.

"Mr. C," the beefy guard asked, "what are we doing with Jason?"

It was risky, taking him to a hospital so close to the border but the mobster didn't think his friend would make it otherwise. He leaned into the back of the truck, his eyes black with fury and fear and commanded, "Don't you die on me man."

The fine lines of misery that were etched around Jason's unconscious form crinkled the slightest bit, pulling the mask of torture plastered across his friend's face tight as he gasped.

Air barely passed across the other man's scabbed lips but Sonny leaned closer, hoping for some meager information about his children as he anxiously prodded, "What Jason? Did you find Michael and Kristina?"

The grime over his enforcer's brows knit together, a firm line denying the question, as his friend struggled once more to convey something. A thready tremor barely pulsed out between Jason's chapped lips, he wasn't certain he'd heard his friend correctly as he confirmed, "Are you trying to say… Elizabeth?"

He looked for a response, anything that might indicate that Jason was still communicating with even the merest body twinges but there was nothing. His friend's face had gone slack a sure indication that he'd blacked out again.

There was a sheen of tears in his eyes as he looked over his long time friend, the man probably wasn't going to survive the amount of trauma his body had received but he'd exhausted himself to utter one woman's name.

Running a frustrated hand through his slicked back hair, he made the call that Jason had already decided. Resignedly, he ordered, "Put Jason in the plane, we're headed back to Port Charles."

He'd made this decision fast, he just hoped he didn't have to live through the consequences slowly, every day, mourning the loss of his best friend.



Edited 2 times by tinkerbell74 09/07/09 9:47 AM.