A Prayer for the Devil Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Emerald Book Company

  Austin, TX

  www.emeraldbookcompany.com

  Copyright ©2013 Dale Allan LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.

  Distributed by Emerald Book Company

  For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Emerald Book Company at PO Box 91869, Austin, TX 78709, 512.891.6100.

  Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group LLC

  Cover design by Greenleaf Book Group LLC

  Cover photo ©iStockphoto/franckreporter

  LCCN: 2012935750

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-937110-35-2

  Ebook Edition

  For Dad

  “No one can confidently say that he will still be living tomorrow.”

  —Euripides

  A HUGE CROWD OF EXCITED BOSTONIANS applauds wildly in anticipation of seeing the hometown hero. The spectators stand shoulder to shoulder for as far as the eye can see, despite the heavy rain. Mayor Steven Westfield stands at the podium in the center of windswept Boston Common and waves his arms, trying to quiet the audience. After several fruitless attempts, he decides to speak over the roar of the people.

  “I’m so proud to be part of this historic event!” he shouts. The crowd silences. “After the November elections, Massachusetts will have produced another president of the United States!”

  (Standing applause.)

  “Although our state is forty-fourth in size, we are third when it comes to producing presidents: John Adams, John Quincy Adams, John Kennedy, and George Bush Sr.” He turns and points behind him. “And now, Brad Thompson!”

  (Standing ovation)

  Brad Thompson walks confidently to the podium and shakes the mayor’s hand. His infectious smile and good looks captivate the cheering onlookers. A Secret Service agent flanks him, holding an umbrella. Thompson whispers something in his ear, and the agent walks to the back of the stage and sits down, leaving Thompson in the rain. This excites the crowd even more. He cries out, “If all of you are willing to stand in the rain to see me, why shouldn’t I do the same?”

  He then continues, “The biggest problem with our government is that today’s political figures live under an umbrella of secret deals, corruption, entitlements, and special-interest giveaways. It’s a sad day for America when our children no longer say the Pledge of Allegiance in our schools, but the chairman of the Ways and Means Committee, who oversees our tax laws, gets away without paying taxes!”

  (Deafening applause)

  “It’s a sad day for America when a second-grader from New Jersey can be suspended from school for drawing a picture of a stick figure shooting a gun, but illegal immigrants with real guns can’t be asked for proof of citizenship.

  “It’s a sad day in America when your hard-earned tax dollars are sent to faraway countries only to be squandered by corrupt leaders while children right here in the U.S. go to bed hungry.

  “It’s a sad day for America when senators take bribes and hide cash in their freezers while our elderly citizens go to bed freezing cold because they can’t afford heating fuel.”

  (Unrelenting applause)

  Thompson whips back his thick, black, rain-soaked hair and continues to speak over the noise of the crowd. “Many of the congressmen and senators serving today would be petrified to stand where I am.” He points to the sky. “Based on their unscrupulous behavior and abandonment of God’s values, they would probably be struck by lightning!”

  (Screaming, whistles, and applause)

  Thompson waves his arms and the crowd quiets. “I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge several key individuals here with me today. First of all, my lovely wife, Jordan, whose undying support means so much to me.” She stands and waves to the adoring crowd. “Next, my dedicated lawyer and campaign manager, Aaron Miller. Aaron’s commitment and unparalleled work ethic inspires me every single day.” Miller stands, smiles, and waves. “My pastor, Frank Fatone, who baptized me right here in Boston.” With the crowd now standing and applauding, Thompson turns around and motions to a woman dressed in traditional Muslim attire. As Ablaa Raboud stands in anticipation of being introduced to the large crowd, there’s a powerful, ground-shaking explosion. The entire stage erupts in a ball of fire as bodies are propelled high into the air. While most of the news reporters run for cover, a few battle-hardened veterans run toward the blast to get a closer look. The sight of carnage fills the television airwaves as the smell of death lingers in the wet Boston air.

  A cold shiver interrupts the solitude of Luke Miller’s prayer session in the empty, candlelit chapel of Saint Leonard’s Church. As Luke tries to refocus, his attention is drawn to the squeaking of the large wooden door at the back of the room as it begins to open. Light pours into the small, dimly lit chamber, causing him to cover his unadjusted eyes in an attempt to see. Monsignor Swiger appears out of the blinding light and walks slowly to the front of the room as the door closes behind him. Still kneeling, with his arms extended out to his sides, Luke looks up as the monsignor kneels down in front of him and places his hand on his shoulder. “Father Luke, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I have terrible news.” Luke looks up, but he doesn’t respond. “There’s been a horrific explosion at the Common; all indications are that your brother Aaron and Father Fatone have been killed.” Luke’s deep blue eyes fill with tears, but he remains speechless. Swiger places his other hand on Luke’s empty shoulder as he recites Psalm 23: Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me …

  “God didn’t promise days without pain, laughter without sorrow, or sun without rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and light for the way. If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.”

  —Unknown

  LUKE MILLER GAZED THROUGH the dirty window as he drove his outdated pickup truck past the police officer stationed in front of his parents’ house. As he searched the crowded Boston street for a place to park, he noticed his mother pacing in the front yard as she awaited his arrival. He parked the truck and took out his cell phone to dial his brother’s number. In the past twenty-four hours he had called this number more than fifteen times just to hear his deceased brother’s voice. Whenever he felt that he needed strength, he listened to Aaron’s voice mail message. Putting the phone down on the seat, he took a deep breath and got out of the truck.

  They met on the lawn. She hugged him as tears flowed down their heartbroken faces. “Mom, I’m so sorry.” That was all he could say before his voice cracked and he began to sob. She held him tight and tried to comfort him, just as she had so many times in this modest house when he was growing up. Releasing her grasp, she placed her soft hands on either side of his unshaven face. “Try to be patient with your father. Please, Luke, understand that he is in a great deal of pain.” He nodded as she reached up and removed the white linen Roman collar from his shirt while pulling him down to place a black kippah on his head. “Luke, just for today, don’t be a Catholic, be a Jew. Please, just for today.”

  Luke’s mother was a lifelong Catholic. When her boys were born, however, their father insisted that they be raised in the Jewish faith. She never fully agreed with
this decision, but like many women of her generation, she reluctantly surrendered to his demand. When the children were born, she insisted that she pick one of the names. She chose Luke, a person that many theologians believe was the only Gentile to write portions of the New Testament. She was secretly happy and proud when, to his father’s chagrin, Luke converted to Christianity in high school. Even more surprising was his decision to enter the priesthood. Family members often wondered if this was a true religious conversion or just a way to embarrass his overbearing father.

  When his father realized that Luke was going to give up a University of Massachusetts baseball scholarship in order to enter the seminary, he disowned him. To many in Boston, baseball is the only religion. As much as Luke tried to make him understand, their relationship would never recover. Over the past several years they had become somewhat civil to each other, but unspoken tension still existed.

  Luke entered the small, well-maintained house and immediately saw his father sitting in the dark at the kitchen table. As Luke walked across the familiar wooden floors, his dad stood and raised his arms to greet his only living child. This affectionate welcome completely surprised Luke, who quickened his pace to embrace his heartbroken father. For the first time in his life, Luke saw, heard, and felt his father cry as he wept in his strong arms. After a few undisturbed moments, he felt his mother’s embrace as she joined them.

  Several heart-wrenching minutes later, Luke heard a soft knock on the screen door as the limousine driver discreetly tried to get their attention. “I’m sorry for interrupting, Mr. Miller, but there’s a lot of traffic and I wouldn’t want you to be late for the service.” Within minutes, they were sitting in the back of a black limo, on their way to the funeral with only one stop to make along the way. Not a word was said until they pulled up to Aaron’s house in the exclusive suburb of Newton. “Wait here. I’ll go get her,” Luke mumbled dolefully, as the limo pulled through the open metal gates. As he exited the car and began walking up the long stone path toward the imposing house, the front door opened and Deborah appeared. Before leaving, she turned to say a few words to the live-in housekeeper, who held Alessa in one arm and Abel by the hand. As Luke walked to meet her, he heard Alessa yell out, “There’s Daddy!” and he watched as Deborah crumbled to her knees in agony on the hard walkway.

  AS A PRIEST, LUKE had attended and presided over many funerals, doing his best to comfort the grieving families. For the first time in his life, he finally realized the depth of their distress. Now he was the one wracked with despair, and he wondered how he could ever recover. As he watched his elderly father struggle to pick up the shovel and stumble as he threw dirt into the burial hole, Luke questioned his faith. How could God allow these innocent people to die? How could someone exist who was depraved enough to not only want to kill innocent people but also to kill them in such a horrific way? The more he kept envisioning Aaron’s body being blown apart, the more he felt anger and rage well up inside of him. These were unfamiliar feelings for a priest.

  On the third day of Shiva, Luke had to excuse himself to go back to his parish. At the request of the Diocese of Boston and the Thompson family, he had reluctantly agreed to preside over the funeral of Brad Thompson and his wife, Jordan. His mother understood, while his father just shook his head.

  As Luke donned his vestments, he could hear the sounds of police cars and the crowds lining the streets. This event had captivated the nation and was newsworthy throughout the world. Nearly every priest from the diocese would attend this funeral, along with the country’s most powerful politicians, businesspeople, and community leaders, with one notable exception: the president of the United States, who was traveling abroad. Over the past two days, the parish had been besieged by requests for interviews, most of the reporters wanting to talk with Luke.

  Earlier in the day, Luke had called Brad Thompson’s mother to express his condolences and to see if she had anything specific that she wanted him to say about her son. She spent most of the conversation telling Luke how sorry she was that his brother was murdered, while deflecting the attention away from her own grief. After hanging up the phone, Luke thought that she would have been a great person to meet under different circumstances. Maybe he should have tried to get to know Aaron’s friends and business partners before passing judgment on them.

  It had been more than a year ago when Aaron’s law firm was contracted to represent a wealthy investor who wanted to redevelop part of the waterfront in suburban Boston. Unfortunately, this project would require that several elderly citizens be ousted from their homes, and it would destroy the neighborhood homeless shelter where Luke volunteered. Local politicians got involved and created an ad campaign promoting the development, touting the benefits of increased tax revenue and tourism. When Luke saw the news reports, he led the vocal opposition to their plan. Soon, the press figured out that Luke’s brother’s firm was involved in the project, and the unwanted publicity caused by the hometown priest destroyed the deal. After a heated argument regarding the virtues of eminent domain, the brothers stopped talking to each other. Luke would regret that day for the rest of his life.

  Walking to the altar in the overcrowded church, Luke looked out at the sea of mourners. He recognized many famous faces sitting beside some everyday parishioners. Noticing the commotion when the audience saw his face for the first time, Luke addressed the confused crowd, saying, “For those of you who may not know me, I’m Luke Miller, Aaron Miller’s identical twin brother.”

  Even though Luke had only met Brad and Jordan Thompson on a few occasions, he did an honorable job describing their love for each other and their lifelong commitment to helping the less fortunate. Luke’s crystal clear voice, exceptional looks, and the unique way he prayed, with his hands fully extended out to his sides, made him a compelling figure on the altar. By the time the service ended, everyone was in tears. Just as he did each time he celebrated mass, Luke stood at the back of the church and shook everyone’s hand as they left. His smile widened as Rebecca Bruno and her husband, Sal, the very last people in the church, approached.

  Rebecca, an elegant Italian woman in her sixties, attended mass almost every day. Ever since Luke had arrived at the parish three years before, she made sure to attend all of the masses that he presided over. When the church wouldn’t release the priests’ schedules in advance, Sal got involved. Rumored to be a tough businessman with ties to the mob, Sal was a man of few words. After a meeting with Monsignor Swiger to “discuss the issue,” the mass schedule was published in the church bulletin the following week.

  Luke kissed Rebecca on both cheeks. She took his hand in hers. “Luke, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear about your brother.” She turned and looked at Sal. “We are both heartbroken for your loss.” Sal extended his calloused hand and shook Luke’s firmly without saying a word. She continued, “We know you have to get to the cemetery, so we won’t hold you, but if you need anything, please call.” Luke thanked both of them sincerely and headed toward the door. Before he could exit, Luke was startled to hear Sal’s words echo in the empty sanctuary. “Hey, Father Miller, if you need anything, call me. I’ve got connections.”

  LUKE STAYED AT HIS parents’ house for the next four days. His presence seemed to help his father cope with the loss of Aaron. Luke wondered if his physical appearance was helping his dad forget the fact that his brother was gone. He worried that once they returned to their normal routines, his dad would really begin the grieving process. Over the past several days, many people who saw Luke had called him Aaron. This was not surprising, since it had happened to him his entire life, but now it took on an entirely different meaning. Aaron’s small children hadn’t yet reached the age where they could distinguish the twin brothers, making encounters with Alessa and Abel especially heartbreaking.

  The longer Luke watched his parents grieve, the angrier he became. During Shiva, he heard several well-intentioned relatives say, “I would like to kill the SOB responsible for this,”
or “That Muslim lady is to blame for all of this.” Luke had studied the grieving process as part of his vocation, so he understood that when the death was a homicide, many of the traditional grieving stages were bypassed as people close to the victim often focused on revenge. He was beginning to think that he was no different. As much as he tried to fight it, he felt himself relating more to the Old Testament than to the New. For the first time since high school, he felt more like a Jew than a Christian.

  With Shiva ending, there were important decisions to be made. The local police department would be ending their surveillance at Luke’s parents’ house. The press and paparazzi were waiting to pounce. There had already been several front-page articles published in the Boston Globe detailing the troubles between the now-famous twin brothers. The media began calling Luke the “Movie Star Priest,” based on his undeniable good looks, and reporters interviewed old girlfriends and teammates from high school and anyone else who would give them something controversial to print.

  At a family meeting it was decided that everyone should temporarily move into Aaron’s house because of the excellent security the gated property offered, and because Deborah had already hired a private armed guard service to patrol the grounds. The enormity of the house would ensure that everyone still had their privacy. Luke was surprised when it became apparent that they expected him to stay with them too. Again, he felt that his physical appearance was only delaying the reality of the situation not only for his parents but for Deb and the children as well. Yet, as much as he didn’t want to move in with them, he felt that Aaron would want him there, so he reluctantly agreed to see if he would be permitted to take a leave of absence from his parish duties.