Take Me to Church || Huntress

St. Jude’s church was an older building, not quite as old as St. Swithun’s but it probably can close. It also wasn’t as large or at least that’s what it seemed from the outside. Not that it really stopped the people attending from funneling inside through those large oak doors. Helena was happy she arrived at St. Jude’s early. It allowed her to watch the coming and goings of everyone in front of that church. The members of the police and their families were easy to spot by the way the men walked and held themselves. It wasn’t necessarily a bad tell, but it was simply how they were. It was just like how you could tell a military man, even decades after he finished his tour of duty, by how pressed his slacks were or the crispness of his cuffs and collar.

Unlike the congregation that attended Swithun’s, whose complexion was for the most part uniform, Jude’s people had the range from blonde to black and more than a few redheads mixed in, so neither she nor the would-be detective Barbara Gordon was look out of place. Well not entirely. Helena watched Barbara approach the church from her vantage point across the street. For some reason, she looked nervous, like this wasn’t her usual bit of routine. Helena had the sudden and distinct feeling that Ms. Gordon didn’t attend church on a regular basis. For some reason that caused her to smile just a bit. If this woman was willing to do something out of her comfort zone then perhaps she would be a good person to keep close some of the time. But, even if Barbara were able to find anything on the murder of her family, Helena was not about to change how this was going to end. Blood called for blood. That was what her cousin had told her. That was the only way the nightmares would end.

Crossing the street, Helena joined the people entering the church, keeping an eye on the redhead. Her smile returned when she saw her pause at the font, unsure of what to do. Most definitely not a person who attended church regularly. She allowed Barbara to sit in the pews before approaching the font herself, saying a small prayer in Latin as she crossed herself. It was soon after that Helena sat down next to the lost looking woman. “Why do I think you’re a lapsed Catholic, Ms. Gordon?” she asked softly, with a smirk on her lips.

“Working full time at the police department and part-timing it as a librarian. How do you manage it? Please tell me you have some time for a social life in your busy schedule.” Helena did recall that Barbara had stated she didn’t have a boyfriend, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find the time to go out for a drink or two. If she was the type who drank, that is. If she wasn’t Helena would most certainly have to teach her all about actually having a life outside of work and sleep.

Watching her pick up the Bible, Helena gently put a hand on Barbara’s forearm. “Don’t worry,” she told her softly. “I’ll make sure to guide you through this whole thing if you don’t remember how to do what. I don’t think Irish Mass is any different from Italian. Communion won’t be forced, nor will I insist on you becoming a bride of Christ. However, if you fall asleep, as a good Catholic, I reserve every right to kick you in the shin in order to wake you back up,” she smirked. “Just refrain from cursing and blaspheming in the House of God if I hurt you too much.”

Upon hearing her real name uttered by someone who wasn’t family, Helena hesitated for a moment. It was an odd sensation she felt; one of uncertainty and fear, as if someone would immediately turn around and shout ‘the Bertinelli girl lives! Get her!’. But she also felt sadness that made her want to cry since someone else, someone not at all connected with this crime, who lived in the city she was born in, knew her. Helena’s blue eyes began to water ever so slightly and she blinked, looking away from Barbara. “Oh, blasted candle smoke,” she muttered, trying to both make a joke and cover for herself in case anyone saw. Dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, she took a breath or two before moving her hand down to Barbara’s and squeezing it gently.

“I… it’s been…” Apparently she needed to take another few sets of breaths before continuing. “I think I’m all right. It’s just been years.” The last word had a weight to it. She still didn’t feel safe speaking freely, but she wanted to convey how heavy her life had been since that one night her family died. She had so many questions to ask, but now was not the time. She would need to wait until they were in a more private place to discuss what happened and what Barbara knew.

The hug from Barbara was not unwelcome and, for a moment, she wondered if this was what it was like to have a sister. Pino had been a good older brother from what she remembered, standing up for her and being the typical protector, but from what she saw of girls with sisters, there was a definite difference. Even in Sicily, Helena only had her cousin Salvatore, but he was helpful in his own right; teaching her how to fight and use a crossbow. Both were good men. So, Helena leaned in to the awkward little sideways hug, her mood lightening as Barbara talked.

“We will be fine. This isn’t like Catholic school where the further back you sit, the more likely you’re going to be called on. It might be different here, but no Italian mass has ever contained a part where they rap your knuckles with a ruler for not correctly knowing who all the apostles were,” she smiled back, glancing at the woman as she looked around. “Most churches have a back garden used for quiet reflection, praying, or trying to find peace. I would hope that St. Jude’s is no different. If not, maybe we can try to request the use of a back office. I’m sure that the young, bonnie, colleen that is Barbara Gordon, the fair Irish rose of Gotham, can sweet talk the poor old minister that hasn’t seen a pretty face in years.” Helena’s last sentence was said in perhaps not the best imitation of a Irish accent and she quickly looked around, making sure no one overheard too much. But then again, they did look like the typical two girls giggling in the back pews during church.

“No mother?” she asked. That would explain why Barbara had no social life. Though Helena had been too young to do anything truly social, particularly with boys, when her mother died, she always accompanied her mother almost everywhere, even if it was just little errands. That way she learned some of the names and faces of the people of importance as well as began to be known to the rest of the Italian community. Looking back on it, it was probably a way for everyone in and outside the mafia to know who she was. “Maybe once this is all over, I can treat you and your father to some Italian hospitality as a way of saying thank you.” She wasn’t sure exactly what she could do for them, other than cook them a good meal, but maybe that would be a good start. After all, Helena had plans for this city and Commissioner Gordon might appreciate the help.

Though she was not completely up to date on the relations between the Mafia and the Irish mob, Helena knew enough that, unless they were planning something big and willing to fully commit to it, neither group would dare risk being in each others territories, especially not a church. As for whether or not this church was under Irish ‘protection’? That was also doubtful due to the number of police that attended. Some things, thankfully, were still sacred. “You picked a good place, Barbara. Thank you,” she told her softly.

The distress in Barbara’s face was obvious when Helena mentioned her mother. She wouldn’t have pressed further, but it was the redhead that decided to go into detail. Once that sadness was gone, there was that perky little smile and it all made sense now. Happiness hid the pain she was feeling. At that, Helena took both of Barbara’s hands in her own, holding them gently in her lap. She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and remained quiet for a while. Praying for others was not something she often did, but Helena prayed that Barbara and her father would find happiness soon, that whatever sadness kept imposing itself onto her life would vanish, and she would find only true, sincere reasons to smile rather than using it as a defense. She was a good woman and she deserved only good things to happen to her.

Once she was finished, only then did Helena realize what Barbara said. Cook for each other? Instantly, her mind flashed to what the Irish considered to be food; potatoes, cabbage, corned beef, and some abomination called haggis. She briefly wondered if she had ever had a proper before in her life. But then again, maybe she was more American that Helena realized. Either way, she simply smiled. “Oh, you don’t need to go to that trouble. I’ll glad cook and share recipes, but you already have enough on your plate, what with being a librarian and your job at the station. You don’t need to cook for me.”

Thankfully, Mass soon started after that. Helena did her best to guide Barbara through, expertly paging through the Bible and hymnals in order to help her find what passages were being spoken of, and prompting her for whatever call and answers might occur. Admittedly, there were points where she herself was lost due to the differences in churches, but for the most part everything was the same. When at last the collection plate came around, Helena put in enough for the both of them, hoping Barbara wouldn’t feel the need to follow suit.

When Barbara mentioned possibly disgracing her grandparent’s memory, Helena shuffled back a few steps while looking upwards towards the rafters, as if expecting something. After a few seconds of quietness, she looked back at her with a smile. “No lightning from on high, so I think you passed by their standards,” she joked before following her through the church and into the garden. It was a small, but quiet and secluded place filled with a riot of colorful flowers. Helena smiled upon seeing a particular favorite; a mass of vines with purple passionflowers dotted amongst the leaves climbing a nearby trellis. She took a moment to breathe in the flower’s scent before joining Barbara at the fountain.

“Anything will be helpful, Barbara. I did not expect you to have solved anything or even have anymore information than what the police already found.” Upon being handed the photograph, Helena quieted, her brow furrowing with worry as she examined it and tried to remember. The memories that came back were not pleasant.

We had just sat down for dinner with papa at the head of the table, Pino was opposite me, and mama was just about to sit down at the table when the sound of broken glass was heard. A small noise and papa suddenly slumped over, a bloody hole at his temple. For a moment time froze, then the sound of broken glass again and this time Pino fell forward onto his plate.

Mama screamed and grabbed me, pulling me from the table. More glass breaking and mama twitched. She dropped me and told me to run and hide. I did, running from broken glass and the heavy thud I heard.

I hid in the closet in their bedroom, behind the suits and long coats papa always wore, curled up in a little ball and trying not to make a sound. Tears ran down my cheeks as I hid and heard the sounds of fireworks pop-pop-popping nearby, then nothing.

I hid there in the dark until I heard a man yelling for me. It was one of papa’s friends and he was scared, panicked, but happy to see me. He asked if I was all right and I asked where mama was. Instead of answering, he picked me up and held me tight as we left the house. On the way out, I saw mama on the floor, red staining the rug.

I screamed and started fighting the man, but he only held on tighter and moved faster. Outside there were other men, all worried, all with guns. They surrounded me and took me to a car. I didn’t want to leave, mama was still inside. They didn’t listen and hoisted me inside where more arms held me down and away from the windows.

I squirmed free, wanting to look back, to see mama come out. She never did. No one did. I started to cry as we drove away, the last thing I saw before burying my face into the man’s suit was a street light lighting up an odd smiley face on a nearby wall.

Helena didn’t realize she was crying until the tears fell upon the photograph. Her stomach was twisted into knots and all she could do was nod before handing the piece of evidence back. “I saw that the night it happened.” At that, Helena abruptly stood up, needing to move and keep her mind occupied, otherwise she felt that she would get sick, and that did not need to happen here.

The brightness in Barbara’s tone and voice, coupled with that damn smile Helena knew she was wearing without even turning to look and confirm was almost more than she could bear. She wanted to slap the woman and scream at her, asking why she was so happy about this. Yes, she understood that this was a newly found piece pf the puzzle. Yes, she understood that this could lead to over things, but why did she have to be so damn cheerful while Helena was stuck remembering nothing but pain? It made no sense and only made her all the more angry. She didn’t even bother to look at the article that was presented to her, wanting instead to slap it away or rip into a million pieces, but doing that would likely get her arrested for tampering with police evidence.

Hearing news that this damned smiley face was seen at other locations did nothing for Helena’s mood. In fact, it only made her feel all the more worse. She didn’t know of any hitmen that used that as a calling card, and given the time between then and now, the man could be dead, which would mean her efforts have been in vain. Hearing Barbara mentioning her parent’s position, Helena’s head snapped back to her and glared, almost daring her to say it and to give her a reason to hit her or slap her or something, anything that would make her feel better. “Of course he’s good at not getting caught,” she hissed. “Otherwise they never would have hired him in the first place to take such… actions. So, essentially, what you are saying if that you have a lead but you don’t have a lead. Am I correct in my understanding? You have an unsolved murder, multiple unsolved murders, but you are happy because you found graffiti that connects them. Congratulations, you’ve moved this case sideways instead of forwards.” Were they not in a church garden, she would have spoken more freely about her opinion of this discovery.

Calling cards seen in two cities could mean a few things; either he was an out-of-town talent brought in by the Mafia, meaning it was big money that wanted to ensure their death, or the hitman had moved up in the world. Ending the lives of one of the five families of Gotham could have done that to further his career. New York and Gotham weren’t that far apart, so it could have been either answer. “Is there a… a timeline?” She didn’t know proper police terms and her mood was making it hard to think of how to describe things. “Are the New York faces more recent and consistently there or is there a back and forth between the two cities?” If it was the latter, she would get nowhere, but if it was the former, there was a chance she could get information out of someone, either through legal means or illegal means. Barbara would not be able to know, which might make things harder to do, or she could just give her the slip at some point. Maybe try to get her drunk and go out while she would be sleeping it off. "Are you able to tell if this smiley face has been working New York mostly in the recent years, if not exclusively there? Or has he been all over?" She hoped he had moved business to New York. He'd likely be well known there.

Again, the eagerness in her voice was annoying, but now that Helena was thinking things through and plotting, it was becoming more bearable. “You like playing the little detective, don’t you? What with your father say about this, or the rest of the department? I can go easily to New York, but you might be missed. I would rather you not lose your job because of me, Barbara.” Either way, it looked like they were going to New York.

Barbara was about to get defensive. She understood that Helena had lived the last ten years without her parents, but at the same time, she had to watch this case drive her father further and further into his work. This case tore them apart as a family, and now there was finally a chance to solve it. And Helena was going to look a gift horse in the mouth? This mattered just as much to Barbara as it did to Helena, and she wasn't prepared to just step to the side and throw out the only bit of evidence they had to work with.

Perhaps it was a good thing someone interrupted her. She wasn't expecting anyone to be in the garden, but there he was. A raggedy man in a large top hat that looked like something out of a cartoon. He showed annoyance that the preacher wasn't there, and proceed to rant and rave like someone that belonged in Arkham. What an interesting person. Under normal circumstances, she might have tried to calm him down to talk, but she was protecting Helena. This was a dangerous part of town, after all.

The red flags sprang up when he got closer. He was uncomfortably close, but her eyes couldn't help but follow the oversized watch. What was it about it? The ticking was almost like a lullaby. It lulled her into a sense of security that she couldn't stop herself from speaking. "I'm Barbara Gordon. I work at the police department, I'm from Ohio, I'm going to New York, and I wear a size 7."

Her mind was fully aware, but she couldn't stop herself from answering and she wasn't doing anything to fight. It was a terrifying sensation.