Chapter 13 - The Sanctuary in Brooklyn
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Gunfire chewed through the wooden desk above our heads, showering us with splinters and dust.
"Go! Get out through the rear medical exit!" Lena commanded, shoving a small spare pistol into my hands while she fired three rapid shots at an advancing gunman.
Lucas was already sprinting up the iron staircase, returning fire with a weapon he had drawn from his jacket.
I didn't wait to see who survived the firefight. I scrambled on my hands and knees through a low doorway behind the desk, bursting into a dark rear alleyway drenched in torrential rain.
I ran.
I ran four blocks through the dark, slick streets of Manhattan until my lungs burned and my broken body screamed in agony, finally collapsing into the back of a parked yellow cab on 10th Avenue.
"Brooklyn," I gasped to the startled driver, tossing a wad of cash onto the front seat. "St. Jude’s Lane. Drive! Now!"
It was 1:15 a.m. by the time the taxi dropped me off in front of St. Jude’s—a decommissioned 19th-century stone church hidden between two towering industrial warehouses near the Brooklyn waterfront.
The heavy gothic oak doors were unlocked.
I pushed them open and stepped inside. The air was warm, smelling of melting beeswax candles and old incense. Faint candlelight flickered along the central aisle, illuminating rows of dusty wooden pews leading toward a magnificent stained-glass window.
Standing near the altar, bathed in the soft blue light of the stained glass, was a woman dressed in a simple grey wool coat. Her auburn hair was streaked with silver, but her silhouette was unmistakable.
She turned around slowly as my footsteps echoed down the aisle.
My mother stared at me, tears streaming down her aged, wrinkled cheeks.
"Ava," she choked out, extending her arms.
May you like
I stopped ten feet away, clutching the pistol Lena had given me, my chest heaving with conflicting emotions.
"Who are you?" I demanded, tears blurring my vision. "Are you my mother, or are you another ghost working for Senator Collins?"
