Things were quiet in the church of St. George’s-in-the-East - just as the Reverend Daniel O'Connor liked it. That wasn't to say that he didn't wish a few more people would join his congregation on a Sunday or that he didn't like the echoing tunes that emanated from the church organ. Just that he preferred the church during its calm moments at the end of the day, when the air was cool and still, and where it almost seemed like he could hear God's whispers between the aisles as he tidied up the hymn books and gathered up any litter.

Reverend O'Connor walked up to the altar at the East end of the church and looked up at the glorious stained glass above. He began to say a short prayer to the Lord, thanking him for another wonderful day when he was interrupted by a wheezing, shuffling noise behind him. He took a deep breath, preparing to say to the interloper that the church was closed for the night, and then stopped as he sniffed the air.

"I thought I told you smoking wasn't allowed in here, Dr Hutchinson" the vicar called over his shoulder.

"An' I told you to call me Jack, Dan. Dr Hutchinson's what my patients call me", came back a tired, gruff voice that echoed in the silence.

Reverend Daniel O'Connor turned around, a slight smile on his lips, and nodded a greeting. Meanwhile, Jack Hutchinson finished one last drag on his cigarette, took it out of his mouth and snuffed the glowing end between finger and thumb of his gloved right hand.

Blowing out a final blue-grey plume of smoke, Jack pocketed the remains of his cigarette and looked at the priest with his brilliant blue eyes.

"So, Dan, 'ow was business today?" he asked, his old Cockney accent barely perceptible, hidden behind years of trying to be a decent man.

"So, so", replied Father O'Connor. "The sun rose, the world turned and the Lord watched over us all. And here in His house of worship, the same old lambs came to be shepherded in His ways. And yourself, Jack?"

"'Elped a few more climb their way back to sanity. Eased the sufferin' of a couple of others. Generally tried to do my bit, y'know". He shuffled his feet a little and added, in a quieter voice, "Like yourself, I suppose".

"How's the sleep going? Still having those dreams?" Reverend O'Conner asked, piling up the last of the hymn books on a bookshelf.

Jack sighed and shrugged, gazing down at his feet.

"Same as always", he replied, quietly and solemnly. He looked up and towards the colourful windows. It was dark outside and no light streamed through. No guiding light shone upon him from above. The only illumination was from the fluorescent strip lights hanging from the rafters.

Reverend O'Connor placed a wrinkled old hand on one of Jack's wide shoulders and gave it a gentle understanding squeeze.

"I guess saying that the Lord works in mysterious ways wouldn't help. Give it time, Jack and know that you are in my prayers" the priest said in a reassuring, but non-committal, sort of way.



"Yeah, I've done a lot to forgive", muttered Jack, sighing again, as Reverend O'Connor hastily removed his hand. The priest seem to relax a little and a faint smile touched his lips.

"Anyway", continued Jack, reaching inside his jacket, "I'm not 'ere about the nightmare. I got something today. A letter. I'd like you to take a look at it".

From an inner pocket, Jack brought out the stiff parchment letter he'd received earlier that day. He held it out to the vicar, who took it with a bushy grey eyebrow raised in question. He looked over the letter, stopped for a moment to examine the seal and then, holding the paper closer to his old eyes, proceeded to read the contents in detail.

"Hmm, I see", he eventually said, scratching the thin grey hair on his head. "Yes... I've heard of this Phoenix Foundation. It's a private non-profit organization interested in historical events and offering humanitarian aid. Right up your street, I'd say. But I've heard a few rumours as well. Some of them say they do the Lord's work but others mention they're involved with dark magic. Rumours, though, and vague ones at that. There may even be a distant link with our brothers in the Catholic Church but, then again, that's not unusual. You'd be surprised at how many of the old societies and endeavours had Papal support at one time or another".

Jack listened with interest to the man's words as the vicar continued.

"Well, I'm making it all sound very Dan Brown", smiled the old man, who was an unexpected fan of those works of fiction, "but I'm sure this Phoenix Foundation is far from it. If they're looking for new employees or any assistance then I think you should take them up on their offer. Go to the dinner, Jack, and see what this Duvalle chap has to say. It could be a sign", he concluded, handing the letter back to Jack.

"Lord knows why they sent it to me", Jack said, putting the parchment back into his inside pocket. "And what he meant by admiring my work. I suppose he meant my healings. Still I wonder...". His voice trailed off as he considered things from his past.

"But, yeah", he continued after a moment of introspection, "maybe I'll think about it. Maybe..." He still wondered what exactly the Foundation wanted with him but had now decided to accept their invitation.

They talked a little more, about the events of the day, about the weather, the terrible traffic, the cost of living and a few other bit and pieces. Eventually, Jack made his farewell and wandered out of the church, one of the oldest in the East End of London, whilst the Reverend Daniel O'Connor watched his retreating back.

As Jack stepped out of the church and into the night air, he felt as if a great weight had eased a little from his shoulders. Shrugging, he pulled the half-smoked cigarette from his jacket pocket, lit the end and took a long, desperate drag. The narcotic eased his nerves and he took a moment to relax in the darkness. He had an intimate rendezvous with a half-empty bottle of cheap whisky to look forward to but, for the moment, he stood there wistfully remembering the first time he’d visited this old church...

~~~

“Is- is there a doctor in the church?!” a woman cried out, fear and concern pitching her voice to a high screech.

Jack stood up, looking over the head of the man in front of him, and tried to see what was going on. It was his first time in the church of St George’s-in-the-East. He’d seen it many of times from the outside when he was younger but until today’s Sunday morning service he had never been inside its grand, vaulted interior. Having recently bought a small apartment nearby after qualifying as a doctor, this church was his closest place of worship.

The vicar, a friendly, harmless - and, to be honest, slightly boring - man in his early fifties, had been giving his sermon when suddenly he’d stammered and fell from the pulpit to the cool floor. Now two or three people surrounded the man, with more heading towards them, preventing Jack from seeing what was going on. His eyes rising to the ceiling, Jack grimaced, shrugged and then made his way forward.

“Excuse me. I’m a doctor”, Jack called out, striding forwards. “Let me through please. And give the man a bit of room”.

He looked at the vicar who was lying on the floor, clutching his chest and having difficulty breathing. His skin appeared clammy and was as grey as the hair at his temples. The man tried to call out something but his feeble words turned to painful wheezing coughs.

“It looks like he’s havin’ a heart attack”, Jack stated as he knelt next to the reverend. “Someone call an ambulance”

“Geraldine’s already gone to the ‘phone” said the high-pitched woman. Her deeply-lined face and grey hair indicated that she was much older than the vicar. However, although obviously worried and distressed, she looked far more alive than the man on the floor at that moment.

“Tell her to tell them he’s sufferin’ from suspected myocardial infarction - a heart attack”. Jack paused for a moment and then asked, “Does he have angina?”

“No, no, I don’t think so” the woman said, clasping her small, wrinkled hands together in front of her. Jack nodded and then reminded her to tell the ambulance service about the heart attack. He turned back to the vicar and studied the man a little closer.

“Reverend O’Connor? I’m Dr Hutchinson”, he explained in quiet calm tones. “Help is on its way and will be here very shortly. But in the meantime, I know this may sound a stupid thing to say, try and remain calm, okay? I’m just going to check your pulse…”

With a gloved hand, Jack reached out to the side of the vicar’s throat and tried to feel for a pulse. As he did, the man’s watery brown eyes struggled to open and then stared directly into Jack’s piercing blue ones. Their gazes met. As if seeing some great horror, the vicar’s eyes opened wide in apparent fear but he could not pull his gaze away. Instead, he started to mutter something under his gasping breath.

“Domine Deus… spero per gratiam tuam remissionem… occulto mihi ex obscurum...”

To Jack, it sounded like an old-fashioned prayer. Being a medical man, he recognised the language as Latin but had no idea of the meaning. Looking away from those open critical eyes, Jack turned to a younger man who was standing nearby.

“Get an aspirin-” he began to say. Suddenly, the vicar’s arm shot up and grabbed him around his exposed wrist.

Dread and alarm filled Jack first, flowing up his arm, through his shoulder and into his body. Then came rushing the crushing pain of the heart attack - a heavy, gripping throb stabbing into his chest and taking his breath away. Darkness began to edge his vision. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to block the life-stealing tightness that began to send out shooting pains to his shoulders and arms.

The pain was intense - though he had suffered much worse before. He hoped that his curse would heal the blockage to his heart before he went and died. Again. But the pain and the panic were making it difficult to focus.

Jack collapsed to the floor, which caused the vicar to break his grip on Jack’s wrist. He lay there, trying to breath, trying not to throw up, and with all his will he tried to push the pain, anguish and fear away. And in his mind’s eye the cursed black feathers threatened to bury and smother him.

“Bleedin’ hell, lord…” he breathed through clenched teeth, unable to do anything more at that time.

The old woman had now come back and started to shriek when she saw that Jack had collapsed. Her panic was relieved a little though when she realised that the vicar now looked better and was no longer clutching his chest. Another voice called out, this one male, saying that he thought the doctor was also having a heart-attack. Yet other voices muttered and jabbered in the background.

Jack grunted and struggled to open his eyes. His chest still burned with a torturous ache but it was bearable. Looking across, he saw the vicar sit up with a look of wondrous surprise on his face. The old woman rushed over to him to check that he was all right whilst a man, probably the one who had spoken earlier, tried to put Jack into the recovery position. His hands clammy with sweat, Jack managed to wave him away. He knew it wouldn’t help. He just needed time to let his enchantment heal the physical problem, though the mental and emotion trauma would remain for some time.

The church wasn’t far from the Royal London hospital, so within a few minutes the ambulance had arrived. The paramedics checked both Reverend O’Connor and Jack. The vicar seemed well but they still wanted to run some ECG tests on him. They advised the same for Jack but he was having none of it. By then, the heart attack had passed and, although he felt very weak, he knew he was out of danger.

“Thank you”, Reverend O’Connor said as the paramedics started to lead him out of the church. He turned, looking over his shoulder and added, “And God bless you, Dr Hutchinson”.

There was a knowing look in the vicar’s eyes as he gazed at Jack. Jack simply nodded back and then looked away, feeling somewhat exposed. Distress from the heart attack still troubled his mind and he was finding it difficult to think clearly. However, what he did know was that he could do with a smoke to soothe his nerves.

Instead he accepted the offer of a warm cup of tea from the old woman, who’s name he discovered was Maureen. Within half an hour, Jack heart had settled down and he was feeling much better. Using the excuse that he needed a breath of fresh air, he wandered lonely along the aisle and out of the main doors of the church…

~~~

Bright daylight became night’s cool darkness.

Jack finished the end of his cigarette, dropped the stub and extinguished it with a quick stamp of his shoe. That first time he’d met the good Reverend was over a dozen years ago and, since then, he’d been back most Sundays to bask in the holy man’s soporific sermons and lectures about smoking. Jack couldn’t quite figure it out but there was something indubitably likeable about Reverend Daniel O’Connor.

Shrugging, Jack pulled his jacket around him to keep out the cold evening air and headed off along the path. The lure of distilled spirits guided him homewards.