The telephone was ringing loudly as Eris Doran stumbled up the back steps in the dark and fumbled for his keys.
“Yes,” he panted into the phone, hoping the caller was still on the other end.
“Eris, it’s Julian Martin. I’ve just returned from a meeting and there’s a missed call from your number. Is Simon there?”
“Sorry,” panted Eris. “I’ve just driven in from the hospital. He must be out – the place is in darkness. I’ll get him to call you when he comes in.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Eris had barely replaced the receiver when the phone rang again. Now with his breathing back to normal, Eris answered in his formal way, “Good evening, presbytery, can I help you?”
“Hi Eris.” At once he recognised the rich, deep voice of Joe Frazer.
“Good evening Joe. Are you looking for Simon?”
“Sure thing. Just following up on a missed call from your number.”
“Joe, I’ll get back to you. Just got in from the hospital – the place is in darkness.”
“Fine, Eris. I’ll wait to hear back.”
Quickly Eris replaced the receiver and fumbled around for the hall light-switch. Now with light and beginning to feel agitated as he suddenly remembered Simon’s car was still in the garage, he raced to Simon’s room. Please God, let him be asleep in bed! But no – no sign of Simon. Perhaps he has fallen asleep in the kitchen or in the lounge, watching TV. Please God, let him be there. No – not in either room.
Suddenly he knew where he would find Simon. Slowly opening the door to the little Chapel and turning on the light, he whispered to the figure slumped over the kneeler.
“Simon, are you okay?”
But he knew, even before he gently felt for a pulse, there would be no answer. Tears welled in his old Irish eyes as he squeezed the soft, still warm hand. Simon, Simon, I’ve let you down! Then, quickly the priest in Eris Doran jumped into action. After the quick phone call to Bill Bennett, who had been his GP for many years, Eris knelt beside Simon, at first reciting prayers for the dead, then merging into his own way of praying.
“Dear God, how did You let this happen!… No… It’s not Your fault – It’s mine! – I walked out on him. He’s a great kid. He’s done so much in Your name; now he needs You. Take his hand – forgive him for the times he’s let You down – and there wouldn’t be many! Bring him home… How could I let this happen! Simon, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Dr. Bill Bennett arrived to find a sobbing Mgr. Eris Doyle and to verify that Fr. Simon Jackson was dead.
“Something is very wrong,” Eris confided to his doctor. “Simon – usually so happy – was in mental anguish for some reason.”
“Eris, go and make us a strong cup of coffee. I want to look in his room before we notify anyone!”
Moments later, Bill Bennett joined Eris in the kitchen. He held the open bottle of Tryptanol tablets.
“This is what I prescribed for Simon when he sprained his ankle a couple of months ago. At the time I warned him to go easy on them. With his heart condition he needed to be careful. There are only four tablets missing from the bottle. But we don’t know how many of those he took tonight. If, as you say, he looked as though he was under some mental strain, that would have been the catalyst for a major heart attack. He knew his heart could give out on him at any time under stress. Ordinarily, I would order a post mortem. But I think there will be enough pain without adding to it… I am going to write the death certificate showing a major heart attack was the cause of his death. There is little doubt of that – I am sure in certifying it. But you may have to look into the cause of the anguish that apparently caused this heart attack!”
“Yes. You’re right. And I certainly owe it to him to find out!”
When Bill Bennett left some half hour later, Eris Doran, as friend rather than parish priest, returned to the Chapel and remained beside his curate, sometimes praying, sometimes quietly talking to him, sometimes in silent thought. He was still there when the funeral directors arrived early the next morning.