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The first time I heard this song, a picture started forming in my mind. It just kept getting stronger and stronger. It was a man (originally) who had lived a bad life and thought that he could never redeem himself, but there was hope there too. Hope that he couldn't see, but hope nonetheless. Then, Shirley issued her challenge, and this story just came to me.
If Heaven had a Backdoor
by Tanya Reed
The first thing he noticed was her eyes. They were big and bright, with the sparkle of life shining from them. She was a pretty young thing, maybe twenty, though in her profession that was often old. Her hair was long and dark, curling around bare white shoulders, and her makeup was not over done like many of her peers. Her dress was skimpy, of course, showing more skin than it covered, and a knowing smile came to her face as she saw Ray's appreciative stare.
"Hello, Detective," she said warmly, and if her voice held a hint of invitation, it carried a hint of something else as well. Of seeing him as a person and not a potential client, maybe.
"Hello, Miss..." He looked down at the sheets in his hand. "Faith."
"Just Faith. No miss. And you would be?"
"Detective Ray Vecchio," Kowalski answered, "I need to ask you about what you saw this morning."
"So I assumed," she answered, a hint of amusement sparking in eyes that seemed too wise for her years.
"Faith," he asked, sitting. "Dat yer real name?"
"As a matter of fact, it is. My parents wanted me to grow up to be a good Catholic girl."
He had been reading over his sheets, but at her words he lowered them to peek at her. "I'm sure they love you anyway."
"Oh, yes," she said drily. "They invite all their friends over so they can brag about their daughter the whore."
Ray raised an eyebrow but mostly ignored this comment as he went back to the file. "It says here that you witnessed O'Connell's murder."
"That's right. I did." She nodded.
"And you've come forward and you're willing to testify?"
This got a shrug.
"And you're not afraid of Viktor Jones? He's a nasty character."
"I'm not afraid of death, if that's what you're asking. I live with the possibility every day. With the guns and drugs, bad johns, diseases, and all that crap, I count it a miracle every day I survive. It doesn't make much difference whether some maniac beats me to death or Jones shoots me, dead is dead. And this way, the scumbag can't hurt someone else."
"You're doing the right thing," he assured her.
Faith laughed, though there was no longer any amusement in her eyes. "Am I? I never could tell the difference."
Suddenly, Ray saw some of the protective mask fall away and, despite her dress, her profession, and those knowing eyes, he felt like he was facing a child. Unlike many of the young women of the streets, Faith did not seem to have an unpenatrable shell around her held together with cold and dull eyes. Instead, there was a spark to her, a fire, that remained uncrushed by her circumstances. Somehow, a moralistic streak had survived and, even more important to Ray, a keen sense of humor. He almost wished he could bring her home, as a child not as a woman, and help her spark of life become a blaze.
As the interview progressed, the feeling remained. At the end, he cleared his throat and put down his paper, unwilling to let her just leave. Maybe he had been working with Fraser too long because for some reason he couldn't let this one slip through the cracks without a fight. He ran a hand nervously through his hair before raising his eyes to meet her gaze. When he did, she smiled. There was nothing predatory in it, and he couldn't help but notice it lit up her face.
"Listen, Faith, have you considered, you know, gettin' out?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have you ever thought of getting off the streets, gettin' a respectable job?"
She wrinkled her nose, still meeting his eyes. "Do you think I want to be out there selling my body? Do you think anybody wants to do it? But there's no way out for girls like me. No matter what I do, I'll never be respectable."
"But you seem like such a nice girl," he protested.
This time the laugh was bitter and he saw some of the street hardness in her brown eyes. "Nice? Detective, don't you know that I'm going to hell? I couldn't get into Heaven if it had a backdoor. Don't you see? No hope. How can a person escape that?"
Ray regarded her seriously. He wanted to give hope to Faith, but she never gave him a chance. Before he could even open his mouth, she was rising, gathering what passed for her jacket.
"Well, I must be going. Evening's coming. If you want to see me again, you know my corner. Come and arrest me sometime."
What happened next would always remain a blur in Ray's mind. The two of them walked out of Interview Room One and into a battle zone. An obviously disturbed man was shouting incoherently and waving a gun at anyone who dared to approach. There was a wild look in his eyes, showing he was out of touch with reality. Without warning, he began to fire shots, and the sound of shattering glass accompanied his ravings.
Amid the noise of gunfire and the silence of fear, one lone voice cried out. It was a child's voice, a little girl who stood alone not far from Ray and Faith. As the gunman's eyes turned towards her, Faith started to move. Ray assumed that she was going to shush to child, but he would never know for sure.
As Huey came from behind to tackle the gunman, one last shot rang out. In the shock that followed, Ray saw Faith tumble forward onto the child.
"Call an ambulance!" he yelled, shattering the stillness and running to the woman he had hoped to save.
The child was screaming until Frannie came and took her away, but Ray's eyes were on Faith. Her young body was limp, her eyes held the glassy look of death. Another fire extinguished.
Ray sighed and knelt beside her, closing her eyes. He felt sad and empty, but there was also some measure of peace.
Long fingers rested on her cheek a moment before he whispered, "You were wrong. I think you just found your backdoor."