Broken Wings

            Munch sighed heavily as he trudged along down the sidewalk, his head hung symbolically
resenting the dispirited gloom that overshadowed his heart. The day had started off on the wrong
foot when he woke to discover that his precious coffee pot had shorted out sometime in the night.
While most people would consider it a casualty of time and use, before casually purchasing a new
one on their next venture to the store; Munch felt a part of himself die as he reverently placed the
dead appliance in the dumpster outside his apartment building. The coffee maker was nothing in
itself special, just a common garden variety piece of machinery that afforded the common man the
luxury of quick and hot liquid. But the fact that it had been a house warming present from his
deceased mother and that it survived not only his turbulent college years , but four heartbreaking
divorces. The one constant in his life when it abruptly shifted gears and changed directions behind
his back had been that antiquated coffee maker.

            His faded boots scoffed across the white sidewalk, freshly dusted with the falling snow as
a rushing sea of bodies past him back and forth. Munch had scoured every department store in
Manhattan and still found himself reluctantly sulking back to his cold and lonely apartment empty
handed. His heart weighed heavily as he thought of his poor mother’s final moments and years of
pent of guilt erupted to the surface. Silent tears fell from his eyes as his mother’s ashen face rose
unbidden in his mind, as sharp and as clear as the very day it had been conceived. The rush of the
traffic and the clamoring roar of the pedestrians surrounding him faded into nothingness as the
sound of soft beeps gradually faded into existence.

            The crisp, fresh snow laden New York air slowly evaporated until it was completely
replaced by the bitter taste of sterilization and the perfume of medication. The winter wonderland
forming all around him blurred before abruptly sharpening back into focus, gone was the white
city streets with their towering light posts and welcoming green wreaths. The brightly twinkling
multicolored lights abruptly morphed into large, dull fluorescent lights that illuminated bleached
white walls with construction paper cut outs of holiday wreaths, mistletoe and stockings tapped
along the fathomless hallway. The subtle and near non-existent roll of the motor vehicles’ tires
was replaced with the squeaky rolling of wheelchair tires. The corner Santa Claus faded from
existence, only to be supplemented with nurses walking to and fro in their white costumes as they
shepherded patients to and from appointments.

            Shaking his head, Munch tore himself back to reality and froze. His eyes surveyed the
vacant lot before him, seeing past the vast ocean of rubbish and debris scattered to the four
corners of the parcel of fenced in land. Before his father’s untimely demise, they had lived in an
apartment that once stood on the now desolate lot. The old school, he and Bernie had attended,
was not far from the corner on where he now perched. The memory had seemed so real to him
that he had half expected to turn the corner and see his long since deceased parents waiting for
him, just inside the ground floor apartment that was no longer there. Munch could almost hear his
mother calling to him from within as he walked up the front stoop, “John Munch, get your tokhes
in here before you let all the heat out, we’re not heating the neighborhood!” Shortly after his
father had committed suicide, his mother had shipped her two sons to Baltimore to stay with
relatives and Munch hadn’t seen the old apartment building again.

            Munch mused silently, ‘perhaps I got my early start in rebelling from Mame?’ Shaking
his head, he aimlessly wandered down the sidewalk. Stuffing his chilled hands into the pockets of
his long coat, the detective’s thoughts turned inward and back to the buried past in the recesses of
his mind. So consumed by his thoughts and wrapped in memories from another life, Munch was
oblivious to the world around him.

            “Mame, John’s here.” Bernie said as he gently clasped the frail looking woman’s hand,
“Mame, you need to open your eyes.”

            “My klein beibi, I didn’t think that you would arrive in time.” She said as her hand
ghosted over her youngest son’s face. “I was so sure that our Foter would call me to his side
before you got here.” She lightly scolded her wayward son, “what has kept you?”

            “You don’t want to know, Mother,” Munch said as he shook his head sadly. “But
needless to say, I got here as fast as I could.”

            “Translation: you caught your bad guy and shot a few rounds of pool with your buddies
over a few drinks.” Bernie snorted disapprovingly, ignoring the look of anger on his younger
brother’s face.

            “Bernard Isaiah Munch, don’t be such a eisl! Your Mame is lying at Death’s door, save
your petty bickering for when I’m cold in the ground.” Mrs. Munch snapped, seemingly to spring
to life in defense of her youngest before their argument could escalate. “Your brother works long
and hard, laboring under a great burden to protect people and doesn’t need his own brother
making him feel any guiltier then he already is! Himl, help me!”

            “You always take his side! John should feel guilty for not getting here sooner, instead
you excuse his behavior and even encourage it. Mame, he needs to leave the nest now before it’s
too late. Have you given any thought of what he will become once you’re dead? He’s already
turned his back on his faith, our faith, what will he do next?” Bernie exclaimed, his hands slicing
through the air in front of him to accent his point.

            Munch shivered, his relationship had desegrated more and more after their mother had
finally passed away. Bernie had been right, he could have been a better son whilst his mother had
been alive. When he had received the call from Bernie about his mame, John had thrown himself
into his work with a fever and had never truly grieved for her passing. Despite Bernie’s constant
reminders of what a shameful child he had been to the woman who had given them both life,
Munch had felt deep within his bones that she had understood.

            His pace quickened as the wintery wind cut through the numbness that encased his body,
the raw need to be around people and to be reminded that he was still alive electrified him.
Turning the corner, Munch slipped into a jog as he spied a synagogue looming above the busy
Manhattan street. Though not normally a religious man, he knew that there would be living,
breathing people inside its walls.

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            Munch slipped inside the synagogue’s doors, carefully keeping to the shadows hugging
the walls. Head bowed, he plucked a yarmulkas from the pile on the large buffet table near the
doors and slipped it onto his head. After years of abstinence, Munch felt uneasy wearing the small,
curved hat as he made his way to the rows of pews. Sinking down on the pew in the last row
nearest the doors, he steepled his hands together and rested his chin on them as he stared ahead of
himself into oblivion. His mind flooded with images and haunting words, weighing him down
underneath their sheer psyche weight. Tears threatened to rush down his cheeks as he distantly
heard a sobbing gasp wrench itself free from his throat and echo in the thunderous silence.

            Rocking himself back and forth softly in sit, he whimpered softly as the dead returned to
haunt him and remind him of his failures. Munch longed to dig a hole in the middle of nowhere,
climb inside and seal the entrance to his self-imposed entombment. The years of his life rolled
away and he saw the frightened boy quivering inside of the disguise of a work-hardened law man.
Looking inside of himself, Munch saw the coward that had always hidden behind the tough as
nails facade that he had sculpted to show the world. Staring face-to-face with the cold reality of
his self-doubt and rapidly decaying self-esteem, Munch found himself craving a good night of hard
drinking. Intellectually, he knew that crawling inside of a bottle wouldn’t solve his problems, that
they would still be there.

            Sighing heavily, Munch heaved himself back onto his feet. Entering the Jewish church had
been a mistake, one that he intended to rectify as soon as he located the nearest liquor store.
“May I be of assistance, my yingl?”

            Looking over his shoulder, “not today Rabbi, I was just on my way out.” He smiled
weakly at the elderly man as he navigated his way through the lean space between pews.

            “God’s house is always open to His children, especially the ones who suffer. You, my
young friend, appear to man suffering underneath a great burden and yet you refuse to share it
with our creator.” Stepping quickly after Munch, “there was a reason He guided your feet here
today. Why not met Him halfway and let Him shoulder the heaviest portion?”

            “I assure you, I’m alright.” Munch protested as he stepped into the aisle, “but I really
must go.”

            “What could be more important then your neschume?”

            “My soul is fine, Rabbi, now I have a meeting with my friend Jack that I need to be
getting to.” Munch insisted as he hurried down the aisle, his foot catching on the carpeting. The
SVU detective’s arms waved frantically in the air as he plummeted face first to the floor. Munch
cried out in pain as his still raw fingers slammed into the hard concrete hidden by the plush red
carpet. Groaning, he rolled onto his side as he held his balled hands close to his chest.

            “Oh my, here let me help you.”

            Munch glanced up at the offered hand through tear blurred eyes and gritted his teeth as he
forced his hand to uncurl and grasp the offered appendage. Biting the inside of his lower lip, he
grunted loudly as he was hauled unceremoniously onto his feet once again. “Thanks,” he said
softly as the bittersweet taste of coppery iron coated his mouth. Munch nodded at the gentleman
standing at his right, “much obliged.”

            “Think nothing of it,” the large portly man said with small shake of his head. “If you can’t
help a fellow out in a kirch. Wouldn’t you agree, Rabbi?” He asked as he turned to address the
congregation’s leader.

            “Indeed Isaac, what better place then God’s own house.” The rabbi said as he nodded his
head. “You dropped this when you tripped,” the rabbi said as he handed Munch a tan manila
envelope.

            Shakily, he reached out and took it. “Thanks, Rabbi,” he mumbled softly. Straightening, “I
should get going.” Munch hurried down the aisle and towards the door, the envelope stuffed back
into his coat pocket.

            “You know that if you’re lost, you’re in the right place!” The rabbi called out to his
retreating backside as Munch raced through the synagogue’s doors and down its steps. Over
head, the sky rumbled ominously as he tugged at his coat collar. Munch frowned up at the dreary
sky as he flagged a taxi cab down. He winced inwardly as the car squealed to a step a foot away
from him. Shaking his head, he reached for the backseat car door as a hand fell on his shoulder.
Swallowing a groan, “rabbi, I really need to be going.” Munch said as he turned his head slightly
to glare at the other man.

            “Sorry, but I think that you have me confused with my uncle.”

            “I....I....apologize. I thought that....”

            “It’s quite alright, he can be quite persistent if given probable cause. But I stopped you
because this fell out of the envelope that you’d dropped.”

            Munch’s blood froze as he looked away from the young woman’s face and down at her
outstretched palm, recognizing instantly the object that was innocently cradled there. He felt his
legs give way beneath him as he managed to croak out a single word before the world around him
went black, “Ang.”

A/N

I am not Jewish, but I imagine that with any spiritual counselor of any faith would respond in the
“synagogue” scene similar to what I wrote. Forgive me if it’s too religious, but late one night I
had a thought: “Knowing what I know is going to take place in future chapters; Shouldn’t Munch
start seeking some kind of support from someone?” For those readers who have guessed from
previous chapters, you’re on the right track. I hope that you stick with me as we delve deeper into
the angst.