Faux

Chapter 5

"Living is Easy with Eyes Closed."

― John Lennon

Grace Atkinson couldn't attend Sunday mass. No, she wouldn't attend. James and the kids had insisted on going, particularity Daniel who had woken up with some spiritual zeal, singing Ave Maria as he showered and changed and ate breakfast.

"Perhaps you should join the youth choir Danny." James had boomed at the kitchen table. James' voice was a familiar bass in the congregation. It brought him and the family jealous esteem from their peers.

"I think I will father." Danny had mumbled with a mouthful of toast from his seat. His hair fell neatly sideways, gelled down as his mates tended to do.

"Don't talk with your mouth open." Chloe the youngest of the sisters admonished. She meticulously cut through her toast and eggs with practiced finesse. Dark tresses flowng to her shoulders were held out of her face with an aquamarine headband that matched her blouse.

Grace walked into the kitchen then and all eyes fell on her. Usually the first to be ready, she still wore her aged terry robe pulled tight around her waist. Her slippers shuffled across the tiled floor as she moved towards the stove. There were bags under her eyes and her hair sat wild atop her head.

"Mom... aren't you coming to church?" Hannah the oldest asked. She looked closer to her mother in appearance than the younger siblings. With the honey brown hair tied neatly into a coiled bun.

"Are you not feeling well?" James asked, rising from his seat to approach his wife. Danny and Grace locked eyes. The boy, with mischievous innocence in his eyes, titled his head in confusion,

"Are you not taking me to see Father Marcus?" he asked. Grace's eyes widened with fear and she had to control her breathing. No one but Father Marcus knew about the meeting. It had been decided during her confessional after all.

"I'm... I'm not going today." she managed to utter as James' large hands held her close. His meaty hand pressed against her forehead,

"You don't seem to have a fever... what's wrong?"

"Headache."

"Father Marcus can cure your headache." Danny replied.

"Again with the food in your mouth." Chloe scolded.

"Leave your brother." Hannah cut in.

"Listen to your sisters." James shot at all of them.

"She started it!" Danny chimed, spluttering eggs across the table.

"Euuw!" Both sisters cried in unison as the yellow chewed egg remnants rolled across the table.

"Danny! Stop it!" James hollered, moving away from Grace to the table.

It was all so normal. So routine that Grace faltered against the counter top. 

They didn't know. They didn't know about Danny and the demon that surely lived in him. And just then a new thought struck her, sinking in her gut like a hot brick; what if they were all like Danny? What if they were all possessed and she was the only one safe. She shuffled away from them, fear threatening to spill out of her throat that she covered her mouth. In unison they all turned towards her and she almost screamed,

"Honey? You alright?"

She stared at their faces. Her loving husband and wonderful children. Were they who they said they were? Could she trust them?

She shut her eyes for a moment, her lips quivering in silent prayer as she fought off the fear threatening to take over. She opened her eyes and a smile spread across her face,

"I think I'll get ready for church after all." She turned towards the door, suppressing every thought and fear welling up. If they didn't know she knew, she would be safe. If they didn't know she knew, she could come up with something to restore her family.

She would shut her mind from the damning knowledge until it was safe. It was all she could do.

-

The Church of St. Catherine filled its warm, stained glass sanctuary with quiet reverent murmurs. Statuettes of the Saints and Mother Mary cast solemn glances down at the ushers guiding parishioners to their wooden pews. Heavy bibles clutched tightly between sweaty palms. Fathers and mothers and children filing in, casting glances at the sea of faces and hoping to spot someone familiar.  

Father Marcus Becket waited in the backrooms for all to quiet down and the organ to begin with the opening antiphon. The wooden panels on either side seemed to press against him. Cloying and suffocating. The altar boys and girls seemed as restless as his thoughts. Their white flowing robes swishing with his fluttering heart. The Lord's gaze from the hanging portrait became a weighty reminder of his obligation to his flock.

Yet his heart was not in the right place. Not on the congregation and the proceedings to follow. Not on God's word imprinted on his mind like braille. Recitations forged so long ago they became part of him. No. He was drifting. 

Following Grace Atkinson's confession and the disturbing revelation of her son's odd behaviour, many other confessions had followed suit up until that very morning. Strange stories about the town's children. Miraculous healing of grazed knees and broken arms. Chilling accounts of missing cats and dogs and rabbits eventually found with broken bodies in the children's rooms or play areas.

And Evie Sutton's mysterious and undisclosed resurrection that a frantic Rebecca had confided in him. Asking him to dispel of the demon in her home.

The church organ's melancholic tone broke Father Marcus from his thoughts as the procession started forward. He shook his head to clear the swirling thoughts and hoped the Lord would help him through the service. He prayed quietly and fervently for strength.

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