Clinton Priest

Chapter Nineteen

The next morning, I find myself standing outside the abandoned cathedral I spent most of the night with Clinton. It's strange that I find myself here. I'd been taking a walk in the streets of Haven when suddenly I'd veered off the pavements and taken a detour through the woods and ended up here.
There are signs of renovation taking place inside. The rotten rows of wooden pews have been replaced with imported rosewood. The huge cross hanging above the podium is gleaming in the rare sunlight that has managed to pierce through the heavy clouds. It's still the same old cross I've known since my childhood days of playing hide and seek with Anabelle but it's never been so shiny.

I make my way up the short flight of stairs, stopping at the base of the cross. I place my fingers on the bleeding clay feet of our Lord in reverence. Slow movement to the side causes me to step back from the Cross and turn towards it.

"Good morning bishop," I say to the old man in a white cassock.

"My dear," he says as he sits on one of the new pews, "what are you doing here?"

What can I say to make myself less of a crazy woman?

"I was curious," I decide. "I wanted to know how far the renovations have gone."

"Your father's investment will go a long way to bringing this church back to its glorious days. Already," he waves his hand around, "it's beginning to glow."

I take a seat next to him. "I can see that. What are you doing here, father?"

"I'm moving a few things out of here. The workers dug up quite a treasure of historical artefacts."

There are none of these treasures he speaks of. Still, I humour him.

"I could help you take them back to the church."

"Thank you, my dear. However, my assistant will soon be here with the car to take them to the mission house. You are a nice young lady," he says, "it's a pity though that Roman refuses to put in as much effort in making his family glow."

I look at him, my head tilted slightly to the side and my brows furrowed. What does he mean by that?

"I knew your sister," he tells me, "and she was nothing like you. You're skittish where she was confident, you're weak where she was strong and as long as your sleeves are, they do not hide the scars on your body." He turns to me, his bright green eyes searching mine. "I hope you understand that I am not ridiculing you. I only mean to tell you, that you always have a place in the church."

"Thank you."

That's all I can say to him as we both sit, staring straight ahead with me mulling over the words he's just spoken. He probably thinks I'm as simple minded as my parents make me out to be; as I make myself out to be.

I pat my clothed thigh in agitation before standing. "I have to go," I tell the bishop. He nods as if he expected me to have left ages ago.

"Have a blessed day, my child," he says and as an after thought, he adds, "go straight home, my child. It's not a good day to wander about."

I bump into Clinton right outside the cathedral. He's dressed in his usual attire, a shirt and tailored trousers. I want to ask him what he's doing here but there's a wildness in his eyes that makes me want to ran home and hide underneath my bed.

"Scarlett Evangeline," he says, his hazel eyes darting about as though he's searching for something or someone, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

His eyes finally settles on mine and his posture loosens. He is once again the Clinton Priest I know. The man who rarely leaves his home.

"Everything is fine," he says. "I'll walk you home."

"I'm not ready to go home yet," I tell him. "I plan on visiting Anabelle today. The funeral is tomorrow and I want to help her prepare."

"I've been to her today," he says, taking my hand in his and leading me away from the building. I turn back out of curiosity and I see the old bishop shaking his head slowly. There is a figure of a man lurking in the shadows of the church. He is looking at us. There is something familiar about the way he stands with his head tilted to the side as he stares at Clinton and I. It's strange how I never noticed him before. Then I realise, I never pay attention to my surroundings.

"...and she's got everything under control."

"Will you be there tomorrow?" I ask.

"Yes," he answers.

He walks like a man on a mission. He walks like he's trying to take me away before something happens. Something terrible. I pull my hand out of his. I'm consumed with a sudden urge I haven't felt since I was a young girl tethering on the edge of womanhood, tasting the addictive feeling of sex beneath Adrian's rushed administrations. Rebellion. Let whatever will happen happen, I decide. If the earth desires to cave in, let it cave in.