Clinton Priest

Chapter Twenty One

I wake up to silk sheets and Clinton's intense stare. He's watching me with an intensity that causes my heart to skip too many beats. For a moment, I think I'm back in my bedroom then I throw that thought out of my head. If I were in my room, Clinton wouldn't be seated in front of me seated in that comfortable chair. I look outside. It's late and the sun has already set. I wonder if my parents are worried. Again, I throw the thought out of my head.

My mind feels like cotton. I can't seem to grasp anything. I can't remember why I'm here. I can't figure out why my neck hurts when I try to turn it. I raise my hand to the sore part and touch it gently. There's a light bandage there. Okay. I've been hurt, I conclude. But how? I close my eyes tightly and in an attempt to retrace my steps.

I went for a walk in the morning after breakfast. I took a detour to the abandoned church. I spoke with the bishop. I bumped into Clinton. There was a man too. The feeling of a finger nail, unnaturally sharp, piercing my skin flashes in my mind. He hurt me.

"You broke his hand," I say to him after sitting up on the comfortable soft bed.

"I did," he says calmly.

"You broke his hand without breaking a sweat," I repeat. I bring my knees to my chin. "How?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you are not entirely human," I say.

"You're smarter than I thought," he says. There's a heaviness in his voice that I force myself to overlook. Now is not the time for love sick musings.

"Not smart," I correct. "I'm superstitious."

We sit in silence for a while before I finally voiced the question that ate at my mind.

"What are you?"

"If I tell you, you'll ran away," he says. He's calm for someone whose secret has been exposed.

"I'll ran away if you don't tell me," I say.

I should leave, I think. Nothing good could come out of this.

"I'm the brightest morning star," he says. "I'm the one antithesis of the Father. I took man by his hand and led him to sin. I am Damnation. I am Sin... yet despite it all, I am still he who is loved by God." His eyes glint with humour. His lips part in a grim smile. "Who am I?"

He hints at many things and in the end, my head spins wildly, leaving me dizzy. Still I believe him. When he calls himself the one thing I should stay away from, I believe him. When he hints at his unnatural longetivity, I still believe. And I choose to stay. Maybe it is that look in his riveting hazel eyes that continue to hold me captive. Or maybe it is me. Just me and my fragile, flawed humanity that causes me to remain sitting still.

I part my lips to speak but the words remain stuck in my throat. I've always hated riddles, mysteries. That was Isabelle's field. I preferred my piano and violin. Mostly the piano. It's the only achievement I've accomplished. The only thing that makes me feel good about myself. It was the only thing Isabelle could never claim.

I look back at him. He's staring at me like I'm the only thing he sees. Despite the underlying fear I feel creeping up my spine, it makes me feel good. I know who he is. At least, I know who he thinks he is. And it's not as scary as it should be. From the look in his eyes, I know he knows that I understand what he's told me. And he knows, I'm not running away from him.

He rises from his seat and makes his way to the door.

"Stay here for the night," he says. "I will have Albert bring you some food."

I can't stay here. Diana will be worried sick and I can't sleep knowing her tender heart will be palpitating all night long.

"I've informed your family that you would be staying in my home for tonight. Your grand father insisted that that your maid, Diana, should join you. She's waiting for you downstairs."

With that, he leaves me to my thoughts.