Chapter 9
They were already fighting before they sat down.
God give me strength.
Jack entered my chambers first, his blocky shoulders squared, while his dark eyes scanned my office like he was casing the joint. Old habits died hard for a chief, I supposed. He took in my desk, with the papers scattered, somewhat neatly, on the oak surface.
The crucifix on the wall seemed to glint at his glare, and the single window looking out over the rectory garden made everything feel smaller in his leering presence. His jaw tightened when he realized there were no corners hidden from view, zero shadows, and consequently, for him, no advantage.
Miranda followed half a step behind him.
Always half a step, like she was afraid his shadow would swallow her whole.
I sighed. At least today it wasn’t vocal bickering, though their discomfort was in their posture, the way that Miranda wouldn’t face her body toward him, even though her seat was directly next to him, across from my desk.
Her coat was buttoned wrong. One button misaligned near her collarbone, the fabric pulling slightly where she’d rushed, or rather had been rushed.
Her hair was clean, the dyed blonde not appearing oily in the harsh amber lighting, but hastily tied back, and loose strands were already escaping.
She kept her hands clasped in front of her stomach, her fingers tangled in the bottom of her shirt like they were trying to disappear into her own skin.
Jack didn’t open the door for her or even wait. She caught it with her shoulder and silently continued the path inside.
I rose from my chair automatically. It was my habit, more than manners, a distance that felt safe.
“Please,” I said. “Sit.”
Jack chose the chair closest to my desk, claiming it and spreading his legs in a manspread while leaning back, his arm draped across the back of Miranda’s chair before she even sat down. It was his way of saying, ‘What’s mine is yours if I choose.’
She lowered herself carefully into the seat, like the chair might punish her for simply existing.
I folded my hands together and sat back down. The skin across my knuckles pulled tight and white. I hadn’t realized I mimicked her pose until the burn gave me a burst of relief on my hand.
Be a damn priest, I reminded myself, not a man.
“Jack,” I said evenly, locking eyes with the town’s monster. “Miranda. I’m glad you came.”
Jack snorted. “Gloria insisted it would be good for our upcoming ‘Badge N Buff’ Full Service of the Services.’ ”
Ah…That stupid ass car wash, I was being dragged into. That should be an interesting day. I hoped my wounds would heal enough to warrant the proper attire.
Miranda’s shoulders dipped. “Gloria asked that I do the funds collection with her. I think…it would be good for my boy to spend some time with the locals. He doesn’t get out much.”
“Indeed. I agree. Your son is about the same age as Jerry Cross’s boy. Maybe they will get along.”
“I thought it might help him,” she said quietly. “Find some friends—”
“That rat doesn’t need any reason to leave home. He has chores that need doin’, Miranda. He won’t be goin’ to the fundraiser. You will. Ya, hear?”
“But I thought it would help…to talk.” Miranda countered nervously, biting her lip.
“To who?” Jack said, amused. “You already talk. Constantly. All damn day you never shut the hell up.”
I let a beat of silence stretch between us. Silence was a tool for men like him. Most people rushed to fill it, but Jack never did. He enjoyed it, while Miranda wilted underneath it.
“This is a space for honesty,” I said finally. “But also for respect, Jack.”
Jack’s smile was thin like a dead worm dried in the sun. “You saying I’m disrespectful, Father?”
I met his eyes and didn’t look away.
“I’m saying this is marriage counseling,” I replied. “Not a trial. Not a power struggle. Everyone is equal, and all feelings are valid here. Miranda wants to bring your son to the fundraiser. Chores could always be done later. Why not give him a chance to socialize?”
Jack leaned forward then, his elbows on his knees. He smelled faintly of alcohol masked with minty gum. Oldest trick in the book.
“Cuz’ women don’t need opinions,” he said.
“She doesn’t need a reward for being ballsy.
Barely looks at me anymore. How is that satisfying her husband as the good book says to?
Thought maybe hearing it from a man of God might straighten her out.
I didn’t come here to be scolded about what to do with my damn son, ya, hear? ”
Straighten out…Lord, help me.
Also known as from cave men like him who loved to warp the word of God, ‘Make her compliant to his demands.’
I turned slightly toward Miranda, a soft, sad smile lifting my lips in the reflection of the mirror behind them.
“Your feelings matter in this marriage. What do you feel would help?”
She hesitated, and her eyes flicked to Jack with a question of permission and fear.
“Miranda,” I said gently. “You don’t need approval to speak here.”
Jack laughed. “Jesus Christ.”
She flinched back hard enough that the chair creaked, her hand gripping her throat on impulse.
I noticed the bruises then. They weren’t fresh. They were yellowing, old enough to be fading but not old enough to be forgotten, all just visible beneath the sleeve when she shifted. They were fucking finger-shaped, matching the monster beside her.
My stomach twisted, and I reminded myself I wasn’t responsible for the wrongs of the world. I had a job, and I needed to protect myself. I was already in this sham of a life because I tried to protect someone.
Click.
She’s dead. You failed.
Click.
“I’ve just been tired,” she said. “I work longer hours now at the clinic, and some of my patients are struggling with their addictions more than I feel I can offer assistance. So many are mothers, like myself, Father. It’s so sad to see these women fall so far from grace due to a meaningless drug. I just want to help th—”
“You don’t work,” Jack cut in. “You volunteer.”
Her mouth closed, and the light that rose in her eyes when she spoke of her assistance at the drug clinic in town faded as quickly as it came.
I felt something old and feral stir in my chest, a memory of another monster of a man, and another fragile, broken woman.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Her image burned behind my eyelids.
“Work is work,” I said. “Paid or not, she is providing a service to so many souls in need in Monticello.”
Jack leaned back again, irritated. “See? This is what I mean. She twists everything into her fairy tale. How do you expect me to be Prince Charming when your world is filled with delusions?”
Miranda’s hands trembled in her lap. She pressed them together harder. “You aren’t the prince in my world, Jack.”
I shifted my chair slightly, angling my body toward her without fully turning my back on Jack. It was a calculated risk and a message.
“What do you feel when Jack says you’re not satisfying his needs?” I said to her.
This fucker with his Vienna sausage dick couldn’t satisfy himself. Couldn’t blame Miranda for not bothering to try.
She swallowed, her throat working like she was pushing something down. Maybe bile.
“I feel…like I’m failing. Like, no matter what I do, it’s wrong, and I will not amount to what he wants of me. I only want to be a good wife to Jack and a good mother to Ronan.” Her tone was slow and deliberate.
Jack scoffed. “Because ya are failing. I ain’t happy, and you don’t do nothin’ for that boy. He don’t act right, and that was cuz’ you run off to the clinic and never take care of him or me.”
The words landed like a bomb in the small space, and I stood before I realized I was doing it, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
Jack looked up at me, startled despite himself. Miranda did, too. Her eyes were wide and fearful, as if she had upset me, too.
“That’s enough,” I said.
Be a priest.
Be a priest.
You have no business in their marital affairs. Miranda can handle herself. Despite the chant in my mind when I spoke next, my voice didn’t rise. That was the dangerous part, because it wasn’t necessary.
“This is not a place for belittling,” I continued. “You will speak respectfully and on equal ground to your wife, or we will end this session and the church’s support of your union.”
Money and power.
That was truly what I held in the balance, and Jack knew it. His lip curled into a smile.
“There it is,” he said softly. “Thought priests were supposed to be calm and holy, Franky boy.”
“I am calm,” I replied. “I’m also responsible and will not stand for your disrespect any longer. Miranda is a human being, and you treat her as though she’s a servant, not a partner.”
“Responsible for what?” he said, laughter in his tone. “Her feelings, awe, how cute.”
“For her safety,” I said.
The room went very still.
Miranda’s breath hitched.
Jack stared at me for a long moment, measuring and calculating while the clock ticked in the silence. Then, suddenly, he laughed, sharp and humorless.
“You accusing me of something, Father?”
I held his gaze.
“I’m paying attention, Jack. ‘He that is without sin among you, be the first to cast a stone at her.’”
Miranda’s eyes burned into the floor, though I felt her presence burning me.
I slowly sat back down, controlled and intentional.
“Marriage,” I said. “Is not ownership. It’s a covenant. Mutual care. When one spouse is afraid—”
“She’s not afraid,” Jack snapped.
Miranda shook her head almost imperceptibly, but I saw it.
I saw everything.
“Miranda,” I said quietly. “Are you afraid of your husband?”
Jack’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist in a tight vise, warning her to obey in silence. Her pale skin blanched under his fingers. I was on my feet again before thought caught up to my pure instinct.
“Let go of her.”
He didn’t.
Miranda sucked in a breath, her eyes glossy, as terror bled through her careful composure.
“Jack,” I said, my voice low and lethal. “Remove your hand. Now. Or remove yourself from my congregation.”
Something flickered across his face—rage, embarrassment, and calculation.
He released her abruptly, and she cradled her wrist against her chest, her thumb rubbing the spot compulsively. It made me feel like that spot had seen many bruises.
I forced myself to sit again, though my heart hammered in my chest. My hands shook beneath the desk as I tried to calm myself.
This is your duty, Jed. Do. It.
No. Don’t shut her out.
Click.
Do not fail her.
Don’t be him.
“I think,” I said carefully. “We should continue this conversation separately.”
Jack’s head snapped up. “Absolutely not. That is my wife.”
“For today,” I clarified. “It’s standard practice in situations involving emotional distress to have private counseling.”
He stood, towering over my desk and me.
“Nah, Holy man. We’re done here.”
Miranda didn’t move. Her eyes finally lifted to mine, and in them was something raw and terrible, almost pleading.
Help me.
I nodded once, small and just for her. She needed to know she wasn’t alone. I was here. Yet again, I was going to try to save a woman who was beyond saving, only to be burned in the end.
“This session will continue separately,” I said. “Or I will be obligated to take further steps and report the information I have heard to the right channels. As you know, I am a law-abiding service man, Officer.”
Jack’s smile vanished, and he glowered. “I’m the fucking chief, Jedidiah Franklin. You ought to remind yourself of that before you try to threaten me again without your lap dog to back you up.”
“Not a threat, Jack. I’m protecting her, as is my duty,” I said.
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, seemingly taking the air of the room along with it.
Miranda breathed like someone coming up from underwater, shallow and ragged.
Finally, Jack grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.
“Ten minutes,” he said. “Then we’re leaving. Together. Got it?”
He stormed out without hearing my answer, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the crucifix on the wall.
Miranda collapsed inward the moment he was gone, her breathing longer and less labored. It was like she was afraid to breathe too loudly or take up air meant for him.
I moved around the desk, slower than I wanted, keeping my hands visible and my movements gentle.
“You’re safe, Miranda,” I said quietly. “You are safe.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
The words shattered my soul, and I knew she filled in the unspoken, ‘For now.’
I knelt in front of her, not touching her, never taking anything that wasn’t given, even a soft, reassuring shoulder squeeze.
“Tell me,” I said. “What happens when you go home. What happens to you and your son when no one is around?”
She hesitated, chewing her lip so hard it began to bleed.
“He gets angry when we talk too much,” she whispered, as fragile as glass. “He doesn’t like it when we don’t listen. He’s the chief. He expects to be obeyed. Always.”
The confession unraveled from there, and with each dark secret spilled, my soul darkened further, trying to absorb some of the shadow she carried, but knowing no matter what I could do here for her now, it would cease to matter when Jack’s shadow consumed her light.
There was no escape for Miranda and her boy.
Just like there was no escape for me.
We were both born into darkness, and our only means of survival was accepting that we were never meant for light.