Chapter 10 #2
Nathan pressed his fingernails into his palms in frustration. Part of the problem was that he didn’t know what to look for in the first place. If Father McDonagh was involved in something supernatural, as insane as that sounded, Nathan didn’t have a clue what that would entail.
Gently closing the closet door, Nathan padded down the hallway, turning into the living room. He’d been in this room many times, yet never really taken it in. For the past few years, Nathan had lived his life in a state of hyperawareness, always waiting for Father McDonagh to yell at him.
The living room was fairly cute, which might have registered before if he could ever actually relax there. With a parlor grand piano clad in beech wood and a red brick fireplace, it had a homey feel. Or it did when the pastor of St. Stephen’s wasn’t in it.
The one thing that stuck out was the enormous television Father McDonagh had mounted above the mantel. It didn’t match the cozy New England vibe at all, garish and modern against the elegant white crown molding decorating the ceiling.
Nathan approached the chair, the pastor’s chair, a wingback upholstered in a deep maroon. The end table next to it had a small lamp sitting on it, as well as a Bible and a black drawstring bag.
He hadn’t seen that bag before. What was in it?
Nathan listened to the house around him. Was that the sound of Father McDonagh’s snores? It was faint, but he was pretty sure he was right. If the priest still slept, this was his chance to take a look.
Reaching out, a storm of tingles broke out on Nathan’s skin when he touched the bag, like spiders made of static electricity crawling up his arm. He pulled his limb back in shock before gritting his teeth and stretching his hand out once more. If this were as bad as it got, he’d be fine.
Made of some kind of suede, the bag emitted an intense aura, outside of the physical reaction, which intensified as he lifted it up. Nathan was hit with a heavy, cold brick in the pit of his stomach, along with a premonition of deep foreboding.
Even so, he couldn’t just leave it. Part of him wanted to leave it, to drop the whole thing, to forget what he saw, to run away even. But a small voice inside him chattered away, insisting he couldn’t just forget. He needed to understand.
And so he stretched open the mouth of the pouch and dumped the contents into his palm.
Three crystals tumbled out. Two of them were clear. They were cold against his skin, inert.
One was a bright turquoise, alive, pulsing with a light that was wrong somehow.
When the stone touched his exposed palm, it burned against his skin, like the heat of transporting newly made toast from the toaster to the plate.
Nathan gritted his teeth in order not to drop it, instead focusing on the crystal.
The sense of wrongness grew with every passing second. This was not meant to exist. This was not part of God’s creation, not a product of the natural universe. Nathan’s blood raced at the touch of it, and the intensity of his disgust surprised him.
“What are you doing?”
Nathan nearly jumped out of his shoes at the sound of Father McDonagh’s voice. He slipped the crystals back into the bag, pulling the drawstring tight and returning it to the table as he spun around.
“Um, nothing, just tidying up.”
Father McDonagh stood in front of him in a football shirt and a pair of ratty athletic shorts. His puffy face was painted with suspicion. He stalked toward Nathan with the clunky gait of a person who’d led a long, sedentary life.
“Don’t poke around,” he rasped. “You won’t like the consequences.”
With that, the older priest’s hand went to Nathan’s jaw, gripping it with surprising strength and squeezing. Nathan whimpered at the unexpected pain. He tried to wriggle out, but Father McDonagh kept him locked in place. Pushing at the pastor’s shoulders did nothing. He was immovable as stone.
“Please,” Nathan squeezed out. The pressure was increasing. Nathan worried that the Father would break his jaw.
“Know. Your. Place.” With that final word, Father McDonagh shoved Nathan’s head back and released, causing him to fall on his ass. A shock of pain went through Nathan as his tailbone hit the thin carpet. His sight blurred as everything went white for a second.
Nathan’s hand went to his sore jaw, massaging the points where Father McDonagh’s fingers had dug into the skin and muscle. The pastor had been an asshole from day one, but he’d never gotten physical before today.
“Remember what I said.” Father McDonagh bent down and scooped up the pouch containing the crystals, then exited into the kitchen.
Nathan stared after him. It’s not like he ever liked or respected his supervising priest, but he’d viewed their relationship as the price he was willing to pay in order to get his own parish.
Now, he wasn’t so sure. What had Father McDonagh done? What was he involved in?
The turquoise glow of that crystal shone still in Nathan’s imagination, filling him with trepidation at the sense of wrongness and foreboding emanating from it. He was sure of only one thing: that energy was not holy. It was not sacred. If anything, it was the opposite.
More than that, how was Father McDonagh so strong? It didn’t make any sense.
He had a responsibility to find out more, but Father McDonagh had proven he wouldn’t tolerate any sort of snooping. Nathan had crossed some kind of invisible line with the pastor, and now all bets were off. But he couldn’t let it go.
Hauling himself to his feet, Nathan brushed himself off and massaged his jaw. The pain was slowly subsiding.
The main things were his duties to his parish. His vocation was one of service, and he wouldn’t abandon it because of whatever he was discovering about the pastor. Gathering up his bible and his bag, which contained a pyx with communion and a travel chalice, he headed out the door.
When Nathan stepped outside onto the porch, yet another shock greeted him.
“I don’t think I can take any more surprises today,” he mumbled, taking in the ridiculous sight in front of him.
Draped over the railing was a large blanket with a graphic image printed on it. The words “Ah, Men!” were printed at the top in giant rainbow letters, and underneath was a depiction of Jesus, dressed only in a rainbow loincloth.
Jesus was pole dancing.
Nathan’s skin was suddenly hot with rage. He clenched his fists as he thought of the only person who could be responsible for this. Only one man would dare such sacrilege.
Hunter.
How exactly did the jerk expect him to react to this? Did he think Nathan would take one look at the blasphemous likeness and say, “Well, guess I don’t want to be a priest anymore, maybe I should go fuck Hunter!”
What worried Nathan more than the profane blanket was the idea that Hunter would pursue him somehow. If the man made their kiss public, or even if he openly flirted with him, it could be a problem. Nathan had had a lapse in judgement, and it had happened with the worst possible person.
A person who would leave a blanket with an image of Jesus pole-dancing on the rectory porch.
Letting out a sigh of frustration, he snatched up the blanket and headed to his car. Hunter was such a pain in the ass. Nathan wasn’t sure what to do about the man. He didn’t seem like the kind to take no for an answer. He would try to wear Nathan down.
And although he didn’t want to admit it to himself, Nathan wasn’t sure his resolve would hold.