20. Trinity
Chapter 20
Trinity
Thankfully, Miriam doesn’t drag me all the way by my ear. A few yards outside the dining hall, close to the small prayer room, she releases me.
With a flick of her arm, she consults her little watch and then glares at me for a second. Her eyes move to the prayer room. She points. “You stay in there until I come for you.”
When I don’t move, she grabs me by my collar and drags me bodily through that little arched door. I stumble when she shoves me inside and catch my knee on one of the chairs. Whimpering, I turn as she starts closing the door in my face.
She pauses when there’s little more than her face showing. “Best you pray to God that I’ve cooled down before I come back, else you won’t have a strip of hide left.”
She bangs the door in my face.
I cup my ear, massaging at my itchy, stretched skin where it meets my scalp with one hand and rubbing my knee where I bumped my leg with the other.
“Are you all right?”
No.
No, no, no, no, no!
Come on!
I spin on legs that feel like they’ve turned to rubber. A big shape unfolds from the small chancel and slowly turns to face me.
Reuben.
I swallow an angry sob and move back, fumbling behind me for the handle. After everything that’s happened today, the only logical conclusion is that I’m about to die.
Terror traps a broken scream in my throat when I don’t find the handle. When my fingertips brush blank wood. I don’t dare look around, because then he’ll pounce and do God knows what to me.
Maybe bash my head on the floor till my skull cracks open.
Fuck, he could probably crush my head between his hands if he wanted.
“Please.”
Wood.
Wood.
Brick.
“Don’t.”
Reuben ducks his head, and slowly replaces his rosary.
Brick.
Wood.
Brick.
Where the fuck is the door handle?
I have to risk it.
I glance around, all the while my skin crawling with invisible tarantulas.
He’s still standing by the pulpit. He hasn’t moved closer. My heart thumps in relief, but I don’t stop looking for the handle.
“Let me show you,” he says, and steps closer.
I let out a small squeal of panic and turn my back fully so I can find the damn handle.
But there’s nothing there—just smooth wood.
I’m locked inside with a psycho.
My stomach plummets to hell.
“Where’s the handle?” I yell, turning back to him. He’s closer now, but not like the first time I saw him here. He’s taking his time, edging forward as if he knows there’s no rush.
“I can show you,” he says calmly. “But only if you promise to calm down.”
“Sure. I’m calm. See?” I sweep out my arms and then hug them to my chest. I step back as far as I can, practically disappearing into the corner of the small room as he reaches me.
“Why are you so scared of me?”
Because you’re psychotic!
“I’m not. It’s Miriam. I don’t want to be here when she gets back.”
“You’ll get in trouble if you run away.”
“I don’t care!” I hastily lower my voice. “I mean, she knows where to find me. And I really have to pee. I’ll get her outside.”
“You haven’t prayed yet.”
Fuck. Fuck!
He’s just standing there.
Liar. He won’t open the door for me. It was just an excuse to get closer without me bolting. I glance to the side. I can make it over the chairs. Scramble to the front of the room. We’ll chase each other around in circles until Miriam comes back.
But what if he catches me before she returns?
What will he do to me?
Fear of the unknown drives icy panic through me. I shiver once, hard, and then I can’t seem to stop.
“Are you cold?”
“Please just open the door.”
He shrugs. Then he pushes his hand against the wood, close to where the handle would be on the outside. The door sinks inward a little, and then bounces open a crack. There’s a little rift where he slides in his fingers, and then he pulls it open.
I race for the opening, knowing I won’t make it, but not willing to stand there and accept my fate.
Reuben presses the door closed in my face. I freeze, standing an inch away from the wood, too frightened to move.
His palm slides down the wood as he lets out a long breath through his nose. He moves closer until his clothes brush against mine.
Blood roars in my ears. It drives heat into my cheeks and constricts my lungs.
“You should pray.”
“Okay,” I manage breathlessly. “I’ll pray.”
“Ask God for forgiveness.”
“I will.” Forcing a swallow, I add, “I’ll do it when I’m done with Miriam. Outside.”
“You’ll do it now. Inside.”
This close, his smell is everywhere. Something floral, something rich, something woody. Masculine, but soft at the same time.
“Okay.” I turn, assuming he’d step back so I head over to the pulpit.
Isn’t this what you do when you’re held hostage by a crazy person? You humor them, keep them talking until the cops come.
I have no idea where Sister Miriam went or how long she’ll be away, but if I can keep up this pretense…
At first he doesn’t move. With his hand on the door behind me, he’s close to boxing me in. Admittedly, he’s not the ogre I first thought him to be. He’s tall and broad, but he’s not a steroid-junkie.
I’d probably have thought him seriously attractive if I hadn’t been so terrified of him.
Weird, how I’ve met so many handsome guys over the past few days. And in a place like Saint Amos? That’s bordering on freaky.
“Here. This will help you focus your intent.” Reuben lifts his rosary from around his neck and slips it over my head.
That’s where the smell is coming from. His rosary is made from rose-wood. The sweet smell envelops me as soon as he slips the beads over my head. But there’s something else mixed in there. His own scent. He must stroke the beads while he prays.
And I’m guessing he prays a lot.
My fear fades a little, even though I know it shouldn’t. There’s no guarantee that because he regularly prays to God that he won’t hurt me.
But it makes it easier to believe he might have a conscience. Threatening me is one thing, but actually physically hurting me? That’s crossing a line. One he might not be able to because of his beliefs.
I clutch that thought as I slip past him and stride over to the pulpit. It’s only three yards away, so it’s still like he’s right behind me when I sink down onto the pillow laid in front of the chancel.
Resting on my knees, I put my palms on my thighs and duck forward. Hopefully I look like the real thing.
But as I’m kneeling there, the smell of Reuben’s necklace getting stronger and stronger, his presence growing until it fills every inch of the room…I start feeling more and more like a phony.
I’ve never prayed. Not once.
Sure, I’ve recited the Father’s Prayer. I’ve read the bible. I’ve sat in church more often than I can count.
But I’ve never prayed.
I never felt that connection my parents and Father Gabriel claimed to have.
I was always acting.
Reuben knows it.
The last thing I want to do is make him angry. Should I stand? Give him back his necklace?
Fabric rustles behind me.
He exhales somewhere close behind before sliding his hands onto my shoulders.
I risk a peek. He’s kneeling behind me. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
Another breath. It warms the back of my neck where my hair’s been scooped up into an attempt at a bun.
“I’m praying for you,” he says in his sonorous voice.
“Why?”
“Because I’m guessing you don’t know how. And trust me, you need all the help you can get.”
Sister Miriam comes to fetch me sometime later. Reuben never lifted his hands, and he never said another word to me again. I’d slipped into a trance while energy moved between us.
I’m not being new age about it—I felt it. My entire body came alive at his touch. Every disastrous thing that happened up to that point had melted away.
I was at peace.
I felt loved.
I’m convinced he actually managed to contact God on my behalf.
That, or he’s some kind of god himself.
When Miriam comes for me, I’m not frightened anymore. Not of him. Not of her.
Not of this place, or my future, or my past.
I’m ready to face whatever she has waiting.
She notices that when I leave the prayer room.
But it doesn’t change anything.
I guess around here nothing ever changes. Rules are rules. I misbehaved and for that I have to be punished.
I just wish it wasn’t her handing out my penance.