Chapter 13 #2
The landscape rolls by, apathetic to my questions.
Subdivisions and trees and snow-scuffed farmland.
It’s too early for the sun to rise at this time of year.
Instead, the land is all shadow and silver.
The further north we get, the thicker the snow on the ground.
By the time Curse pulls off the highway and starts weaving through downtown streets, the snowbanks are nearly as high as the roof of the car.
We get lots of snow in Buffalo, too, so this isn’t totally foreign to me.
But I’m surprised by how much more snow there is here than Toronto.
We haven’t been driving that long. The clock on Curse’s dashboard tells close to six in the morning.
“Where are we now? Is this where we’re stopping?” I ask, taking stock of where we’ve ended up.
“Downtown Barrie,” Curse says. “Pretty sure there’s at least one church that’ll be open right about now. Or, if not actually open, somebody will at least be there setting up.”
“Setting up for…for the wedding?” I thought he hadn’t booked anything in advance.
“No,” he says. “Setting up for the morning. Putting out food and coffee. The overnight shelters will close down soon.”
We enter an intersection that’s perched partway up a hill.
Down the hill and to my right, the road approaches and then curves around the shore of a large lake or bay.
There’s still ice on the surface, topped off with snow, the whole thing looking more like a moonscape than a body of water.
We don’t turn right towards the lake, but rather left, heading further up the small hill before turning again.
It’s not long before we see a little church with lights illuminating the windows.
It’s a small but lovely red brick building with a tower, pointing like an arrow into the early morning sky.
The windows are pretty, one of them huge and circular, with panes spoking out from the centre, reminding me of a giant, numberless analogue clock.
Curse pulls into a streetside parking spot then turns off the engine.
But he leaves the doors locked, twisting to reach into the back and retrieve his bag.
Once it’s in his lap, he pulls out a gun, resting it on top of the bag, and waits.
I flinch when two men approach, but it’s only Robbie and Leo.
They seem to be making a sweep of the street, leaning over to check the windows of any cars parked nearby, ducking into alleyways and driveways.
It’s only after they return and give Curse the signal that he finally opens the door.
I go to do the same on my side, but Curse stops me.
“Wait until I’m out,” he says. With his bag on his shoulder and his gun hidden somewhere on his person, he stalks around the front of the vehicle to my side. When he opens the door, he keeps his body very close to mine as I get out.
We’re parked across the street from the little church, and Curse keeps one arm locked around me as he hurries me across, flanked by Robbie and Leo. Robbie reaches the front doors first, only to find them locked.
“Lights are on,” Curse says. “Somebody’s home.”
He doesn’t wait for that somebody to come an unlock it, though.
He does it himself from the outside, so swiftly I don’t even see how he accomplishes it.
Robbie enters first, his hand at his hip, ready for trouble.
Though what trouble he expects to find in this sleepy church on the quiet, pre-dawn downtown street of this city, I couldn’t say.
While I’ve still got Alessandro in the back of my mind, I highly doubt he’d be lying here in wait for us.
That’s probably part of the reason Curse didn’t book anything.
So that there wouldn’t be any pre-wedding paper trail for someone to discover.
“Hello?” A middle-aged woman with a bob that’s coloured yellowish blonde at the ends and grey at the roots is standing in a large foyer area.
As Curse predicted, she seems to be setting up a breakfast buffet of sorts.
Two large plastic tables are covered with fruits, donuts, muffins, and packaged snacks, as well as a case of water bottles, plastic cups, and a large travel container of coffee, the kind with a spout that you get from a coffee chain for events.
“We’re not open yet. I could have sworn I locked that door…” The woman says. She’s wearing a comfy-looking purple sweatsuit, plus an adhesive name tag that says Tammy on it.
“You did,” Curse says, which makes her face pucker with confusion. Leo enters now, letting the heavy wooden door shut behind him. He stations himself there, looking exactly like a soldier.
Because he is.
Tammy looks a little nervous now. I can’t blame her. This is exactly what I thought would happen. Curse, Robbie, and Leo are an intimidating trio, all of them tall, tattooed, and packing heat, even if she doesn’t know it. Trying to dispel the tension, I step forward.
“Hi. Are you the, um, pastor? Or minister? We’re looking to…” I hesitate, catching Curse staring intently at me. “We’re looking to get married,” I finish on a rush.
“Married,” Tammy repeats blankly. She gives me a closer look.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s trying to ascertain whether I’m high or not.
I remain still under her gaze, trying to project soberness, project normalcy.
She finishes her appraisal, shaking her head and looking as perplexed as ever.
“You know it’s six in the morning, right? ”
“We’re aware,” Curse replies. “We’ve got ID. And the wedding license.”
“I…” Tammy gestures towards the tables. “I don’t know what to tell you. In an hour we’re opening the doors for breakfast. We’re not-”
“We don’t need an hour,” Curse cuts in, his voice all cold authority. Tammy snaps her mouth shut and swallows. Some of the colour drains from her face as she lets her gaze run over Curse once more.
I’ve seen it before. The way regular people start to shrink in front of him.
At first, they’re often dazzled by his good looks and height.
But after a few seconds of confronting the empty ice of those eyes, the not-quite-human expression in them, they can’t help but sense some sort of wrongness.
Heartrates rocket, goosebumps prickle, and survival instincts kick in.
Because being in front of Curse is like standing, breathless, at the edge of a cliff.
The view might be beautiful. But the fall will fucking kill you.
“I’m going to go and get the minister,” Tammy says on a tight exhale. She goes through another set of doors, letting them close between us.
“Let’s hope she isn’t actually going to call the cops on us,” I say quietly once she is gone.
“She’s not,” Curse says with complete certainty. “We’ve given her no reason to.”
“Technically, we just broke in,” I remind him. “The doors were locked.”
Leo and Robbie are both hovering by those doors now. I see that they’ve relocked them from the inside.
When the other, inner doors open, it isn’t Tammy who comes through them, but a short man with greying hair and glasses.
He looks more like an accountant than a religious official, dressed in nice jeans and a crisp, white, button-down shirt.
But when Curse asks him if he is the minister, he confirms that he is.
“My name is Lee,” he says. “Tammy mentioned something about you looking for wedding services?”
“Correct.” Curse puts down his bag on a clear spot on one of the food tables, opening the zipper just wide enough to fish out the wedding license. “We’ve got the license. If you want our passports, we’ve got those, too.”
He holds the license out to Lee, who merely blinks down at it, like Curse has pulled out something as unexpected as a severed head.
“It sounds like you’ve got everything in order,” Lee says slowly. “But I’m afraid we can’t accommodate you right now. We have procedures for these sorts of things, and-”
Curse passes me the license, then returns to his bag, apparently no longer listening.
My chest clenches when he reaches into the bag, thinking he’s about to pull out a gun.
But when his hand emerges, it’s holding a fat stack of Canadian bills.
Lee’s eyes bug out of his head when Curse offers the money to him instead.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re doing,” Lee sputters. “But this is a holy house of God. I will not be threatened or bribed.”
“Who said anything about bribing?” Curse says smoothly, even though he was the one to use that very word last night. “We’re merely paying for the wedding ceremony.”
“With what looks to be more than two thousand dollars in cash?” Lee says. His face and neck are red. “How do I know where you even got that money?”
“You know exactly where I got it,” Curse replies. “You saw me pull it out of that bag.” He tilts his head towards the black bag on the table. The black bag with yet more of his cash. The black bag with his guns.
“Please take it,” I breathe, stepping between the two men.
I’m panicking that Curse is going to move on from the bribing portion of things to the beating.
Curse won’t care that we are in a church.
Curse won’t care that this is a normal man, a decent man, the kind of man who gets up early to help organize food drives for the homeless on cold, dark mornings.
Curse would beat him, break him, without hesitation or remorse.
I don’t want to see that happen.
“Please,” I say again, making pleading eye contact with Lee. “Think how much good you could do with that money. Think how many more breakfasts like this you could provide.”
Lee studies my face. Then, softly, he asks, “Miss, do you need help?”
I can practically feel the tension that rams its way through Curse’s body at Lee’s question. Like he’s anticipating me spilling my guts to this kind minister, anticipating me trying to run.
Instead, I take Curse’s hand. It’s cool. His fingers close over mine at once, like a vise.
“I need him,” I say in response.
Curse’s hold on me tightens.
Maybe it’s the fact we’re holding hands. Maybe it’s something in my voice, on my face. A glimpse of soul-searing honesty. Because Curse has always been what I needed. Whichever version of him that exists. Whichever iteration he inhabits. Boy. Monster. Husband.
Lee appears to come to a decision. When he reaches forward, it’s not for the money, but the wedding license.
“Alright,” he says. “Come with me.”