47. Celine
Celine
“Patient’s name is Alexander Cohen, priest at Grace Community. Gunshot wound to the chest…”
The paramedic begins to explain to someone as they push the gurney through a set of double doors. A pair of hands stops me from entering with them, telling me I’m not allowed beyond this point, but their words are distorted as I watch them take Alex away.
Alex!
The scream echoes through my head as my vision begins to fade.
Wake up, Alex!
I need you.
Each plea gets louder in my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut to rid myself of my screams and hope to regain my vision, but when I open them, it’s like I’m back in the church, reliving everything that happened.
My heart sinks when I enter the room where the carnage occurred to see Alex lying in the same spot I left him.
From here, I don’t see his chest moving.
I rush to him, but when I approach the stage, my steps falter briefly, causing me to grip onto a pew to my right to hold myself steady. He’s not breathing at all…
He’s not breathing!
Adrenaline kicks in, and I push myself away from the pew, my feet digging into the floor as I run to him, ignoring the way my ribs scream at me to slow down.
I push through their cries of discomfort, and the next thing I know, I’m on the stage, dropping to my knees beside him as I press my hands to his chest to start compressions.
I can’t lose him.
I won’t.
I refuse.
“Wake up, Alex!” Tears roll down my face. “Come on! Wake up!” I force the words out as I begin sobbing, unable to breathe myself.
My broken wrist is throbbing with excruciating pain, the sensation shooting throughout my entire arm every time I push down on his chest, but I don’t stop.
I grit my teeth and wince through the pain because I’m not losing him.
My body is broken and beaten, exhausted from the things I endured, but I’ll be damned if I let those weaknesses get the best of me and stop me from saving him.
I don’t know what I’d do without him.
After counting to thirty, I lean down, tilting his head back and giving him two lengthy breaths before continuing with the compressions.
My vision becomes blurry because he is still unresponsive.
Alex’s head lolls to the side as my hands work his chest with as much strength as I can muster.
His eyes are shut, and he looks so peaceful, like he is sleeping.
But he’s not waking up.
Why isn’t he waking up?
Why isn’t he breathing?
“I love you. Please, Alex. Please, just breathe.” My voice quivers, my entire body begins to tremble as I sob. Tears fall onto my hands, the wetness mixing with his blood that is now painting my skin. I sniffle, and I whisper, “I need you.”
Far in the distance, the sound of footsteps rushing towards the stage fills the room, but I don’t look away from Alex.
I can’t.
From the corner of my eye, I see two paramedics kneeling on either side of me.
One gently lays a hand on my shoulder and says, “We can take over from here.”
I don’t stop my movements because I’m afraid that stopping, even for just a second, will be the reason he doesn’t come back to me.
Shaking my head, I continue compressions when the other paramedic calmly says, “Miss, let us take over.”
“Celine,” a familiar voice comes from behind me. I can’t tell who it belongs to, but I feel hands on my shoulder, pulling me away from Alex to give the two medical professionals space.
As soon as my hands leave his body, one of the paramedics takes over, and a soft sigh escapes me, seeing that they wasted no time in between compressions.
Whoever took me away from his body helps me stand.
My legs are shaking, making me feel so weak that I might collapse at any moment.
That I will fall to the ground and succumb to my injuries, but I don’t.
I fight that urge and take my eyes off Alex briefly to find Sister Greta standing with me.
Her eyes hold a gloss from crying, and she offers me a sad smile.
Her mouth moves, and I think she says that I’m okay, but I can’t hear the words she speaks.
I move my eyes away from hers to find Alex again, watching as they continue to work on him. Sister Greta pulls me into her side, offering comfort, and while I appreciate it, I don’t feel her solace. I feel nothing but fear as I watch them try to bring Alex back.
As I watch, I hear a muffled voice, but I don’t pay it any attention, as my sole focus is on the man I love. Who disappears from my vision as someone in uniform stands in front of me, blocking my view.
An officer stands before me, and at his side is another one. They look me up and down, assessing the state of my appearance and the blood on my hands and dress.
“I’m Officer Harper, and this is my partner, Officer Ferguson,” he introduces them. “Can you tell us what happened?”
I try to explain what happened, but my voice is unsteady, and it’s hard to form a sentence. I try my best, but it’s like that wave of adrenaline I had earlier vanished once I stopped doing the CPR on Alex.
Officer Harper notices I’m in shock and simply asks, “Did you see where Father Keaton and Sister Alice went?”
My breath hitches when I remember what I did, and I unconsciously whisper, “I killed him. I had no choice. He was determined to kill us all. I shot him… with his own gun. I had no other choice…”
My voice drifts off as a tear rolls down my cheek. Sister Greta gasps in sorrow and holds me tighter.
Officer Ferguson clears his throat and asks where this took place, and without needing to look up, I point to where his body lies. He nudges his head for his partner to take a look, and in that same moment, I hear a female officer’s voice echo throughout the room.
“What the hell…” It’s followed by the static of a walkie-talkie and her saying, “We are going to need a detective on the scene. This looks like a homicide. Multiple victims.”
Before the officer standing beside me can ask what is in the other room, my eyes slide to his. With my cheeks burning, my eyes glistening, and my jaw tight.
In this moment, I find the courage to speak because they need to know exactly what happened. They need to know the monsters Father Keaton and his helpers were.
“That’s where the other priests took the women’s bodies once Father Keaton was fully satisfied with his work.
When he shoved their heads under the water, and their bodies would start to thrash beneath the surface, he’d get this sick smile that would spread across his face.
He’d found pleasure in seeing them panic, and when their bodies would go limp, that smile would only grow wider.
After he was done torturing them. After he murdered them…
he’d get the men to take their bodies and put them into that room. And then he’d do it all over again.”
I inhale a deep breath and turn my attention back to Alex and the paramedics who are still doing compressions.
Officer Ferguson remains speechless after my explanation, and we stand here, saying nothing, until I hear two sets of footsteps approaching us.
I let my eyes glance over and see that it is the female officer walking over with another person.
Sister Alice.
Her face has a deep slash across it, blood dripping down her skin.
Her eyes are void of emotion, and there is no hint of regret on her face.
She just stares ahead as the officer guides her from the room.
I bring my eyes back to the gash. What the hell happened to her?
There is no way she could have done that to herself.
Unless she was trying to look like a victim, too.
The female officer who has Sister Alice in her hold walks to us and asks, “Can you confirm who this is?”
“Yes. That is Sister Alice, Father Keaton’s accomplice,” I firmly state.
The officer nods and takes her away.
“Oh, my… “ I hear Sister Greta mutter. “Never in my life would I ever think either of them would be capable of such horrors.”
I return my attention to Alex and zone out of everything else.
I do, however, hear a muted voice filter through the officer’s radio, informing him that the other priests were caught as they didn’t get far from the church.
I breathe in deeply, glad that all the horrible people involved in this massacre have been caught and there will be justice.
And in perfect timing, I hear Alex take a shallow breath and I start crying all over again, knowing that he is alive. When they place him on the gurney, I walk with them to the ambulance, holding his hand and telling him how much I love him.
On the way to the hospital, the sirens of the ambulance grow louder, then fade only to grow louder again. Almost to the point I want to cover my ears from how thunderous they are.
“Miss?” A voice filters through the sirens.
I look around the ambulance to see who is talking. Alex is lying on the gurney in front of me with his eyes closed, and his chest slowly rising and falling.
There is a paramedic sitting with him, monitoring his vitals, and when I look to my right, I see a figure sitting next to me. It is probably the other paramedic, but it is hard to tell because my vision is blurred and I can’t make out their face.
Blinking, I turn my attention back to Alex and the person sitting with him, noticing that they have now become distorted. My heart begins to race as black creeps into the corner of my eyes, slowly infiltrating my vision until I see nothing but darkness.
My eyes open, and I see a figure before me.
I blink a few times, and when my vision finally adjusts, I notice an officer holding a bag.
His brows furrow and his head tilts as he stares down at me, clearly concerned.
I stare back for a moment before scanning my surroundings.
I’m no longer in the ambulance but sitting in a hospital waiting room.
When did I get here?