Sinful Purity (Sinful Series)

by K. A. Standen

  “Hey, Brett. About last night—thank you.”

  “No problem, Liz,” Brett said casually.

  The whole air about him was easy, casual, like the emotional chaos of last night had never happened. I loved that about him. He made me feel better, really better, just like he’d promised. If it weren’t for my red, puffy eyes, I would have sworn I had dreamed the whole thing.

  As I dressed, my mind rambled. I couldn’t believe Brett was still here. My behavior the night before was deplorable. He had seen me at my very worst. Yet he hadn’t run for cover. In fact, he hadn’t even flinched. Last night was one of my classic episodes, the very same outbursts that had ostracized and isolated me when I was younger. But unlike all the kids at the orphanage, Brett didn’t fear me. He didn’t even seem to care that I had mutated into a raving, hysterical lunatic before his very eyes. He didn’t look down upon me or judge me in any way. He just wrapped me securely in his powerful embrace and waited for the storm to pass. Words couldn’t describe how grateful I was to him. I wasn’t the freak or leper I felt like, at least not to him. I was just Liz. How I wished I could see myself through his eyes. Brett always looked at me like I was more than just a ward of MIQ. He saw me as a real person, flesh and blood, full of idiosyncrasies. I appreciated Brett’s kindness and acceptance more than he could ever know.

  Empty Secrets

  That Sunday morning after Confirmation was bright and unusually warm for springtime in Chicago. As Brett and I walked down the front stairs of the orphanage and out into the courtyard, I could feel the radiant heat from the sun seek out my face with its ferocity. Instinctually I tilted my face upward to catch all the light and warmth I could, hoping it would warm my wounded soul. I sighed with delight as I basked in the warm brilliance of the sun. It was a rare occasion that the sun would break free of the low-hanging clouds and fog that consistently lingered above the areas adjacent to the river.

  When we were graced with a clear, sunny day, the neighborhood would buzz with activity. Everyone left their habitually dim, secluded homes and businesses to sweep down upon the streets and parks for their own personal piece of sunlit paradise. The sounds of laughter from the children at play echoed through the streets with an intensity so great and voluminous that even the dismal silence of Mary Immaculate Queen was no match. The neighborhood was rich with color, from the leisurely bicyclists and skateboarders to the random children at play. To me it seemed like a perfect day, so filled with promise and happiness. I thought to myself that this was the ideal atmosphere to unlock the secrets of my past, so that the bright light of the glorious day could shine down and illuminate all my questions. I felt as if God himself was blessing our mission. A deep smile broke through, making my whole body feel gleeful, almost giddy at the thought. Realizing that I was not alone, I slowly cracked one eye, taking a cautious peek to see if Brett had been watching me. Of course he had.

  “Well, Liz, if a regular old nice day makes you this happy, I can’t wait to see what you’d be like at the beach.” Brett mused.

  “The beach?” I’d never seen a beach, let alone been to one. “Why did you say that?” I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

  “I’d love to see you at the beach, Liz. Right now you have a look of complete perfection, like you’re utterly content just because the sun is shining. You don’t even seem to mind that you’re still a prisoner here. If something so miniscule can make you this happy, I can’t imagine your enjoyment at actually being somewhere, well, nice. And I would get to see your rockin’ body in a bikini, which would be fantastic for me.” Brett’s sincerity gave way to his ever-present seductive nature as he shot me one of his patented winks, making me laugh.

  “I think I would like the beach,” I confided with a smile.

  “Well, then, it’s settled. You’ll have to come and visit.” Brett’s voice was firm and resolute.

  “Visit? Where?” The words were difficult to form in my confusion.

  “I wanted to tell you sooner, Liz. But you were so upset yesterday. I didn’t want to make it worse. Kelly and I are moving to California. Kelly’s been accepted to a university out there and I’m transferring too. I was only here because Kelly was trapped here. We never intended on staying so long. I’m sorry, we’re just West Coast people. It’s what we know and love. This is my last visit. We’re leaving on Wednesday.”

  Stunned, I didn’t know what to say. If this visit was supposed to be my blow-off, then why did he stay? Why didn’t he just get it over with, fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid? Just r-r-rip and it’d be done. Why did he have to stay last night? It only made me love him and need him more. Now he’d be gone forever, taking my best friend with him. I could feel the anguish once again rising into my throat and into my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. Not in front of Brett, not again, not so soon. Seeing my pain, Brett grabbed me, pulling me close and wrapping his strong arms around me again. I was sure he thought I was going to have another breakdown like last night, but this time right in the middle of the courtyard, in public view.

  “It’s okay, Liz. Liz, it’s okay. I want to you to come and visit. We want you to come—Kelly too. Hell, I don’t even care if you come and live with us. You’ll be out of here soon and you can go anywhere you want.” Brett spoke firmly but lovingly, as if trying not to escalate the situation.

  “I’m okay.” I wiped the tears from my eyes, not sure whether I was trying to convince him or myself more.

  “All right, sweetheart. Let’s concentrate on the mission at hand,” Brett replied lightheartedly as he began to hum the Mission: Impossible theme song. I let out a little laugh and a smile, assuring Brett that the crisis had been averted.

  Because it was Sunday, most the staff of MIQ were either off for the day, or, like the sisters, at Mass. The warm spring day also acted in our favor, offering a made-to-order distraction that allowed us to slip into Mother Superior’s office unnoticed.

  Once inside the confines of Sister Christine’s inner sanctum, an unrelenting uneasiness swept over me, making my stomach do flip-flops under the pressure.

  “Are you right, Liz?” Brett asked. “You’re turning greener by the second.”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

  Honestly, I was a bundle of raw, frayed nerves, afraid of the slightest creak of the floorboards or shadow cast from the dancing sunlight outside. The truth was that I had always feared this office most of all, more than any other room at MIQ. This was the one place I felt the most insignificant, the most frail and vulnerable. As a child I would frequently be brought here to be chastised and reprimanded for my very being. The small, wobbly chair sitting unassumingly in the corner only reminded me of the times I had sat in that very spot, throwing my adolescent soul on the mercy of the court. Only there never really was any court, just Sister Christine, who sat as judge and jury to my poignant demise. My emotions were conflicted. As much as I feared this place, I despised it even more for keeping my meager origins a mystery. I reviled Sister Christine for her reprehensible decision. After all, who had given her the right to keep my identity from me? My internal tirade was interrupted by Brett’s cautiously insistent words.

  “Where do we look first, Liz?”

  “Uh, I don’t really know. I’ve never done any breaking and entering before,” I retorted. “I guess I’ll start with the desk. You can look in the filing cabinets.”

  Sister Christine’s desk was just as dark and oppressive as ever, with its grease-colored surface and gothic carvings. Down each side of the desk was a bank of drawers, each consisting of two small, shallow drawers atop one great deep drawer much heavier and larger. I quickly began ransacking the drawers, not wanting to spend one second more than was absolutely necessary, knowing that at any moment our illicit activities could be discovered and swiftly punished.

  “Slow down, Liz,” Brett ordered. “The whole idea is to not let anyone know we were in here.”

  I abruptly stopped and looked down at Sister Christine’s once immaculately
organized desk. I had destroyed it. There was no way she wouldn’t know someone had been in here. In my haste, I had tossed and overturned every article in the drawers until some were haphazardly hanging out the sides and onto the floor. Even the drawers I had already slammed shut had small remnants of their contents pinned against the sides. Paper corners peeked out as if trying to hold on to the last bit of dying air before being plunged back into the drawer’s abyss for eternity.

  I panicked. “Brett, what do I do?”

  “It’s all right. Just calm down and think back. I know you can do it. Just reopen every drawer and try to remember the way it looked before you attacked it.” Brett spoke calmly with only a hint of sarcasm while he relentlessly worked to free the lock on the two file cabinets.

  “These nuns really know how to keep things private,” he joked, wrestling with the impenetrable clasp as I methodically tried to restore order to Sister Christine’s desk.

  “Wait. I think I got it,” he said as the lock’s hold broke open and the top drawer of the cabinet came noisily sliding free. “It doesn’t look like anyone goes in here much.” Brett coughed from the dust cloud that was released during the break-in.

  “You got it open!” I exclaimed, more than a little amazed and impressed.

  “Of course I did. Did you have any doubt? But this is going to take a while. This thing is packed full. I don’t think it’s been cleaned out in a hundred years. Some of these files look pretty old, Liz.”

  “Maybe that’s the wrong one, then.” I could begin to feel the hope drain from me.

  “Well, first things first. This one’s open so it doesn’t hurt to look. Right?” Brett thumbed his way through the lives of decades of orphans sentenced to the existence of MIQ.

  “Let’s just try the next one, okay? I don’t know how much time we have,” I pleaded. After all, it wasn’t Brett’s future that hung precariously in the balance. I needed to make sure that no one would ever know I’d been so brash and dishonest as to break into Mother Superior’s office. In one ill-conceived moment, I would recklessly nullify her trust, thus cinching my fate and never being granted parole from my personal hell. How could I have ever let Brett talk me into this?

  Tomorrow would be Monday, the very day I was to have my meeting with Father Brennigan and Sister Christine, in the very office I had just defiled. I could not imagine how I would be able to approach them, pleading not only for my freedom but also for their assistance. How could I muster the sincerity and desperation I felt to my very core when it had been suffocated and replaced by the guilt and shame I felt now? I regretted every second I stood here in Sister Christine’s office, with only my clandestine scheme to blame.

  “Liz, here. I think I found something,” Brett said, breaking the guilt trip that I was already more than a little committed to. “Actually I’m not sure, but I think you should take a look anyway.”

  “Really?” I asked, regaining some of my lost hope.

  “It’s hard to tell. Most of these files don’t even have names, just a few dates here and there. But this one has the same date as your birthday, November fifth.”

  As Brett opened the folder, my heart stopped beating, as if waiting for a reason to resume its purpose. The moment of expectancy hung like a feather suspended in air until forced to the ground by the great breath of a storm’s gale. The folder was empty. Well, nearly empty. What it did contain was even more puzzling than the fact that I apparently didn’t have a past. Inside the folder was a small partially torn French newspaper article, which simply read:

  Héritier d’enfants disparus

  Quatre ans, héritier de la LeFluer Chateau fortune a disparu.

  Les autorités soupçonnent un acte criminel.

  The article was torn out, making it obvious that much of it was missing. Along with the remnants of the cryptic French article were four receipts for twenty thousand dollars each. Each receipt was blank except for the dollar amount and Sister Christine’s signature to acknowledge receipt.

  “I don’t understand. This can’t be my folder, Brett. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m not French. I’ve never even been out of the state, let alone to Europe. I don’t speak French or look French. And why would anyone pay eighty thousand dollars to leave me in this dump?”

  “Hey, I didn’t say this was your file, only that it had your birthday on it,” Brett said defensively.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Brett reached out and squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “I took a little French when I was first in high school. As far I can understand the article says that a child went missing. An heir to some fortune and the police are involved.”

  “I appreciate your help. But that’s not me. I really thought we’d find something. Anything would have been nice after the risk we’ve taken even being here. I’m just a little ticked off, that’s all. Can we get outta here now, please?”

  “No problem. Let me just get this cabinet locked back up. Did you clean up your mess over there?” He gestured to Sister Christine’s desk.

  “Yeah, I think everything is put back. As much as I can remember, anyway,” I admitted, defeated by our failure.

  Brett and I snuck out of the office undetected, as quietly as we had entered. Mass at St. Matthew’s was just letting out. What perfect timing, I thought. A few more minutes and we’d surely have been discovered.

  Brett’s demeanor suddenly appeared mournful. “I’m sorry, Liz, but I really have to go. I have a lot of packing to do.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured, hanging my head, the self-pity already settling in.

  “I’m really sorry we didn’t find more. But think about my offer, okay? You’d love California.”

  “Okay,” I conceded, lost in my own self-pity. Yeah, right, like that was ever going to happen.

  Brett gave me a huge hug, lifting me off the ground. Then he kissed me ever so quickly, this time on the lips. I was sure that, like me, Brett thought we’d never see each other again, so why the hell not kiss me goodbye? He let me back down to the ground and swept the hair out of my eyes with his finger.

  “Oh, Liz. I almost forgot. I found this up in the warden’s office.” He pulled a small, folded piece of paper from the front pocket of his jeans. “I don’t know what it is. It looks like a contract or something. There were a bunch of them in an unmarked folder up there. I know it’s not about you, but I thought you might want to take a look anyway. Don’t worry, she’ll never miss it.” He slid the paper into the front pocket of my jeans. His words completely evaporated as I felt his hand slide down my hip and into my pocket, sending a shiver of emotion through my body.

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll take a look,” I replied calmly, trying not to let my ecstasy show.

  Brett turned and walked off across the courtyard, only turning back once he reached the gates. “Think about it, okay?” he yelled.

  I nodded and waved. Yeah, I’d be thinking about it. About all of it—the previous night, Confirmation, the Perkinses, Brett holding me while I slept, the failed break-in, and all the questions that still lingered. I’d be thinking of all of it. My mind lingered on Brett’s admission. He and Kelly were leaving. I was never going to see them again. I knew that I would never make it out to California, that my life was forever intertwined with MIQ and St. Matthew’s. I was sure Brett knew it as well. He was just being nice, following protocol by inviting me.

  Monday arrived soon enough. Today would be the day that decided the course of my future. The day I had my meeting with Mother Superior and Father Brennigan. Just like a child being called into the principal’s office, I fidgeted, filled with dread. This time would be different, I told myself. This time I had requested the meeting, not the other way around. I assured myself that I wanted this. Above all else, I wanted this, needed this. I was not here to receive my punishment or have my character belittled. That was, unless they knew about my unauthorized activities yesterday. Trepidation filled my body. Maybe they did know. Was it so outlandish to conceive that Fa
ther Brennigan and Sister Christine would play along with the charade? For the opportunity to watch me writhe in my own guilt and discomfort in the very room where I’d committed the abhorrent act? No, that was preposterous. However, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed not only plausible but also likely.

  I imagined the way the capture would play out. Sister Christine would walk in, Father Brennigan trailing behind her. She would say something like, “Good morning, Mary Elizabeth. How can we be of service today?” Then she’d sit down behind her ransacked desk, folding her hands knowingly on the stack of once neatly organized papers, strumming her fingers, waiting for me to confess my transgression.

  Then Father Brennigan would cut the game short by saying, “Come now, ladies, no need for theatrics. We know what you’ve done, Mary Elizabeth. But why?” All sad and hurt, like my wrongdoing was a personal attack against him and the kindness he had always shown me.

  The thought of his face broken, pleading for understanding, standing in front of me innocent and vulnerable, almost saintly…I imagined I could hear his heart break like a plate smashing to the floor. How could I have done this? How could I have done this to the only people who had ever taken care of me? I imagined Sister Christine taunting Father. Rubbing it in about how I was his favorite. How wrong he had been about me. Maybe they’d even have a bet going. A bet to see how I’d turn out, and Father Brennigan had picked the losing side. I could visualize him pulling a twenty out of his pocket to pay his debt. I’d see his humiliated face defeated by reality as he handed Sister Christine the money.

  My agonizing rendition of the upcoming events was well underway when the two main players entered, taking their spots for the performance. As Sister Christine began to speak I thought, Oh my God, here it comes.

  “Good morning, Mary Elizabeth,” she said, taking her seat just as I’d predicted.

  “Hello, Sister, hello, Father,” I began.

  “It was a beautiful day yesterday, wasn’t it? I hope you did something enjoyable,” Father Brennigan remarked.