Sinful Purity (Sinful Series)

by K. A. Standen

  “Can you tell me what you saw?” he asked.

  “It was a black car,” I heard a faint, elderly voice say.

  “What kind of car?”

  “A sedan,” the old lady’s voice answered.

  “Was it full-size? Compact?” pressed the officer.

  “Full-size,” she answered clearly.

  “Good. Did you see the driver? What did they look like?”

  “I saw him. I can’t tell you what he looked like though,” she admitted weakly.

  “Well, you saw it was a man.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “You mean it might have been a woman?”

  “I don’t really know. I couldn’t see the driver’s face.” She spoke tentatively, fearfully.

  “And why is that?” the policeman asked, growing impatient.

  “He didn’t have one,” the elderly lady declared.

  My consciousness broke through. I threw my head up to look at the little lady. She was extremely old. Her body was frail and hunched over with age. She wore the thickest Coke-bottle glasses I had ever seen.

  “Excuse me?” the officer replied. “Can you clarify that?”

  She spoke clearly. “The driver didn’t have a face.”

  “Yeah, she’s right.” A big, muscular, well-tanned man spoke up. “He was wearing a hood or something.”

  “What?” The policeman turned his attention to the new, very vocal witness.

  “The driver. He was wearing a hood. Couldn’t see a damned thing,” the man said.

  I broke back in to hysterics at the news. My shadow stalker had just run down my boyfriend in cold blood. But why? The emotional distress was too much. I mentally checked out.

  I awoke hours later in my room. “Zack!” I screamed in panic.

  “Relax, Liz. Lie back down.” Caleb’s voice was clear, coming from the floor next to my bed where he sat huddled with his arms clasping his bent knees.

  “Caleb,” I cried.

  “I know,” he said sorrowfully.

  “We have to get to the hospital!” I jumped up with frantic, sporadic movements.

  Caleb grabbed me and pushed me back down on the bed. My heart seized at the sensation of his grip. I knew what Caleb was trying to tell me. Zack was dead. I screamed violently expecting I would pass out from the lack of breath. I wished I would pass out, never to wake. I wished I would die. How could I go on without Zack?

  For four days Caleb never left my side. I never left my room. I never left my bed, for that matter. The university doctors came and went with a steady stream of tranquilizers. There was no semblance of a sane person. I was lost, drowning in grief.

  Wednesday Caleb leaned over me and pulled me to my feet. I fought him with all my might, but thanks to the sedatives, I wasn’t much of a match.

  “Liz, you have to snap out of this.” Caleb’s voice was strong in its encouragement. “Come on.” He pulled me to a standing position and braced me against the wall.

  “No!” I shouted like a child in mid-tantrum.

  “Liz, today’s the memorial. And you’re going!”

  Then the tears came again, along with the unending wailing and sobs.

  “That’s okay, you can cry at the service. But I’m not letting you miss this. You won’t forgive me when you recover.”

  Somewhere inside me, I knew this was torture for him too. After all, he had lost his best friend and became warden to a mental patient all in one fell swoop.

  I stood lifeless, fightless, as Caleb and Lucy dressed me. Lucy even tried to fix my hair. She knew that it was hopeless to try for makeup. My incessant tears would never have given it a chance. Lucy and Caleb propped me up between them and hauled me to the service that St. Paul’s had thrown together to honor the memory of Zack Bartlett, my Zack. I watched, unresponsive, like I was having an out-of-body experience as cheerleaders and teammates all came up to the podium and gave their last words for Zack. Students danced and cheered. The choir sang songs. It was like some kind of pep rally. There I sat, broken and lost without my other half. No one at that farce of a memorial knew the depths of my pain. No one except Caleb and Lucy even knew what Zack and I had meant to each other. Even they didn’t know the plans we had made, the plans for our family. Everything that life had promised me was destroyed, leaving me pathless, futureless.

  I looked around the service and saw all the standard popularity- and attention-mongers who flocked to events like these. Then I saw a face I did not expect to see among the rest. There at the edge of the crowd sat Sister Christine, alone. She had come by herself, without Monsignor or any of the other sisters. Her solidarity spoke volumes. She was not here as a representative of MIQ or St. Matthew’s. She was there for another reason. She was there for me. But why? She had never been the motherly type. Most of the time she was barely even human.

  After the service she approached me. “Elizabeth, I am sorry for your loss. I know how important he was to you.”

  I could barely muster the obligatory thank you.

  “I know that your heart is broken, that your whole body aches with grief. Just remember that this too shall pass, my child.” Sister Christine spoke earnestly and out of character.

  I nodded weakly, fighting the urge to break down again, collapse into an unending, cataclysmic, emotional implosion, never to resurface again.

  “You always have a place with us, my dear. Do not forget your home.”

  I didn’t know if Sister Christine meant this as a jaded, malicious offer, a warning, or even some kind of threat. All I knew was that returning to MIQ was the last thing I wanted. I was never returning to the orphanage, not ever.

  Lucy and Caleb carefully returned me to the cocoon of my room. There waiting for me on my desk was a letter from Zack’s dad, Mr. Bartlett. The sight of the harmless-looking envelope brought back the whirlwind of emotion wrenching my guts.

  Zack’s real funeral was in Maine. I couldn’t go. I was stuck here penniless and “unfit to travel,” according to one of the pill-pushing quacks. I stared at the unassuming letter for several hours before I had the courage to open it. I knew that once I did, I would not be able to preserve the last threadbare strand of sanity I clung to. All I could think about was how my love had murdered Zack. My shadow stalker had chosen to punish me with Zack’s death. That punished Mr. Bartlett and Zack’s brothers, Josh, Patrick, and Nathan, also. They had become casualties of fate, like I had been my entire life. I felt responsible for their pain and loss. How could I ever look them in the eye, knowing I had killed their son, their brother? I took a deep breath in an attempt to fortify my will and opened the envelope.

  Liz,

  Please forgive my intrusion. I know that you are grief-stricken like the rest of us. I spoke with Caleb Price. He explained everything. We are all saddened by your absence. But we understand. You must take care of yourself first.

  Zack’s brothers and I all agree that you were the closest to him lately. If you have any special requests or wishes for his service, please let us know. We want to make it as nice for him as possible. Even though you can’t be here, maybe you could send your thoughts to be read as a eulogy.

  I also need to let you know that you always have a place here with us. I meant what I said when you left. You are part of our family now. I know that you didn’t want Zack to tell me about your growing family. Please forgive him. He could never keep a secret from his family. I beg of you to please not forget us. You are carrying the only part of Zack that remains. I ask you to see it in your heart to accept us as your new family and come home. You and the baby will be well taken care of.

  -Paul

  The tears came swifter this time, overwhelming all my senses. The wild rush of tears stained and smeared Paul’s heartfelt words. I cried more and more violently as I thought of the impact of Zack’s death on all of us. I desperately wanted to run home into the protective arms of Zack’s family. I wanted to salvage what was left of Zack’s and my plans. But I could not. Something about me,
about my life, had haunted me and hunted Zack. I could not unleash such an unpredictable, sinister force on his entire family. They had already lost so much. I had to do what was right and stay away from them. With my newfound strength and determination, I wrote my reply.

  Mr. Bartlett (Paul),

  I appreciate your offer. I am so sorry for everything, especially your and your family’s loss. We all loved Zack. He was more important to me than anyone or anything. He was my everything. My mind is weak and my thoughts jumbled. I fear that I would not write a very poignant eulogy. I am enclosing a poem to read in my place. Thank you for the opportunity to be a part of your family.

  I will never forget any of you.

  Love always,

  Liz

  I went to the stash of books under my bed and pulled out a collection of assorted poems. I flipped it open and ripped the page from its binding. If it had been any other time or circumstance, I would have found this act a horrendous crime. But today all I could think of was the pain. My actions had no meaning. I folded Dylan Thomas’s most famous poem, “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night,” and stuck it inside the envelope with my note. Zack had been my entire life, my future, everything that was good in the world, and yet this was all I could muster as my last goodbye. It felt like a pitiful, empty, and worthless gesture. He deserved so much more, so much better than me. The tears came again like a wave of sorrow and grief washing over me, choking every deliberate breath from me.

  I did not emerge from my drowning hell until Sunday. It had been over a week since Zack’s death and I had left my room a grand total of one time. I knew with every passing day that I could not continue to live like this. I thought of Mother Superior’s oddly comforting words. I decided to resume my Sunday duties at the orphanage. Honestly, I would have gone anywhere to be free of all the intense memories that my room held. This was where Zack and I had spent so much of our time; so many of my most intense and intimate memories were trapped here like it was my own emotional prison. I had to escape the torment. I could not stand to lie one moment longer in that bed where Zack would never lie again.

  At first, emerging into the bright light of day was painful. I squinted at the glare and winced with pain. I didn’t mind the discomfort; at least it was a different ache than the soul-piercing agony of my grief. I walked block by block, first slowly, uncertainly. My steps were clumsy and timid. I feared being recognized. I dreaded human interaction. Then I found comfort in the anonymity. I walked street by street, gaining more strength every minute that I was not noticed, every second that I was not critiqued. No one was there to ask me how I was. There was no one to offer condolences. Above all, there was no one to remind me of my pain. By the time I reached the gray desolation of MIQ, I had blended into the background entirely. I had once again conformed completely. I walked through the massive iron gates of MIQ and locked them behind me. By locking the rest of the world out, I found peace. I was there to stay.

  At the orphanage I found solace in the silence, and comfort in convention. I left my sparkle and zest back in my other painfully nonexistent life. Now I was content to be one of the no-names, nothing but one of the many Marys. Apathy and passivity became my new best friends. Caleb and Lucy still came to check on me. Sometimes they asked when I was coming back to school. But I wasn’t going back. Mother Superior was right, this was my home. It had always been and always would be. You couldn’t escape fate, and I finally accepted my lot in life: orphan.

  Monsignor Brennigan was so pleased by my renewed devotion that he gave me a special dispensation that permitted me to attend Mass every day. St. Matthew’s wasn’t like most churches and it meant a lot that I could attend everyday despite my station. Like the virtuous and devout, I worshipped every morning. Daily Mass placated the pain and soothed my guilt. I prayed for Zack and his family more than I prayed for myself. The only selfish prayer I could assemble was for my unborn child.

  I gritted my teeth in resentment every time Monsignor said, “Everything is as it should be, child. God finds order in chaos. He has chosen your path.”

  What kind of order could be found in having a baby who would never know its father? What had I done to deserve such a path? But I knew I was not supposed to ask such things. I was raised to never question God’s purpose. In my heart I knew that pleasure and pain must always go hand in hand. The time I spent in love with Zack was most pleasurable. It was the happiest days of my life. Now I owed the pain.

  My acceptance and resignation played to my favor when I drifted past Sister Christine’s office to hear the angry words, the sinful deceptions.

  “God gave mankind free will and you are stripping that away,” she shrieked.

  “I am merely offering a steady stream of spiritual leadership,” I heard the familiar masculine voice rebuke.

  “Leadership implies the freedom for followers to choose,” she hissed.

  “They have chosen. They have chosen with their faith. I am only doing God’s will.”

  “What about the boy? He wasn’t Catholic. He didn’t ask for this. Murder is not God’s will.” Sister Christine’s words rang in my ears as the gravity of their meaning shot through me like a flaming arrow. I thought about their significance. I was Catholic, and I hadn’t asked for this, either.

  “Careful, Sister,” the voice warned.

  “I have been careful far too long. You have broken the most precious commandment. I have no doubt that it is not the only one that has been jeopardized or altogether disregarded. I do not know how you can still call yourself a man of God.”

  The words froze my blood and my body in place. All my life-sustaining systems ceased as the meaning bored into my consciousness. “A man of God.” Sister’s voice replayed in my brain like my favorite song on repeat. A man of God had committed murder. I gasped at the connection.

  “Oh no. God. No.” The agony of my realization escaped from my lips. I stood immobilized in the stairwell, praying that my presence would not be detected.

  God, please, just this once. Give me this.

  I waited silently for a moment more. The arguing resumed and I slipped back down the stairs to the seclusion of my childhood cell. There in my room I cried. I cried all through the night, muffling my sobs with my pillow. Kelly had been right. Her conspiracy theory was closer to the truth than I had ever surmised. I was nothing but a prisoner. My whole life had been decided for me. I had no free will, no choice of my own.

  Morning came and my mind was still no clearer than it had been in the jolting moment of discovery. I decided that tonight after Mass, after all the sisters went to bed, I would leave the orphanage and find Caleb. I would tell him everything. Caleb was implicitly trustworthy. I knew he would help me.

  Evening came and all the children and sisters filed into St. Matthew’s. They formed a single-file line for confession. Like I had every Wednesday since I was four, I took my place in the congregation. Even though the motions were familiar, in my heart it was different. There was no love, no trust or reverence. I feared the confessional more than anything now. I would be forced to kneel face to face with Zack’s murderer and ask him for forgiveness for my sins. The hypocrisy enraged me. I was not a good actress. I worried that my malicious thoughts would be exposed. I had no idea what Brennigan was truly capable of. He had already committed murder. What would stop him from slaying me right there in the confessional? From leaving my body to lie lifeless, awaiting discovery by some innocent soul seeking absolution?

  But I remained calm and fulfilled my obligation. I opened the confessional door, went in, and knelt in front of the great imposter.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The words burned my throat. “It has been one week since my last confession.”

  “Tell me your sins, child,” Monsignor instructed.

  A brave and intrepid light went on in my head. “I have eavesdropped, Father.” I hissed the words from between my clenched teeth.

  Monsignor Brennigan squirmed in his seat. “Well, chi
ld. Three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers. You are absolved of your sins. Go now.” His voice was strained.

  His obvious anxiety and weakness gave more strength to my willful anger. “You don’t want me to kiss your ring to show my respect and reverence for such a loyal man of God?”

  I knew I was being stupid and brash, but my fury sought vindication. I had no doubt that Brennigan would make me pay for my insolence. But now was not the time. He hesitantly held out his hand, displaying the wretched ring I had once admired. I kissed it, forcibly displaying my revulsion for him to see. I leaped to my feet and propelled myself from the confessional, composing myself before I took my seat next to Mother. I willed myself to stay focused. The sisters must remain unaware of my plan. Tonight I would be free to seek retribution.

  As I knelt in my pew, the dizziness from my outburst became overwhelming. I began to sweat. Perspiration dripped from my upper lip. With the back of my hand I wiped the salty essence as I tried to calm myself. My blood pumped wildly in my veins. My lips began to burn. I looked down at the back of my hand and saw the blood.

  I bit my lip again?

  Suddenly everything became blurry and dim. I could feel myself losing my balance, but I had no control to stop it.

  “Mother?” I called queasily, and fell over as everything went black.

  Revelations

  The piercing orange-red glare invaded my eyelids, summoning my consciousness. I fought to open my eyes, but I was so weak. My body was still ravaged by pain and illness. As I forced my eyelids to part, the bright white light assaulted my senses, blinding me. I immediately squeezed my eyes shut again. Gathering all of my remaining strength, I willed myself back to life, back from the desolate black nothingness. In my dreary, confused state, I could faintly make out voices in the distance. I struggled to push back the confusion and decipher their words. There was a loud, rhythmic beeping that demanded my attention. I tried to focus on the voices. They were familiar, friendly. I inhaled deeply the feeling of their protection.