by Tonya Hurley
“I’m so sorry I can’t be at the show.”
“I’m not,” Cecilia said. “You have your own gig that night; that’s the best reason to miss mine.”
Catherine nodded appreciatively and dried her tears. “But it’s your big night.”
“And a big night for you, too. Do your thing, Catherine. No matter what anyone tells you or dangles in front of you.”
“I’m really scared for you, Cecilia,” Cat fretted. “I saw those guys with the knives outside the hospital when you left. Looked them right in the eye. They’re dead inside. Remorseless killers.”
“I know. Ever since Ricky we’ve been dealing with them. It’s everywhere now.”
“People thought they were there to rob the crowd but maybe they were really there for you?”
“Probably were. Either way, they sent a message. Frey sent a message.”
“Once this album is out, your message will be the one that’s heard. The only one that counts.”
CeCe nodded weakly. She’d seemed more reflective, even melancholy, than usual and Cat felt like she was about to find out why.
“When you asked me before if I had doubts, I wasn’t being completely honest.”
“No way, you hooked up with Less?”
“No. But when I watched your interview, saw what happened outside the hospital, I really started to wonder if following this calling was worth it.”
“Maybe it isn’t?” Cat asked.
“I don’t care if they come for me but I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. Not on my account. One way or another it’s got to stop.“
“It’s just so surreal, with what happened to Lucy and everything. I don’t know what I’d do if . . .”
Cecilia walked over to Catherine and hugged her tightly, as if she’d never let her go.
“You’ll carry on, that’s what you’ll do,” Cecilia whispered. “Promise me that. No matter what happens you’ll always carry on.”
“Only if you promise me you won’t let anything bad happen?”
“To you? Never,” Cecilia swore.
“It wasn’t exactly the reassurance Cat was looking for from CeCe but it would have to do for now.
“You won’t be mad if I steal one of these songs and do it in my show, will you? I’m still your biggest fan, you know.”
Cecilia took Cat’s hand in hers.
“It’s all yours.”
13 The red taper candle flickered and the intermittent hum of her sleeping laptop filled the otherwise quiet room like a sleep aid.
Agnes was left alone with her thoughts, trying to fall asleep. Twisting. Turning. Flipping her pillow over and over. A sense of foreboding overwhelmed her. She struggled with her down comforter too, kicking one leg out at first, then tossing it off completely. She stared upward into the darkness, counting the floaters that danced above her and watching them appear and disappear like soap bubbles in a warm bath.
She felt her head was about to explode. Was her restlessness from her anxiety, she wondered, from all the looking over her shoulder? From Lucy? From the vandals that continued to stalk her? From Frey? She got up and walked over to her window, then pulled the curtain back just a touch. There were a few diehards still outside, as there had been every night since she got back from Perpetual Help. Keeping watch. Where before they’d seemed a nuisance, she now found comfort in their presence. And a measure of safety. She flicked on her desk lamp, surrendering to her involuntary alertness.
She thought about calling out for her mother, to talk, and just as quickly decided that was probably a bad idea. What was there to say anyway? On some level, Martha felt that Agnes and the others had this coming to them. Their punishment for daring to believe in Sebastian and their own inner voice. In themselves.
She remembered seeing those cheesy coffee mugs in the corner store asking what would Jesus do, or if Jesus showed up today, would he be greeted as a savior or a psychotic? Frey’s verdict was definitely in, and so, she suspected, were the verdicts of a lot of other people. Sadly, she had to count her mother among them.
Agnes returned to bed. The only thought that would soothe her was of Sebastian. Many claimed to have seen him, but whenever the reporters showed up it was always some wacko or fanatic or some wiseass classmate at school turning it all into a jovake. But she really had seen him. He was there when Lucy died. A spirit. An angel. A saint. No matter how desperate she was feeling, in her bedroom or the psych ward, the very thought of him was enough to ease her mind. But not her restless heart. Thoughts of Sebastian only made her miss him more. Agnes called out to him in the darkness. She closed her eyes. Repeated his name like a sacred mantra.
The desk light dimmed and shadows filled the room. Agnes could feel a presence. A living one not far from her. She opened her eyes.
“Sebastian,” she called out.
“Agnes,” came a gentle reply.
All fear left her and she smiled a satisfied smile, as if she’d conjured him through her force of will. Then her lips began to quiver and tears filled her eyes at the sight of him.
“You came to me?”
“I’m never far from you, Agnes.”
She sat up in her bed, expectantly.
“There is so much I need to ask you. To tell you.”
“Ask,” he said.
“Is Lucy with you?”
“She is with all of us now. Everywhere.”
“I miss her. And you.” There was pain in Agnes’s voice.
“Can I come closer?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
He smiled. “I’ve come before.”
“Yes, but only in my dreams. Is this a dream?”
“No,” he assured, taking her hand in his.
It was solid and warm.
“My mother thinks none of this is real. That it’s just a delusion. I’m sorry, I mean an illusion.”
“The difference between what is real and what is illusory is not as great as we think, Agnes. It is only matter of how much you want to believe in it. Have faith in it.”
“Like love?” she asked, drawing him closer, into her arms.
“Like love,” he whispered quietly into her ear.
Agnes looked deeply into his eyes and their lips met. She felt her body rise to meet his as he pulled her close. Sebastian brushed her hair away from her face and ran his hand along her neck and her shoulder and down her side, placing his palm on her stomach. Her body tightened; she threw her head back ecstatically, and then relaxed in euphoric response. She was filled with a shuddering peace from head to toe by his touch. By anticipation. By their single kiss.
“I’m yours,” she said. “From the moment we met.”
“Blessed are you,” Sebastian replied, lifting his hand from her belly.
He stood and lingered above her, reaching again for her hand.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
“You will know when the time comes.”
“What does the future hold for us?”
“You are holding the future, Agnes.”
“I hope I can be as brave as you and Lucy.”
He grasped her hand even more tightly, a sweet but melancholy expression crossing his face.
“Much has been given and much asked of you, Agnes,” Sebastian said.
Her eyes began to flutter and close as if the weight of the world had been lifted from them. Her hand fell from his, limply to her side.
“I’m so tired.”
“Sleep, Agnes. And dream.”
She felt him departing but didn’t have the strength to open her eyes. “Just one kiss to last me?”
He replied as if from a great distance. His words echoed in the room and in her mind as she drifted off to sleep before they faded away into nothing. “One kiss to last forever.”
7 The chapel smelled of roses and incense, as always.
The fragrant aroma filled Jesse’s nostrils as he sat quietly before Lucy’s casket. It was a visit he was making regularly these days. The care
takers at Precious Blood knew him now and for lack of a better word, he’d cut a deal with them that allowed him to visit after hours. Away from the prying eyes of the followers or anyone else. The church was not exactly guarded, but it was watched and Tony would often accompany him for safety’s sake, usually preferring to wait outside in case of any trouble. Usually, but not this evening.
Jesse hung his head, silently reflecting on their life together, as he had been doing each time he came to visit. The smoke and the dim, flickering candlelight began to affect him. It was so surreal. He could’ve sworn he was high if he didn’t know better. If nothing else, the sensory overload had heightened his own self-awareness and feelings of guilt. He was almost embarrassed to look at her and seemed to be asking her permission to do whatever it was he felt needed doing, sitting like a disobedient child listening to a lecture from a disappointed parent.
After a while, he felt his solitude interrupted. As if he were no longer alone. His heart began to pound in excitement. He’d hoped for another visitation from Lucy. Like the one he’d had in the hospital. But that, he’d concluded, was just a dream or some sort of drug-induced hallucination. He wasn’t just looking for answers, but for proof of her continued existence. He didn’t have a deep well of faith to draw upon, like the priests and nuns or her followers. Jesse was a practical guy, not prone to magical thinking, but he’d seen too much to not consider the possibility. So far, however, that was what it remained. A possibility. Now perhaps, there would come an answer.
“Lucy?” he whispered.
He felt a hand on his shoulder but it didn’t feel like her touch. Alarmed, he jumped up reflexively, fists clenched, ready to defend himself and her. He turned to face his attacker only to see it was not an attacker at all. But a child. It was Jude. Jesse relaxed, but only a little bit.
“How’d you get in here, kid?”
Jude just stared at him, looking deep in Jesse’s eyes, as if he could communicate directly with his mind. Without words.
“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be home or something?”
Jude shook his head no.
Jesse looked around awkwardly, unsure of whether to be happy or freaked out at the boy’s presence. He turned toward the glass casket with Lucy’s body on display and became even more uncomfortable.
“Listen, I really don’t know if this is the right place for you.”
Before he got his warning out, Jude walked past him to the display case and placed his hand upon it and closed his eyes, deep in thought.
“Hey,” Jesse said, reaching for Jude. “It’s okay.”
Jude turned toward him as if in a trance. The flames of the candles suddenly grew higher, throwing shadows across the boy’s face. Lucy’s casket and Sebastian’s urn seemed to glow, to become illuminated. Rosebuds opened as if feeling the sunshine for the first time. Jesse backed away nervously.
“I think we need to get out of here,” he said.
Jude’s eyes rolled over white, his head fell backward, and his body stiffened.
“Holy shit,” Jesse murmured, rubbing his hands together.
A cold chill descended upon the chapel. Jesse grabbed for his shoulders. His bones began to ache. Each of his injuries from Born Again pained him as if he’d only just received them. He shivered uncontrollably, both from the drop in temperature and the sound of his name echoing through the chapel, and emanating from Jude.
“Jesse.”
Again he asked, “Lucy?”
The voice grew louder and clearer and closer. It was deep and resonant. Not a girl’s voice or the child’s, but a voice he recognized.
“Jesse.”
“Sebastian?”
The boy pointed an accusing finger at him and spoke. “Why are you here?”
Jesse was overwhelmed and not sure how to answer or even if he should answer. He shook his head to clear his mind, unsure if he was hallucinating. The question hung in the frigid air and finally Jesse answered.
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“To think. To talk. To be close to her.”
“No. That isn’t why.”
“Then you tell me,” Jesse shouted in anger and frustration. “You tell me!”
“It’s because you believe.”
Tears welled up in Jesse’s eyes.
“Believe?” Jesse growled.
“Yes. In them and in their purpose.”
“Yeah, I do believe. I believe this is all your fault!”
Jesse pointed at Lucy’s casket.
“Do not seek to blame, Jesse. What has happened has happened.”
Tears flowed freely now and he fell to his knees, pleading futilely.
“I want her to be alive again.”
“Then keep her alive.”
“So I can become a raging lunatic like you were?”
“So you can become yourself.”
“I have no idea who I am anymore.”
“Your life was spared once. Do you remember?”
“I do. She saved me. From you.”
“What will you do with the life you have been given?”
“That’s the question I keep asking myself. I don’t know.”
“You are needed, Jesse. Open your eyes and your heart.”
“For what?”
“As her reputation was entrusted to you in life, her legacy, our legacy is entrusted to you now.”
“I’m not that guy. There are a lot of other people around who will make sure of that. I don’t even know where to start.”
“When the time comes you will know.”
Sebastian’s voice waned into nothing and the candle flames receded. Jude collapsed to a heap on the floor and Jesse rushed to him. He lifted the boy up gently and cradled him in his arms. The color gradually returned to the boy’s face.
“Hey. Wake up, Jude.”
Jesse was startled by the sound of footsteps rushing down the staircase.
“Jude!” Sister Dorothea cried. “Thank God you are here.”
“He’s okay, Sister.”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for him.”
Jesse helped Jude to his feet and smiled at him. Jude appeared exhausted but returned the smile.
“You okay, kid?”
Jude nodded yes. The nun grabbed him in her arms and held him tightly.
“Oh, Jude, all these terrible thoughts were going through my head. You nearly scared the life out of me.”
“Me too,” Jesse said.
3 Martha heard Agnes retching in the bathroom from down the hall. She walked to the door and listened for a second.
“Let me guess, you’re not going to school again today.”
“I feel like hell. I can’t seem to shake this flu.”
“Are you sure that’s what it is, Agnes?”
Agnes flushed the toilet and opened the door just a crack. Martha could see she was pale and sunken-eyed. Weak.
“What else would it be, Mother?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just hear you’ve been having a hard time at school. Not that you confide anything in me.”
“Still gossiping with your friends? If I didn’t feel like such shit I might be pissed at you but I don’t have the energy.”
She closed the door and turned on the faucet and brushed her teeth for the third time that morning.
“At this rate you’ll never graduate,” Martha warned. “All that money for tuition down the drain.”
“Wow,” Agnes spat as she left the bathroom. “You really don’t get it. You think I’m faking it?”
“Why don’t you just go into school and make an announcement that all this nonsense has just been a terrible mistake. It’s obviously ruining your health, physically and otherwise. Costing you your friends and your education. Why Doctor Frey let you out I’ll never know.”
“He wants to keep his hands clean, Mother, until he makes his move.”
“More conspiracy talk. You’re just making my point, Agnes. I have never seen a persecution co
mplex like yours.”
“Except for yours, you mean?”
“Have it your way, Agnes. It’s not my future that’s at stake. There are enough waitressing jobs available, I’m sure you’ll find one.”
“I’ll be fine, Mother. Don’t worry.”
“Fine? You think those desperate vagrants outside care about you, Agnes? Their virgin queen? One wrong step and they’ll turn on you. Believe me.”
Agnes slammed her bedroom door just as the front doorbell rang.
Exasperated, Martha trudged through the living room and toward the door. She peeked through the hole and huffed. The crowd had gotten noticeably larger suddenly and now she knew why. Martha opened the door and stood there like a security guard, cool and standoffish, one hand on her hip, the other holding the door, as she greeted the visitor.
“You are not welcome here,” Martha groused. “Please leave and take those people out there with you.”
“I’m here to see Agnes.”
Agnes heard a familiar voice from the hallway and saw a friend in the doorway.
“Cecilia!” she shrieked, running for the door.
Martha stepped aside reluctantly and the two girls embraced.
CeCe stepped back and took a good look at her friend.
“You look like shit,” Cecilia said with a laugh.
“You can say that again,” Martha agreed, stomping off into the kitchen.
“Never mind me, how are you?” Agnes asked.
“I’m good. Life is good.”
“Come in.”
Agnes closed the door behind Cecilia and led her to her room.
“This is definitely your room,” Cecilia laughed, spying the boho spiritual décor, vintage clothing spilling from the closets and drawers, über romantic bedding, and plants everywhere.
“It’s my sanctuary, you could say,” Agnes said and smiled.
They sat on the floor just staring at each other for a while.
“You haven’t called or returned my texts,” Cecilia said. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve just been really sick the past few weeks.”
“That’s no excuse,” Cecilia said flatly, shooting Agnes a chastising glance.
“I know. But I’m not the only one who’s been busy,” Agnes chided. “So tell me about your album and everything. Even kids at school were talking about it.”
