by JM HART
Reaching the open wardrobe she took out her favorite floral shirt, which Mother Catherine had rescued during a charity drive. While buttoning it up, she became aware it was a little too tight across the chest; her breasts had started to develop. About time! I hope I get a bit more wear out of this shirt. She loved flowers and hated the thought of abandoning it. Looking down, her feet were nowhere to be seen; so she decided to fold them up to her calf muscles. She slipped into her runners and put on a sweater because she felt an unexpected chill. “Thanks, Gem — they’re great!” she declared, slapping her thighs.
“Come on, let’s go!” Lisa begged, holding the bedroom door open.
The three ballerinas raced along the hallway and down the narrow stairs, exited through the kitchen door and arrived on the church lawns. There, they observed the white marquees that were lined up in three rows, piled high with goodies for sale. Cakes, toffees, flowers, handmade wooden toys and sweet-smelling soaps. The girls wove around the stalls and stopped at the Ferris wheel.
*
As Mother Catherine strolled among the stalls, she bumped into Gemma’s mom. “Good morning, Mother Catherine!” Jillian said to her, pleased to have encountered someone she knew.
“Good morning, dear!” Mother Catherine replied. “What a wonderful day the Lord has provided for our fete!”
“How’s the fundraising going this year?” Jillian queried.
Mother Catherine smiled modestly and answered, in a soft voice, “Good. Are you off to watch Gemma in the recital?”
The two started walking side by side, heading for the stage.
“Yes, I am,” Jillian replied.
Three young boys who were obviously playing a game of tag came tearing around the blind corner of a stall and barreled into Mother Catherine.
She caught them and embraced them, laughing, and reminded them to be careful.
“I’m afraid this world’s going to hell!” Jillian announced.
“Well, you’re full of good cheer!” Mother Catherine said.
“Sorry,” she said, looking at her fingernails, “it’s just that it’s all getting me down.”
“Focus on sharing — and turn your telly off,” Mother Catherine advised her. “All we have to do is ‘love thy neighbor’ and all will be right in the world. We focus on ourselves too much anyway. Was there something I can help you with?”
“Would you mind if Sophia joined the girls for a sleepover tonight? Lisa’s mother has given the okay. Gemma would love it if Sophia could come too, if it’s okay with you and Father McDonald — you’ve both raised her as if she was your own.”
Mother Catherine stopped walking, looked at her, and replied, “Father McDonald said you mentioned something to him yesterday. It’s fine with us.”
The two arrived at the stage as the performance was about to begin.
Mother Catherine smiled when she saw that the girls were saying a prayer backstage.
“All the big stars do it,” Jillian commented. “Oh, look, Father Thomas is here. He looks so young — well, compared to … anyway, I’m just going to go and say hello to him.”
Mother Catherine smiled, raised her eyebrows and said to her, “Off you go then!” She watched her give Gemma the thumbs-up and saw Gemma turn to her two friends to tell them the good news. It’s so good to see Sophia with a smile on her face, she thought.
*
Sophia felt wonderful as she, Lisa and Gemma huddled together excited about their beautiful performance. Everyone had applauded loudly over and over again as if they were professional dancers; it was the perfect end to a perfect day.
Gemma snapped a quick selfie, tied her ballet shoes together, flung them around her neck, and with a big smirk on her face, her hand on her hip, exclaimed to Sophie, “Oh, my God, Sophie, did you see that guy smiling at you?” He’s a year above us at school, and more mature than any of the nerds my brother hangs with!”
“No. He wasn’t looking at me, was he?” Sophia asked her.
“Here he comes!” Gemma said, linking arms with Lisa.
Nervously, Sophia announced, “I’m off. I’m going to pack my bag for tonight… I’ll meet you at your mom’s car!”
“What, now? No — stay!” Gemma begged her, pushing her towards the unsuspecting teenager.
Sophia pointed her eyes past his handsome face, skirted around him, and ran off to the nuns’ dormitory.
“We’re a row behind the blue dumpster!” Gemma yelled to her. “See you in ten!”
*
Sophia ran up the back stairs, hearing her steps echo in the empty corridor. She flung her bedroom door open, tossed her ballet shoes on the bed, took off her cardigan, flipped off her sneakers, wriggled out of her leotard, and got back into her new jeans. Full of excitement she rushed to grab a hoodie from the wardrobe, pushing her feet back into her sneakers, she nearly tripped over her own feet as she reached for her backpack, which Mother Catherine seemed to have already filled with goodies. On her tiptoes, she stretched for the sleeping bag that was on top of the wardrobe, she wriggled it off with her fingers. She strapped it to her backpack; ready. She jumped when she heard a series of loud cracks and sharp claps coming from outside. Sophia held her breath, her heart raced as she mentally searched for a picture to put to the sound; she decided to stay away from the window. It must be just cars backfiring, she thought. No, that’s not it … I know! Fireworks. That must be it! However, it wasn’t yet completely dark — twilight was still descending — her colorful happy mental images of firecrackers started to become infiltrated with scenes from the previous night’s dream. She ran from the room, eager to see the fireworks and not miss a thing. Must be the private school boys getting up to mischief!
Sophia’s stomach turned and every atom in her body began to vibrate. The sound of people screaming grew louder. Walking from the direction of the river she saw a pale young man, barefoot, wearing a dirty pair of white jocks and a t-shirt. His long, straight, bleached hair was stuck to his dirty face, his feet were caked with mud, and his black eyes were expressionless. He held a rifle at waist height firing it randomly. Everybody in the vicinity was now running and screaming, seeking shelter. The young man wasn’t taking aim at all; he looked dead, and the semi-automatic gun just kept firing.
Trying to block out her own panic she ran behind the church, towards the fete stalls and the car park behind them. Feeling as if her heart was about to rupture Sophia crouched down behind the cake stall, the last stall in the row… Nearly there! she thought. She’d have to sprint about fifteen yards across grass, out in the open, to get to the cars. A man carrying his crying child ran past her across the grass towards the carpark. The blue dumpster Gemma said her mother’s car was parked behind was clearly visible. Her body felt strange, and she wanted to purge the adrenalin from it. Sophia could feel that her body was changing. Her atoms were now on fire, separating and joining, separating and joining; it was a scintillating feeling. She saw that the edge of her body looked pixelated, and she had to keep herself together, literally. She held her aura tightly in her mind, and mentally repeated to herself, Stay connected! Stay connected! Feel the ground! She needed to make her legs move. I can do this. Before losing total connection to her body, she stood up, staying low and ran out across the open space to the first row of cars. She ducked behind the blue dumpster, then scampered around it to Gemma’s mother’s car, and stopped. Out in the open, on the dusty gravel, just out of reach, was an abandoned pair of ballet shoes tied casually together. They look like Gemma’s, she thought, not wanting to move and not wanting to know for sure.
The sound of gunfire was now coming from the car park, and the sky was turning black. She quickly pressed up against the back of the car and slowly peeked around the car’s red tail lights. Between two cars Gemma’s mother was lying on the ground, Gemma and Lisa motionless beside her. She edged forward, praying they were alive, and saw that Gemma’s mother’s hair was matted with blood. She slapped her hand over her mouth, squeezed it tight to
stop herself from screaming and moved back behind the car. Sophia pressed her head against the cold metal of the bumper bar and cried, not noticing that the gunfire had stopped.
“Stop! Look at me!” she heard Mother Catherine scream.
Sophia spun around. She was trapped, the gunman was right behind her. Mother Catherine was behind him trying to get his attention. No, Mother Catherine! she whispered inside her head, taking a half step towards them. Please, no! What are you doing? Stop! Please, stop! No! He won’t listen!
Mother Catherine was taken aback by the sound of Sophia’s voice inside her head. Never having heard it before, she felt a sense of calm descend on her and a feeling of admiration for God and his creations. You’re an amazing person, Sophia! she thought. Can you hear me?
Yes, I’m here! Sophia thought. What can I do? What can I do?
I love you, Sophia! Now, run! Mother Catherine replied.
Mother Catherine, no!
Mother Catherine turned her attention to the young man, and gently said to him, “You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. Please, give me your gun.”
Sophia could see he was staring absently, drool hanging from the corners of his mouth. His arms looked heavy, and he swung them clumsily as he held the gun at waist height. He’s going to drop it, she thought. She could see he was covered with a darkening grey mist that was expanding, contracting, expanding.
Mother Catherine prayed as she stepped closer to the young man. “Protect Sophia,” she began, “and forgive this young man, Lord. He knows not what he does.”
Mother Catherine, move away! Sophia pleaded.
His black irises locked on the crucifix that Mother Catherine was nervously rubbing … suddenly, he opened his eyes wide and stretched his mouth in a silent scream. His cheeks were torn apart, and a thousand bees erupted from his mouth. They flew straight at Mother Catherine, swarming around her face.
“Aaah! No! No! No! No! No! Mother Catherine!” Sophia shouted and moved towards her…
… but before she stood up, the young man lifted the gun, and the loud, frenzied buzzing of the bees was drowned out by gunfire.
Sophia saw Mother Catherine fall to the ground, her face and throat swelling up; she was in a state of anaphylactic shock.
Run, Sophia! Run! Mother Catherine mentally commanded her.
“No!” Sophia replied. “I won’t leave you!” Relax! Breathe! Just breathe! she told herself as the gunman turned to face her. She felt the energy boiling, swirling within the pit of her stomach, and felt her atoms splitting, growing and radiating from every pore in her body.
The bees were everywhere, but none landed on Sophia.
The young man became mesmerized by the swirling vortex of light she had around her.
She began folding and unfolding the energy with her mind in order to create a barrier of space and light between them. She’d never tried doing this before. This is way too slow! She saw that his irises and all around his eyes were two black pools of tar, and the heavy mist around him was starting to push out from his being, causing her barrier of light to disintegrate before she could completely manifest it. She saw that the mist was made up of tiny creatures — micro-winged demons — which burst into sparks of light as they collided with her energy. They started flying in and out of the gunman’s mouth, nose and grated cheeks. The dark matter was becoming dense: it pushed out violently forcing her backwards. She felt her head jolt back as her body hit the ground, she lost control of her energy, shattering the car windows and knocking the gunman off his feet. Shocked, she pushed up off the ground and crawled to Mother Catherine.
Out of nowhere, she saw Father McDonald appear next to her and grab her right arm. Suddenly he went stiff, as if he’d been tasered, and she could smell the singed hairs on his arms. As soon as he had his body under control, he lifted Sophia to her feet.
They ran down to the river and headed for a stand of trees to hide within.
The gunman was trying to stand up, when from behind, carrying a stone, Father Thomas raised his arms and slammed the stone into the back of the young man’s head. Sophia turned away. When she looked back briefly, she saw that Father Thomas was taking the gun from the young man, then checking Mother Catherine, but Sophia knew he was too late: her face was now unrecognizable. She still had her hand clenched around her pendant of Jesus. Father Thomas went back to check the gunman’s pulse and lowered his ear to the man’s mouth, searching for any signs of life.
The gunman’s mouth opened and a dark mist was expelled from it and on to Father Thomas’s face.
Father Thomas backed away, coughing and choking. He held his throat as the mist entered his mouth. “We have to go back! We have to help him!” Sophia begged Father McDonald as she watched Father Thomas reach for his head and cradle it in his hands, his face twisted in pain. She reached out with her mind, connected, and heard him begging for the pain to stop — a second of it seemed like a minute, and a minute of it seemed like an hour. He thinks he’s going to die, she thought as she felt his mind slip into darkness.
Then, as quickly as the pain had started, it stopped. Father Thomas went down on his knees, and vomited.
Sophia saw, from within his eyes, Sister Clare running to his aid and heard the sirens approach from off in the distance with his ears.
Father Thomas spat on the ground, and wiped his mouth.
“Look!” Sister Clare yelled, and pointed towards the forest.
Father Thomas followed her gaze, and saw Sophia and Father McDonald looking straight at them.
It’s strange looking at myself through someone else’s eyes, she thought and started to separate from Father Thomas.
“We must tell the police about Father McDonald,” Sister Clare said to him.
Sophia waited — Father Thomas lost his balance and placed his fingertips on his temples. She merged back completely into his mind, scared, because he was losing consciousness and also losing control of his body. She could feel his distress, his fear, as if he was beside her in the back seat of a car while someone else was driving. To her it seemed as if “they” were looking out from behind his eyes together, as if his eyes were now mere windows because he had become a prisoner in his own body.
From deep within Father Thomas, Sophia heard a foreign-sounding roar of laughter, the laughter of a legion. We’re not alone, she thought, something else is within him. She felt a chill ripple across his chest.
Sophia kept her thoughts as still as possible and disconnected from Father Thomas. The last thing she heard, punctuated by all-consuming laughter was, That’s right, priest: you belong to me now! How quickly your God abandons you! Terrified, she wanted to scream, to explode, to get away from the evil. She quickly left him and secured herself within her own mind and body.
Father McDonald pulled her deeper into the forest, and when they came to a small hill, they settled in behind it, on their bellies, feeling like two snipers as they looked back at the church.
Father Thomas was vomiting continuously. He wiped his chin. His body slowly straightened up.
Sophia lay low in the brush, next to Father McDonald, and watched Father Thomas as he waved his fist in the air as if he were a puppet. “What happened to Father Thomas?” she whispered to Father McDonald. “Why did that gunman do that? Oh, Father, Mother Catherine: she’s dead!”
“I don’t know,” Father McDonald replied, “I have a terrible feeling the gunman was looking for you, Sophia.”
“Me?” she queried. “Why me? All these people have died because of me?!” She started crying uncontrollably. “No,” she said, “I don’t believe you: why would he want to kill me?”
“Your light. Let’s get moving; it’s time to leave.” He lifted her up by her backpack, drawing on strength she didn’t know he still had, and together they moved away from the church and travelled deeper into the woods.
4
King-hit: Kevin. Australia.
Kevin just wanted them to stop. The sound of his parents quarrelling con
tinued late into the night. Bile rose in his throat as they yelled and screamed at each other. Each selfish word more painful than a slap in the face and the sting of each adjective lingered in his soul. He just wanted them to speak nicely to each other. Why do they fight? he wondered. They are both to blame, but his mom the most.
The baby cried. Love cowered in the corner. The screen door slammed. The porch light came on and Kevin moved to the window. His mother stormed down the front path clutching her cardigan. The car door creaked, tyres screeched as she sped away. What happened? Why didn’t she like the gift? Kevin thought. Why did she look at his dad like that? What was in the little box his dad had wrapped with care — and what’s with the blue tiny esky? Once or twice a week she left late at night with the tiny icebox and returned in the early hours of the morning, and put it away at the back of the freezer. The first time he saw it was when she had suddenly returned from the States. It contained a cold metal cylinder, locked. At first Kevin had been obsessed with getting it open, but eventually he gave up. It didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was the arguing might mean she has the virus.
Earlier that day before his mother went off to work she had woken them with a jab in the rear, giving them all, including his dad, a vaccination. His dad asked, playfully — grossing Kevin out — if he could give her hers, but she said she didn’t have enough. They were sworn to secrecy. Together, his little brother, Alex, and his dad cleaned the house from top to bottom, and cooked a mouth-watering dinner for his mom. It was his dad’s first day off in ages. Smoke choked the neighborhood so they stayed indoors. Kevin thought his dad was pretty cool and brave, he wished he could tell him. He worked long hours fighting bushfires and saving people — their homes, and animals. That day, the fire in the mountains had been started deliberately. It had been hot and dry, and before lunch it was well over thirty-five degrees. He wanted to bail and go over to Tim’s and head for the river, but he didn’t want to disappoint his dad so he hung around at home. While Molly napped in her cot, his dad and his brother Alex had enjoyed cleaning the house. They laughed when his dad went sliding and fell on the polished floor while doing a ‘Tom Cruise’, whoever that was. Someone from the old days, Kevin thought. Kevin had draped the sheets over the chairs pretending it was a secret club, and allowed Alex to enter with a secret password while his dad made the bed with fresh crisp sheets.
