by Logan Fox
He lets out a sigh and gives a half-hearted shrug without looking back at me.
On this level, we pass several stained glass windows, none of which look as if they can be opened. Most are random arrangements of colored glass, but the larger ones form crude images.
Doves flying toward rays of heavenly light.
Various saints and angels.
People tilling the soil under a watchful eye. Literally, an eye in the sky—lead strips for lashes and everything.
“Place used to be a Catholic orphanage,” the kid says.
“It’s…” I want to say beautiful, but that would be an outright lie. “Impressive.”
We take another set of stairs, putting us on the fourth floor. Wooden doors crowd the walls of the passage. Small cards slipped behind tiny brass frames centered below each doorway’s arch bear the room’s number.
Jasper leads me to room 113.
He opens it and steps inside.
“You don’t lock doors around here?”
He turns and gives me a dead-eyed stare. “You got something to hide?”
I laugh as I enter the room, but I cut it off a second later.
It looks more like a prison cell than a bedroom. Even the small window is meshed with a steel frame as if to stop anyone from climbing out and jumping. Two cots—one against each wall—fill most of the space. What’s left is crowded out by a double-door closet and a desk with a set of drawers on each side of the gap where the chair fits in.
Jasper points at one of the beds. “That’s mine.”
“You sure?” I mumble to myself. The beds look identical. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d told me no one lived in this room.
“That’s yours,” he says, pointing at the left-hand closet door. “Stay out of my side.”
“Why, you got something to hide?”
He turns angry eyes on me, and I bite down on my lip.
It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long month.
My duffel bag and backpack thump to the floor. This place reeks of mothballs and stale air but if I can open the window that might help.
The window is sealed shut.
Jasper grabs something out of his drawer. “I got class,” he says before walking out.
I rush over to the door and poke my head out in the hall. “Hey!”
My voice booms back at me. Jasper swings around, but he doesn’t stop walking.
“Where do I go?”
Jasper shrugs. “Only told me to show you the room!” he yells back before disappearing around the corner.
“Mother of God,” I mutter to myself as I step back into the room. I stare out the doorway, and shiver when a damp breeze slips inside. “Surprised no one gets pneumonia.” I push the door closed and let out another sigh as I sink onto the corner of my bed.
It groans theatrically under my weight, and I roll my eyes.
This is what happens when the only thing going through your head for days at a time is the mantra, what else could possibly go wrong?
I challenged the Universe, and it came at me swinging.
Chapter Two
Trinity
I’m glad everything I own fits into two bags. There’s barely enough space on my side of the closet to hang the few dresses and jeans I have. Even the four cubbyholes on my side of the cabinet are barely large enough to fit a pair of shoes.
I take my fat, leather-bound bible and perch reluctantly on the creaky bed with it my lap. I trace my fingers over the gold title embossed on the cover. Then I flip it open and take out the photo nestled between the first few pages.
My father’s stern eyes stare out at me from a decade past. He looks dashing in his full clerical vestments, despite his no-nonsense expression. I wish I had a photo of mom too—even better, the three of us together—but my parents considered photos a form of vanity, much like having more than three sets of clothes to rotate out during any given week.
Or makeup.
Or jewelry.
If they knew they would die months before my eighteen birthday, would things have been different? Would we have spent less time in church and more time in the park, or going to the beach, or playing ball in the backyard?
Nope.
I open the first drawer and put the bible inside, shoving it as far back as I can.
I have no intention of reading it. I only brought it along because Mother treasured it so. I didn’t even know about the photo until I accidentally dropped the book on its spine while I was collecting my things from home a week ago.
Twenty-seven days.
Not even a month since they’ve been gone, and it already feels like a lifetime ago. I only remember bits and pieces since then, and most of those I try to forget.
Fuck you.
I kick the drawer closed with my ballerina pump.
“First day and you’re already destroying school property?”
I’m on my feet in a second and whirl around to face the door. There’s a guy in the doorway, leaning with his shoulder against the jamb.
He’s tall and lean-muscled with a sharp nose, angular jaw, and hooded blue eyes. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he turned out to be a fashion model despite his military-style haircut that leaves little more than a layer of fuzz on his perfectly shaped head. We didn’t have magazines around the house, but I saw them once or twice in the library. He’s wearing Saint Amos’s school uniform, but his collar is loose, and his tie crooked.
A smug smile carves a dimple into his cheek. “You miss the turn off for Sisters of Mercy or something?” He runs his gaze down my body before snapping them back to my eyes. “Or did you somehow miss the fact that this in all-boys school when you enrolled?”
What the hell is he talking about? I shake my head, and stagger back when he slips inside the room.
“Can you talk?” He glances about the room as if the answer doesn’t concern him. “Or are you an orphan and a mute?”
I’m starting to wonder the same thing, because I seem incapable of forming words. It doesn’t help that he keeps moving closer, and the only way to keep my distance in this tiny room would be to climb over the bed.
“’Cos I’m pretty sure they’d tell the hallway monitor to expect a mute orphan.” His eyes flicker to me. “Especially one as adorably fuckable as you.”
Hallway monitor? My cheeks flare with heat. “Excuse me?” I bark out before I can stop myself.
“Aw,” the guy says, pouting lush lips. “You just became slightly less tragic.”
“Who the hell are you?”
Air whistles through his teeth. He rushes forward. The closet door bangs as he pushes me up against it so hard, the air knocks out of my lungs.
“Blasphemous little slut,” he hisses. I open my mouth to scream.
His fingers wrap around my throat, and suddenly yelling for help isn’t an option anymore. He leans close enough for his breath to caress my lips. “I don’t like surprises.” His voice is dangerously low.
“Please,” I manage, grabbing his wrists and digging my fingernails into his skin.
He doesn’t even seem to notice. “Maybe you’re not even a girl,” he whispers, his mouth so close to my ear that his lips brush my skin. “Is that why they sent you here?” His free hand skims across my stomach and latches onto the top of my jeans. With a twist of his wrist, the button pops open.
“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” he murmurs. His fingertips slide behind the elastic band of my underwear.
My body goes stiff. Nothing exists but his creeping fingers.
A gong sounds out.
It’s not exceptionally loud, but it’s so unexpected I jerk in surprise. His fingertips slip out from behind my underwear.
He steps back. Cool air rushes down my throat. I cough, sagging against the closet as he studies me.
“Saved by the bell,” he says through a laugh. His face transforms into a hard, unfriendly mask. “See you around, slut.”
Then he’s gone.<
br />
I count ten thundering heartbeats before I dare go over to the door and check if he truly has left. The hallway outside is empty. Slamming closed the door, I back up into the room until the bed knocks into the back of my knees. I sit on automatic, staring at the door through wide eyes.
How the hell am I supposed to process what just happened?
Who was that guy?
Why on earth did he—
I flinch at a knock on the door. Swallow.
He’s back.
But of course it’s not him. He’s not the kind of guy to knock.
So what fresh hell is this then?
“Trinity?”
Another knock.
I jump to my feet and race to throw open the door.
A man in his late thirties regards me from across the threshold. His mouth is set in a gentle curve.
“Good to see you again, Trinity,” he says, his warm chestnut brown eyes wrinkling in the corners as his smile inches up.
“Father Gabriel! It’s—”
A wave crashes down on me, choking the words. His is the first familiar face I’ve seen in weeks.
I’d never known what loneliness was. The longest I’d been apart from my parents had been a few hours. But from that moment the bell rang, and I opened the door, and I saw a police officer standing where I’d been expecting my parents—perhaps Mom juggling a bag of groceries while she hunted for her keys, or Dad looking sheepish because he’d left his pair inside the house—I’d had no one.
No one.
A week later I realized the policeman hadn’t come to tell me my parents had died in a car accident. He’d come to say nothing would ever be the same again. I was destined for a dark, lonely future where flowers didn’t bloom, the sun no longer shone, and food had lost its taste.
For weeks, I’ve been handed from person to person like a goddamn parcel with no return address, the receiver simply marked as ‘To Whom it May Concern’.
Strong arms wrap around me, squeeze me, warm me. Cigarette smoke and candle wax waft up to me in a familiar and oh so comforting smell.
A sob wracks me. I cling to Father Gabriel like I’d fall if I were to let go.
My knees weaken when he strokes my head and murmurs, “Hush, child. You’re safe now.”
Chapter Three
Trinity
Pulling away from Father Gabriel is one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in weeks, and that includes identifying my parents at the morgue. But I’m behaving like a kid, and he’s the last person I want to disappoint. So I suck up my sorrow, and wriggle out of his arms. My smile isn’t as steady as I want it to be, but at least it’s there.
I know I should tell him about the guy who was just here. What he’d been about to do. But the thought of relaying those sordid details makes my stomach shrivel up with humiliation. What’ll it change, anyway? It might make him even angrier.
“Are you all settled?” Gabriel asks, using a knuckle to swipe a tear from my cheek.
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll show you around.” He holds out an arm, his smile inching up when I take it.
He looks odd in his pale, cable-knit sweater and dark slacks. His loafers barely make a sound as he leads me out of the room. I guess he only wears his official clerical garb when he’s visiting a member of his congregation.
I pause, and then lean back to pull the door closed. He pats my arm, his smile growing a little sad around the edges.
“You’re safe now, child. This is the Lord’s house. He will watch over you while you’re under His roof.”
I think back to the stained glass window, the one with that big eye in the sky with the people toiling beneath it. And then the guy who slipped into my room.
If God was watching me, then it seems He was more interested in seeing how far he’d get than putting a stop to it.
But then a bell rang, and he stopped. I’d call that divine intervention, wouldn’t you?
“Thank you,” I murmur, dropping my gaze. My cheeks grow hot again. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t become my guardian.”
“A foster home is no place for a child of God,” he says. “Especially one as bright and talented as you. I’m more than happy to help.”
I manage a smile. Seeing Gabriel has brought back too many memories. They fill my mind as he leads me down the hall, and my mood dips ever lower.
Father Gabriel had been the bishop of our parish for close to five years before he left the country for missionary work a few months ago. My father, the priest of our local congregation, had known him since the start of his seminary training, where Father Gabriel had been one of his tutors.
Gabriel was at our house at least three times a week, and often ate dinner with us. He was my parents’ closest friend, and from what I could gather, their confidant when their marriage became a little rocky. That was way back before I was even born.
“I must apologize for not meeting you when you arrived. This close to summer, I have a hundred and one tasks.” Gabriel laughs. “I’m sure the staff is looking forward to this break as much as the students.”
I laugh with him and it sounds strange out here in the dimly lit hallways. “This place is enormous. How many students are here?”
“Just shy of five hundred.”
My mouth sets. I shouldn’t be ungrateful, but it begs the question. Before I can bring myself to ask it, though, Gabriel says, “You’re wondering why you don’t have your own room.” His mouth forms that all too familiar neutral line. “As much as I’d like to give you one, doing so would set a bad precedent. Students at Saint Amos must earn their privileges.”
“And a private room is a privilege,” I say, nodding along. I guess it would be unfair for me to be elevated above students who’ve been here for years already. And the last thing I want to do is stand out.
“So…does that mean Jasper lost his privileges?”
“God rewards our faith in many ways, Trinity. But he also demands penance for our sins.”
“What did Jasper do?” I ask, voice hushed. I’m guessing a private room is one of the best privileges around here. I could be wrong, but it would make sense why Jasper is acting so damn sulky.
“That’s between him and God.”
Gabriel pauses by a window. It’s the first one with clear glass I’ve noticed, and the first with a latch. I glance down both sides of the hall. I have no idea where I am. How long is it going to take me to figure out this place?
He pushes open the window and breathes in the air rushing in from outside, then beckons me over with a flip of his hand.
I go to stand beside him. My breath catches.
“Oh my Lo—” I cut off, biting down on my lip just in time.
Blasphemous little slut.
“If you think it’s beautiful now, wait till the leaves turn.” There’s a reverential hush to his voice.
“I can’t wait.”
Even though we’re on the third level of this majestic building, trees soar up and around us. It’s as if the school was dropped into the middle of the forest and left to its own defenses.
“Can you see where the grounds end?” Gabriel points, and I follow his finger.
“Yeah?”
“Anything past that fence is out of bounds,” he says firmly. “Understand?”
I look at him and nod. “I understand.”
“It may look innocent, but the forest is a dangerous place,” he adds, his brown eyes searching mine. “We’ve lost more students than I care to admit out there. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you, child.”
Lost them?
My neck moves like a rusty joint when I turn to look out the window again.
The forest doesn’t look like a place I’d want to go anyway. Why on earth would anyone have to be warned to stay away?
“Come on. Lots to see before lunch.”
This time, Father Gabriel doesn’t hold out his arm. I wish he had—the dark and the cold of this place is pressi
ng in again. I suppress a shiver as I follow him down the hall, and glance back at the window. From this angle, only a sliver of gray sky is visible.
What happened to those kids? Did they lose their way and starve?
Or did something else find them first?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when your parents passed,” Father Gabriel says out of nowhere. We’ve been walking for about ten minutes, and passed another two windows—both with dramatically different views than the first.
Saint Amos is more like a small town than a school. This building contains the staff quarters, the student’s rooms, the administration office, the kitchens, the washrooms, and the dining hall.
Outside, there’s a chapel, a building that houses the classrooms, and even a crypt. From the window we viewed it at, the rectangular shapes of concrete slabs placed on the handful of graves beside the crucifix shaped building were visible.
Yet another place I have absolutely no interest in visiting, although Father Gabriel hadn’t warned me to stay away this time.
Further back on the property are the stables and some sports grounds—even a gymnasium with an indoor pool.
“Trinity?”
I snap out of my thoughts. “The social worker said you were away on missionary work?”
He smiles at this. “South America. It’s so rewarding to share God’s message to impoverished nations.”
Father Gabriel did a lot of missionary work. My father’s even been overseas with him more than once. They would stay away for up to months at a time. Dad always seemed different when he came back, but I could never figure out why.
I guess spreading the gospel changes you.
“Judging from your grades, your parents did an excellent job homeschooling you.” Gabriel chuckles. “Our classes are slightly larger, but trust me, your academics won’t suffer. We have excellent teachers. Some of them past students, in fact.”
Dad taught me scripture. Mom taught me everything else. But I don’t say anything—I’ve never been one to pick a fight.
We descend a stairwell and arrive in a vast hallway. Several yards away, it ends in a set of double doors. Through the small windows set in them, I can make out a bustle of activity beyond.