by Logan Fox
It’s blessedly cool in the hall, blessedly quiet.
I can hear them speaking, but I can’t understand a word through the closed door. I press my back against the wall and close my eyes, gathering myself with effort.
If the tingling between my legs is anything to go by, I’m going to have a hell of a time getting Brother Zachary out of my head today.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly acting like a teenager with raging hormones?
Yes, technically I am still a teenager, but I’ve never been—
A hussy?
When Sister Miriam comes out, she looks a touch calmer than she did going in. Zachary seems to have that effect on everyone except me.
“Follow me,” she says in a snippy voice.
“Uh…I have English—”
“Not today. I’ve already spoken with your teacher.”
Miriam leads me to the main building, then through the dining hall and into the big kitchen. A few people move around the large space—I guess if you’re feeding so many students, meals take hours to prepare.
There’s a guy kneading bread nearby. His arms are dusted in flour up to his elbows, and his long blond hair swept under a hairnet. He looks up when we enter the kitchen, and his eyes stay on me the entire time as Miriam leads me across the floor.
There’s something familiar about him, and I only catch on right before Miriam opens another door and leads me through.
He was the one with the video camera.
I turn, glancing back over my shoulder.
He’s standing up straight, a smudge of flour on the tip of his nose. He’d be handsome if his features weren’t so gaunt.
I hesitate, and then wave.
He gives me a smirk.
The laundry room’s air smacks into me like a warm, damp towel. There are a handful of women and two younger boys in here, all drenched with sweat. Massive washers rumble along one wall. Clean linens drape a row of tables in the center of the long, narrow room.
Further down, racks of pressed uniforms stand waiting to be delivered to the boys’s rooms.
“Strip,” Sister Miriam commands.
I stop walking and cough like I’ve swallowed a fly. “Excuse me?”
She turns, clasping thick arms over her stomach. “I need to take your measurements. Ruth!”
An older woman looks up from folding a bedsheet, and hurries over.
“Did you find any?”
“Yes, Sister.” Ruth detours and heads over to one of the emptier racks. Hangers clatter as she drags it closer to us on squeaky wheels. With a glance in my direction, she starts going through the clothes hanging on the rack.
“Are you deaf?” Miriam asks. “I said strip!”
I glance at the other people in the washroom. All of them have their back to me, but the two boys are staring so hard at their soapy buckets I know for a fact they’ll peek over their shoulders as soon as no one’s looking.
I grit my teeth and force down a swell of irritation. Fighting this won’t do me any favors.
I slip off my dress and hand it to Ruth. I move my hands around to take off my bra.
“Leave it.”
My skin crawls, but a quick glance at the boys shows they’re still engrossed in their task.
“Turn.”
I pivot on my heel, and then hold up my arms so Miriam can measure me. It’s the weirdest thing—standing still while a complete stranger takes stock of how big and small you are in all the important places.
My parents raised me not to be vain, but there’s no way you can sprout a pair of breasts and not stare at yourself a little longer in the mirror. I know I’m far from perfect—my hips and thighs are too large and my breasts too small in comparison. I kinda hoped they’d grow a little to balance things out but that never happened.
Invisible eyes drag over my skin again.
Not the boys. Not the other washerwomen.
I scan the laundry room.
“Got it?” Miriam says.
“Yes, Sister. But I don’t think any of these will work.”
“They’ll have to. I can’t stand seeing her walking around like this.”
Their voices become white noise.
The laundry doors, like the ones on either end of the dining hall, have little windows set at eye level. I barely noticed them on the way in.
The baker is on the other side of the door. With his hair net gone, his long, sandy hair hangs in his face. He drags it away with thumb and forefinger, but it just falls forward again.
He’s the one watching me.
What the hell is his fascination with me? First the video camera, now this?
I get an overwhelming urge to cross my arms over my bra, but I’m not sure if the sisters are done measuring me yet. Ignoring my reddening cheeks, I lift my chin and glare at him.
So what if he wants to look? There’s not much for him to see. Just a girl in her underwear.
His lips quirk up in a smile that immediately spreads into a wide grin. He takes the first two fingers of his hand and presses them to his lips. Then he touches them to the glass.
I stiffen. In a blink, he’s gone.
“Turn around,” Miriam says in a long-suffering voice. “Arms up all the way.”
They slide a shift over my head. It’s at least two sizes too big for me, and comes to mid-calf. The armholes expose the side of my bra, and the belt is two inches lower than I’m assuming it should be.
“Good gracious, this is the closest you have?” Miriam asks Ruth.
“She’s a tiny little thing,” the sister replies.
“Well, she can’t walk around in those whorish clothes of hers anymore.”
Whorish…?
I turn stunned eyes on Sister Miriam, but she’s glaring so hard at the shift, she doesn’t seem to notice.
Then again, they’re all wearing habits.
Wait…
“Do I have to wear a habit?” I whisper.
I hope they don’t hear the horror in my voice. Ruth shakes her head, lifting a finger to tut me. “No, no. There’s a school dress. We just haven’t made many of them.”
Thank. Heavens.
“Bring the dress.”
Lo and behold, there is a girl’s uniform for this place.
It’s brown.
It’s hideous.
And it looks like they made it out of felt. I can already tell it’s going to be scratchy as all hell. I take a step back before I can force myself to hold still and let them slide it over my head.
Yup. I look like a turd.
I peek over my shoulder, but there’s no one by the window.
Is it weird I’d rather let that guy see me in my underwear than in this monstrosity?
“You come back here this afternoon,” Miriam says, slipping a pale belt over my waist and yanking it tight.
“Oh, I won’t have it ready by then, Sister,” Ruth protests.
“Not for the dress.” Miriam turns me around adjusts my dress as if she can somehow make it two sizes smaller by tugging it here and there. Her eyes fix on me. “This is where you’ll spend your afternoons.”
I open my mouth, but from the look on Miriam’s face, I know there’s no reasoning with her.
“Yes, Sister,” I manage.
Lord, I’ve got to start earning some brownie points with Father Gabriel. I don’t know how else I’m going to survive this place.
Chapter Nine
Trinity
My other teachers are mostly middle-aged men and women, none of whom are even remotely as interesting as Zachary. My mind drifts in each of their classes, and it’s increasingly difficult to bring it back to the subject at hand.
The dress has given me a rash along my collarbones. I scratch the rest of my body as surreptitiously as I can, but I’m sure everyone in my class thinks I have leprosy.
For the first time since I arrived at Saint Amos, I’m relieved when the bell gongs for lunch.
I don’t bother trying to find J
asper—he made it clear he’d rather stick a fork in his eye than spend any more time with me than he has to. I head for the first open seat I see.
As luck would have it, I recognize the boy sitting opposite me a few minutes into my meal of sausages, gravy, peas, and mashed potato. He doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, so I might as well get some answers.
“You’re Jasper’s friend,” I say, pointing at the kid with my fork.
He leans back from me as if he’s worried I’ll reach over and stick him with my cutlery. “Yeah, so?”
“So what’s his problem? I mean, is he genuinely just a prick, or did I do something shitty to him a previous life?”
Jasper’s friend watches me with owlish eyes. “He…he doesn’t like girls.”
“No one in this place does.” I stab a stray pea and shove it in my mouth, bursting it between my teeth. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
His friend shakes his head, and then ducks down.
I’m all hot and cold inside. I so badly want to thump my fist into the table and make his friend look me in the eyes. I’ve got a bad temper sometimes, but I never let it show back home. I’d rather suppress it until I’m alone.
Things are always easier to handle when you’re alone.
“What’s your name?” I ask, switching to a softer voice.
Jasper’s friend glances up at me, and then shifts in his seat as if even that question makes him uncomfortable. “Perry.”
“Perry…I’m going to level with you.” I put down my fork and place my palms on the table, spreading out my fingers. It helps me keep calm, and Perry can see I’m not palming a switchblade or something. “I’ve had a horrible few weeks. I…”
Why is this so difficult?
Come on, Trinity. Just open your mouth and—
“My parents died. Recently.”
Perry’s eyes go even wider.
“This place is all I’ve got left. I’m not picking a fight with anyone. Why would I? That would just make my life miserable.”
Perry nods a little.
“So why is Jasper treating me like his enemy?”
Perry picks up a pea and presses it against his lips, but he doesn’t eat it yet. “Because you’re a girl.”
“Bullshit.”
Perry shrugs.
“So he just straight-up hates all girls?”
I sit back. Perry looks relieved as he pushes the pea into his mouth and swallows.
“How can I show him I’m not a bad person?”
Perry shakes his head. Eats another pea. I pick up my fork, toying with it. “Nothing, huh?”
“I guess…”
I sit forward. “Tell me.”
“I mean…he’s getting really bad grades for English Lit. And you’re like two grades up. Maybe you can teach him? I tried, but I’m not good at explaining stuff.”
I have no idea if I can teach anyone anything. Then again, I’ve never tried. It can’t be all that difficult, right? And since I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do with myself after I graduate, I guess staying here for a year or two to teach would give me time to figure things out.
If I can convince Jasper to let me help him.
That’s going to be the hardest part of all.
Chapter Ten
Zac
Gravel crunches under my shoes. With no moon out tonight, this path is as dark as those heading toward the stables and sports ground. This time of night, the students and staff should all be snug inside their beds.
There’s a light fixture outside the crypt, but the bulb’s been busted for months. The tomb isn’t exactly a place students care to go, and even the staff avoid it. Superstition, of course. The only corpses nearby are those in the handful of graves outside in the cemetery.
Warm light spills out when I open the door. Should someone happen to glance out of a window, they could see me enter, but hopefully I wouldn’t be recognizable.
It’s one of many reasons I chose this place for our meetings.
The crypt’s interior is cool and, despite the size of the room, stale.
A double row of columns cut the room in half, forming a square in the center where they meet the second row of columns intersecting diagonally.
I don’t know who would ever hold a class or an impromptu sermon in this place, but if they did, it appears the maximum seats allowed would be no more than the dozen inside that sunken square.
Twelve seats
Twelve apostles.
Only three of those seats are taken.
Apollo chuckles as he leans forward, turning his video camera so Cassius can see the playback screen. Reuben’s watching the entrance. He sits up even straighter when I enter the square.
The smell of weed hits my nose.
“Christ, I almost feel sorry for her,” Cass says, and then glances up at me. “You took your time, Boss. Everything okay?”
“Never better,” I say as I sink down in the seat closest to Cassius.
“Apollo taped her,” Reuben says, his voice steeped in disapproval.
“That was the plan.” I hold out a hand for the camera.
“I didn’t know why she went in there,” Apollo drawls through a grin as he passes the camera to me. “Would’ve tried for a better shot if I had.”
Him and Cassius laugh at this. I turn the camera.
Trinity’s a blip on the small screen until Apollo moves closer with his camera.
I flip the screen closed without bothering to watch more.
Apollo throws up his hands. “You missed the best part.”
I hold up the closed camera. “This is not what I meant.”
“You said t’ watch her. This is me watching her.”
“Showering?”
Any normal guy might have dropped his eyes at this point. Apollo’s grin grows wider. “She did a good job. I’m sure there wasn’t a single spot she—”
As soon as I move my gaze from Apollo’s eyes, he cuts off. With a huff, he slumps in his chair and runs his hands through his hair, unsuccessfully tucking the bulk of it behind his ears. He’s almost twenty-two, but you’d think he’s the youngest of the Brotherhood.
I stare at each of my brothers in turn.
“She’s not a threat.”
“You saw her file?” Cass sits forward, a blunt dangling from his fingertips. “What does it say?”
Sister Stella had sent a message for me this afternoon. Trinity’s file had been faxed through.
From her social worker.
Trinity Malone was an orphan, like I’d suspected. Homeschooled by her parents since she was a kid, her file only had a few report cards and some very basic details. Addresses, contact numbers, that kind of thing. All useless, since both her emergency contacts were now deceased.
No referral. No indication why she’d ended up here at Saint Amos.
“Someone wants us to think she’s a nobody.”
Cass and Apollo groan. Reuben says quietly. It takes a lot for him to involve himself in a conversation.
“If there’s some kind of relationship between her and Gabriel, the file doesn’t mention it.”
“We’re doin’ this?” Apollo asks, his voice warbling with nerves. Putting his camera down by his feet, he shoves his hands under his armpits and narrows his eyes at me.
I flick my fingers at Cass, and he passes me the blunt. I glance at each of them in turn as I hit it, diagnosing their mental states best I can.
I’m a year into my psychology major. The human psyche has fascinated me ever since I realized how fucked up a person could be.
Or, become.
Nature versus nurture.
We need to have our shit together before we act. Asking my brothers straight out if they’re of sound frame of mind will earn me anything from the unvarnished truth to a flat out lie. But I’ve known them for fifteen years. We’re brothers through and through. I can read them like I read scripture—cutting through all the bullshit metaphors and anecdotes, straight to the bone.
“You’re wrong. She is somebody,” Reuben says, as soon as my gaze settles on him.
He could put any of us on the ground in a heartbeat. But he’s always been cautious. Sometimes too cautious for his own good, just like Apollo does shit without thinking things through.
Cass and I, we’re somewhere in the middle. Sometimes cautious, sometimes rash.
“Why?” I say.
“He’s known her a long time.”
I don’t even try and second guess him. Honest to God, I wish Reuben would join my psych class. What he understands on an intuitive level about most people, it would take me years to learn. Maybe it’s because he listens before he speaks. He’s the one that put us onto Father Gabriel in the first place, through a happenstance meeting at one of the provost’s parishes.
For close to a decade, we’d been chasing a ghost. After Reuben met Gabriel in person. Then our ghost suddenly had a name and a face.
“Don’t mean she’s—” Apollo begins.
Reuben doesn’t even pause. When he speaks, he doesn’t allow himself to get interrupted. “He treats her like family.”
Everyone tenses up at that.
Everyone.
Gabriel doesn’t have any family. DNA like his isn’t meant to be passed on. God only knows what evil his offspring would bring to this world. If he ever knocked up some chick, she’d give birth to a two-headed goat.
There’s a pause while everyone makes sure Reuben is done. Then Apollo sits forward in his seat and clicks his fingers at me. I pass him the blunt without taking my eyes from Rube. “Nothing in her file indicates that he even knows her.”
But, like Rube, I’m convinced that’s intentional.
“If you saw what I did, you wouldn’t think she was so fucking special,” Apollo says in a tight voice as he passes the blunt to Cass. When he continues, smoke leaks from his lips. “That hag stripped her down like she’s one of those window dolls.” Apollo gestures with long hands and spindly fingers. “Wasn’t being polite about it, neither.”
“Get that on tape?” Cass passes the blunt to Rube, but the guy ignores him.
“Nah, man. I was working.” Apollo scratches his arm. “Guys don’t like it when I film them in the kitchen.”