The Priest: An Original Sinners Novel

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The Priest: An Original Sinners Novel Page 30

by Tiffany Reisz


  “No,” Søren said. “I didn’t like it. I loved it. Hence the shame. At the time, I didn’t see any other way to help you, none that would work. Certainly, no other way that you would willingly go along with. You weren’t the sort of teenager who’d respond well to Outward Bound, were you?”

  She almost laughed. He almost had her there. But she didn’t laugh and he didn’t either.

  “You didn’t see any other way to help me,” Nora said. “But did you really look?”

  He glanced away, not meeting her eyes. “I didn’t look. I was afraid I’d find another way, one that meant walking away from you.” He stood and turned. She saw him staring out the window onto the street, one hand on the windowsill, the picture of deepest contemplation.

  “I wanted to be like Father Henry to you, the way he was to me. I wanted to be the kindly caring father figure you were missing in your life,” he said. “But I was more like Father Murran than Father Henry. Father Henry’s love for his students was pure. I can’t say that about my feelings for you. I wish I could.”

  “I wish I could, too.”

  “Let me ask you this.” He turned from the window, faced her. “Now, twenty-three years after we met—what would you go back and change? Here. This is my key to the TARDIS. Take it.”

  She knew he expected her to not take the key, to change nothing about their shared past.

  She took the key.

  “I remember something King told me once a few years ago,” she began, feeling the bite of the teeth of the keys against her palms. “You all had a Plan B if King couldn’t help me stay out of juvenile detention for helping my dad steal all those cars. You remember Plan B?”

  “Of course. It was my plan. Kingsley would smuggle you out of the country and take you to live with my mother in Denmark. He knew people who could forge all the necessary documents. Do you wish we’d gone with Plan B?”

  “Sometimes, yeah,” she admitted, nodding. “My own mom could barely stand me when I was that age. I think…I think I needed a mother then a lot more than I needed a sexy priest flirting with me. As much as I liked it—fuck it, I admit it, I loved it—I have to wonder if Plan B wasn’t the better plan. For me, anyway. Your mom always took such good care of me. A kid needs that. It probably wouldn’t have worked. Someone would have noticed I’d gone missing and started asking questions. Maybe even my own mom. Still, I’ve wondered…”

  “Would we still be together if it had been Plan B?”

  “I have no doubt in my mind we’d still be together.”

  “What’s different then?”

  She looked away, afraid to tell him the truth knowing it would hurt him. Then again, she wanted to hurt him.

  Meeting his eyes, she said, “No Nico on the B timeline. I wouldn’t need him. I wouldn’t need someone in my life who…who never hurt me.”

  He lowered his chin to his chest. He raised his chin, didn’t meet her eyes.

  “I’ll await your verdict and accept whatever sentence you impose on me.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “Can’t judge you without judging myself. I’m no saint either.”

  She’d had more than her fair share of underage lovers, after all. For some reason it didn’t seem so bad with a teenaged boy dying to lose his cherry to a sexy, experienced older woman. But now she had to wonder…if she could give the keys for the time machine to Wes or Noah or Michael, would they take them? Would they take them and go back and turn left when they would have turned right and met her?

  She had to wonder.

  Her phone buzzed with a message. She glanced at it.

  “Cyrus,” she said. “He’s on his way over.”

  “I’ll let him in.” He started to leave. “I remember rocking you, after we’d saved you and you were too scared to sleep. Do you remember that night?”

  “Of course I remember. I remember you offering to die for me, too. And you would have.”

  “I would have. I would again. Now.”

  “Is that what Father Ike did? He died to save Melody? Was it really suicide or was he killing the man who was going to hurt her? Is he a hero? Is he a monster? Was killing himself heroic? Or was it cowardly?”

  “I don’t know,” Søren said.

  “You’re supposed to know. You’re a fucking priest.”

  “A priest, not God,” he said. “I don’t know, Eleanor. I wish to God I did. But this I believe—God was in that room with him when Father Murran died. And wherever he is right now—heaven, hell, or purgatory—he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

  She looked up at him. “Then why does it hurt?”

  Søren reached out to touch her face.

  “Please don’t,” Nora whispered, moving her head away from his hand. “Not yet.”

  She’d said “Not yet,” but what she meant was “Not you.” She didn’t want him touching her. Not him. Not any man. And the one person she did want wasn’t there…and would never be there again.

  He pulled back his hand. “Of course.”

  “Sorry.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Drink?” Nora asked Cyrus. They were in the sitting room, the same one they’d sat in together a week ago when he’d first come here asking about Father Ike. Only a week ago. Felt like ten years.

  “Please,” he said. “A big one.”

  She poured him a double whiskey, poured one for herself.

  Last time they had talked in that room, Cyrus had taken the chair, as far from Nora on the sofa as possible. Now they sat together on the sofa, facing each other.

  “Tell me the bad news first,” she said, clutching her highball glass in both hands, scared she’d drop it.

  “No, good news first. Detective Naylor says he never touched her,” Cyrus said. “Pretty clear he was planning to, but he hadn’t yet. Except for a couple long hugs, he never raped or molested the girl.”

  Nora exhaled so hard she almost fainted. All the air just whooshed right out of her. Her whole body sagged with relief. And for no reason she could name, she started to cry.

  “Keep talking,” she said to Cyrus. “Please.”

  “That’s the good news. Best news,” Cyrus said. “Detective Naylor said Melody’s mother had no clue at all that her daughter had formed a ‘friendship’ with Father Ike. She’d only met him a couple times at school. They think Ike started hanging out at the house on Annunciation just because it was two blocks from Melody’s house. He’d given her the keys to wait in his car parked by her house. When he didn’t show up by six in the morning to take her to Grand Isle, she walked to the house to see where he was.”

  “Dead.”

  “Dead for over six hours by then. They’re trying to keep as much as they can from Melody. She doesn’t know about the stuff in the trunk, or the house he rented for two months where he was going to keep her.”

  Nora took a long shuddering breath.

  “Go on.”

  “So there was no crime committed,” Cyrus said. “Nothing really for the cops to do but have a good long talk with Melody’s mother. They may let Melody get some counseling, maybe find an aunt or somebody to spend more time with her. Lonely kids with busy parents got targets on their backs.”

  “I know,” Nora said. “I was one of those kids, too. Go on.”

  “Like I said, no crime committed. Nothing to do now. That’s the bad news. We know what happened. We know why he killed himself. It’s over.”

  Nora put her drink down.

  “Over? It can’t be over.”

  “The cops can’t arrest a dead man, Nora. What do you want them to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But not nothing.”

  They sat in silence and drank their drinks.

  “I’m sorry,” Cyrus said.

  “I thought it would fun, you know, solving a case.”

  “It’s not the Sunday crossword.”

  “I know. I know. I didn’t know,” she said. “Now I know.”

  Nora looke
d up when she heard the sound of doors opening and closing, hushed voices whispering. Kingsley walked past the sitting room, and when he saw them in there, came inside. Nora had to smile. Céleste was passed out on Kingsley’s shoulder. She had a habit of falling asleep on any drive that lasted longer than five minutes.

  “What’s going on?” Kingsley asked, his voice half a whisper.

  “Just talking about the case,” Nora said, wiping her face.

  Juliette followed him into the room, with Søren close behind. Nora saw Cyrus sit up a little straighter when Juliette made her entrance.

  “Evening, ma’am,” Cyrus said to her, with a wide smile. Nora lightly punched him in the shoulder. Juliette pretended not to see Nora’s reprimand, though there was a twinkle in her eyes.

  “I can take our daughter to her room,” Juliette said to Kingsley. Kingsley had sunk into the big armchair. Céleste, still on his shoulder, hadn’t stirred a muscle.

  “She’s out, she’s fine,” he said to Juliette. “What’s the news?” Kingsley asked Cyrus and Nora.

  Nora looked at Cyrus, who nodded. She told everyone everything.

  Søren sat on the edge of the love seat, elbows on knees, hands clasped between, and head down as if praying. Juliette sat next to him, arm over her stomach like it was a shelf, head on her hand, elbow on the back of the seat. Kingsley listened intently and made no comment and showed no emotion. But Nora saw him drop a kiss onto his daughter’s sleeping head while they quietly recounted the events of the week.

  “So it’s over,” Nora said at the end. “We figured it out but the police can’t do anything with it.”

  “Would you want them to?” Kingsley asked.

  “Maybe,” Nora said. “Like Cyrus said, Archbishop Dunn had told the police not to bother with an investigation. That’s why they asked Cyrus to look into it. What if they knew something?”

  Søren raised his head. “Even if Father Isaac had confessed his plan to the archbishop, he wouldn’t be allowed to tell anyone or act on that knowledge.”

  “That’s crazy, you know,” Cyrus said. “No offense, but doctors, shrinks, teachers, they’re all mandatory reporters. Why not priests?”

  “Seal of the confessional,” Søren said. “You have to have someone in this world you can trust with your secrets.”

  “Not when the secret is that you’re planning to—” Cyrus didn’t finish that sentence. He shook his head. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter if Dunn knew or didn’t know. The police aren’t going to look into it. As far as they’re concerned, this was a lone priest planning a bad act. He killed himself before he could do it. The end. They sure as hell don’t have the resources, the manpower, or even the desire to go up against the Church in this town, not without any proof there’s some bigger conspiracy involved.”

  Juliette said something softly in French.

  “No,” Kingsley replied.

  “What was that?” Cyrus said.

  “Juliette said, ‘Call the press.’”

  “The press?” Cyrus repeated that like he was thinking it over. “Could work. I know a couple investigative reporters in this town been looking for any excuse to go after the Church. I could leak the story to them.”

  “Why?” Søren sat up straight and held up his hands. “A man is dead and the child is safe. No crime was committed. You’d only be leaking salacious gossip, not actual news. You can’t possibly want that little girl’s story in the papers.”

  “Or your name,” Kingsley said to Nora. “You’re part of this. It gets out that priest called you before he shot himself… Ah, this isn’t the old days, Elle. I can’t protect you like I used to in New York.”

  “As far as that little girl knows,” Søren said, “a priest from her school broke a rule and offered to take her to a park she wanted to visit. If the story gets in the news, and she finds out what Father Isaac was planning to do to her? Or what he did to himself because of that… Do you have any idea how much that could traumatize her?”

  “A lot,” Cyrus said, nodding.

  Kingsley said, “I vote ‘no’ to getting the press in on the story. If I get a vote.”

  “If I get a vote,” Søren said, “I also vote ‘no.’ Twice. This could blow up and I don’t want you getting hit by shrapnel, Eleanor.”

  Juliette stood up and went to Kingsley. Without a word, she took Céleste from his arms and carried her out of the room. Nora heard her footsteps on the stairs.

  “Excuse me,” Nora said and left the three men in the sitting room. She followed Juliette up the stairs, and found her standing in the nursery, Céleste still in her arms, the ivory crib before her.

  “You left?” Nora said from the doorway.

  Juliette nodded. She kissed Céleste’s sleeping forehead.

  “You left before you could vote,” Nora said. “What’s your vote?”

  Juliette said nothing. Nora went into the nursery and stood at Juliette’s side in front of the crib.

  “I hope you like it,” Nora said.

  “It’s perfect. Everything’s perfect. Especially the color.”

  “King will get used to it. Having a boy, if it’s a boy.”

  “He’s afraid to have a boy,” Juliette said. “Because Céleste is so dark, he’s afraid our son will be dark. And if our son is dark, he’ll be… Well, you read the news.”

  “Yeah,” Nora said. “I read the news.” She didn’t mention Cyrus downstairs, a black man, a former police officer who’d been shot by a white police officer.

  “And I’m afraid to have another girl,” she said, “because of men like Father Murran. But boys aren’t safe either.”

  Juliette blinked back tears. “I will never forget the blessing Søren said when he christened her. Do you remember it?” she asked Nora. “‘Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.’” Juliette dropped a kiss on the top of Céleste’s head. “But I am afraid.”

  “Let me take her,” Nora said. Juliette passed Céleste to her carefully, and Nora felt the familiar weight of the little girl in her arms. “I’ll put her in bed.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nora turned to leave. Before she stepped out of the nursery, Juliette said, “Nora?”

  She looked at Juliette, who was standing by the crib, her hand on her stomach. Juliette said nothing. She didn’t have to. She’d cast her vote.

  Nora went to Céleste’s little pink bedroom, holding the girl with one arm, while she pulled the covers down on the bed. She lay Céleste down on her pillow and pulled off the girls’ shoes. She put the covers back over her and turned off the lamp and turned on the pink ballerina nightlight.

  On the door, Nora noticed Céleste had gone wild with her stickers again. Stars and moons, flowers and trees, birds and bees and butterflies. Nora went back downstairs to the sitting room.

  Nora said, “Juliette and I vote to call the press.”

  “Bad idea,” Kingsley said, though he sounded resigned. “And the vote is still three against two.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Nora said. “You don’t get a vote.” She looked at Søren. “And neither do you.”

  Søren stood up and looked at her, stared at her.

  “Eleanor,” he said. “Cyrus works with the police. Do you have any idea how much this could damage his working relationship with them?”

  “You take care of your business,” Cyrus said to Søren. “I’ll take care of mine.”

  Nora had liked Cyrus up to that point in their acquaintance. At that instant and forever after, she loved him. Cyrus stood up and walked over to her, looked her square in the eyes.

  “If this is what you want, I’ll do it,” Cyrus said. “You sure?”

  Nora looked past him and at Søren. “I’m sure.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Sunday.

  The housewarming party at Søren’s new place was canceled. Nora skipped Mass.

  Monday.

  Another article about Father Isaac Murran. Closer to the f
ront. The papers weren’t dropping the story yet. That meant they knew there was more to it.

  She didn’t sleep very well that night.

  Tuesday.

  Nora got an email from Grace in London asking if she was okay. That was all. Just Nora, Are you all right?

  Nora replied, We’ll survive. Kiss Fionn for me. And your husband.

  Later that day, Nora got a text from Cyrus. Hey, is your Viking okay?

  She replied, I doubt it. Why do you ask?

  I shouldn’t tell you this but I’m paranoid now, he wrote. He asked me for the name of my therapist.

  Nora stared at the text a long time, certain she knew what it meant. She closed her eyes, saw her and Søren together again in her mind’s eye. They were standing side by side in front of a church. He broke away from her, and approached the double red doors alone. One opened and he walked inside. He looked back, and instead of following him inside, she turned and walked away.

  When she opened her eyes, she knew what her cards meant—leaving the High Priest.

  Don’t worry. He’s not going to kill himself, Nora replied. He’s decided to go back to the Jesuits.

  Wednesday.

  Nothing in the news. Nora texted Cyrus about that. He told her to sit tight, the tea was brewing.

  She waited though the wait was hard and lonely. They’d all seen little of each other since last Thursday when Nora had made her choice. Kingsley, Juliette, and Céleste were holed up in their white palace behind the black iron gates. Nora stayed in her office mostly, trying to work or trying to read, but really doing nothing much but stroking Gmork’s head and staring out the French doors to her wild backyard garden. And Søren? She wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. Even Cyrus disappeared on her, spending his free time with Paulina doing their wedding errands. It made Nora smile to think of him taste-testing wedding cakes, his eyes glazing over when the florist tried discussing bouquets and boutonnieres with him. He needed that time with Paulina doing sweet easy things.

 

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