by John Milesky
Sister Genevieve
John Milesky
For Mom
Sister Genevieve
The confessional was smaller than she had remembered. Today it seemed cold and confining. Her habit, scratching her neck, seemed more like a hindrance than a blessing. At one point, Sister Margaret or Sister Maggie, as she was known, thought her devotion to God was her calling in life. However, God was what was missing in her life now. She sat alone and confused until the window of the confessional slid open. It startled her.
Her thoughts swirled in her head. She was confused about how she should start her confession. Her rosary beads were moist in her hand. The words were there on the edge of her lips, yet she didn’t know how to begin. She never spoke of the events that had haunted her for so long. When she finally spoke, she was amazed anything came out at all. She was even more amazed that what she was saying made any sense at all.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she said. Tears welled in her eyes.
“How long has it been since your last confession?” the priest asked.
“It’s been a while, Father,” she replied.
“What is it you’d like to confess?”
Maggie could tell he was an older priest by the way he spoke. His words were traditional, and Maggie liked the tradition of the Catholic Church. Now in her mid-thirties, Maggie was instantly taken back to her youth and the very first time she sat in a confessional. She imagined herself sitting there in her school uniform, terrified of what the priest might ask or think of her. Guilt was a burden she was never able to let go. Of course, her sins as a child were innocent. She remembered confessing silly things like eating candy in class and shyly kissing a boy on the playground. But now her sins seemed too great for her to handle.
“What is it, my child?” the priest asked again. In her silence, he could sense her hesitation.
Maggie remained quiet for a while longer. Her habit scratched her neck, and she pulled at it to try and loosen its grip on her throat. Nuns were no longer required to wear habits, but today Maggie chose to wear hers. It gave her comfort and served as a veil from the outside world. She felt protected and more at ease. Her habit served as a mask so no one could see who was really hiding inside.
“Father,” Maggie said through the tears that were welling in her eyes. “I’m not here to confess what I have done.”
“Then, how can I help you? the priest asked.
“Oh, Father, I am so ashamed.”
Her tears flowed at a steady pace now. The priest could hear her muffled sobs. He remained quiet for a long moment so he could allow Maggie to collect her thoughts.
“It’s ok, my child,” the priest finally said. “I’m here to help you.”
His words broke the silence like a razor. Her thoughts were askew, and comfort was what she sought.
“Whatever it is,” the priest continued, “God will forgive you.”
“Oh, Father,” she managed through the tears. “It’s not what I have done, it’s what I am about to do.”
Chapter one
Both girls sat on their heels with their knees firmly planted on their beds. They sat staring out the window with the excitement only a child could experience. Snow. Something as simple as snow kept them awake and excited. It was late, and they both knew they should have been asleep hours ago.
The window was slightly opened. The girls listened to the muffled silence of the huge flakes as each flake fell to the ground. It was a silence that always brought Maggie comfort. It was that silence where all she could hear were her own thoughts bouncing around in her head. Even at this early age, she felt a certain spiritual aspect to the silence. It was a time when she felt that God was listening directly to her, and she had his immediate attention.
Genevieve felt differently about the snow. To Genevieve, no one was listening. No one could hear her in the silent night air. Her thoughts were her capture.
As each inch of snow built outside in the yard, Genevieve’s mild excitement grew into despair. She was fearful she would have to stay home from school the next day. She welcomed any chance she had to flee from their two-bedroom, row home in West Baltimore. Most kids were anxious and full of excitement to have a day, free from school. Genevieve didn’t feel that excitement.
Maggie was excited, as a child should be. She loved school, and the stories the nuns would read from the Bible intrigued her. However, like any kid, she envisioned the next day, and the fun it would be to have all day playing in the snow. She thought about making snow angels with Genevieve, building a snowman, and fending off snowball attacks from the neighborhood boys, who always seemed to hover when the twins were outside playing.
Maggie heard the floorboards creak first. She immediately jumped back into her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She closed her eyes to make sure whoever was causing the boards to rattle would know she was sound asleep.
Genevieve didn’t move at all. Her face grew pale as she heard his footsteps weigh on the floor outside their room. She turned away from the window and watched the shadow under the door pace back and forth. She knew why the shadow had arrived.
Maggie heard the doorknob turn. It was rusty sounding, like an old hinge. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know who was coming. She closed her eyes even tighter and rolled onto her side to face the wall. She didn’t want to see what was about to happen.
Genevieve looked at her sister and then towards the door, which had started to edge slightly open. She lowered her head and stared at the floor before turning towards the window and the falling snow outside. The snow was falling at a blinding pace, and everything seemed pure. Outside as the world turned white, everything seemed clean and calm.
“God,” Genevieve whispered.
The door opened, and there he stood. Genevieve could see his reflection in the window. The little excitement she had been feeling only moments ago was now replaced with grief. She no longer felt terror when he came into their room. She no longer felt panicked. It was a part of her life now. It was expected, and she would have to endure this monster whenever he came looking for her.
Genevieve wondered why he never forced himself into Maggie’s bed, but he never did. It was almost as if Maggie was touched by some divine power that would punish him if he dared. Perhaps it was her strong belief in God that kept him away. It was no secret. Everyone knew that Maggie was a special girl who really believed that when she prayed, someone or something was listening to her. It was this belief that protected her, no matter what was happening.
Genevieve no longer believed in God. She endured her weekly visits from her uncle as if they were her duty as an older sister (if only by moments). Genevieve would endure this cruelty so her sister wouldn’t have to and would continue to see the world as a better place.
As Uncle Henry entered the room, tears slowly rolled down Genevieve’s cheek. The snow no longer mattered. Nothing about the snow seemed pure to her now. The snow only served as a reminder that she was trapped and could not run anywhere to escape what was about to happen to her. She had stopped praying, and she knew at that early age that her life was different, and nothing she could do would ever make her a normal child.
The floorboards were letting her know that the monster had arrived and was making his way towards her. She listened to each footstep as if it was a ghost swirling about in the attic of an old haunted house, abandoned by its owner. As he approached her bed, she could smell the scotch and the revolting odor of his cigars. She sat still and hoped for a second that she was invisible to him. Unfortunately, this hope was just the foolish thinking of a child. Her uncle sat on the edge of Genevieve’s bed and patted the mattress. It was her cue.
He whispered loudly, as only a drunk could.
“What are you still doing awake?” he said. No answer was expected. The stench of alcohol grew stronger. She imagined the voice as someone warm and inviting, like her father would have been. She said nothing.
“Come sit next to me,” he continued. “I want to tell you something.”
Genevieve wiped the tears from her cheek with the sleeve of her nightgown and turned towards her uncle. She sat next to him on her bed and blankly stared at the floor. Her emotions were empty and in her mind, she would go someplace safe. She felt nothing for him, though he received high praise from everyone for taking in the two girls after his brother and sister in-law were killed in an automobile accident; the two girls were just toddlers.
“You should be asleep like your sister,” he whispered as if it was a secret. “Why do you suppose you’re different than her? You look exactly like her, but you don’t act the same.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill, as he slurred, “This is for you. Don’t tell your sister.”
Genevieve took the bill and held it in her hand as if it were some kind of toll. She was staring at her sister’s motionless body and wondered why she would say nothing. Her uncle followed her gaze.
“She could sleep through a war,” he said, trying to be funny. He slowly brushed his hand along Genevieve’s cheek, slightly tucking her hair behind her ear.
The muffled sounds of her sister’s whimpering haunted Maggie, long after her uncle had left the room. Maggie silently prayed and wondered why she was spared. She lay awake until her sister’s cries stopped, and then, she drifted off to sleep with the hope that this would be the last time she would have to pretend that nothing was happening to her sister, Genevieve. She never spoke to Genevieve about her uncle’s visits, yet they happened often. It was safer to pretend they didn’t happen. It was safer to pretend that the monster didn’t exist.
Chapter Two
Maggie had never seen a dead body. The DCPD patrol car dropped her at the private elevator in the garage of Genevieve’s building. A young, uniformed officer escorted her into the elevator. The officer carried his cap under his arm like a soldier.
Maggie turned her gaze from the officer to the numbers above the elevator door.
“…16, 17, 18,” she mumbled under her breath as each floor passed.
“Excuse me, Sister,” the police officer said.
“Oh, sorry,” Maggie answered. “I was just counting the floors. It’s kind of a nervous thing I do.”
“I understand,” the officer responded. He knew what lay in wait for them when they reached the penthouse.
An eerie calm came over Maggie as the elevator came to a halt at the penthouse. The doors opened, and the officer who was escorting her held out his hand to grab the door of the elevator, so it wouldn’t close on Maggie.
“After you, Sister,” he said in a polite, but sorrowful tone.
“Thank you,” she responded.
They were greeted in the hallway by a number of other uniformed police officers. There was no door. The elevator simply opened into a lavish penthouse apartment. Maggie looked around at the furnishings and the art that adorn the walls of the upscale home of her sister. They were exquisite. The far wall was completely made of glass and beyond it was an extraordinary view of the city of Washington, DC. She almost got lost staring out into the evening and the immaculate view, and for that brief moment, she forgot why she was there.
“Excuse me, Sister,” a voice said from behind her. It was the young officer who had escorted her.
“Detective Alverez will be right with you.” With that said, he disappeared into another room.
Moments passed before a man emerged from the other room. It was Detective Alverez. He stood about 6’2,” with broad shoulders like a marine. He had a full head of hair with a little gray sprinkled on the temples that he wore slicked back. To the eye, it almost looked like it was wet. He had a kind face and dark eyes that looked as if they had seen more than their share of sadness and despair. She liked him, even before he spoke.
“Sister Margaret Sheppard, I presume?” he said as he reached out his hand.
“Maggie,” she replied. “Please call me Maggie.”
“Ok, Maggie,” Alverez continued. “I’m sorry for your loss and for making you come down here from Baltimore. Thank you for coming so quickly.” His tone and demeanor were that of an undertaker, greeting a family at the door of a funeral parlor for the first viewing of a loved one.
“Thank you for calling me,” Maggie said, “and thank you for allowing me to see my sister.”
“Not a problem at all, Sister,” Alverez responded. “Under the circumstances, I know this has to be very difficult for you.”
“I appreciate your kindness,” Maggie replied.
“Normally, we’d prefer the victim’s family members identify the body of a loved one at the morgue,” Alverez added. “But this case has some extenuating circumstances.” Alverez went quiet. He realized he was talking like a police officer to a civilian who was about to see something that would have a haunting effect that would last a lifetime.
“It’s ok, Detective,” Maggie said. “The young officer who escorted me here explained to me that my sister has been murdered.”
“We suspect murder, but nothing has been confirmed until a full autopsy has been performed,” Alverez said in a sympathetic tone.
“May I see my sister?” Maggie asked.
“In a moment,” Alverez responded. “It seems your sister was friends with people in high places. These are the extenuating circumstances I told you about.”
“Oh?” Maggie said.
“Yes,” Alverez continued. “These people would like to keep your sister’s death quiet for the time being.”
“Why is that?” Maggie asked.
“That’s something I’ve been asking myself,” Alverez admitted. “All I know is my captain called me and told me to not file a report on this case until we know more about the victim and the circumstances surrounding her death.”
“Not file a report?” Maggie asked.
“I think it goes higher than my captain,” Alverez continued. “In this town, there’s no telling who may have made this call. All I ask is that you forgive me and bear with me while I try to figure out the circumstances that led to us standing in this hallway.”
“I still don’t understand why this isn’t being reported,” Maggie admitted. “But I do understand your position and what it’s like to take orders from someone higher up.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Alverez said. “And I promise you, I will find out how this happened. But I do appreciate your patience.”
“May I see my sister now?” Maggie asked.
“We’ll be bringing her body out in a moment,” Alverez explained. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” Alverez nodded his head and then disappeared into another room.
Maggie stood in the hallway staring at a portrait of a landscape. She tried to make out the signature of the artist, but was unable. She grew restless, so she started to wander through her sister’s apartment. She walked into a lavish room with beautiful furnishings and priceless pieces of art on the walls. She gazed out the window again only to see that it had started to rain. Even with the rain falling, the view was still extraordinary.
As she wandered from room-to-room, she noticed many people bustling about, taking photos, dusting for finger- prints, and various other things that she didn’t fully understand. And then she wandered into the kitchen. What Maggie saw made her freeze in her tracks. There she was, her sister, Genevieve, laying on the floor with a sheet on top of her dead body.
Maggie looked around the room. Men were dusting for fingerprints, going through drawers and someone was taking pictures of the countertop. The countertop, she thought. It appeared that Genevieve had been in the middle of making dinner when she was killed. There were sliced vegetables on a cutting board. Two pieces of chicken were neatly placed on a plate. There were frying pans on the stove, and a si
ngle rose that had started to wilt was sitting on the table. The chicken had started to smell, indicating to Maggie that her sister had been dead a while before anyone noticed.
Maggie walked through the kitchen as if she were a ghost. No one noticed her. Perhaps my habit does make me invisible to the world, she thought. She approached her sister’s body and knelt down at her side. Tears welled in her eyes. She reached out and took hold of the sheet that was hiding her sister’s body. She slowly lifted the sheet revealing her sister’s ashen face.
“Sister!” Alverez yelled from behind her. His tone startled Maggie, and she jumped, dropping the sheet. She turned to face the detective who had a concerned look on his face.
“Sister, this is a crime scene,” Alverez explained. “You can’t be in here.”
“I’m sorry, Detective,” Maggie said. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s my fault,” Alverez continued. “I should have asked you to remain in the entry way.”
“I hope I didn’t do anything that would jeopardize the investigation.” Maggie said.
“No,” Alverez admitted. “We’re mostly done in here anyway. We were just getting ready to move your sister’s body. But I am going to have to ask you to leave the room.”
Maggie looked down at her sister. The tears that had been welling in her eyes had somehow disappeared. A concerned look took hold of her face.
“How long has she been here?” Maggie asked Alverez.
“It looks like she’s been dead for almost a day, but we won’t know the time of death until we get a confirmation from the coroner,” Alverez revealed.
Maggie looked down at her sister once more before she had to leave. Her skin wasn’t white, like Maggie had expected. It was blue. Her lips were dark blue, which gave her the appearance of wearing lipstick. She was still wearing makeup and her hair was perfect. Even in death, Genevieve was beautiful.