by Rebecca Sky
As we’re about to step out the door, Ben turns back to Dad. ‘Mr Patel, we’ll behave, scout’s honour.’ He puts a hand over his heart. Marissa smiles at this, but I frown. Ben’s acting too normal for someone who was just kidnapped. He looks at me and I wish I could read his brain and figure out what he’s thinking.
Why hasn’t he tried to escape?
In the rear-view I watch Ben fidget in his seat, turning around every few minutes to stare out the back, his eyes always returning to mine with that familiar questioning gaze. Marissa’s been awfully quiet. She’s spent the last five minutes thumbing through her phone. I’m wondering if there’s any new info on Quiver. I’m about to ask her, when Ben leans into the front seat, his arm so close to brushing mine, and our faces so near, that it makes my whole body buzz with the tension. As I pull back I notice a black SUV trailing the truck. Kyle turns on to another street and the SUV turns too. My heart races. I thought Ben’s body language seemed weird, and this confirms why.
‘We need to find somewhere to pull over,’ I say, looking at Kyle. ‘Somewhere with a lot of pedestrian traffic.’
‘That’s oddly specific.’ Kyle smirks.
I lean in, lowering my voice. ‘I think we’re being followed, and if I’m right we’ll need to blend in.’
‘I’ve never been good at blending in.’ Kyle nudges me, expecting a laugh, but I’m too focused on watching a black SUV and trying to keep from freaking out.
‘What am I missing?’ Kyle pulls into the parking lot of a strip mall and kills the engine.
The black SUV continues on. Ben’s shoulders slump and a strange look passes over his face.
‘Guys?’ Kyle asks with more force.
‘Some police officers think we’re aliens,’ Marissa cuts in, not even looking up from her phone, ‘and a bunch of nuns were arrested trying to protect us. Rachel’s worried we’ll get arrested again too.’
Kyle’s eyes widen and he looks from her to me. He starts to laugh, head back, chest rattling. After a few minutes he rights himself. ‘Fine, don’t tell me.’
He’s right, our truth is too outlandish to believe.
Ben’s focus fixes on the dashboard. ‘Is that a radio scanner?’
‘Yup,’ Kyle says, picking up the mouthpiece.
Ben reaches over to scan through the signals, every once in a while stopping to listen to the line. I keep my eyes on the road in case the SUV comes back.
‘Do you maybe just want to come up front?’ Kyle asks.
Ben ignores him and keeps twisting the dial, his ear trained towards the speaker. He’s only inches from me. The way he smells – paper and the ocean – it fills my head to bursting. The hair on the arm closest to him begins to rise and an electrical sensation pulses under my skin. I brush it off as nerves until Ben’s arm grazes mine and my entire body surges.
He screeches into the back. ‘You shocked me.’
Marissa snaps up from her phone, her eyes locking on me in warning.
‘Sorry, I—’
‘Did you just try to … to? You know?’ He stumbles over his words, his eyes alight with fear.
‘No. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. It’s static from the seat belt or something.’
Marissa shoves out of the truck and storms over to my door, whipping it open and pulling me out. She drags me to the back of the car and pushes me down to the bumper so the guys can’t watch us.
‘What was that?’
‘I don’t know – my arm felt funny and then I shocked him.’
‘We both know that’s not what happened.’
‘It can’t be. I’ve never before—’
‘You know very well the Patel bloodline is strong – that’s why your mom can turn by touch. You probably can too.’ Marissa starts to pace.
‘No. It can’t be.’ I stare at my arm. Please don’t let it be that.
Marissa stops in front of me and grabs my shoulders. ‘Have you ever felt anything like it before?’
I don’t look her in the eyes, I don’t want to see what’s waiting for me there, so I drop my head and mumble, ‘No.’
‘Shit. I can’t believe you almost turned my boyfriend. Like we need any further attention on us.’
‘B-boyfriend?’
Marissa glares.
I don’t know what’s worse, thinking about Ben and Marissa as a couple or that I might’ve just manifested Hedoness powers on him. ‘When did you two start dating?’
‘I figured it was obvious.’ She slides her gold bag off her shoulder and searches through it, pulling out her phone. She turns on selfie mode and inspects her teeth, then sets to smoothing out a rebellious lock.
‘When did he ask you?’ Who asks their kidnapper out?
‘He doesn’t need to ask. I know he likes me.’ She gives up on the hair, tucking it behind her ear, and dumps the cell in her purse.
‘So, he doesn’t know you’re dating?’
Marissa sighs, and rests her hands on her hips. ‘You are so oblivious to relationships. Everything doesn’t need to be defined to be real. Why do you think he isn’t trying to escape? It’s because he likes me.’
‘It’s just—’
‘What’s the big deal?’ Marissa’s practically shouting and I’m worried the boys can hear. ‘It’s not like you like Ben. Right?’
‘Yeah … right.’
She flashes me a weird look. ‘Let’s get back. And watch yourself. If you feel that way again, leave the truck or something.’
Ben and Kyle are chatting when we re-enter, and since Ben’s hopped into the front, I’m stuck in the back with Marissa. She leans against the far wall, glaring at me.
‘I’m telling you, man … it’s not about the gun.’ Ben forces a laugh, but his tone is insistent.
‘Yeah, right.’ Kyle glances at us in the tension-filled back seat. ‘I was just asking Tough Guy here why he wants to be a cop. He’s claiming it’s not because he’ll get to power trip with a gun.’ Kyle snorts.
‘It’s not why,’ I mumble.
‘Oh, yeah?’ Kyle asks. ‘Why then?’
I flick my gaze to Ben, who has spun round in his seat, watching me intently.
‘Um.’ It’s hard to think over Marissa’s glare and Ben’s curious eyes. ‘It’s, uh, because he cares. About people and stuff.’ When I glance back at him he looks away.
‘Cares?’ Kyle wags his eyebrows. ‘How can you tell?’
I gulp down the sneaker-sized knot forming in my throat. ‘He, uh, he takes the time to ask people how they’re doing, you know … like he’s actually interested.’
‘Aww, you’re so sensitive.’ Kyle elbows Ben, who uses it as a chance to face the front and flop back in his seat. ‘Just the type of man we need carrying guns around. I think sensitive guys should be someone’s boyfriend, not a cop.’
Marissa giggles, which only encourages my inner Joan of Arc to press through. ‘Sensitivity isn’t a bad thing,’ I say crossly.
‘Oooh, seems I pushed someone’s button,’ jokes Kyle.
Ben shoots him a look and sits forward. ‘Leave her alone, man.’
‘I see what you mean, Rachel.’ Kyle laughs. ‘He is sensitive.’
Something inside snaps. Maybe it’s because I’m still frustrated at Marissa, or perhaps it’s something else, but either way I open my door and get out.
‘Was it something I said?’ Kyle calls after me.
I don’t know him enough to know if he’s being serious. And everything that’s happened today has me on edge. So I freeze, my back to the truck. ‘Yes, it was something you said.’ I’m yelling, I can’t seem to control it. People across the parking lot turn and stare. ‘And how you said it. My whole life I’ve had a dad who treats me like I don’t exist, like my feelings don’t matter. So when someone asks me how I’m doing, whether they’re a guy or a girl, I’m thankful. I don’t think that’s a sign of weakness. I think it takes strength to put someone before yourself. He’ll make a great cop. The kind of officer this world needs.’
&nbs
p; ‘At least you have a dad,’ Kyle says.
My heart sinks. Kyle and Marissa have no fathers and here I am complaining about mine.
People gather on the sidewalk, and when I look at them they glance in the other direction, attempting to hide the fact that they’re watching. I take another breath, check my cellphone’s in my pocket and walk away. ‘I need some time,’ I say.
‘Rach, wait,’ Ben calls after me. ‘It’s getting dark.’
I ignore him and march on.
When I pass the strip mall, I start into a run. The familiar rhythm of my steps syncing with my heartbeat helps calm me a little. Before long I’m a few blocks away, passing rows of houses neatly organized like keys on a piano. The sun’s nearly set, casting the last of its glow over the chimneys and through the trees. I turn on to another street and see a faint outline of a steeple. I follow it down the road to find myself catching my breath at the steps of a church. The irony is not lost on me as I walk to the door. I reach for the handle, my hand still shaking and heart still racing from my sudden burst of anger at the truck.
It opens and I’m enveloped in a cloud of incense – a familiar smell that brings me right back to St Valentine’s blue-striped halls. A strange part of me longs to return to them, to return to before Marissa kissed Ben. Maybe then the ache in my chest would leave.
Hesitantly, I push inside, peering in. A priest, dressed in a traditional long black robe, hears the squeak of the old hinges and turns.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hi. I was just seeing if you’re open.’ I flinch at my awkward wording.
‘Of course, come in. Do you need someone to talk to?’
I hover in the door, not quite sure what I want or expect from the priest. But from years at St Valentine’s, I feel comfortable around people who look like clergy and I could use a listening ear. ‘I guess so.’
He smiles and motions towards the confessional booths in the corner.
‘Oh. Right, confessional.’
He holds the door for me and waits until I’m comfortably seated on the wooden bench before he closes it and enters his side. His door shuts with a silent click and then the wooden divider in the wall slides open. Beautiful latticework blends with the colourful shadow of the priest.
I tap my knees together, trying to work up the courage to speak. This is my first time in a confessional, even though I go to St Valentine’s and there’s a really good replica of a chapel. But I’m here, he’s here, and I’m done feeling all alone. Talking to him is my best and only option.
‘Father, uh … I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. I went to a kinda Catholic school so you’d think I’d know.’ I air-laugh and bite the inside of my cheek, fidgeting in my seat as I wait for his response.
‘Just say whatever is on your heart, dear.’ His voice is so calm that I feel myself relaxing.
‘OK.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Forgive me, Father, for I think I’ve sinned. I’m angry at the gods … uh, I mean God, for giving me a gift I don’t want.’ I take a deep breath, hoping he didn’t catch my mix-up. I wait for his reply, staring through the wood slats that separate us, trying to get a better look at his reaction to my confession.
‘What gift, my dear?’
‘I’m not supposed to talk about it.’ I’m sweltering in this stuffy little box. I wipe my brow, thankful for the privacy of the booth.
‘Everything you share here stays between us,’ he prompts.
The idea of a stolen confession, one with no consequences, feels darn enticing. ‘All right, I guess, well … I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of this, or know what it means, but I’m …’ I pause, remembering every single warning drilled into me over the last three years. But what harm could come of telling a priest? He wouldn’t know what it means, anyway. Besides, he just said everything stays here. ‘I’m what some people call a Hedon—’ I stop when an image of Mother Superior’s stern eyes fills my mind.
An awkward silence falls between us, then the Father clears his throat. ‘Sorry, dear, I don’t know what you mean. But nonetheless, God only gives us that which he knows we are strong enough to handle. I’m certain you will take this gift and make it something you are thankful for.’
A distant knocking sound interrupts us. ‘Will you wait here a moment?’ the Father asks. ‘I should check the door.’
I don’t have anything else to say but I don’t want to be rude. ‘Oh, uh, sure.’
There’s rustling from his side, followed by gentle steps as he heads to the door.
I have a few minutes to kill so I grab my cell and bring up the school site to see if I can call Marissa through that, but she’s not registering online. Neither is S2L or Paisley. But after what just happened in the truck, I add another question to our chat thread.
ME: Hey Paisley, can you ask your mom about my ma’s power? I didn’t get the chance to clarify things before … well, you know. Ma told me what to look out for. But this seems different. Can you ask if she remembers anything from back when they were A.P.s and it first started. Thx!
I wait a few minutes, willing Paisley to come online. She doesn’t, so I slip it back in my pocket. There’s a rustling outside the confessional, followed by a click, but the Father’s colourful shadow doesn’t appear on the other side.
I assume we’re done and reach for the door. It’s locked. ‘Father?’ I knock on the carved wooden panel. ‘Hello, Father. I seem to be stuck.’
He doesn’t answer, so I shake the handle with more force. Still no movement. ‘What the …?’ I slam my shoulder into it but only manage to split some wood from the frame. ‘Shoot.’ I grab the broken piece and try to put it back.
‘Hello? Help! I’m trapped in the confessional!’ When no one answers, I flop down on the bench.
And that’s when someone calls my name.
‘Rachel?’
This time it’s loud enough for me to recognize the voice.
‘Ben! Over here.’ I shake the confessional door. ‘I’m stuck.’ My heart pounds fiercely at my ribs. Just knowing he’s here makes everything better.
‘What the …? How did this happen?’
I rest my head against the door and groan. ‘It’s embarrassing – I don’t know.’
‘It’s pretty funny.’
His attempt to mask his laughter is poor. I shake my head, a smile forming on my lips. ‘It’s not that funny.’
‘Apparently, there aren’t many curly haired Indian girls in this part of town. Almost everyone I’d asked knew which way you went. I never would’ve guessed I’d find you locked in a confessional. Nothing is boring with you, is it?’
‘I guess not.’
The door rattles from the other side.
‘It’s locked. Is there a latch?’ he asks.
‘I’m not dumb – if there was a latch, I would’ve opened it.’
‘You could’ve just said no.’ He pries the top corner a few inches and I look out at his cheeky grin.
‘Oh, you’re loving this,’ I say.
‘I am. I really am.’
I roll my eyes, preparing my next witty attack. But his face gets serious and he leans into the door.
It reminds me exactly what our situation is. He’s not my friend, he’s a prisoner. ‘Where’s Marissa?’ If Ben’s here she must be close.
‘Back at the truck with Kyle,’ he says.
‘You could’ve escaped,’ I gasp out. ‘Just now, you could’ve run off.’
‘I thought about it,’ he says, ‘every new street, every new turn. But for some reason I ended up here, saving your ass.’
My heart knocks through my chest; I ease off the wall in case it raps at the wood, giving me away.
He smiles. ‘I still can … it’s not like you can come running after me.’ He glances around, rubbing his arms, his smile slipping into something sad. ‘And I don’t want to stay here longer than needed.’
‘Not a believer?’
‘No, it’s not that.’ He laughs. ‘After meeting you and s
eeing … well, you know. I have no clue what to believe any more. I’m trying to figure that out.’ He looks back through the crack at me. ‘It’s because I don’t like churches. They remind me of funerals. Too many people I love have died.’
My heart aches for him, and I wonder who he’s talking about. But before I can ask, a whacking sound similar to the old forced-air system at St Valentine’s fills the church. It’s so loud I can barely think.
After a few moments it suddenly stops.
‘That was strange,’ I say.
‘Yeah.’
The doors to the sanctuary open. Ben turns from me and I peer out of the space he’s made to see three people dressed in black suits running towards us.
‘Hey!’ One of them points at Ben. ‘Get away from there.’
‘It’s OK, my friend’s got herself stuck.’
They keep running, and one of the men reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.
‘Rach, get down.’
I can’t believe my eyes. The room echoes with the blast and Ben dives to the ground.
‘Ben!’ I scream. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Rach, on the count of three I’m going to slam into the door. Get ready to run.’
I don’t remember the counting but soon the whole confessional rocks against his attack.
‘Stop!’ one of them yells as they weave their way through the pews, just a few yards away now.
Ben throws his leg into the door with force. The wood buckles and crashes off the frame. He reaches in, grabs my shirt and pulls me after him. My blood buzzes, sensing his touch inches away on the other side of my shirt, and I’m too busy running to stop it.
‘Don’t shoot!’ one of them yells. ‘We can’t hit the girl! The Committee wants her alive.’
The Committee? My insides become ice.
Ben shelters me with his body, pushing me forward one electric shove after another. The men are so close but we’re running hard, faster and faster. As we zoom by one of the altars, Ben kicks it over, scattering the candles and stone statues to the ground.
‘There, that door!’ He shoves me towards it.
I push down my fear and focus on sprinting for the exit, Ben’s hand is on my back, urging me forward.