Church.

by Fantome, Stylo

  Church never came home the night before – something he hadn’t done in a while. He didn’t respond to text messages. She never bothered with calling him. Church wasn’t exactly a phone kind of guy.

  So she paced around Jerry’s house, wringing her hands, wondering what she should do. His absence always left her empty, at loose ends. Church had told her not to do anything without him, but had he meant it? The hours were slipping by, should she at least go to the party? Maybe he was already there, waiting for her.

  “Something wrong, dear?”

  Emma stopped pacing long enough to look around. Jesus, Jerry was sitting at the fucking table. How long had he been there? He blended in so well with the all beige décor.

  “Just … a stressful week,” she responded, going back to her pacing.

  “I’m sure. Want some advice, Emma?”

  She glanced at him, then stopped and stared. He was watching her. Making eye contact with her.

  Who is this guy, and what has he done with Jerry?

  “Relax,” he said. “Paul has always been a free spirit, he comes and goes as he pleases. I learned long ago to let him do as he wants – he eventually always comes home.”

  “I’m not … Church can do what he wants,” Emma said, forgetting to use his real name with his father.

  “I know how you feel about him, Emma.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. You and I,” Jerry slowly pulled himself to his feet, stunning her. “We have a lot more in common than you think. We both speak his language. I saw it right away with you. You understand him. You have no idea what that means to me. His mother hurt him, as a child, I don’t know if he’s told you. I didn’t know for a long time. And ever since then, he’s been sort of leery of women. Doesn’t let them get too close. So to see you taking care of him, watching out for him, and him allowing it? Well, I don’t care what your mother says. I’m glad you two have each other. I think you were meant for each other.”

  When he stopped speaking, he stopped moving, just a few feet shy of her. Emma gaped at him.

  I think we’ve all been underestimating ol’ Jerry.

  “What makes you say that? That we’re meant for each other?” she whispered. He shrugged and closed the distance between them.

  “The way he looks at you. Speaks to you. He lives inside his head all the time. You bring all his thoughts out into the real world,” he said. She frowned.

  “What if that’s not a good thing? What if his thoughts are … bad?” she asked, then immediately felt guilty. Like she was betraying Church. She tried to make up for it. “What if I’m just making everything worse? What if I’m making him worse?”

  “Oh, Emma,” Jerry chuckled, then he moved to step past her. “My son is perfection. There is nothing you could do to him to make him less than what he is right now. You can only build him up. You’re exactly what he needs in his life right now – someone to get him through this rocky patch. I’m so glad you came into our lives.”

  With an awkward pat on her shoulder, he was past her and shuffling down the hallway.

  She stood still for a second. Then snorted and headed down the hall, as well. For a moment there, she’d thought Jerry had known more about his son than any of them had realized. But rocky patch? Really? Church had probably never known a rocky day in his life. He planned everything, he didn’t allow for “rocky patches”, so that was just ridiculous, what could Jerry possibly -

  Emma froze in place.

  Church didn’t have rocky patches.

  He did not have rocky patches.

  Yet something rocky must have happened in order to get him put on suspension from school. A break? His grades had slipped and he’d been ordered to take a break? This man who’d lived his entire life by schedules and plans, suddenly now he couldn’t keep his shit together?

  I questioned it the night before. He turned the conversation around. I let it go.

  Emma didn’t want to let it go anymore. She wanted to know what the fuck had brought someone like Church back to his home town, back to his father’s house.

  She found herself in his room, rifling through his computer desk. A pointless act, she’d already been through it before, even the locked drawers. He’d laughed at her when he’d seen the broken locks, then told her she could’ve just asked him to open them.

  He didn’t lie to her. He didn’t even really keep secrets, he just didn’t divulge information unless she specifically asked. So he didn’t care if she went through his stuff. Wouldn’t care right now … right?

  Right?

  She stood with her hands on her hips. If she wanted to find something out about a guy who didn’t keep secrets, she probably shouldn’t be looking in places where a person would hide things. Anything he had, he probably hadn’t thought it was worth hiding.

  His portfolio case. It was sitting on the floor next to the door. She’d never rifled through it, but she’d seen him pull papers and textbooks and other school related stuff out of it. She’d never thought much about it. Even the knife hadn’t really been all that shocking. She’d barely spared the bag any thoughts.

  Once she had it in her hands, she turned it over, dumping out the contents. Papers went everywhere, along with the coursebook for her math class, a set of keys, his scary knife, and a beat up copy of The Fountainhead. Just some light reading for ol’ Church boy.

  Emma found herself on her knees, sifting through the paperwork, glancing over everything before she shoved things back into the case. Most of it was a bunch of tests he’d apparently brought home to grade. Some notes on classes for next semester. Nothing very exciting.

  What the fuck am I even looking for?

  She didn’t even know, yet still managed to find it. Folded in half, tucked in between pages 301 and 302 of the thick paperback book, there was an envelope. The fancy Columbia letterhead was on the upper left corner, and typed neatly in the center was an address in New York she didn’t recognize, right beneath Church’s full name – Paul E. Logan.

  E … I don’t even know his middle name. Does he know mine?

  The were two letters inside – one was old, dated last May, long before he’d moved home. As she read it, Emma could tell it was one letter in a long line of communication between Church and his university. She muddled through it, piecing together all the information.

  Mostly, the school was thanking Church for his outstanding work, and telling him how much they were going to miss him. Asking to take a sabbatical with only one year left in his masters’ program was virtually unheard of, but since he had a perfect GPA and had always been an exemplary student, they had decided to permit it. He would be welcome back to Columbia next year to finish, or even sooner should he decide to return before then.

  Emma frowned and read the letter again. And again. Everyone had been wrong, Church hadn’t been put on academic suspension, no one had sent him home. He’d asked to leave. He’d requested the time off. He’d sent a fake fucking letter to his own father, informing him that his son had to leave school.

  Why would he lie about his reasons for coming home? Why the fuck did he want come home?

  The second letter was much more recent, just a couple weeks ago. He’d gotten it right after she’d first met him. It was a confirmation letter, stating that one Paul E. Logan was re-enrolled in courses at Columbia University. The school thanked him for returning, and expressed how happy they were that he had decided to cut his gap year short. He was scheduled to start next semester, just after New Year’s.

  As in barely a month away. As in he’s leaving here. He’s leaving me.

  The dates were there, in black and white. He’d requested to start taking classes again, and they’d accepted him. There were no other letters, so he still planned on going.

  He still planned on leaving.

  The papers fell out of her hands because they started shaking. She felt sick to her stomach. She somehow knew that if she searched the other pockets in the portfolio, she would probably find ot
her disturbing things. A renewal on his New York apartment’s lease. A one-way plane ticket. A letter to her stating that he’d had fun for a while, but now he wanted to go live his real life – the one she wasn’t a part of.

  “How could he do this!?” she hissed through clenched teeth, crumpling up the letters in her fist.

  This wasn’t right. They were striving for something great together. Committing the ultimate sin. They were two parts of a greater whole. He couldn’t leave her. What the fuck was he thinking? That they would murder someone together, and then go their merry separate ways?

  Or really, it would be YOU murdering someone – you already offered. It was YOU terrorizing her. YOU doing everything, ensuring that if anything ever got discovered, it would all point straight back to you, and Church will be long gone. Jesus, fuck, that cannot be right. Please, god, don’t let me be right.

  Emma jumped to her feet and raked her hands through her hair. Fuck this. He couldn’t do this to her. Despite what he thought, Church was not god, and he could not giveth and taketh. Not from her, not anymore.

  He had a reason for everything, she knew. She believed that. He was also clearly not infallible – she’d just figured out some of his secrets. That meant she could figure them all out, if she tried hard enough.

  You know, those things he doesn’t keep. I’m such an idiot.

  Think. Think. It was all connected. According to one of the letters she’d read, Church had requested to take a gap year last winter. Why? Why would he do that? School was an escape for him. Something must have happened to make him want to leave. To make him want to come home.

  Okay, so why home? Church was a smart guy – why come back to this shit hole? There must have been something he wanted here. Clearly not family time with Jerry, and he hadn’t even known Emma yet, so something else. Something big enough to make him want to leave school.

  He wanted to kill somebody.

  He’d always wanted to, but why now? Why hadn’t he ever tried before?

  Emma paced back and forth, fighting back tears. Of course, maybe he had tried before – he’d been lying to her about a lot of stuff, so who knew what was true anymore. Maybe she wasn’t as important to him as he’d been claiming. Maybe she was nothing at all.

  Emma stopped pacing.

  He’d focused on Lizzie Renny so quickly. Emma had assumed that day in math class had been the first time he’d noticed her, but of course he’d been watching her for weeks before that moment. Why? What had drawn him to her in the first place? He’d claimed it was because she was pretty and came from a good family, had a good life.

  But now that Emma was really thinking about it, that didn’t make sense – lots of girls in town could make the same boast. Stacey even fit the mold. In fact, she was prettier than Lizzie, and Church had already fantasized about killing her before, so why not do it to her?

  Why Lizzie? Why didn’t I ever think of it this way before? He knows her. He must know her from somewhere. But she doesn’t know him. How does he know her?

  Emma turned into a tornado after that moment. She tore Church’s entire room apart. Jerry walked by and paused in the doorway at one point, but didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to stop her. She simply nodded her head at him and he nodded back before continuing into the living room.

  Church was good, but he wasn’t perfect. She could see that now. He made mistakes, just like everyone else. He’d been stupid enough to believe Emma would never question him. So much so, he’d left his case alone with her, knowing it held his secrets. So it was only a matter of time before she found something else.

  It was on the shelf in his closet, tucked into the very back, in a corner. She had to stand on his nightstand to even reach. It was flat, a wooden frame around glass. A picture. Covered in what felt like years of dust.

  When she pulled it out, though, she could see someone else had touched it recently. Finger marks in the dust were all around the frame, and he’d stroke three fingers down the center of the glass.

  Emma studied the picture. It was a family photo. A very young Church, maybe four or five, stood in the center. He was squinting at the camera, and even though he was so little, he still had the exact same expression as he did all grown up. Boredom, with a hint of disdain. Like picture taking was so beneath him.

  Jerry stood behind him, on the left side. A lot thinner, but still the same. She was pretty sure he was even wearing the exact same shirt he wore every day now – it was a lot looser on him back then, but she could just barely make out the telltale coffee stain on his pocket.

  On the right side was a stranger. A slender, leggy woman. Very beautiful. For the first time, Emma wondered what it was about Jerry that attracted these women – for all her faults, Margo was good looking. And this woman in the photo, the lady who had to be his ex-wife and Church’s mother, she was downright stunning. Church had obviously taken after her. She was a littler taller than Jerry, with thick dark hair curling around her shoulders. She glared at the camera like she didn’t want to getting her picture taken, but even squinting didn’t hide the brilliant blue of her eyes. She was gorgeous. Beyond. She was … she was …

  She’s so familiar.

  Emma squeezed the picture so hard, the glass cracked under her thumbs. Yes, Church’s mom looked a lot like him, but she looked like someone else, too. That pale skin, those big beautiful eyes. If she was just a bit skinnier, and a tad more nervous looking, she would be a dead ringer for Elizabeth Renny.

  Emma dropped the frame and walked out of the bedroom.

  “Hey Jerry,” she tried to sound casual, but failed miserably. “Can I ask you something?”

  He was sitting in an easy chair in the living room, reading an old copy of Reader’s Digest.

  “Of course,” he said, not putting down the magazine.

  “What was your wife’s name?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ex. Your ex wife. Church’s mom. Her name?”

  The magazine lowered a smidge and he glanced at her over the tops of his glasses.

  “Clarice. Any special reason you want to know?” he asked. She shook her head.

  “No. Clarice what?”

  “Clarice Logan, of course.”

  “No,” Emma resisted the urge to groan. “Her maiden name. Did she go back to it after you divorced?”

  “You know, I’m not sure. We didn’t keep in touch. She pretty much disappeared on us, which was probably for the best,” he sighed, then he rubbed at his chin. “I guess it’s possible she went back to it.”

  “What was it?”

  “Renny. Clarice Renny.”

  Emma stumbled backwards until she was leaning against the wall by the front door.

  Of course. God, she was stupid. Church must have thought she was so fucking stupid. They fucking looked alike. Practically twins. Same eyes, same hair, same lanky limbs. Church had gotten all the brains, and Elizabeth had gotten all the anxiety. Poor girl.

  “Church is your only child, right?” she breathed. Jerry had gone back to his magazine.

  “Yes. Honestly, I didn’t want anymore after him. I figured perfection couldn’t be achieved twice.”

  So Lizzie was Church’s half-sister. Raised by the mother who’d abandoned him, given all the love and affection he’d never been privy to. His mother, the woman he hated most. She hadn’t wanted a child like Church, so apparently he’d decided she didn’t deserve to have any children, at all.

  Why hadn’t he told Emma, though? He’d already talked her into abandoning her own free will, stalking someone, harassing someone, killing someone. Did he think she wouldn’t understand?

  No. The less you knew, the better. The easier it would be to get you to do whatever he wanted. Commit the crime he’d planned while he flies off to another state, leaving you alone to take any blame that may come along. So smart, Church. Get a willing disciple to do your dirty work. It’s the perfect plan.

  “Perfection,” she breathed, then she cleared her throat. “I have t
o go now, I’m late for a party.”

  “Oh, is Church meeting you there?”

  “I don’t think so. Goodbye, Jerry.”

  “Have fun, dear.”

  Emma slipped out the door. She was wearing a drapey flowing skirt and a long sleeved top, not at all suitable for the cold weather. Her shoes were even worse, a cheap pair of sandals.

  But she kept walking, and the tears started falling, and she kinda hoped she would freeze before she got to where she was going.

  CHURCH.

  I think it’s grossly unfair that we can’t control our emotions. Virtually everything else, it comes naturally to us. We can stave off hunger, we can keep ourselves awake against our will, we can hold our urine, all kinds of things.

  Yet when it comes to feelings, they’re virtually impossible to control. I never wanted to like Emma, and I sure as shit didn’t plan on falling for her in any capacity. It happened to subtly, so slowly, I was already gone before I even knew it had happened. I mean, how could I have ever guessed that something like me could fall for someone?

  Monsters can’t love, and I’m worse than anything hiding under your bed.

  But I realized something. I don’t want these feelings to go away. I don’t want her to go away.

  Everything is different now. From here and out, we’ll be together.

  Which means I have to tell her everything.

  16

  By the time Emma reached the party, it was in full swing. She should’ve been there hours ago, looking for an opportune time to lure Lizzie away. Now everyone was drunk and stumbling around.

  She didn’t lurk around outside this time, she walked right into the house. Her teeth were chattering and her whole body was racked with shivers, but she ignored everything. She moved straight through to the kitchen, looking for her prey.

  “Emma, you came!” Stacey squealed, running around a butcher block to hug her. “Wow, you are freezing!”

  “Yeah,” she managed to reply. “Where’s Lizzie?”

  “Oh, you should’ve seen her. She was so uptight when we got here, but then I finally got one drink down her, and it was like a whole different girl.”