Book 1, Chapter 1

 

The corridors of Ann Bayley Hall glimmered in the light of the midday sun. Students milled from building to building just outside, the ebbing days of summer clinging to the campus as Jonathan moved through the halls. In his black shirt and white clerical collar, he dodged between other young men and women, a smile on his lips, approaching Father Alistair’s office with purpose. He paused at the door, closing his eyes. He leaned against the wall outside Alistair’s office, hearing his mentor’s voice echoing from within, apparently advising another student on some matter.

As the back of his head gently tapped against the Ann Bayley crest emblazoned on the wall, his mind kept repeating the same script over and over. I needed to talk to you. The door opened. It’s about your health. Alistair smiled as he placed a comforting hand on a young student’s shoulder. I was curious.

„Jonathan?” He turned to see Father Alistair dismissing a classmate of his, the priest’s weathered smile creasing his cheeks. “You’re early. Assignment isn’t until tonight,“ He opened the door and welcomed his student in. „What brings you by?“

„Thought we might have lunch together before we head out.“

„You know I can’t have anything from the cafeteria, Jonathan.“

„Why? It’s healthy stuff. Sugar-free options, too,“ the young man said, dropping into one of the seats by Alistair’s desk.

„And they taste like garbage,“ the old man replied candidly, smirking at his student. He moved to take his seat behind the desk, pulling out a large planner.

„So what do you do for lunch then?“ Jonathan asked.

„Oh, I order off-campus.“

„Nothing Father Willingham would disapprove of, I trust?“ the young man pressed.

„His eyes are ever on me, aren’t they? Here,“ he said, closing the planner and picking up his phone. He pressed a few numbers and waited. „Yes. Yes, this is Father Alistair. Uh huh. A taco salad, please. Mmm hmm. How long? Perfect. God bless.“         The old man hung up the phone and looked slyly at Jonathan. The seminarian stared at the phone for several moments before turning his gaze back to his mentor.

„Happy?“ Alistair asked.

„I suppose…“

„Good. Look, Jonathan, while I have you here, I wanted to take a look at your schedule this week,“ Alistair replied, opening the planner again. „After we do a shift at the food center, I’m meeting with a family I’ve been counseling for a few years.“

„Like, since before you were here?“

„Precisely. And before you ask, yes, I’ve told them their new pastor is more than qualified to help, but they feel more comfortable speaking with me,“ he said looking down at the planner. „Now, I know tonight isn’t good for you, but might you have a free spot in your schedule later this week? I’d like you to join me in meeting with them. You know, giving counsel is a big part of what you’ll be doing when you’re a priest.“

„Probably… May I?“ Jonathan asked, placing a hand on the planner. 

His mentor nodded and he turned it around, Jonathan producing a pencil from his pocket. He scanned over the planner, slowly moving the pencil from date to date, his eyes, meanwhile, looking everywhere but the schedule. As the old priest spoke about how dear he held the family and how much it would mean for him to have Jonathan accompany him, Jonathan focused on the trash bin beside Alistair’s desk. Crumpled wax paper. The edge of his desk near the coffee mug filled with pens. Two errant sprinkles. The foot of the desk holding his ancient printer. A dark stain, possibly jelly?

Jonathan continued his surreptitious surveillance, allowing the old priest to get lost in his memories of the family. Fifteen minutes and three family stories later, Alistair finally turned his attention back to Jonathan and the schedule.

„Tuesday works,” Jonathan finally replied. “7pm. Shall I pencil it in for you?“

„Please do.”

As Jonathan scribbled his name onto the planner, the phone on Alistair’s desk rang. The priest picked it up, quickly, nodding.

“They’re here? Thank you, I’ll be right down. God bless.”

“Is that your lunch?”

“Indeed.” the priest said, sliding back from his desk and standing. “And if you don’t hurry, you’ll miss the chance to grab yours.” He gestured to the door, allowing Jonathan to exit first as they made their way into the hall. Several other students in matching black shirts and collars passed by, nodding respectfully to Father Alistair as they made their way down the corridor and turned the corner. “Well then, I’ll see you tonight for Assignment. We’re at the Food Center.”

“Of course,” Jonathan replied, stopping in his tracks. „Oh! I left my pencil in your office. Is it open?“

„Um, yes, but…“

„Good. I’ll see you later, Father,“ Jonathan replied turning and jogging down the hall. Moments later he arrived outside Alistair’s office, trying to suppress his smile as he opened the door. He walked to the desk, snagging his pencil before turning to the trash bin. He lifted out the wax paper, taking a closer look. Definitely glaze. He gave a few gentle tugs on the drawers of Alistair’s desk, not forcing the ones that were clearly locked. Nothing but the expected papers and books. His eyes turned to the phone then to the closed office door. He lifted the receiver, his deft fingers dialing three buttons: *69.

„Thank you for calling Sunrise Bakery. What can I get started for you?“

Jonathan’s lips curled up in satisfaction as he sat the phone back into it’s cradle.

#

On one side of the desk sat Alistair, an open Sunrise Bakery box with a styrofoam container inside housing a taco salad from the university cafeteria. On the other side was Jonathan wearing a devilish grin as he watched the old priest poke at the salad.

“You’re a bit obsessed, you know that?”

“I’m just looking out for your health.”

“You dove through a dumpster to find this!”

“It was right on the top, Alistair, you didn’t exactly hide it.”

This continued for several minutes and half a taco salad later before the elderly priest pushed the box aside, opening a planner. Meticulous, handwritten appointments lined the pages, the younger man still impressed with how many families met with the priest despite not being the head of a parish. Alistair tapped his pen next to a box marked “Robinsons.”

“So, for Assignment tonight, you’ll be accompanying me on a visit to a family I’ve known for several years. Do you remember what I told you last time?”

Jonathan had actually spent that time analyzing jelly doughnut stains and loose sprinkles, but he felt it was in his best interest not to share that particular information. “Could you maybe refresh my memory? It’s been a few days.”

Alistair smirked. “I’ve known the Robinsons since I was a pastor.”

“They were part of our parish?”

“Oh, yes. Good family. You were pretty young at the time. Do you remember them at all?”

Jonathan weighed the name for a moment, then shook his head. “Not really. They might have brought me food after my mom died.”

“I’m sure they did; Julie has always been such a sweet woman. That’s why it was so distressing to see the trouble she was having with her little girl, Katrina. I’ve been counseling her family, offering them whatever solace I can.”

“Shouldn’t that be on the new pastor?”

“I see you were paying rapt attention,” Alistair smirked. “It should, but they don’t seem comfortable speaking with anyone else about it. Actually, the father, Jason, seems determined not to speak with anyone about it.”

“So what do you want me to do? I’m not sure what use I’d be, but I’m more than glad to help.”

“Actually, I want to pick your brain. You’re such a spiritual young man and very perceptive.” Alistair looked over his half-eaten taco salad. “Annoyingly so, at times. I’d like to get your opinion.”

Jonathan considered the request for only a moment. He wasn’t certain what help he’d be, but if Alistair asked, he’d do it. “Of course.”

“Brilliant. Meet me after your classes and we’ll head right over.”

The young man rose with a smile and slung his bag over his shoulder. With a handshake he parted ways, stopping only briefly at the door. “Just so I’m clear, that was a promise not to eat doughnuts anymore, right?”

“Get to class, Jonathan.”

#

Jonathan ran his hands down his cassock. It wasn’t often that he wore the uniform of the clergy outside of Mass, but Alistair insisted that their visit to the Robinsons warranted it. Now, standing on the doorstep, anxious and uncertain of what to do with his hands, he waited as his mentor rang the doorbell. The Robinson’s house was cute, a little country-blue affair with a small porch and flowers in the windows. The lawn was, more or less, neat with a little sapling at one side of the yard. So why, with such a picturesque setting, did the seminarian feel so uncomfortable? Every second they waited for the door, Jonathan’s chest grew tighter and tighter, something burning deep within.

“So… comfort the family?” Jonathan asked.

“I’ll comfort them. I want you to pay attention and share your insights after,” Alistair answered, ringing the doorbell once more.

“I’ll do my best,” Jonathan replied, now milling about the porch, trying to burn off the nervous energy by playing with an empty dog bowl with his foot. The opening of the door snapped him back to the present.

“Oh! Father Alistair, thank you so much for coming.”

A middle-aged woman with blonde hair and fair skin leaned through the door frame. She wore a fragile smile, her eyes betraying an abundance of worry and concern that threatened to breach the emotional dam at any minute. Before Alistair could return her greeting another voice boomed through the den.

“Julie, I said I’m not talking to those -” Her husband paused at the door behind her. His eyes darted away from the priest and his lips thinned.

“P-please come inside,” Julie urged.

The pair took seats on a sofa across from the couple, Jason’s gaze intently following them. Jonathan looked around the den.

“She’s in her room,” Jason said, forcing a smile. “And she’s fine. Look, Fathers, I understand you’ve come out of your way to see her, but it’s really nothing you can do anything about.”

Julie remained silent, eyes drawn to the floor and head slowly shaking. Every word from her husband seemed to increase her agitation as she wrung her hands, eyes darting across the carpet. Alistair spoke with Jason, urging him to allow the pair to speak with their daughter, that they only wished to console her, but he was adamant: this was not a matter for the Church.

“Mrs. Robinson?” Jonathan interrupted, eliciting a chirp of surprise from the mother. “Is there something on your mind?”

Alistair raised an eyebrow, watching quietly as his pupil spoke. Jason answered for her. “She’s tired. Look, maybe there’s a better time. Things haven’t been so -”

“What happened to your hand, Mr. Robinson?” Jonathan asked. Alistair’s eyes were now drawn to a bandage the father had been carefully concealing until just this moment.

“Nothing happened-”

“She stabbed him,” Julie said coldly.

“Julie!”

“She’s not well!” the mother continued.

Visibly shaking, Jason rose from his seat, claiming he needed air and storming out of the room. Alistair turned his attention back to Julie. Tears streamed down her face. The two men waited patiently for her to compose herself before pushing further.

“Julie?”

“She’s been getting better,” the mother sniffled, running a tissue along her swollen eyes. “Every once in a while she’s fine. She – she’s like my little girl again.”

“How so?” Alistair asked.

“Kindergarten,” she replied, taking a deep breath and collecting herself. “She was ready, finally ready. She stopped biting …  sh-she stopped scratching. I mean, she wasn’t perfect, but she was normal. Like any kid. Then…”

Julie grew silent for several seconds, her pallid features remaining motionless.

“Then?” Alistair prompted.

“Then… the puppy.”

‘What about the puppy?” Jonathan asked cautiously.

#

“He ate Kelly’s head.”

Katrina sat on her bed, combing out the ratted hair of a disfigured doll. She was no more than five with light hair and fair skin, pocked with bruises and cuts all over. Her movements were jerky and rough with no consideration for the toy. Clumps of artificial hair ripped from the doll’s scalp with every stroke.

The room was dim, a large window behind Katrina the only light source. The typical trappings of a young girl’s room lay strewn about, pink ponies here, tea sets there, but all in such a poor state of repair and cleanliness. Toys missing limbs. Lamps without bulbs. Drawers with no handles. Books with pages torn and covered in what Jonathan could only hope was ink. The smell of the room did not support this theory. There was a lingering mustiness, tinges of mildew, rot, and what he prayed was not blood.

“Who is Kelly?” Alistair asked, but the girl ignored his question. Jonathan gave his mentor’s sleeve a tug, gesturing to the side of the bed. There rested a small doll head, the hair nearly gone and covered in what looked to be blood and other unidentifiable fluids. He might not have noticed the discarded and desecrated doll’s head had he not been so thoroughly focused on the girl’s toys already. Each one seemed to be damaged in some way, twisted or broken, with smiles and bright eyes that peered out through the web of dried ooze and other unidentifiable messes. But it wasn’t even the disgusting state of the toys that really bothered Jonathan, that caused his chest to tighten. It was the realization that every toy in the room with eyes seemed to be staring directly at him.

Alistair moved from his chair to the girl’s bedside, picking up the disgusting plastic head Jonathan had pointed out, showing it to Katrina. “What happened to Kelly?”

“I told you, Baxter ate her head.”

“How did you get it back?”

Fire burned in Jonathan’s chest. Goosebumps rose up along his arms. Still brushing out the hair of her current doll, she replied “I opened him up and pulled it back out.”

It was several moments before either man could speak, Alistair eventually returning the head to the floor and responding with a quiet “I see.” Jonathan turned away, trying not to focus on the torn stuffed animals and disfigured dolls that all seemed to have their gazes locked on him. As Alistair produced his worn Bible, asking the child if she would listen to a story, Jonathan’s gaze turned toward a child-sized vanity. Within its cracked mirror he could see Alistair’s reflection speaking with the child. Katrina, however, was staring squarely at Jonathan. Her eyes were twisted, with a tinge of yellow and her lips curled violently. Her chest heaved and shuddered as her face grew more and more disfigured. Jonathan turned, but there he saw only the young girl intently watching Alistair.

Jonathan shot to his feet, one hand running through his hair as he took a long, deep breath. Alistair looked at him with concern, but the young man assured him he had only needed to stretch his legs. Pushing up from the bed with a slight groan, the priest joined Jonathan. Before he could utter a word of comfort to his pupil the young girl began weeping. Her doll was cast aside and, now sitting at the edge of the bed, the light clearly showed her face for the first time. Crystal blue eyes welled with tears and rosy cheeks heaved with sighs as she cried.

On instinct, both men dropped to their knees to attend to the child, but Jonathan immediately regretted it. As she sobbed and Alistair attempted to comfort her by stroking her golden hair, the young man’s chest seized up once more. The burning tore through him as he looked into her eyes.

“Make it go away,” she whimpered.

“Make what go away, dear?” Alistair asked.

With a violent motion the young girl tore her shirt and slapped her palm against her chest repeatedly. “Make it go away! Make it go! Make it go!”

The quiet pleading quickly turned to an ear-splitting cry and the girl, hurling herself from the side of the bed, rushed to her dresser, slamming her head against the wood several times before Alistair could stop her. A moment later her father was at the door, shoving the priest aside to get to his daughter. Blood trickled down her forehead and from her nose as she clung to him, weeping and wailing. He lifted her, cradling her against his shoulder and stroking her hair.

Jonathan watched as Jason, clearly trying to contain his anger for Katrina’s sake, gestured to the door. Alistair placed a hand on his student and the pair silently exited.