The Blessed - By Tonya Hurley Page 0,47
back of the garment. The care in making and storing such a piece left them to wonder why anyone would ever leave it behind.
“What do you think of my Sunday best, girls?” Lucy smirked, sucking her cheeks in and posing. “Too much?”
“A wolf in shepard’s clothing,” CeCe said as both she and Agnes daintily air-clapped their approval like stone-faced fashion editors in the front row of a fashion show.
Sebastian smiled, carried along by their enthusiasm and the first truly lighthearted moment any of them had experienced since arriving.
“Fashion The Passion,” Lucy announced, gesturing at the cabinet like a game show spokesmodel, before throwing gorgeous ponchos to each of the other girls.
Cecilia tossed the heavy, woolen, deep purple and gold garment over her shoulder like a tunic and fastened it at the waist with one of the scapulars that had been hanging from a hook behind the door. She tied Agnes’s long hair up in a ponytail with another and helped her put the vestment on.
“Mother Cecilia!” Lucy laughed.
“And Sister Agnes,” Cecilia said as Agnes slid her arms through the gold-accented side holes of the garment and her slight frame disappeared beneath the white cloth.
Sebastian looked on, a little more preoccupied. Agnes looked up at the framed portraits and biblical paintings hanging around them. Images of faith and devotion she had seen at school but had little personal experience with.
“I have an idea,” Lucy said. “We’ve got the coolest runway ever out there. Any takers?”
“I’m always up for a show,” Cecilia added.
“The altar?” Agnes asked. “I don’t know. Inappropriate?”
“Sebastian?” Lucy squawked.
They turned to Sebastian looking for his approval but he’d already turned away, staring out a small cracked and dirty window at the deluge outside. He had barely heard the question.
“I guess that’s a no,” Cecilia concluded.
“Well, it was just an idea,” Lucy added defensively.
Sebastian didn’t react. He was miles away.
“These are heavy,” Agnes said wearily, putting an end to the festivities. She didn’t look well. Sebastian took her arm.
“Last call,” Cecilia barked, as the girls relinquished the clerical attire, dropping it hastily and transforming the sacristy floor into a chain-store fitting room.
“We should grab some of these,” Sebastian said, taking a handful of stoles and oils to use as bandages and salves for Agnes if needed, with Lucy and Cecilia following suit.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” Agnes whispered.
Sebastian squeezed her arm tenderly.
Agnes eyed the accessories as they carried them back into the church.
“I feel kind of funny about taking this stuff on my account,” she said. “Like we’re stealing from a church.”
“We’re not stealing,” Sebastian said. “I only took what we needed.”
3 “Line one,” the secretary said. “It’s Captain Murphy.”
Dr. Frey closed his office door and sat forward in his chair. He took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
“Yes, Officer.”
“Captain,” he corrected.
“My mistake. What can I do for you?”
The relationship between the doctor and the captain was contentious at best, Frey having successfully testified as an expert witness on behalf of defendants to the chagrin of the NYPD and prosecutors on many occasions. It was superficially cordial, but neither was inclined to help the other much beyond what was required professionally.
“I’m surprised to find you at the hospital, Doctor.”
“We are on lockdown and running on generators, and I am needed.”
“I’m practically the only one at the precinct house.”
“I’m quite short-staffed today myself, as you can imagine, and very busy. Are you calling with news?”
“Not the news you are waiting for. I’m calling about another patient of yours who’s been reported missing.”
“Who is that?”
“Agnes Fremont. Her mother walked into an empty bedroom this morning after an argument the night before.”
“I see,” Dr. Frey said, fingering his files.
“I understand that she was recently admitted to the emergency room there after a possible suicide attempt and was kept overnight under observation, under your care?”
“Yes, that’s right. She was released to her mother’s custody the next day, and that’s the last I’ve seen or heard from her, I’m afraid.”
“So that was November first?”
Frey hesitated and checked his desk calendar as he pondered the date.
“Doctor? Are you there?”
“Yes,” he replied, uncharacteristically bemused. “She was admitted on the night of October thirty-first, Halloween, and discharged on November first.”
“All Saints Day,” Murphy observed.
“What?” Frey asked, still distracted. “Ah, yes, it appears so.”
“In a sinner and out a saint, huh?” the cop joked.
“Are you trying to be clever?”
“Hey, Doctor, if a person with multiple personalities attempts suicide, would you consider that a hostage situation? Now, that’s clever.”
“Like I said, I’m very busy.” Frey’s reputation