Her phone buzzed again. I said I’m talking to you, slut.
Mary Katherine stopped. She looked around the church. No one was there. She suddenly felt a terrible fear in the pit of her stomach. She shoved the phone in her pocket. The phone buzzed once. It buzzed twice. She finally couldn’t help herself. She looked.
Why won’t you write me back?
You think you’re too good for me?
She typed back…who is this?
Her phone buzzed…you know who.
Her phone went silent. The room suddenly turned cold.
Her phone buzzed again…I’m looking at you right now.
Mary Katherine shrieked. She turned around in the church, but found nothing but the statue of Jesus and the saints frozen forever in stained glass. Suddenly every instinct told her to get out of this church. Get in the car. Now. Mary Katherine left the pew without crossing herself. She rushed down the aisle. Something was wrong. She could feel the danger all around her. She opened the door to the church.
Mrs. Radcliffe stood outside.
Mary Katherine let out a scream. Mrs. Radcliffe was scratching her own arm. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her forehead was wet with fever.
“What are you doing here, Mary Katherine? It’s almost two a.m.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Radcliffe. I was just leaving.”
Mrs. Radcliffe walked toward her. Scratching her arm.
“There’s something different about you.”
“I’m just nervous about Notre Dame. I came to pray. Merry Christmas.”
Mary Katherine forced a smile and rushed into the parking lot. She didn’t care about what her parents would do anymore. She just had to get back home. She got in her car and turned on the ignition. She looked in the rearview mirror where Mrs. Radcliffe disappeared into the church. Mary Katherine didn’t know what she was doing here so late. Maybe she was sad. Maybe she wanted to light a candle for her family. All Mary Katherine knew for sure was that for some reason, Mrs. Radcliffe wasn’t wearing any shoes.
Mary Katherine started driving.
She knows, Mary Katherine. She’s going to remember when you threw up after taking Communion. You were pregnant with morning sickness and the Communion wafer tasted like the flesh of Jesus. That’s cannibalism. You’re disgusting.
The inner voice was relentless. She looked down at the speedometer. She was driving 20 miles an hour. Her heart raced. She had to get home. Get safe. She put her foot on the gas.
She saw you drink the wine. Do you really think that you drank God’s blood? That makes you a vampire. That’s insane. The church wouldn’t have cannibalism and vampirism. The church is beautiful. That makes no sense whatsoever.
Mary Katherine looked in the rearview mirror. She saw the steeple of the church getting smaller. She didn’t notice, but she was now going 30 miles an hour. The voice inside her mind got louder, as if someone were turning up the TV.
It’s not God’s fault this is happening. It’s yours. You’re the one who thought about sex. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t do it. You know the rules…to think it is to do it. So, you’re not a virgin at all. You’re a slut.
Her phone buzzed. All the message said was…I’m still here, slut.
Mary Katherine scratched her arm. She couldn’t stop scratching it and wondering who that was. She looked up at the sky. The clouds floated above her. The needle crawled up. 35 miles an hour. She just had to get home. 40 miles an hour.
And now you want God’s forgiveness? After you threw up His body and blood. After you put Doug’s thing in your mouth. After you didn’t care about those old people because all you wanted to do was go to Notre Dame. After all of that, you think that God chose you? Go ahead, Mary Katherine. Go ahead and ask Him.
“God,” she said quietly. “Am I having Your baby?”
Her phone buzzed. There was nothing but a smiley face emoji, laughing at her. Mary Katherine looked at the sides of the road. The deer began to creep out from between the trees and through the yards. 50 miles an hour. She shook off the text and kept praying.
“The reason I’m asking, God, is that um…that I’m thinking some very bad things. I can’t stop thinking about throwing myself down a flight of stairs. I keep wanting to hit my stomach to have a miscarriage. And I don’t want to think that anymore. So, just tell me, God. If I’m carrying Your child, make me hit a deer.”
Her phone buzzed. This text had no words. Just that emoji,