Christmas was always such a special time for the family. For one day every year, her mother and father relaxed. Mom would have her red wine. Dad would have his eggnog, and he would get drunk enough to give her a hug.
The Mercedes parked in the family’s usual spot.
“Let’s go,” her father said.
“But—” Mary Katherine said.
“But what?” her father said curtly.
Mary Katherine wanted to say that she was still in her hospital gown. She wanted to ask for a pair of shoes or a coat. But she was so afraid of rocking the boat that she didn’t utter another word except…
“Nothing.”
The three got out of the car. Mary Katherine walked behind her parents. The parking lot was chilly. The pavement and dirty snow freezing under her bare feet.
Mary Katherine knew something was terribly wrong, but she didn’t want to go back to the hospital. She just wanted her parents to love her again. So, she focused on the church. It was silent inside even though the parking lot was filled with cars. The decorations were beautiful. She remembered being a little girl and making up stories about the people inside the stained-glass windows. They were her imaginary friends.
They arrived at the church.
They opened the door.
Mary Katherine looked inside. The church glowed with soft, warm candlelight. She saw the entire congregation gathered as if for midnight mass. But they weren’t talking among themselves. They weren’t singing with the choir. They weren’t even kneeling in prayer.
They were just staring at her.
Mary Katherine searched the room for a friendly face. She recognized old classmates from youth group. Kids she’d known since CCD with their parents. The only person she still talked with was Doug, sitting there next to Debbie Dunham. Doug held Debbie’s hand. His face looked wrong. As if there were needle marks around his mouth. This was all wrong. Mary Katherine instinctively backed away toward the door.
Until she ran into someone behind her.
“Mary Katherine,” the voice said.
She turned to see her CCD teacher, Mrs. Radcliffe, smiling pleasantly.
“Don’t be afraid. We’re here to help you. We even saved you a seat,” Mrs. Radcliffe said, gesturing.
Mary Katherine nodded and forced a smile. She didn’t know what to do. So, she walked toward her family’s usual spot in the second row.
“No. Not in the pews, dear,” Mrs. Radcliffe corrected. “At the altar.”
Mary Katherine turned to her father and mother for guidance. Her father looked stern. Her mother looked away nervously. Mrs. Radcliffe grabbed Mary Katherine’s hand and gently led her to the altar. Mrs. Radcliffe’s skin was blistering hot with fever.
“Get on your knees, dear,” Mrs. Radcliffe said.
Mary Katherine turned to her mother, who couldn’t bear to look back.
“Please get on your knees, Mary Katherine,” her mother pleaded.
Mary Katherine knelt down. The pit inside her stomach fell lower. An itch broke out on her skin.
“Thank you, Mary Katherine. Now…confess,” Mrs. Radcliffe said.
Mary Katherine began to stand. Mrs. Radcliffe put a feverish hand on her shoulder, keeping her on her knees.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“The confession booth,” Mary Katherine replied.
“No. You will do it here,” Mrs. Radcliffe said.
“Um…okay, Mrs. Radcliffe…but where is…where is Father Tom? He needs to hear my confession.”
“Don’t worry about Father Tom. You can confess to us.”
Mary Katherine nodded. She was in terrible danger. She looked up at the beautiful statue of Jesus on the cross just as she had every Sunday she had ever known.
“Confess,” Mrs. Radcliffe said gently.
Mary Katherine swallowed. The pit in her stomach grew. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Radcliffe walk to the side entrance of the church. She opened the door. Mary Katherine saw Father Tom lying on the sidewalk outside in the cold. He had been stabbed repeatedly. Heat rose from each cut like steam from a sewer grate.
“Who is the father, Mary Katherine?” Mrs. Radcliffe asked calmly.
Mrs. Radcliffe ripped the collection basket from Father Tom’s hands. She began walking back into the church, passing around the collection basket.
“I don’t know who the father is,” Mary Katherine said.
Mary Katherine turned to her mother. Her mother looked terrified.
“Please, tell them, Mary Katherine,” she begged.
“I can’t tell them what I don’t know.”
“Please! Just tell them who the father is!”
“I don’t know. I’m a virgin.”
Mary Katherine turned back as the collection basket was passed around the room. But this time, the congregation wasn’t putting money into the basket.
This time, they were taking out stones.
“TELL THEM! PLEASE!” Mary Katherine’s mother screamed.