The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,39

bolting. I glance to the side. I can make it over the chairs. Scramble to the front of the room. We’ll chase each other around in circles until Miriam comes back.

But what if he catches me before she returns?

What will he do to me?

Fear of the unknown drives icy panic through me. I shiver once, hard, and then I can’t seem to stop.

“Are you cold?”

“Please just open the door.”

He shrugs. Then he pushes his hand against the wood, close to where the handle would be on the outside. The door sinks inward a little, and then bounces open a crack. There’s a little rift where he slides in his fingers, and then he pulls it open.

I race for the opening, knowing I won’t make it, but not willing to stand there and accept my fate.

Reuben presses the door closed in my face. I freeze, standing an inch away from the wood, too frightened to move.

His palm slides down the wood as he lets out a long breath through his nose. He moves closer until his clothes brush against mine.

Blood roars in my ears. It drives heat into my cheeks and constricts my lungs.

“You should pray.”

“Okay,” I manage breathlessly. “I’ll pray.”

“Ask God for forgiveness.”

“I will.” Forcing a swallow, I add, “I’ll do it when I’m done with Miriam. Outside.”

“You’ll do it now. Inside.”

This close, his smell is everywhere. Something floral, something rich, something woody. Masculine, but soft at the same time.

“Okay.” I turn, assuming he’d step back so I head over to the pulpit.

Isn’t this what you do when you’re held hostage by a crazy person? You humor them, keep them talking until the cops come.

I have no idea where Sister Miriam went or how long she’ll be away, but if I can keep up this pretense…

At first he doesn’t move. With his hand on the door behind me, he’s close to boxing me in. Admittedly, he’s not the ogre I first thought him to be. He’s tall and broad, but he’s not a steroid-junkie.

I’d probably have thought him seriously attractive if I hadn’t been so terrified of him.

Weird, how I’ve met so many handsome guys over the past few days. And in a place like Saint Amos? That’s bordering on freaky.

“Here. This will help you focus your intent.” Reuben lifts his rosary from around his neck and slips it over my head.

That’s where the smell is coming from. His rosary is made from rose-wood. The sweet smell envelops me as soon as he slips the beads over my head. But there’s something else mixed in there. His own scent. He must stroke the beads while he prays.

And I’m guessing he prays a lot.

My fear fades a little, even though I know it shouldn’t. There’s no guarantee that because he regularly prays to God that he won’t hurt me.

But it makes it easier to believe he might have a conscience. Threatening me is one thing, but actually physically hurting me? That’s crossing a line. One he might not be able to because of his beliefs.

I clutch that thought as I slip past him and stride over to the pulpit. It’s only three yards away, so it’s still like he’s right behind me when I sink down onto the pillow laid in front of the chancel.

Resting on my knees, I put my palms on my thighs and duck forward. Hopefully I look like the real thing.

But as I’m kneeling there, the smell of Reuben’s necklace getting stronger and stronger, his presence growing until it fills every inch of the room…I start feeling more and more like a phony.

I’ve never prayed. Not once.

Sure, I’ve recited the Father’s Prayer. I’ve read the bible. I’ve sat in church more often than I can count.

But I’ve never prayed.

I never felt that connection my parents and Father Gabriel claimed to have.

I was always acting.

Reuben knows it.

The last thing I want to do is make him angry. Should I stand? Give him back his necklace?

Fabric rustles behind me.

He exhales somewhere close behind before sliding his hands onto my shoulders.

I risk a peek. He’s kneeling behind me. “What are you doing?” I whisper.

Another breath. It warms the back of my neck where my hair’s been scooped up into an attempt at a bun.

“I’m praying for you,” he says in his sonorous voice.

“Why?”

“Because I’m guessing you don’t know how. And trust me, you need all the help you can get.”

Sister Miriam comes to fetch me sometime later. Reuben never lifted his hands, and he never said another word to me