would have called an ambulance... you’ve got a good heart on you.”
Before I can say anything else, he wanders off, and I’m left staring at nothing.
Then the Father’s face flashes on the TV screen once more, and I suddenly know what I want.
Leaping to my feet, I skirt around the uncomfortable chairs I’ve been sitting on all day, and head for the receptionist. I write down the details she asks for, give her my home number, and tell her my address.
Once that’s done, I leave the ER and find the main entrance of the hospital. I just know there’ll be a chapel in here somewhere, so I seek it out, suddenly needing to be in there. To feel the peace and tranquility after four hours of being forced to sit in an ER department that’s teaming with humanity.
When I finally find it, I sigh with relief when I realize it’s empty. Only, when I make my way to the back pew so I can stare out of the stained glass window, which shows Jesus on the cross, I hear a giggle.
My brow puckers at the sound, and I twist around, trying to find it.
You’re not supposed to giggle in church.
I mean, I guess it isn’t a law or anything, but it’s definitely not allowed, right?
Just like not perving on a priest is a rule too.
The giggle is followed by a moan, and now I wonder if someone’s in pain or something.
Sheesh.
But when I look around the dimly lit chapel, I see nothing. No one.
A squeaking sound comes next, and a low grunt.
I’ve heard my parents doing it a few times, so it’s easy to figure out what’s going on. And the last time Judith had a party, Lizzie Boudreaux and Kingsley Lincoln had sex in her bathroom. I know what sex sounds like.
But to have sex in a church?
In a confessional booth?
In a Catholic hospital?
I’m not sure which is worse.
In fact, to my mind, it’s all very wrong.
When the confessional booth starts moving?
I roll my eyes.
Is this a joke?
And then, when it carries on, I start to get mad.
My temper’s slow burn. Really slow burn. As in, it’s barely there until it is and boom, it’s like a blast.
But this blatant disregard of decency has pissed me off. Throw in the kid dying, and the stupid prejudiced witch from the waiting room? Yeah, I’m mad.
Super mad.
Maybe I’m not thinking straight, maybe I’ve been invaded by the crazy bug, but hell, I have to act.
And I can’t just cough and demand they stop it. I can’t just let them giggle and get excited over being caught.
Nope.
They need to be punished.
I narrow my eyes at the confessional booth, which is still moving around like it’s got an earthquake going down under it, and I know exactly what I’m going to do.
A short, sharp shock.
That’s what they need.
So, I grab my bag, hitch it on my shoulder, and prepare to leave, my intent to find the security guard who mans the doors and get him to do something.
Only... when I leave my pew, I see it.
It might as well scream at me, “Push here.”
It’s stupid. I know it is. And, God, I might get into massive trouble considering it’s, ya know, illegal, but my slow-to-rattle temper always did make me an idiot.
So, I punch the glass of the fire alarm, and when it blares out a warning, and the sprinkler system pops on a few seconds later?
My heart leaps into my throat as I think about how fucking crazy that was—
Then, she screams.
And not in a ‘I just hit the big O’ kind of way, and I stop wondering if I’m crazy.
I just smile.
Job done.
Savio
The second the trucks roll in, my stomach turns.
The men are covered in blood and they’re sporting large grins, as if raping villages with Muslim women and girls is something to celebrate.
As if it was God’s will.
Bile burns in my stomach, longing to be torn from my being, but the truth is, I can’t deal with anymore stenches in my prison.
It’s easy to swallow down my horror at my current surroundings, easier to handle a rumbling stomach than to deal with another overpowering odor.
The largest of which is me.
I reek.
I beyond reek.
I’ve never gone without showering for this length of time. My cassock is filthy, tattered at the hem, and so dusty it’s more gray-brown than black now.
When I scrub a hand over my face to wipe away the sweat, it comes back covered in grime, and the prickles