Monday the 12th of June, 1989
Hard layers of rain fell on me as I ran from my homeroom to my car. Sliding glumly into the driver’s seat, I shut out the horrible weather that had carried over from the week prior. I shook my head, sending splatters of water spraying the dashboard and steering wheel. Outside, students made mad dashes across the car park, blocking my exit, none of them Catherine. This morning, before school, I’d rung her number. Her mother had answered, telling me that Catherine was sleeping and that she still wasn’t up to attending school, Sister Cecile’s death hitting her hard. I just wished that Mrs. Lovich would let me speak to her daughter, so that I could tell Catherine the nun didn’t deserve her grief. My father had been absolutely certain that the witch had been behind my grandfather’s sudden aging. So I had very little sympathy for her, even more so since she’d been training Catherine to kill him. I just didn’t believe that Catherine was on board with the nun’s scheming. Sister Cecile would’ve been manipulating her, filling Catherine with lies about my grandfather, which I needed to clear up so she didn’t do anything stupid like the other night.
Making a mental note to call her when I got home, I turned on my indicator and pulled out of the car park. Due to the bad weather, the road was crammed with cars, making the drive home considerably longer, my fogged-up window not helping. I parked behind my father’s car and ran for the front door with an armful of books and my backpack. I went to unlock the door, but it opened before I could get a hand to it, my father appearing in the doorway.
“Ciao, figlio. How was school today?” he asked in an overly cheerful voice. He was going out of his way to be nice to me, trying to make amends for what he’d done. He’d spent the last few days preparing my meals, the burnt saucepans testimony to his lack of culinary skills, my mother the cook in the family. He’d also been trying to strike up conversations no matter how awkward they were. Still, I appreciated the effort he was putting in. I also kind of liked that he was willing to try, because it meant he cared about me after all.
“School’s a pain as usual,” I said, slipping past him. “I have loads of study to do, so I’ll be in my room for the rest of the day.”
He followed me to my door. “The study doesn’t stop when you finish school. I’ve got a lot to do myself.”
“Then, why are you home?”
“I wanted to be here just in case you needed anything.”
I gave him a small smile, appreciating the sentiment. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “It’s no bother, I can work in the study. You want me to heat something up for you?”
“No, thanks. I’ll probably just grab a snack.”
“Well, if you change your mind, just call out.”
I nodded, giving him another smile, his returning one genuine, making me feel good. He walked off, leaving me standing in the middle of my room, hoping this new leaf he’d turned over would last longer than his guilt.
I dumped my bag and books on the bed, then headed for the kitchen. I grabbed the phone book off the breakfast bar and flicked through the white pages, retrieving Catherine’s number. I dialled it, the female voice answering disappointing me once more.
“Hello,” Catherine’s mother said.
“Ciao, Mrs. Lovich, it’s Christopher Laboure. Can I please speak to Catherine?”
“She can’t come to the phone right now, but I can pass on a message.”
I kicked the toe of my boot against the bench. “I’d rather talk to her. Could you please get her to call me?”
“Ah... she’s not really up to talking, but I’ll tell her you phoned.”
I sighed. “Okay, thanks.”
I hung up and glumly headed to the refrigerator. I grabbed a bottle of Coke out of it, then checked the pantry, finding more than enough bread and treats to last a week, my father obviously having raided a bakery. I swiped the box of muffins and returned to my room, placing the food and drink on my desk. Once my bedroom door was locked, I pulled out the large rosary book from under my bed, bringing it over to my desk.
Settling into reading more about the Halo rosary, I removed a chocolate muffin from the box, dropping crumbs onto the book as I stuffed it into my mouth. I brushed them off and continued reading about how the Halo rosaries were so old that no one knew of their origins. The last notable incident of the beads being used was by a nurse during the Crimean War. When a soldier died during a misled charge on Russian troops, she’d placed the beads around his neck to bring him back to life. After the beads had successfully revived him, they became dormant, incapable of healing even minor injuries.
I continued to the next paragraph, the author highlighting the Halo rosary’s flaws:
When the Halo Rosary is used to bring someone back from the dead, the beads will lose their power for months. This dormant stage could even last as long as a year if the person is elderly. During this period, the white rosary’s appearance changes, which is most noticeable when it is worn. Normally, when the rosary is placed over a person’s head, a halo effect encircles their body or head. However, once the rosary has been used to bring someone back from the dead, the halo effect will not reappear until the beads have replenished their powers.
As I continued to consume every piece of information about the Halo rosary, I reached for another muffin, knocking the bottle of Coke towards the book. Reacting quickly, I grabbed the bottle and shoved the book away at the same time, saving it from being splattered with Coke. The book tumbled over the side of my desk, hitting the floor. Swearing, I grabbed a shirt lying on the floor and mopped up the spilt Coke on my desk. Once done, I tossed the wet shirt into my wastebasket, then grabbed the manuscript off the floor, worried that I’d damaged it. As I lifted the book, my mother’s Halo rosary fell out of the back, landing on the carpet. I put the book down and swiped the rosary up, excited to be holding the healing beads. I’d been so consumed with reading that I’d forgotten it had been hidden inside.
Hoping that my grandfather hadn’t sucked all of its power out, I headed for the mirror, wanting to see if the rosary would light up for me. I lowered it over my head, placing it on top of my shirt. The rosary flickered, looking like it was trying to work, but didn’t have enough power to fully light up. Disappointed, I slipped it off and went to return it to the book, but paused mid-step, a passage in the book coming back to me. It had said something about the beads working better when they were in direct contact with skin.
Keen to see if it was true, I yanked off my shirt and placed the rosary over my head, settling the Halo beads on my bare chest. I turned to the mirror just as the halo lit up, a bright light encircling my head. Little sparks shot into my skin, but instead of pain, I felt intense joy. I continued to stare at my reflection, losing all sense of time, spellbound by the halo. Although it didn’t encircle my whole body, like it had done for my grandfather, it was still stunning, reminding me of the pictures I’d seen of saints and angels.
Little patters of rain against my window finally snapped me out of the trancelike state. I pulled the rosary off and returned it to its secret compartment, then slipped the book under my bed. I wondered whether my mother had pretended that the book was of greater importance due to the Halo rosary hiding inside, because, so far, I hadn’t gleaned anything dire from its pages.
The rain’s patter against my window steadily picked up. I lay down on my bed, my eyelids growing heavy. I closed them, only partially aware of the Halo rosary humming beneath my bed. I smiled, feeling like I was on a high, floating above the mattress. The smile disappeared as I fell into a dream. A girl was lying face down in the middle of a grassy field. Her clothes were melded to her body, patches of her flesh burnt and bloodied, the gruesome sight in direct contrast to the picturesque landscape of trees and flora surrounding her. Noticing the blue rosary around her neck, I quickly scanned my surroundings, fully aware her killer could still be lurking around. But no one came forward, only the loud cries of seagulls breaking the silence.
Returning my attention to the girl, I squatted down and rolled her over, whipping my hand back at what I saw.
Catherine’s face.
I stared at her, momentarily stunned, unable to work out how it could be Catherine. Not only was she slightly younger-looking, but she had dark-brown hair, yet her face was almost identical to Catherine’s. A few seconds later, understanding kicked in.
She was Catherine’s twin sister.
Which meant I was experiencing a passe—a time jump into the past.
I glanced down to see who I was inhabiting, finding myself in a male body bulkier than mine. Their large hands were smooth with touches of dirt underneath the fingernails, while their muscular forearms and calves were covered in blond hair. But what confused me was the state of their clothing. The guy’s board shorts and T-shirt were wet and smeared with dirt, suggesting that Catherine’s sister had attacked him. But why? Because he couldn’t have been the one who’d burned her, since he was blond. Seraphim either had black, brown, or red hair, never blond.
Catherine’s sister moaned, almost making me jump out of my skin, the fact she was still alive taking me by surprise. Her eyes flickered open, the colour also surprising me. Unlike Catherine’s hazel eyes, bright blue ones stared back at me.
She let out a loud shriek and scampered away from me. “Please don’t kill me!”
I remained where I was, my eyes not leaving her. “Why would I kill you?”
She stopped her retreat, anger diluting her fear. “Because you burned me!” She looked down at herself and started to cry, her tears turning pink as they ran down her bloodied and burned cheeks. She grabbed at her rosary and yanked it off, flinging it at me. “Have it! I don’t want it, I never did!”
“I don’t want it either.”
“Then why did you attack me?!”
“I’m not who you think I am, I’m someone else, caught in a passe.”
Her face went from anguished to hopeful in a split second. “You’re not him?”
I shook my head. “Who do you see?”
She crawled towards me on her hands and knees, her expression full of pain. “Help me, please, before he comes back.”
“I will, but first tell me who he is?”
“Only if you help me.” She reached for me.
“Do you need help walking?” I asked, extending my hand.
Instead of taking it, she swiped up her rosary and slipped it over her head. “Sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“This.” Without warning, an explosion of water shot out of her body, barrelling into me. It lifted me off the ground, propelling me backwards. I landed hard on my back, the wind being knocked out of me. I winced and went to push up, finding Catherine’s sister standing over me. She was holding a spear of ice, sorrow permeating her expression.
“Sorry,” she repeated, then aimed the spear at my heart.