Caine
Fifteen years ago
She didn’t show up last week. It should have made me happy that after eight weeks of sneaking off to church, I finally had my Saturday back. But it didn’t. It made me anxious, and the goddamned week dragged.
I looked up at the cross above the church and grumbled to myself before going inside. Sorry about the goddamned, big guy.
The church was empty as usual, and I had a song to learn, so I went to my regular spot to take a load off rather than stalking outside. Liam had been on one of his drunk-songwriting binges again. But after the last fiasco where he could only remember half of a kick-ass song, we’d all chipped in and bought him a portable digital recorder. The thing was smaller than a phone and could record twenty hours of music with the press of a button. It worked great. When he showed up hungover at practice this morning after his typical Friday night drinking and songwriting session, he couldn’t remember shit. But all we had to do was upload.
We were grateful Liam had remembered to turn the damn thing on. Only, unfortunately for us—and for him—he didn’t remember to turn it off all night. We were definitely going to find a way to sample some of his midnight jerking-off grunts on a track in the future.
I sat in the dark confessional for almost a half hour with my earbuds in. Even though she hadn’t shown, at least I’d learned the lyrics Liam had come up with. When I was done, I sank down into the red velvety plush seat, closed my eyes, and put on some Bob Dylan. The sound of “Blowin’ in the Wind” blocked out everything else around me—including the sound of the door creaking open on the other side.
I wasn’t sure how long she’d been there when I finally opened my eyes and noticed her. Pulling a bud from my ear, I slipped from priest mode and let my sixteen-year-old self show. “Hey. I didn’t think you were going to come.”
The music blared from my dangling earbud.
“What are you listening to?” she asked.
I couldn’t very well tell her I’d been listening to Dylan. That wasn’t very priestly. “Some new hymns.”
“It sounds like Bob Dylan.”
I grinned. The kid knew Dylan. No wonder I liked her so much. I lowered my voice. “Shh. Let’s not let the other priests in on our little secret.”
I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was smiling. “Okay.”
“Speaking of secrets, what do you have for me today? Have you been a good little lamb?”
“My sister came back home.”
“To get you?”
“No. She got in trouble, and the police brought her home.”
Good. The police needed to be at that house. “What happened?”
“She was staying at her friend’s father’s hunting cabin up north. She drank all his liquor one night and wandered out to find a store and got lost. The police brought her home after she threw up all over the back of their car.”
“Did they talk to your parents?”
“They talked to Benny. I listened through my bedroom door. He lied to the police, told them she drinks all the time and runs away with boys. That she’d been that way for a while.”
Shit. “They didn’t ask any other questions?”
“Not really. There were two of them, and one knew Benny from the garage.”
“The garage?”
“Where Benny works.”
“Benny fixes cars? He’s a mechanic?”
“Yes.”
“How is your sister now?”
“She’s sad.”
“Why didn’t you come last week?”
“I couldn’t leave my sister alone. Benny was really mad at her after the police brought her home. He was drinking and yelling a lot for days.”
“Did he hurt her?”
“I think so.”
This wasn’t a game anymore. “You need to tell me. Did he or didn’t he?”
She was quiet for a long time. I’d decided that if she took off, either I was following her home or the two of us were going to finally meet face to face. The fact that I’d violated this poor little girl’s trust didn’t even matter. She could hate me and run away from the church for all I cared, so long as she was safe.
I pushed with a stern tone. “Talk to me. Did he or didn’t he hurt your sister?”
“She won’t tell me. But I saw him come out of her room in the morning, and she told me I had to lock my door at night, that he’d promised he wouldn’t bother me if she was nice to him from now on.”
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! “We need to go to the police. I’ll go with you.”
“I need to go home now.” I could see through the lattice that she had stood.
“Wait!” I yelled.
She stilled. “Why did you come today if you don’t want my help?”
“Because it feels safe here with you.”
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then I need you to do something for me.”
“Okay.”
“Get your sister and come back here.”
“I can’t. Benny’s going to be home soon.”
“Then tomorrow. It’s Sunday. What do you usually do on Sunday?”
“Benny usually goes to work in the morning. My sister and I play music. We’re not allowed to play it when he’s home.”
“When he leaves for work, come here. I want to speak to you and your sister. Together.”
She was quiet for a while. When she finally did speak, her voice wasn’t convincing. “Okay.”
“You’ll come? And bring your sister?”
“I’ll try.”
I waited until I heard the door to the confessional and then the church open and close. It would probably take a few minutes to unlock her bike, and I knew the direction she came from.
The last thing I wanted to do was scare her when I followed her home. But if she didn’t show tomorrow, I needed to know where I was going.