SEVENTEEN
TOXIC
SERA
The ceremony was kind of fucked up. Amy walked down the aisle to a David Bowie song—Starman—that had absolutely nothing to do with love, commitment or the beauty of everlasting companionship. Must have been some sort of private joke between her and Ben, who was struck with nervous laughter just as Father Richards began the service. One of the flower girls threw up as the bride and groom were taking their vows, and Ben’s grandfather, Jerry, who’d apparently escaped the Nazis in a muck cart in occupied France right at the end of the Second World War, had an angina attack, and everybody thought he was about to die. I wasn’t counting the growing list of individual disasters that were tarnishing Amy’s day, however, because none of it mattered. Sixsmith wasn’t here. And if Sixsmith wasn’t here, then everything else was going to be perfect no matter what.
As maid of honor, I stood up at the front in the hideous peach dress Amy had picked out for me, and I held Amy’s bouquet for her when Ben slid the wedding ring onto her finger. Father Richards droned on and on about the sanctity of marriage, loyalty and obedience for a little too long, during which time I scanned the people parked in the pews, searching for Fix. He wasn’t there.
A range of emotions took their turn at confusing the fuck out of me as Father Richards told Ben he could now kiss the bride. Worry came first. Had everything gone smoothly with Sixsmith? Had my father attacked Fix or something? Sixsmith was unpredictable and insane, totally capable of launching himself at a guy twice the height and size of him if he felt like it.
Annoyance came next. Fix insisted on coming with me to Fairhope. He’d sworn up and down he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight, and then…what? He’d just fucking vanished? Great.
The last emotion to hit me, as I finally spotted the man in question out of a window to my right, was desire—the most confusing emotion of all. Fix was outside, leaning against the wall of what looked like a small guest cottage, one leg bent, the sole of his boot resting against the wall, and there was a cigarette in his hand. Tendrils of smoke snaked their way from his nostrils, rising around his face, and my stomach turned over on itself.
The man in black. I’d only ever seen him wear black. Did that have something to do with his days spent as a priest, drowning in his cossack, or was it just a reflection of who he was, devoid of light? I didn’t want to wonder about him. It was foolish to allow my mind to wander onto such treacherous ground, but…I couldn’t help it. Fix had done something I couldn’t understand or move past. But then again, he’d kept his word, and he hadn’t harmed me. Quite the opposite, really. He’d prevented Sixsmith from destroying what was supposed to be the happiest day of my sister’s life.
Some of the people in the chapel had noticed Fix waiting outside, too. They muttered under their breath, whispering behind their hands to one another, sending scathing glances in his direction. What did they see when they looked at him? A guy smoking a cigarette, dressed in black, wearing torn jeans. It was obvious; they saw someone who wasn’t a part of their crowd. He wasn’t a banker, or a lawyer, or a doctor. His face wasn’t clean-shaven, and his hair was a little too long to satisfy their tastes.
I wasn’t a member of their little clique either, though. I’d come from a base stock, working class family, and so had Amy. They’d overlooked our weak breeding because we were young, and we were pretty enough, and we’d done our best to lift ourselves out from underneath the poverty we were born into. It had never sat right with me, how Ben had tried to change Amy. Had thrown out her old wardrobe and told her how pretty she was in the clothes he had bought for her. I’d never have imagined Amy wearing a string of pearls when we fled Montmorenci and moved to Seattle. She’d liked to listen to the Ramones and dye her hair black. She’d liked to walk a fine line between madness and sanity—after escaping Sixsmith, I think we’d both felt that way—but these days all she cared about was improving her credit rating and making sure she got to bed by eight thirty.
These people were toxic.
When I looked at Fix out through those windows, I didn’t know what I saw. He was an enigma. When I’d hidden in that auto shop and seen what he’d done, I’d been scared. I’d wanted to run from him and never look back. But…things weren’t so clear anymore. I was never going to be able to say I agreed with what he did for a living, but the photos he’d shown me of the poor girl Franz had tortured and abused…
I still saw those images every time I closed my eyes. They were going to be seared into my retinas for the rest of my life. And…and how many times, when I was younger, had I wished for someone like Fix to come along and put an end to Sixsmith once and for good? If I’d had the money back then, wouldn’t I have hired someone just like Fix to protect me?
Fix flicked his cigarette, and the butt flew in an arc before hitting the ground, sending up sparks from the cherry. I hadn’t noticed that Amy and Ben had already walked down the aisle, and were almost outside. Everyone was on their feet, backs to me, shoving out of the pews, trying to get by one another in their efforts to hurry outside first. Father Richards cleared his throat, nodding out of the window. “Felix’s father was a priest, too, you know?” he said.
“Really? I didn’t think priests were allowed to get married and have families?” Which Fix’s father obviously must have done.
Father Richards sighed. “Well. Things are a little laxer now. But back then, in the late seventies, when Felix’s father decided to follow his calling, he was already married to Louisa, and Felix was…hmm. Two years old, I believe? If you were already married and you wanted to become a priest, exceptions were often made. If you were single before you were ordained, however, then you could expect to be celibate for the rest of your life.”
“Sounds miserable.”
“Actually, I’d say I’ve enjoyed my bachelor status. It’s been rather…peaceful.” Father Richards smiled sadly, his eyes taking on a distant stare. “I heard about what happened at Felix’s church,” he said quietly. “It was a horrific thing. When such terrible atrocities are committed in our communities, we feel responsible. We are protectors and shepherds, and when one of our flock is hurt, we feel the pain deeply.
“I didn’t think Felix would leave us forever, though. He always was a wild child, but…I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m being selfish. The church is full of dusty, crabby old men, so blinded years of routine and regulation that they can’t find their own joy anymore. I suppose I just hoped Felix would come back to us, because….well, he was what we needed. More rebels to shake our foundations.”
Father Richards left me standing there, staring out of the window, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Fix stared back at me, hands in his pockets, his face awash with pain, as if he knew what Father Richards had just said to me, and he really was still crippled by some unknown grief. I couldn’t look away. Fix was broken and undone. He was light and he was darkness. And despite every warning bell in my mind that said otherwise, I couldn’t shake the feeling that, while I knew he was danger personified…he might, just might, also be my safety, too.