“Then why,” he asked slowly, “do you reject the scripture?”
“I don’t reject it,” I snapped. “I just don’t support its being used as a tool of control.”
His eyes gleamed. “It was written by Our Lady herself. That makes it doctrine. Every verse is sacred, including the one you renounce.”
“It doesn’t mean what you think it does.”
Dr. Holcrum tilted his head, curious. “Then tell me. What does it mean?”
I swallowed hard as memories of Grandmother Alma’s lessons flickered through my head.
“I was taught that peace is achieved by having a connection with the gods. And through that connection, you are saved fromtruedeath.”
His expression softened, almost thoughtfully.
“Ah, true death. When one is erased—body, soul, and spirit. A fate worse than the Sea of Sorrow, is it not?”
I nodded, skeptical of his acceptance.
Death was everyone’s end, the ultimate act of life. However, I learned that there were two types: physical death and true death.
When people physically died, their memory lived on, and their spirit crossed the veil into either the Realm of Remembrance or the Sea of Sorrow. Whereas true death was reserved for the worst souls, those considered unworthy of any afterlife. Souls deemed unfit even for the pain of eternal drowning were erased, stolen from common thought as if they’d never existed at all.
“I’m surprised that you’re familiar with its concept. It can be a dark subject to learn, so many don’t teach it. But ignorance doesn’t make things go away, does it?”
“No,” I admitted. “It doesn’t.”
Dr. Holcrum leaned back, steepling his fingers. “What do you think will happen when you die?”
“I’ll meet Anam.” It was a fact.
“But where do you think you’ll go?”
I rubbed my arm mindlessly. I hated this question because I hated its answer. Instead of telling Dr. Holcrum what I hoped for, I told him the truth.
“I don’t know.”
He looked at me so intensely my skin itched. After several moments of tense silence, he spoke.
“You don’t need faith sessions.”
“Then… why am I here?”
“I’m required to see you twice before I can make my recommendation.”
My pulse stuttered. “So this was some kind of test?”
He stood, brushing the wrinkles from his pant leg. “Not exactly. You don’t need faith sessions because the connection you lack…” He paused, as if savoring the weight of his next words. “…isn’t one I can teach you. It’s one you’ll have to find yourself.”
His gaze didn’t waver. It pinned me, sharp as glass, until my chest tightened. Then, with a flick of his hand toward the door:
“Go.”
I stood on unsteady legs, confusion coiling like smoke in my lungs. His words clung to me as I walked, sticky, impossible to shake.
“And Ms. Ashbone?”
The sound of my name froze me mid-step. I turned.
