Pastor Linton watches me, gauging my expression. It’s his business to read people, and I suppose he’s gotten decent at it.
“If Cathy ghosted you, she’s probably got a good reason,” he says. “Might be too much for her, dealing with all this. We’ve had deaths in our congregation, frightening occurrences, visitors of the supernatural kind…like yourself, I’m guessing.”
I open my mouth to reply, but he holds up his hand. “Don’t tell me your name or what you are. It’s better if I don’t know. All I’m saying is, maybe Cathy needs space and some time to process all of it. Sometimes we gotta let the Lord work. God knows I’m having trouble processing everything myself.” His hands start to quiver, andhe tucks them under the table to hide the tremor. “I’ve always been the guide, the shepherd of the flock. And now…I can’t shake this terror that I’ve failed at the one thing I was put on this earth to do. You got any idea how that feels?”
He doesn’t sound like the man Cathy and I heard when we eavesdropped under the Lintons’ window. That man was firm and confident. Maybe it was a front he was putting on for his son. Maybe the situation has gotten worse since then. Sometimes it’s the little things, not the big tragedies, that put a man over the edge.
“I know how it feels to fail, sure,” I say. “And to be perfectly fucking honest, that’s how I’ll feel if any harm comes to Cathy.”
The woman at the counter calls, “Order for Heathcliff Lockwood!”
Pastor Linton’s eyes widen.
I give him a bitter grin as I rise from the booth. “I guess you know my name now.”
“A Lockwood? How are you even here?” His voice is faint, the tone of a man shaken to his core. “Has the barrier failed?”
“Maybe it has, and maybe it hasn’t. Just know that I’m looking out for Cathy, whether she wants me to or not. If anyone in your congregation gets out of line, you step in and protect her, got it? And if you see her, tell her to answer her damn messages.”
I head over to pick up the two plastic bags of food. On my way out of Brickley’s, I cast one more look at Pastor Linton. He’s staring at nothing, his eyes full of hollow despair.
Well, damn. Hope I didn’t break him.
He’s right about one thing. Cathy probably needs time and space to process all the shit that has been thrown her way lately.
So I’ll wait. For now.
18
Cathy
“Here’s your sweet tea.”
I accept the glass from Aunt Nellie, but it feels too heavy, so I set it down on the nightstand. Leaning over, I sip from the straw.
I’ve been in her guest room ever since she and Dad found me on the floor of the storage room after the Bible study—a fetal ball in the middle of a rainbow of spilled paint and scattered crayons. Dad helped Aunt Nellie get me home. She cleaned me up like Mom used to do and put me in bed. Even kissed my forehead.
Dad and Aunt Nellie were so kind to me. So gentle. Maybe finding me in that state woke them up, pulled them out of the shared panic of the congregation. And I think Aunt Nellie feels guilty for the incident in the church parking lot. Her actions caused my crisis in the basement, and she knows it. That’s got to be why she’s being so sweet, so determined to help me. No matter what I am, what Dad has done, or what Aunt Nellie said, the three of us are family. We’re all we got.
Too bad it took them a while to realize that because I think I’m broken. Wounded inside, suffering from some kind of PTSD, I’mguessing. I’ve been feeling wretched for days—over a week, maybe more. This isn’t normal for me. Recovery after an episode never takes this long, and I don’t usually feel this weak. I can’t seem to do more than sip sweet tea and sleep. Occasionally I stagger to the bathroom or eat some crackers, but that’s about it. There’s a fog in my brain that I can’t shake, and I feel hollow inside, like every bit of fire and will has drained right out of me. I guess that’s what happens when I’m forbidden from wandering like I’m supposed to. My inner banshee has suffered a deep trauma, and it might take a while to heal. Maybe it will leave me in peace in the meantime. Maybe I can enjoy being taken care of for once. Allow myself to be sick, to bestill. To let Aunt Nellie play mom. She seems to enjoy it, and to be honest, I do, too.
“It’s Saturday night,” says Aunt Nellie. “I think you should take a shower and come to church with me tomorrow.”
At the mention of the church, the storage room flashes into my brain, and I shudder with terror.
“You can sit with everyone in the service,” she says. “Between me and your dad. Might do you some good.”
“I don’t think I can,” I whisper.
“Don’t worry, honey.” She brushes my hair back from my forehead with a cool hand. “I’ll help you.”
19
Heathcliff
Enough is enough.
Cathy still hasn’t contacted me, but I’m sure as hell not waiting any longer.
