Page 9 of Dark Side of the Cloth

The moment the door was closed, she flopped down on the toilet seat lid again and held her head in her hands as a complex vortex of emotions swirled in her gut. Standing, she splashed some cool water on her face and composed herself, determined to walk out there and act like a normal human and not some wanton creature.

Yasmine marched across the kitchen floor, and a little of her bravado slipped as she watched Dean work wearing an apron with angels on it. He looked so adorable and sexy, all wrapped up in Mabel’s Viva Las Vegas apron. Stifling a laugh, she sauntered over to resume her position.

On multiple occasions, she caught Mabel staring over at her and Dean. Mabel even wiggled her eyebrows at her once, causing Yasmine to choke on her water. She was so embarrassed that she had to walk out of the kitchen for a moment. But as the day passed, her embarrassment eased, which made it easier for her to breathe and enjoy herself.

“Bye, Mabel, thank you for the great day.” Yasmine hugged Mabel and breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of roses and spices that always accompanied Mabel.

“You’ve always been such a sweet girl.” Mabel pulled back and patted her cheek. “Thank you for coming, Father. It is always wonderful to see you.”

“Oh, I was planning on staying a little longer,” Dean said as Mabel pulled him over to the door.

Yasmine felt like a teenager being set up on a blind date as Mabel shoved Dean’s coat into his hands. “You better let Father O’Sullivan make sure you get to your car alright. It has been snowing all day,” Mabel said as she practically pushed the two of them out the door together.

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted?” Dean asked and nudged her shoulder.

“I have stopped trying to understand Mabel’s motives,” Yasmine laughed. Pulling her coat tighter around herself, she walked to her car, very aware that Dean’s hand was resting on her lower back.

“Thank you for walking me to my car,” she said, not looking Dean in the eyes.

“The pleasure was all mine. I do hope to see you again soon, Yasmine. It is always wonderful to spend time with you.” He gently brushed the flakes of snow from her hair, the gesture feeling more intimate than it should.

Yasmine slipped behind the wheel over her car and waved as Dean stepped back. She watched him in her rearview mirror, and even with the gaining distance, she could feel their eyes locked onto each other.

What had she done in her life to deserve this torture? At this point, she did not know, but she was pretty certain that God must hate her.

Dean sat in the small confessional booth and listened as yet another sinner spewed their, please forgive me for my sin story. As he scribbled down the name and sin committed by each person, he would picture the best way to punish them for their atrocity and then told them that God forgave them—what a load of bullshit.

First, there was no God, and even if there was, just saying I’m sorry wasn’t going to cut it. But he wasn’t going to complain because hunting sinners had never been so easy. His favorite prey: the sexual predators—they really got his juices flowing. Turning the tables on them was more rewarding than punishment for any other crime. The only challenge to his confessional hours was the memories of his father that tried to tickle at the perimeter of his mind. He’d consistently pushed them away thus far.

As for today, he wanted this shit to be done because this last sinner was safe. He had no interest in killing someone because they had sworn and swatted at a neighbor’s cat for shitting in their garden.

Suddenly, a loud bang of one of the pew seats slamming closed sounded in the main area of the church, and an instant stabbing pain erupted in his head. The small black notebook tumbled from his hands to the ground as he gripped his temples, trying to stop the inevitable.

“No, no,” he whispered as the flashes began appearing, clouding his vision.

The thrumming of helicopter blades, accompanied by the rapid popping sound of bullets, invaded his brain. Screams of those dying rang so loud in his mind that he physically jerked and smacked into the side of the confessional.

Dust billowed down the street as another building exploded, sending rocks and dirt flying in all directions. Women and children screamed as they ran from the terror that was raining down on them. A smoke so thick it stung his eyes even with his goggles on, they burned and itched, but he knew better than to take them off to rub.

“I’m over here!” He yelled and waved his arms at the fellow members of his unit running down the street toward him. The smoke clogged his throat, making him cough. He pulled his bandanna up from around his neck and over his nose, but it did no good.

“This way!” He waved and yelled over the rumbling explosions too close for comfort. A shrill whistling noise had him looking up to see an RPG coming right at them.

“No! Watch out!” He watched in horror, unable to do anything as the missile landed directly in front of his running unit members.

Boom!

The impact sent him flying backward. He landed hard, smacking the back of his head off the ground. Dazed and unable to see through the thick debris, he rolled onto this stomach. His ears rang, and he tried to shake it off, then remembered his men.

“No, no, no.” He crawled, pulling himself along the ground, arm over arm until he reached the deep depression in the dirt. Perez’s arm was sticking out of the deep crater, and as he reached the lip of the hole, he grabbed his friend and pulled.

Tears streamed down his face as he stared into Perez’s eyes.

“I don’t feel so good.” Perez coughed.

Dean looked down the length of Perez’s body, blood seeping into the sand and painting it a vibrant red.

“I can’t feel my legs. Where are my legs?” Perez said, over and over, becoming more hysterical by the second. He tried to sit up.