Page 43 of Wanted

“Yes, I believe it,” Father McCall says. “It is the word of God.”

I want to ask if that’s the case then why haven’t I heard it before today? But I already know the answer.

Because that’s not what the Order believes.

My next question weighs so heavily on me, I have to take several deep breaths before I can work up the nerve to ask it. “Do you… do you think I’m good?”

We’re running for our lives, quite literally. Now is not the time for theological debates. But the seed has been planted in my brain and I need to know. I need to know what I’ve always secretly believed is true.

I need to know there’s still hope for me.

Father McCall nudges me to a gentle stop and takes his own deep breath before he answers. “Yes, lass, I believe you are good.”

“Truly?” I press.

I trust him. Trust him with my life.

Yet the scared little girl inside me, the scared little girl who has always been me, fears his first answer was a cruel trick and now he’ll yank it away to put me in my place.

My heart races and my head becomes so light I fear it might float away as I await his answer.

“Yes, I believe you are good,” he says.

I should be relieved. It’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

“But you don’t know me,” I counter.

He doesn’t know about all the horrible thoughts I’ve been having lately. Doesn’t know that just the other day I was imagining myself hurting priests like him.

Imagining it for no reason I can fantom.

Simply thinking about it all causes sweat to drip down my forehead. The sweat soaks into the sleeve pressing against my eyes, making me feel even more miserable in this blasted sunlight.

“I know enough,” he insists.

I shake my head in disbelief and immediately regret it. The world around me spins. A white, blurry world I can’t see.

Grabbing my other arm, he helps steady me. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,” I snap. “It’s just this… heat.”

I yank my arms away, something about his touch now irritating me.

“Heat?” he says in confusion.

“Do you not feel it? It must be at least a hundred and twenty degrees out here.”

“No, lass, it’s a cool day today. Nice and breezy,” he says, and I honestly don’t know if he’s telling the truth or lying to me. “We should keep moving.”

He grabs my hand again, and I feel how cool his skin is compared to mine. Cool and dry.

“Do you feel anything besides being warm?” he asks as he quickly guides me through the maze of cars.

Why are there even so many cars? How many people could possibly be in the cathedral at this hour?

“Like what?” I grit out between my teeth.

“I’m not entirely sure…” he grumbles.

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