Page 55 of Deviant

As if the wind seeks to answer my unspoken question, a door at the back of the church raps against its frame.

That’s where she is. Nora’s gone outside to the cemetery. Another ideal place to hide.

Laughing at the possibility that maybe she heard me call out her name after all, and that perhaps she’s up to her little games, I rush outside in search of her.

But when I finally find her, I’m taken aback by the peculiar scene.

Nora is talking to the old priest in hushed whispers, noting down everything he says in a little black notebook. Her eyes sparkle at something he says, bringing a smile so wide to her lips that it almost splits her face in half.

What could he possibly have told her that would make her that happy?

Everyone knows the old priest lost his mind ages ago, and coaxing any coherent thought out of him is as much a miracle as the deity he worships.

But, somehow, Nora has found a way to not only talk to him but understand his irrational babble.

Making a strained effort to keep my footsteps quiet, I slowly walk in their direction, and hide behind a tombstone that’s close enough to hear their conversation.

“That’s all I have to do?” Nora repeats calmly.

“Yes. Tomorrow night. Be there, and you’ll get what you want.”

“Thank you, Father. You have no idea what this means to me.”

The priest’s eyes sadden at her reply.

“I’m sending you to your death. Don’t thank me.”

“I won’t die,” she says assuredly.

“We all die. Red. Red. Red. We all die,” he begins mumbling as if triggered by the word.

“Not me. Not yet. Not until I save my mother.”

“Choose black, child. Not white. Never white. White leads to red. Only black. Always black. Death is shadow. Shadows can’t survive without light. Death needs life. Remember. Remember black.”

Seeing that he’s back to talking in riddles, Nora just smiles sweetly at him.

“I’ll remember, Father. I promise.”

He nods as if comforted by her taking him seriously.

“Goodbye. Die well. It’s all I can hope for you,” he says with sadness before walking away from her.

Nora’s gaze only leaves his retreating form when she finally spots me standing next to an unmarked grave, once I’ve left my hiding spot.

“Roe? What are you doing here?” she asks with a bright smile, skipping over to me as if I hadn’t just caught her in the weirdest rendezvous ever.

“I could ask you the same thing? Why were you talking with Father O’Sullivan?”

“Maybe I wanted him to hear my confession?” She winks before picking up both of my hands in hers.

“You’re not Catholic.”

“I’m not anything.” She laughs whimsically. “But I read somewhere that confession is good for the soul.”

“Then confess to me,” I insist, needing to know what that was all about. “What were you two talking about?”

Her good disposition wanes when she sees the anxiety in my eyes.

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