The Blessed Read online

  A girl in a box.

  Her head and her life, both spinning. Weighing on her. Hurting her. Drowning her in a deluge of misery.

  The flame from the lighter, which had been slowly fading, petered out completely to a puff of smoke.

  “Great,” she fretted, banging her hand angrily against the side of the antique wooden booth, the chaplet on her wrist scratching at the paneled interior.

  Alone.

  In total darkness.

  Finally silent, with just her conscience.

  Lucy broke down sitting in that confessional. Drying blood mixing with mascara, charcoal-colored trails streaming down her porcelain face. Wiping bloody tears on her pristine slip. Liquor still on her breath. She wanted a shower, dry clothes, and a warm bed.

  “Somebody,” she moaned out loud. “Save me from all this bullshit.”

  “Save yourself,” came a muffled, disembodied reply through the shadowy confessional screen.

  “Shit!” she screamed, the burst of adrenaline sobering her up instantly. She braced herself, felt her face flush and the muscles in her calves and thighs slacken as she prepared to run for it. She couldn’t move but knew she had to. Lucy stiffened her back and her knees in the narrow booth and kicked the door open. She catapulted out of the box, still clutching the shoes from her bag, her trench coat, fedora, and weekender left behind in the confessional, along with her shame. In her desperation, Lucy slammed her knee into the edge of a pew and fell to the floor. Another scream tore from her throat. Almost instantly she felt a presence above her.

  A human one.

  A male one.

  She felt a hand grab her arm and another wrap around her mouth and press tight. “Shhhhhhhh.”

  Lucy struggled, but a knee in her back kept her down and under control. She couldn’t bite or scratch or fight back in any way. No sooner was she contemplating the worst than she felt his grip tighten, not to subdue her but to hoist her up. She nearly flew to her feet as if on wires. Lucy still could not really see his face, though she was staring directly into it. All she could discern were his hazel eyes, which appeared to glow. He removed his hand from her mouth.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” she babbled nervously. “People will be looking for me.”

  He took her in between the lightning flashes as she stood there—scared, wet, defiant. Her beautiful blond hair lay dripping on her bare shoulders, lips pursed defiantly but quivering. It amazed him that she was still clinging to her shoes, which matched her blood, the same way a mother would hang on to a toddler to escape a burning building. Her gorgeous blue eyes captivated him. It was as if he were talking to someone whom he only dreamed of.

  “Look,” she said, her speech a breathless staccato as she tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “I don’t know who you are or what you are doing here, and I don’t care. Just let me go and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

  Lucy worked her wrists up under his chin trying a Krav Maga move she’d learned from a bodyguard friend of hers to break his grip, when unexpectedly, she felt his hands loosen around her arms. He seemed to her to be looking down her slip, but it was the bracelet on her wrist that really caught his attention. She backed away from him but thought better of running, still not certain she could easily find the exit and hoping to calm him down before anything really bad happened.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  “You tell me.” Lucy was feeling even more frightened when it occurred to her that maybe he’d followed her here. Maybe he was some kind of celebrity stalker waiting for an opportunity to get her alone. To get a front-page box for killing a socialite. She’d seen that movie. A few of them. But she also had to consider that, if he wanted to kill her, she’d probably be dead already. “What do you want?”

  “Same as you.”

  Lucy heard the scratch of a match head along a striker, then the incandescent burst of phosphorous, and both the stranger and the path were revealed, at least in part. He walked toward an elaborate iron candle stand.

  He lit the first votive.

  It illuminated through the rose-colored glass holder. The candle threw more shadow than light but there was just enough for her to see him, or at least his silhouette cast against the wall of the side altar.

  She got a better look. He was young, probably not much older than she was, she observed, but there was nothing boyish about him. He was drop-dead gorgeous, with sharp features and a strong chin. Classic looks that fit in perfectly with the classical stylings of their surroundings. He was wearing black jeans and a tight black V-neck sweater that looked like it was almost shrink-wrapped on him. His dark brown hair was thick and sexy, like a lead singer of a band—well-coiffed in the messiest way. And his eyes. Those hazel eyes that pierced the darkness were even more entrancing in the candlelight. If she was going to be trapped with someone for three days, she could do worse.

  “You need to change?” he asked.

  “Oh, that was the whiskey talking,” Lucy said, embarrassed at being overheard in such a vulnerable moment. “I just needed to get out of the storm. To change, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Guess this is the place to be tonight, huh?”

  “For us it is,” he replied with a smile. “What’s your name?”

  He didn’t know her. A good sign. She thought about lying to him but she hadn’t needed to introduce herself in quite a while. And she liked it.

  “Lucy.”

  “Sebastian,” he replied, pulling up his sweater to the elbows and extending his hand.

  She noticed each of his exposed arms sported a full sleeve of black ink from his bicep to his forearm, but it was the tattoo around his wrist that really got her attention. That gave her pause at first, and then set off a full-fledged panic.

  It was a tattoo of an arrow, in the same style as her bracelet. It was intricate—the shaft wrapped around his wrist with the head and nock meeting on his palm side. Almost touching.

  Lucy took a big step back and grabbed the pew once again, so flustered that she lost her footing.

  “What is that?”

  “A reminder,” he answered.

  She was shaking as her skin turned not just to goose bumps but bubble wrap. “I’m out of here.”

  Sebastian didn’t try to stop her. If she wasn’t so afraid of him right then, she might have even supposed he was letting her go. She backed away and headed tentatively toward the door she’d come in, but she might as well have been trying to navigate a caved-in mineshaft. She slipped to her knees and started to cry.

  Lucy fell the second time.

  Overcome by both the throbbing in her skull and the realization that she might have just made the biggest mistake of her life by entering the church. One thing she was sure of, she couldn’t stop. As her sobs intensified, she felt his hands on her once more. A firm but gentle grip under each armpit and suddenly she felt herself lifted back to her feet again, facing him.

  “Get up,” he said as firmly, staring directly into her eyes.

  “Don’t hurt me, please.” Nearly naked, bruised, bleeding, and distraught, she did something totally out of character. She didn’t fight. She resigned herself and prepared for a forced kiss or much worse, for whatever was to come. He raised his arm, causing her to flinch. Then he proceeded to dry her tears with the sleeve of his black pullover. She grabbed him and held him tight for a second, then pulled away, not exactly sure of what had just come over her.

  “Looks like you took care of that all by yourself,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face to get a clearer look at the cut.

  Lucy hung her head, looking downward, crisscrossing her arms around her chest both to warm up and to hide. He could see it was all she could do to keep herself from convulsing in relief. He took his sweater off.

  “No, please!”

  He stopped. Looked at her. And gently wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “Go,” he said, gesturing toward the confessional.

  “Where?” />
  “Change.”

  Sebastian tuned in to the angry sounds of the storm outside as he waited for Lucy to come out of the confessional, certain she would be filled with questions. Questions he wasn’t yet able to answer. Answers she wasn’t ready to hear.

  13 A rumbling outside the church door, definitely not from the gale-force winds as far as he could tell, startled him. Three loud thuds announced a visitor—unwelcome or not, he didn’t know, but Sebastian was ready either way.

  A soaking-wet silhouette slipped through the doorway, its image flickering in the bolts of lightning that were striking ever more frequently.

  “Damn!”

  He recognized the voice from the emergency room.

  Cecilia.

  Still, he didn’t say a word.

  She pulled the door shut behind her, shaking the rain off. The darkness before her was thick and intimidating, but no more so than the wuthering wind outside. She peeled off her black ostrich feather coat, which was drenched and weighed a ton, and stripped down to a wife-beater she was wearing underneath. Her black leather panel leggings clung close to her body. She looked the part of a rock-and-roll renegade—dark kohl running eyeliner, glittery midnight blue shadow, and nude glossed lips.

  “Anybody home?”

  She wasn’t hoping just anyone was.

  She was hoping he was.

  A spark in the distance surprised her. She wasn’t alone. She thought about removing her Fender from its case for protection. On stage it was an affectation but now it might be a matter of life and death. She fumbled for the latches on the case, eyes on her shadowy target.

  Sebastian raised a woodstick he’d lit from the first votive head high, silently revealing himself to her. She could barely make him out in the dim light from that distance, but she felt his presence, just as she had in the hospital room, and relaxed just a little. Her disappointment from earlier in the night was totally gone. Replaced by disbelief of the best possible kind. It’s magic, she thought. Answered prayers.

  As she approached him, she could see that he was bare from the waist up and everything she’d imagined.

  He lit a second votive off the flame from the first.

  “This is a surprise,” she said.

  “Is it?”

  “Well, I was hoping, I thought, I might see you.”

  “You hoped.”

  “Sort of.”

  Sebastian chuckled. “How did you find me?”

  “I remembered the smell of frankincense from some gigs I played here. I’ll never forget ’em. Best gigs I ever did. You smell exactly like this place. That and the charm on the bracelet you gave me. The exact sword that’s etched above the door. A sign, I guess.”

  “A good one or a bad one?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” He couldn’t help but notice that she looked like a supermodel who had just been hosed down for a high-fashion shoot. Whether in a sickbed or soaked to the bone, he thought, Cecilia had undeniable natural beauty and edge. “How are you feeling?”

  “Wet. Unemployed. Homeless . . . you know, better. So, this is what you were in a massive rush to get back to the other night?” she asked.

  “No, I haven’t been here long,” he said. “But it’s safe. Mostly. I come here sometimes.” Sebastian walked toward her, with only his jeans on. His long, muscled arms accentuated by the candlelight, keeping his eyes fixed on hers all the while.

  “Slow down, sailor,” Cecilia said worriedly, but only half-joking.

  He smiled, balled up an altar cloth, and tossed it to her.

  “Dry off,” he said.

  “Tease,” she jibed, turning away and wiping the droplets of cloudburst from her face, neck, and arms.

  Cecilia stood there for a moment, gathered herself, and pulled a Clove cigarette out of her wet bag and tried to light it with her soaking-wet matches. Sebastian took it away from her, put it in his mouth, leaned over the candle, and lit it for her. He slowly took a drag, inhaled it, closed his eyes, took the cigarette from his lips, and held it to her lips, gently rubbing it from side to side until she relaxed and let it in. He tilted his head upward and exhaled. He wore the satisfied look, she observed, of a man who’d been trapped on a desert island or a maximum-security inmate with his hour outside.

  “Amazing how quiet it is in here,” Cecilia said, straining to see as much of the space as she could. “You can barely hear that insanity outside.”

  “Yeah, it’s peaceful,” Sebastian agreed, looking completely at ease to her.

  “So now we know why I’m here, but what about you?”

  She stepped in closer to him, removed the cigarette from her mouth, and brought it to his lips, waiting for his answer.

  Lucy was taken aback at the sound of chatter outside the confessional booth and cracked the door. She peeked out and saw Sebastian with a stranger and watched for a while. She was curious at first, then jealous, and suddenly furious.

  Lucy charged out of the confessional loudly, holding Sebastian’s sweater, drawing as much attention to herself as she could. Cecilia barely knew this guy, but her face flushed as if she’d been caught cheating, or had caught him.

  “Oh, so this is what you’re doing here,” Cecilia said.

  “What’s going on here?” Lucy huffed as she sidled in closer to them.

  “It’s not how it looks,” Sebastian tried to explain to both of them before CeCe cut him off.

  “Sloppy seconds taste terrible, don’t they?” Lucy snarked.

  “Only on a cheap date,” Cecilia replied.

  “Honey, there’s nothing cheap about me.”

  Sebastian didn’t say a word.

  “So, not only do you cruise hospitals, but you cruise churches, too?” Cecilia said, stomping out her cigarette and gathering her things to leave. “Classy.”

  Sebastian moved toward her, but Cecilia backed away. He couldn’t get a word in edgewise as Cecilia rambled on angrily, dropping her matches and then her cigarettes in her haste.

  “The confessional?” Cecilia sniped. “Definitely rock-star points for creativity, though—baring your body and soul. Screams ‘hot and steamy’ to me.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Lucy snapped.

  “I didn’t know you went trends gender,” CeCe said with a laugh. “And just out of the closet, too. I bet you don’t even know her name. Oh, but then maybe you got it off the clipboard on the edge of her hospital bed. Like mine.”

  “Hospital bed?” Lucy asked. “Wait, what’s going on here?”

  Coming closer, Lucy got a better look and was surprised. This girl didn’t look like the jealous type to her. She was cool and gorgeous and, judging from her outfit, tough.

  “You know each other?” Lucy asked, her heels clicking louder against the marble floor the closer she got.

  “From Perpetual Help,” CeCe explained. “I was there last weekend. No big deal.”

  “So was I,” Lucy chimed in.

  Lucy rolled up her cardigan sleeves and Cecilia spied her chaplet.

  Cecilia shot Sebastian an angry, disgusted look.

  “You got one too?”

  “Found it on my nightstand in the ER,” Lucy admitted.

  “I really thought I’d seen it all,” CeCe huffed. “This guy was fishing. In the ER, no less! Spread a few lovely little parting gifts to see who he could reel in. I mean, I was only kidding when I asked if you had a thing for sick girls.”

  The girls looked at each other, feeling humiliated, shaking their heads in unison, as if to acknowledge their astoundingly bad judgment when it came to guys. They made a good team, he thought, even if they had suddenly turned on him.

  “I didn’t drag you here,” Sebastian said, pushing back. “Either of you.”

  “No, you just planted a few seeds,” Lucy said, feeling deceived as well.

  “Don’t turn this around,” Cecilia interjected.

  “You came of your own free will, didn’t you?” Sebastian said.
“And you can leave of your own free will.”

  “Good idea. There are other Dumpsters to crash in. With smaller rats.”

  Cecilia was hurt. Lucy was crushed.

  “I thought this was special!” Lucy shouted while removing the chaplet, and then threw it back at him.

  Cecilia followed, taking off her chaplet and tossing it casually to Sebastian. “This was a big mistake. Let’s go.”

  Lucy paused, giving him one last chance to explain, but he didn’t. She joined Cecilia, reluctantly.

  “They are special,” he called after them in the darkness. “You are special. It wasn’t a mistake.”

  They stopped and turned.

  “They brought you here. Both of you. Here,” he said. “To me.”

  “What are they, freakin’ homing devices?” CeCe remarked.

  “The charms, they’re called milagros. That means miracles,” he said, handing them back to their respective owners. “They are used to ground you. Heal you. Lead you home.”

  “Well, fail!” Cecilia said, throwing up her arms. “I’m not home. I don’t have a home!”

  “Why don’t you just listen for a second,” Lucy snapped at Cecilia.

  “I ain’t into threesomes,” Cecilia said, pissed at Lucy’s indecisiveness. “Have fun.”

  Lucy grabbed her arm. “It’s going to get really bad out there. Let it pass.”

  Cecilia felt a bit of reverse psychology at play in Lucy’s tone. Like she didn’t really mean it. Lucy wanted her out of there. She wanted Sebastian to herself.

  “Pass? You mean like a kidney stone? No, thanks.” Cecilia huffed, breaking Lucy’s grip and eyeing Sebastian. “I didn’t come here to play Bachelor. Besides, it couldn’t be any worse out there than it is in here.”

  Cecilia grabbed her guitar and her heavy coat and made her way through the darkness to the door. She opened it and was almost immediately blown backward by an angry gust that nearly blasted the enormous wooden door from its hinges. She could barely see, but what she could make out was horrific. The sheet metal and scaffolding rattled and groaned in the wind and large branches snapped from tree trunks, littering the street, crushing parked cars beneath them, blocking the sidewalk below the stone staircase and down the brownstoned block farther than she could see. The downpour had already overwhelmed the sewers, flooding over curbs and into cellars. Plastic supermarket bags, wrappers, and rubbers clogged sewer drains as the smelly contents of overturned trash cans floated by under the straining street lamps. To CeCe, the entire area had the noxious odor of a backed-up dive-bar bathroom.