The Banishing (15 page)

“Yeah, well,” Melissa said, her face falling serious, “I wouldn’t wish marriage upon anybody, and I’m certainly not in a position to dole out relationship advice.”

Sharon fell silent for a moment, then said, “Has anything else happened?”

Melissa didn’t know what to say. Sharon had always come across as a sensible, no-nonsense woman. Rational. What would she make of it all if Melissa brought up the things she’d been seeing? More than likely, Sharon would call a psychologist and have her locked up. Or would she? Maybe she was underestimating Sharon. Shouldn’t she be seeing her as an ally? Sharon had been her only friend since moving into the house with Mark and starting the job at the hospital.

“You still there?” Sharon pressed.

“Uh...yeah. I don’t want to get into it here. All I’m going to say is that things haven’t exactly improved, if you get my meaning.”

“Shit. Melissa!”

“Mark’s been…well, you know how it goes.”

“Are you saying he hit you, again?”

That’s not all.
Melissa thought about the night he had forced himself onto her and felt a sickening knot tie itself in her stomach. She would never forget that night, no matter what. He had torn something inside her. Broken her heart that night. It was more painful than any punch he could have delivered.

I can’t forget the knife, either. The way he had laughed at me pissing myself that way.
She tried to expel the memory; it seemed like a horrific nightmare she wanted to desperately wake from. “Sharon, I think there may be more to what’s going on. That’s all I want to say for now. Please understand. Maybe we can have a chat during lunch tomorrow at work or something. Just know that I’m all right at the moment. I’m going to sort things out.”

Sharon groaned. “Do you know how many people out there suffer when they should be getting help?”

Women’s shelters? Housing for battered women? Is that what it’s come to?
Melissa thought, not knowing what to say.

Sharon finally broke the silence. “I’m here for you. That’s all I want you to know, okay?”

“Yes, I do know. Thank you. Is everything all right at your end? Jonathon aside, I mean.”

Sharon laughed. A cheeky, almost childish giggle. “I want to know why that gorgeous Josh Howell wanted your phone number. What’s the gossip?”

Melissa smiled. “He just called to ask if I wanted to meet him for coffee.”

Sharon gasped. “Seriously? Where?”

“Don’t get too excited. It was at his office. Just a quick chat.”

“Well, why? He hasn’t asked for my number or anyone else’s. Why yours?”

“Probably because I was the one who approached him about what’s been happening with Mark. I wanted a professional opinion, and he offered to see me.” It was the truth, but Melissa felt her skin flush red. She was annoyed, and she didn’t even know why she felt that way about it.

“Well, you’re a lucky girl. He’s a gorgeous man and probably rich, too,” Sharon ranted. “Damn. I wouldn’t mind sharing a hot Americano with him.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Then, ask him out yourself. Anyway…believe me, I am
not
lucky.”

Sharon hesitated, then said, “Yeah I’m sorry. I know you’re going through a hard time.”

Melissa saw the two double-doors of the church open wide, and the priest, followed by a jostling congregation, spilled out into the parking lot. The tall, elderly looking priest began shaking hands and seeing off people as they strode toward their cars.

“Sharon, I really have to go. I’ll talk to you at work tomorrow, okay?”

Sharon said goodbye and hung up.

“Let’s see what this guy knows,” Melissa said to herself, stepping out into the rain.

The smell of polished wood, burning candles, and incense immediately drove her back to a place in her childhood. Memories of Sunday mornings, her Mum dragging her along to the morning Mass, and her small, interested eyes soaking in the ceremony.

The mystery. The fear. How she had once believed that somewhere above, God loved her like a father loved his child, and her once sincere trust that each and every prayer she uttered was heard.

It all came back, flooding her mind in fitful waves as she stepped inside the empty church.

She walked along the empty aisle, her eyes drawn toward the huge crucifix that hung high above the altar at the front. The figure of Jesus Christ, nails driven through his hands and feet, dots of blood along his thin, sinewy body, moved her. An image of love. Of sacrifice. Of good defeating evil.
That’s what it was all about here
, she thought, her eyes riveted to the figure. Whether she believed in any of it or not—right now, she wasn’t sure of what to believe anymore, since everything was a possibility—that’s what Jesus symbolized.

Wasn’t that how she felt about her marriage to Mark? Didn’t she believe that, as inexplicable as it was, something evil was changing him, altering him, and that she would do anything—sacrifice anything—to stop it, to win him back…to inject some hope into their lives and get back to things as they should be. As they once were.

Defeat something evil.

“I’m sorry I took so long. A lot of my parishioners love to stay and chat after Mass. They enjoy it. When you get to an old age, you’re glad of the company.”

Melissa spun around and saw the priest standing behind her, his gray eyes fixed on her, and his face brightened with a warm, welcoming smile. He looked to be in his late sixties. His hair was thin, white with age. He wore glasses that were perched on the end of his nose. He was wearing a black garment, and the iconic white collar poked out at the top—symbolizing his dedication to the church he was married to.

“I’m Father Owen,” he said, reaching out to her.

Melissa smiled and shook his hand. His grip was firm, strong for such an elderly-looking man. “I’m Melissa. Thanks for your time,” she said.

Father Owen motioned toward one of the wooden benches, and Melissa stepped over and sat down. The priest stumbled after her, sitting beside her. He stared straight ahead at the altar, as if looking anywhere else would be disrespectful.

“What brings you here, Melissa?”

She sat, her back pressed against the hard, wooden bench, and she wondered what to say. What to ask. She had come here to ask if the priest had heard of the Danvers who had lived at her house before she moved in with Mark.

Somehow, it felt suddenly possible; that faith might help. Or that talking to somebody who believed in miracles might be able to help deliver one to her.

“I’m in trouble,” she said at last. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed in the air around them.

The priest nodded, his eyes still fixed on the cross. “A lot of people turn to God when things get bad. He wants us to. Do you believe in God?”

Melissa looked over at him. “Do you want the answer I think you like hearing or the real answer?”

“Real.”

“I don’t know. I used to. Then, I didn’t.”

“Now?”

Melissa shrugged. “Not sure. Some things have been happening to me, some really…let’s just say weird things…unbelievable things.”

“Such as?” the priest asked. His hands, thin and wrinkled, were clasped in his lap.

Melissa sighed. “A lot of things have made me question everything. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You won’t think I’m crazy?”

Father Owen chuckled. “I like to think I have an open mind. I believe in God. That Jesus died to pay for my sins. I believe the Holy Spirit talks to me. Melissa, many would think
I
am crazy, but I know what I believe to be true.”

Melissa smiled. Father Owen seemed like a good, solid man and somebody she could trust. His faith was so steady—unwavering—it made her ashamed that she had been able to dismiss her own so easily when she was growing up.

Her parents’ deaths had laid any faith she once possessed to rest.