Twenty more minutes pass by despite my prayers before Father Dominic finally makes his appearance.
Gowned from neck to toe in a billowing robe that’s so crimson it looks as if it was soaked in fresh blood, he marches slowly up the aisle, chanting, until he reaches the pulpit.
At once the cathedral falls silent. The quiet murmurings and whispers evaporating at his mere presence.
Offering a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, Father Dominic quickly apologizes for the late start and jumps right into his sermon.
Despite his old age and grumpy demeanor, Father McCall’s sermons are usually uplifting, reminding us of God’s love and the power we have as His children to change our world.
I always feel rejuvenated after his sermons, and renewed, as if I’ve somehow been refreshed.
Father Dominic’s sermon is the complete opposite. It’s full of guilt and a reminder of all our weaknesses.
I endure his eyes boring into me, singling me out, as he preaches that we are born in sin and one stray step will take us forever away from the path of righteousness.
His voice booms through the cathedral as he talks about the evil that has corrupted our world and our failure to stop it.
When Mass finally comes to an end over an hour later, I don’t feel the least bit renewed or rejuvenated.
I feel like I did when I woke up from that awful dream.
Wicked and tainted.
The cathedral empties quickly, the few that remained for the service eager to get home before full dark.
Suffering the same urgency, I rise from the pew, prepared to quickly complete my duties.
Only to be stopped by Sister Susan halfway to the altar.
Stepping in front of me to block my path, she places her hand on my arm and frowns with concern. “Chloe, the hour grows late. I think you should head home now.”
I know it’s late. The sun is setting at this very moment. I don’t even need the windows to tell me what time it is…
I’m aware of the night.
The weight of the darkness is settling into my veins and it feels like my blood is rushing to my head.
“I think not,” Father Dominic says behind me.
“But it’s already dark…” Sister Susan tries to argue for me, her hand gripping my arm tighter.
“Even more reason for her not to skip her sacrament,” Father Dominic says with finality as he comes to stand beside me.
Glancing at Sister Susan’s hand on my arm, his upper lip curls up and his eyes fill with disdain.
Spine stiffening, Sister Susan lifts her chin and glares at him. “The sacrament can wait a few days. God will not think less of her for it, given the situation.”
Eyes narrowing, Father Dominic returns her glare. “How quick you are to speak for God, Sister Susan. When were you granted this authority?”
Sister Susan seems to falter, her mouth opening and closing as she thinks of a response.
Then she says with less confidence, “We are all His children.”
“Indeed, we are,” Father Dominic agrees with annoyance, “but not all of His children have the authority to speak for Him. When were you granted the authority?”
Lips pressing together in a thin line, Sister Susan looks over at me before admitting, “I wasn’t, not by the church, but I think—”
“What you think is irrelevant,” Father Dominic says dismissively.
Her cheeks flushing with color from frustration, Sister Susan turns fully toward me and away from him. “Chloe, you don’t have to do this tonight. I assure you, God will not think less of you.”
Father Dominic makes a sound of disgust. “How sure you are, and how quick you are to lead her to damnation.”
Sister Susan flinches at the remark, and I instantly feel guilty that she’s trying to stick up for me again.
Especially because in this situation it’s not needed.
Father Dominic is correct. I need to perform the sacrament before I leave tonight.
But not because I fear God’s judgement.
I need to do it because it’s the only hope I have of making it home in one piece.
Placing my hand over Sister Susan’s, I say, “Thank you for your concern, Sister Susan, but Father Dominic is right. I need to fulfill my duty.”
Gently, I pull her hand off my arm.
A look of pained confusion passes over Sister Susan’s face as she lets her arm fall down to her side.
Then she turns toward Father Dominic, her eyes full of wrath. “If something happens to her…”
“It will be God’s will.” Father Dominic smiles at her and motions for me to follow him. “Come, Chloe, the hour does indeed grow late.”
Knowing I’m not worthy to walk beside him, I follow one step behind Father Dominic as he leads to the stairs that lead to the basement.
The Offering of the Cursed is a sacred ritual performed privately between a priest and a marked woman.
As far as I know, no other has ever been present to see what occurs.