Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
The Sunday after that debacle, it felt like the entire world was staring daggers at us as we walked into church. This was so much worse. People weren’t just staring; they were whispering and pointing. There were so many of them they didn’t even bother hiding their faces when they looked at my family.
I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I knew it had something to do with Father Manwarring.
It started the day I told him about the safe deposit box. First, Mother was screaming, livid that she had been dismissed from every single charitable board she served on—all of them. Her entire social circle turned their backs on her. She was even asked not to attend the gala, her cronies coming up with an excuse about how she should take time to reflect on her actions.
She came after me for that.
Somehow, she got it in her head that I had said something to the wrong person, that I had told someone that the scratches on my face and the bruise on my hand were from her and not just because of my clumsiness.
I told her I didn’t. I told her I would tell no one, and if I did, no one would believe me anyway.
She didn’t hear me. Instead, she kept screaming. She threw a few things at me, but she didn’t dare hit me. Dad was home, which meant that if she struck me and he saw it, he would be forced to act. Mother was always very careful to make sure that the only people who witnessed the violence against her children were people who couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Still, she ranted and raved, claiming that I had clearly brought shame upon the family. That I was just as much of a disappointment as my siblings, and that I would regret whatever I had done.
Her threats were short-lived.
That afternoon, she had gone to the bank for items in her safe deposit box. When she got home, her hair was wild, her face showing more emotion than I thought was physically possible given the Botox injections that she’d had over the years. She was enraged—screaming and ranting that whoever had stolen from her, whoever had emptied her safe deposit box, was a dead man.
Wanting to avoid her war path, I locked myself in my room and stayed there. I considered for a moment calling Father Manwarring, telling him that Mother had lost her mind, and I needed somewhere safe to hide out so she couldn’t hurt me again.
Then I remembered I told him about the safe deposit box.
It had to have been him.
The timing was too coincidental. That made me think about Raul again. He died the day after I told Father Manwarring about him. He questioned Raul the very night he died.
At first, I thought maybe Father Manwarring killed him, but I completely disregarded that option. Sure that it was sacrilege to think such things of a man of the cloth. I assumed maybe Raul realized I was going to learn his secrets, or he thought maybe I would tell about him and my mother, so he committed suicide.
Tragic, but not murder.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
I needed to know.
We had a bit of time before mass started, and Mother was unsuccessfully trying to talk to people and getting mostly cold shoulders while Dad was happily chatting with some of his business associates, having absolutely no idea anything was going on. Mother kept shooting me dirty looks, still convinced that whatever had happened was all my fault. I needed to know if it was or not.
I needed answers.
Father Manwarring was standing off to the side speaking to a few members of the congregation, so I walked over to him, stopping just far enough away to keep a respectful distance, but close enough that he knew I was waiting for him.
It only took him a moment to make his excuses and come over to me.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
“Did she hit you again?”
“No, but I would like to talk to you in private, if I may?”
“Of course.” He kept his tone professional and polite, and then made small talk as he led me to a small room in the back of the church. It was a walk-in storage closet really, but for what we needed to speak about it was perfect.
“How could you?” I asked.
“How could I what?” He crossed his arms over his chest and arched an eyebrow at me. I hated when he looked at me like that. It somehow made his eyes brighter, causing butterflies to erupt in my stomach.
Fuck the butterflies. I needed answers.
“You are a priest. How could you do that? How could you lie, steal, and kill?”
“What lies am I telling? What have I stolen? And who did I kill?”
“I know you stole from my mother’s safe deposit box. No one else knew about it. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that I tell you about it and suddenly it’s emptied. And what about Raul? I know you killed him.”