Satan's Vessel

*

She raced down the hall. The tears were already flowing freely by the time she'd collapsed into her bed. It was like he'd ripped her heart out. Over a decade had passed and yet the pain was still fresh and new, always simmering just below the surface. Why did he have to bring it up? She hadn't asked him to. Rolling over, she pummelled her pillow with her fists. God. God.

There was no fucking God.

Kaitlyn winced as her head began to throb. She grabbed at her pelvis with a start as it gave a hard twist. She really needed her handbag—her tablets were in there. She curled into a ball.

After a few minutes, the pain eased enough that she was able to relax. Kaitlyn mashed her face into the pillow.

Only once her tears had dried up did she sit up.

She winced again, but this time the pain in her belly was a familiar one. Breakfast was already making things work. Quickly, she got up and hurried down the hall, only to pause at the stairwell. What if Jacob was still up there, wanting to finish the conversation?

Kaitlyn climbed.

She soon found she had nothing to fear. Jacob had vanished and the nave was empty. She raced past the breakfast table towards the other stairs leading to the bathroom, only to pause again before she reached the bottom. There were voices.

Kaitlyn recognised the priest's voice immediately. It was muffled. She crept closer. Peering around the corner, she saw a door standing open a crack. The last time she'd been down here, it had been closed.

'... remove her—and soon,' the priest said in a trembling voice. He still sounded sick. 'The Fallen will discover where she is and descend. Hallowed ground will only protect her for so long.'

'I know, Father, have no fear, we will leave before anything happens to your church.' Kaitlyn's heart lurched. It was Jacob and he sounded annoyed. It made her grip her necklace.

'I'm sorry,' the priest breathed. 'I am weak. I know she should hear it from me. It's only ... I did not expect this ... did ... believed would ever happen.'

Kaitlyn stretched out her neck as she tried to hear him more clearly.

'Do not apologise, Father. We understand that it's a lot to deal with. Too much to deal with.'

Kaitlyn grabbed at her belly with a wince, but the bathroom could wait. She desperately wanted to get closer but didn't dare move.

'How are you going to protect her? Five against how many? Legions?'

'We have God on our side. Whether we are one or millions, He is all we need.'

The priest's trembling voice started to strengthen. 'I would still prefer to give you help. Let me contact the bishop. He can send a message to the Vatican.'

Jacob lowered his voice. They were murmuring quietly. Kaitlyn held her breath as she struggled to pick up their words. ' ... I cannot trust her. Her heart is filled with snakes.'

Kaitlyn went cold.

'She would never turn to the Dark One,' the priest objected.

Silence answered him.

A chair creaked. 'You judge too quickly. You underestimate her,' the priest continued.

There was another long silence.

'No. I don't think I do,' Jacob finally answered, and his voice was thick with disgust.

Kaitlyn's heart pounded. He knew ... He knew all about it. He knew all about her ... sin. Her dreams. Her fornication. And it disgusted him. She was disgusting. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. It had all been lies. It had all been a show: his kindness, his support.

But why should it make her so upset? She wiped at her face. She didn't even know him! What did it matter what he thought of her?

Because he's an angel, a Goddamn angel, and he despises you.

Fisting her hands at her sides, Kaitlyn tried to swallow down a surge of tears. If everything he'd said was to be believed then it wasn't her fault she was caught up in it. She was a victim!

But why, then, did Satan pick you? spoke a sneering voice. Perhaps you are bad. Perhaps you are guilty. Perhaps you deserve every bit of disgust and contempt. Even from angels.

The chair creaked again. There came the scuffing of shoes. Kaitlyn turned to get away, then thought better of it. She wiped down her face as the heavy door moaned open.

Jacob exited first. He was so tall he had to bend beneath the door frame. Her heart skipped a beat as he raised his perfect eyebrows in surprise. 'Kaitlyn? What are you doing here?'

'I just ... really need to go.' She nodded towards the bathroom.

He frowned and cocked his beautiful head. 'I've upset you. Please understand that I meant no harm. I was only trying to make you feel better.'

He tried to look her in the eyes but Kaitlyn turned her head. 'I really need to go.' And she hurried down the hall.

By the time she reached it, she'd broken down into furious sobbing. Who did he think he was? Who did they think any of them were? Wiping at her face, she went into the cubicle and slammed the door shut.

Minutes later she was done. Thrusting the door open, she went to the sink to wash her hands. They were shaking. She looked up in the mirror. Her face was red and swollen again. What was with these so called angels and making her faint and hurt and cry? She felt sick. About Jacob. About herself. About her whole situation.

Her heart is filled with snakes.

She clicked her tongue at a yucky taste at the back of her throat. How could he have said that? Weren't angels supposed to be good? Weren't they supposed to be kind? If they couldn't trust her, if they couldn't have faith in her, then how could she trust or have faith in them?

You judge too quickly.

Drying her hands, Kaitlyn looked up at the wall. Just above her head was a small, rectangular window. Warm bright light glowed through. Using the same paper towel she'd used to dry her hands with, she wiped away the grime. She could see a pathway. A pair of heels walked by. Kaitlyn wasn't small by any means but she could probably fit through if she wriggled hard enough. She gave the window a gentle push and it opened outwards with a rusty creak. She could hear the noises of the street, people talking, cars honking. She let it snap shut.

Kaitlyn glanced back towards the bathroom door. It was closed—and it was heavy. She couldn't hear Father Alex or the angels, which meant they couldn't hear her either. She turned back to the window determinedly, her jaw set.

Climbing up onto the sink, she pushed open the window again and thrust her head out. She looked up and down the street—the coast was clear—then wriggled through. It was hard work, painful and awkward, particularly around her hips, but she managed. She noticed a couple watching her warily from across the road. Another car roared by. A dog barked. Then she was out, the window snapping shut behind her.

Quickly, she pulled herself to her feet, dusting off her skirt and knees. There were grazes on her shins and her big left toe was bleeding. The couple was still watching as she turned and hobbled away.