I’ve seen this before,

I’ve seen this before.

I’ve been here before, but that’s not possible and I can’t think about it because all I can think about right now is my brother.

I yank him away from the dogs and I breathe into his cold mouth, and he’s limp and he’s cold and he’s wet.

I drag him onto my lap and we’re halfway into the water, and I hear Dare on the phone and he’s talking to someone.

“There’s been an accident,” he’s saying, and I’ve heard those words before, from his mouth from his lips from his voice.

“Was it?” I look up at him, and my eyes are burning burning burning. “Was it an accident?”

Because Finn’s words his words his words. I’ve always known. Dare told me long ago.

Dare closes his eyes, and Finn’s eyes are closed, and he’s limp and he’s cold and he’s dead.

He’s dead.

Death is the beginning and he needs to start.

“I can’t do this without you,” I whisper in his wet ear. “Please God, please God, please God. Finn. Please.”

Silver glints and it’s his St. Michael’s medallion and he was wearing it and he wasn’t protected he wasn’t protected.

“Fuck you, St. Michael,” I scream and Dare’s hand is on my shoulder and I yank away because somehowsomehowsomehow, this is Dare’s fault. I feel it. I feel it. The pictures that Finn drew in his journal… Dare’s face was scratched out. Finn knew something I didn’t.

“What did you do?” I screech at Dare, and I refuse to let go of my brother. I clutch at his buttoned up shirt, and I clutch at his cold skin.

Help comes, but they’re too late, and they try to pry me away from my brother and I hate them I hate them I hate them.

I hold my brother’s hand as they lift him into the ambulance, but there’s a sheet over his face and they know he’s dead and no one has the guts to make me move. No one.

I ride with him to the hospital, and I hold his hand the whole way.

“What did you do?” I ask Finn, into his ear. He doesn’t answer and the sheet is over his face. His hand doesn’t move and he’s dead and he’s dead.

“Miss, you have to let go,” one of the paramedics tells me. She’s sympathetic, but firm, and they don’t know what to do with me.

“Never,” I tell them. And that’s metaphorical, and they know that. My hand falls away and they take my brother.

I sink to the floor and I stay there until Dare comes to get me, until he carries me to the car and straps me in and my head is on the window.

“What did you do?” I ask him, my eyes closed.

“Nothing,” he says simply. “That’s what I did.”

He reaches over and his hand is warm. “Because it can’t be you, Calla. I can’t let it be you.”

Nothing makes sense and when I get home, Sabine ushers me to my room and she forces me to drink tea, and I do it because I need the oblivion it brings.

I need to be in darkness.

I need to be with Finn.

I can’t exist in a world without him. He’s my light. He’s my light.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I’m wooden for days. I barely speak, I only eat what they force me to eat. I don’t want to exist, not without Finn.

Jones takes me to church, because I need to pray, even if it’s to a God who took Finn away. It’s the only thing I can do.

With a plain brick Gothic Revival exterior, the church looms against the cloudy sky, sort of severe and imposing.

I’m hesitant as I peer out the glass.

“It’s the Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury,” Jones tells me. “This is where Savages go.”

I know he means the family, but the irony isn’t lost on me because people seem savage to me right now, all people, particularly people who follow a God who takes away my brother.

“I’ll wait, miss,” Jones tells me, settling into the seat. I nod, and with my shoulders back, I walk straight to the doors.

Once inside, the demeanor of the church changes, from severe gothic, to lavishly decorated, firmly in line with Catholic tradition.

It feels reverent in here, holy and serene. And even if I’m not a religious person, I enjoy it.

The statues of saints and angels hanging on the walls are gilded and full of detail, including the crucifix of Christ at the front.

His face is pained, His hands and feet are bleeding.

I look away, because even still, it’s hard for me to imagine such a sacrifice, but at the same time, I can feel it. Because my brother is gone, and that’s the biggest sacrifice in the world.

“Are you here for confession, child?”

A low voice comes from behind and I turn to find a priest watching me. His eyes are kind above his white collar, and even though he doesn’t know me, this man, this priest, is kind simply to be kind.

I swallow.

“I’m not Catholic,” I tell him, trying to keep my words soft in this grand place. He smiles.

“I’ll try not to hold that against you,” he confides, and he holds his hand out. I take it, and it’s warm.

“I’m Father Thomas,” he introduces himself. “And this is my parish. Welcome.”

Even his hands are kind as he grasps mine, and I find myself instantly at ease for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“Would you like a tour?” he suggests, and I nod.

“I’d love one.”

He doesn’t ask why I’m here or what I want, he just leads me around, pointing out this artifact and that, this architecture detail or that stained glass window. He chats with me for a long time, and makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world, and that he has no place else to be.

Finally, when he’s finished, he turns to me. “Would you like to sit?”

I do.

So he sits with me, and we’re quiet for a long time.

“My mother used to come here, I’m told,” I finally confide. “And I just wanted to feel like I’m near her.”

The priest studies me. “And do you?”

My shoulders slump. “Not really.”

“I’ve been here for a long time,” he says kindly. “I knew your mother. Laura Savage?”

I’m surprised and he laughs.

“Child, you could be her mirror image,” he chuckles. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“You knew her?” I breathe, and somehow, I do feel closer to her, simply because he was.

He nods and looks toward Mary. “Laura is a beautiful soul,” he says gently. “And I can see her in your eyes.”

I swallow because of pain and the priest blinks.

“I’m so sorry. She’s with the Lord now, though. She’s at peace. Your brother is too.”

My breath leaves me. “Did you know my brother?”

Father Thomas shakes his head. “No. But I gave him the Last Rites at the hospital. And I’ll be coming to the family mausoleum this week for his funeral.”

My eyes burn and fill, and I twist and turn Finn’s medallion in my fingers.

“I cursed St. Michael,” I admit to him. “On the beach. Do you think that’s why we couldn’t save Finn?”

He’s surprised and his eyes widen. “Of course not, child. God and St. Michael knew your pain. You have to believe that. Everything happens for a reason.”

He stares at the medallion and it’s around my neck and I don’t know why I’m wearing it. I guess because it’s Finn’s.

“My mother gave it to my brother a long time ago,” I tell the priest. “But it didn’t work. It was supposed to protect him….”

Father Thomas nods. “It was Finn’s time. Keep wearing the medallion. You’ll feel close to your brother and St. Michael will protect you, Calla. You just have to trust.”

Trust.

That’s actually a bit laughable in my current circumstances.

“Let’s pray together, shall we?” he suggests, and I don’t argue because it can’t hurt.

Our voices are soft and uniform as they meld together in the sunlight,