The Merciless II (9 page)

T
he rest of the day passes in a blur. All anyone can talk about is Leena and the accident.

I spot Sister Lauren waiting in front of the main building on my way to the dorms after dinner, the St. Mary's van parked at the curb behind her.

“Hey, Sofia, why don't you hop in?” she calls to me. She's dressed in her St. Mary's sweatshirt and jeans again, her hair a little flat from the habit she wore during classes.

“Are you going to the hospital?” I ask. Sister Lauren nods.

“I'm dropping off some extra clothes for Leena. The
doctor says she has to stay overnight. Want to come along?”

I open my mouth, an excuse already forming, when Brooklyn's voice floats through my head.
You're one of us.
I snap my mouth shut, shame warming my face. Only a terrible person wouldn't visit a friend in the hospital.

“Perfect,” I say.

Leena's asleep when we get to her room, a thin blanket pulled up to her chest. I can't see her new cast, but there's a large lump under her blanket. The lights are off and the fluorescents in the hallway leave a green tint on her skin.

“Let's ask the nurse if it's okay to wake her up,” Sister Lauren says.

I stop her before she gets to the door. “No, don't,” I say. It's easier this way. I'm not quite ready to look Leena in the eyes. “She probably needs her rest.”

“If that's what you want.” Sister Lauren takes a stack of clothes out of a St. Mary's tote and places them on Leena's bedside table. “Are you feeling okay, Sofia? You seem a little off.”

I shrug, staring down at Leena's sleeping form so I don't have to meet Sister Lauren's eyes. Leena moans in her sleep, a look of pain flashing over her face. I hug my arms to my chest, trying to come up with a reason to get the hell out of here. This is too much. Leena's my friend
and she's in pain and it's because of me. Because I was jealous. Because I'm evil.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the old argument playing on a loop in my brain:
I'm not evil. Dr. Keller said it was guilt
.
What happened with Brooklyn didn't really happen
. For the first time, I realize how meaningless these words are.
Karen.
Alexis. Grace. Riley. My mom
. They're all dead because they knew me. Because there's something wrong with me.

The low blare of a train's horn sounds in my ears. I flinch, my eyes shoot open. It takes a long moment for me to realize that the sound isn't a real train—just an alarm somewhere else in the hospital. It drones on for a moment, then dies.

“Sofia?” Sister Lauren touches my shoulder and I whirl around.

“Sorry,” I say. I squeeze my hands into fists, forcing the train out of my mind. “The alarm surprised me.”

“Are you feeling guilty about Leena? Because I promise you, it wasn't your fault. I'm the teacher,” she says. “I should have been paying closer attention.”

I nod, but I'm not really listening. My palms feel sweaty, even as the air-conditioning coaxes goose bumps from my arms. I glance back at Leena. The pain has faded from her face. She looks peaceful.

“Do you believe in demonic possession?” I ask, my
voice barely above a whisper. Sister Lauren tilts her head to the side, a frown twisting her mouth.

“Have you been watching too many scary movies?”

“So you don't think it's real?”

“I didn't say that.” Sister Lauren sinks into a chair next to the hospital bed, studying Leena's pale face. “It's kind of a complicated question.” She pauses, weighing her words. “I think it happens, but not like in the movies. Demons can't take over your body and make you do whatever they want. I think it's more like getting sick, if that makes sense.”

“Like catching a cold?”

“Well, I don't think it's as easy as catching a cold. I believe that when someone does something unforgiveable, a demon . . . attaches itself to them.”

The train's headlights flash in my head. I feel Karen's cold fingers wrapping around my wrist, her skin sticky with beer. She screams.

Sofia, get off the tracks!

I wrap my hands around my arms, shivering. I have done something unforgiveable. I've tried my best to forget about it, but Brooklyn knows my secret. And now she's never going to let me go.

“So that's it?” I ask. “You make one mistake and you have to live with the demon for the rest of your life?”

“Well, no, not exactly. I think that's just the first step.
The unforgiveable act allows the demon to find you, like sending a flare up into the sky. But true possession can only happen to a weak soul. The Devil can only take you if you give in to the evil.”

“What do you mean give in to—” I stop, my grandmother's needlepoint flashing in my head.
Jealousy is a cancer
.

That's it. I lower myself into a chair, my knees trembling. I'm letting jealousy control me and it's making my soul weak. That's how Brooklyn is getting in.

Sister Lauren leans forward, taking Leena's hand in her own. I stare at the back of her head. “How do I make my soul strong?” I ask.

You're one of us.

“How do you get rid of the demon?” I ask.

“I'm not as much of an expert as Father Marcus,” she says, “but anyone can save their soul if they develop a relationship with God. You have to free yourself of distractions and focus on Him. Don't let yourself be made weak with desire.”

Free yourself. Distractions. Desire.

I think of Jude's hands on mine, and his hair and the smoky smell of his skin. My cheeks grow warm. “You make it sound easy.”

“It's not. It's a lifelong journey.” Sister Lauren twists around in her chair, her face drawn in concern. “I know
sometimes it can feel like there's something wrong with you, Sofia, but the truth is we all have evil inside of us. It's only through seeking the Lord that we're made pure. You should come to Bible study sometime. We can work this through with prayer.”

I smile halfheartedly, wanting to believe that's true.

“What if prayer doesn't work?” I ask, my voice cracking. I clear my throat. “What if I can't form a relationship with God?”

The frown on Sister Lauren's face deepens. A line appears between her eyebrows. “Then I guess the demons win,” she says.

• • •

I head straight to the chapel after I get back from the hospital. It's after dark and cool moonlight streams in through the windows, the stained glass turning it red and gold and green. My footsteps echo off the marble floor, the sound magnified by the arched ceilings and stone walls.

Jude sits in the first pew. I freeze, all of the oxygen whooshing out of my body. I should come back later. Jude is a temptation. He's making me weak.

But I take one step forward, and then another. I can't seem to control myself. It's as though my feet aren't connected to my brain.

Jude's hunched over in prayer, the collar of his
St. Mary's uniform all rumpled and creased, the hair on the back of his neck coming to a familiar point.

I'm suddenly aware of a million tiny things. My skirt is too heavy, and my ankle itches, and the curls around my neck have started to frizz—the stray hairs tickle my ears. But it's too late to turn back now. I stop next to his pew, and clear my throat.

Jude flinches and his eyes widen.

“Hey,” he says. His voice sounds thick, as if there's something caught in his throat. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I can sit in the back if you want to be alone.”

“No, please.” Jude slides over to make room for me on his pew.
Leave
, my brain whispers, but I perch at the edge of the wooden seat, too nervous to move any closer.

“I was hoping to see you again,” Jude says, staring down at his clenched fists. I bite back a smile.

“About that, I . . .”

Jude lets his hands fall open and I trail off. His wooden cross lies in his palm, the leather cord dangling between his fingers. “I was praying for Leena,” he explains.

I shift uncomfortably. It feels hot in here even though the chapel is barely heated. It's stifling.

“That's nice of you,” I say. Jude shakes his head and bends back over his cross, a lock of hair falling into his eyes.

“It's not
nice
,” he spits out, squeezing his fingers around the cross. The muscles in his shoulders tighten. “This whole thing was my fault. I was right there when she fell. It was just like—”

Jude stops talking abruptly and slams his fist against the pew. The wood shudders beneath my legs. He clenches his eyes shut and a vein throbs near his temple.

But I stare at Jude without saying a word. How have I never noticed the pain on his face before? It's etched into every curve, every angle. Dark circles shadow the skin beneath his eyes and deep lines crease his forehead. Leena's voice echoes in my ear:
This is where they send the bad kids
.

For the first time, I wonder what Jude did to earn his spot at St. Mary's. What secret is he hiding?

Jude swallows and the muscles in his face relax. He rubs a hand over his chin and, just like that, the lines and shadows vanish. There's no pain anymore, no darkness. He's just Jude again.

“Sorry,” he chokes out. “I've been working with Father Marcus to control my anger. I guess I'm still learning that I can't fix everything that goes wrong in the world.”

I think of my mother's face, a Cheerio stuck to her cheek. “Me, too.”

“Father Marcus says I need to learn to trust God. He says this is all part of His plan.” Jude turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “Do you believe that?”

“No,” I say without thinking. “This was the Devil's plan, not God's.”

Jude nods, but I'm not sure he really heard me. He stares off at a spot in the distance, his eyes losing focus. “I think that, too, sometimes,” he says, almost to himself. “I've been taking all these extra classes with Father Marcus, really pushing myself to get closer to God, but then something like this happens and it all seems meaningless.”

Jude clenches his eyes shut and lowers his head to his hands. “I keep having doubts . . . about myself, about God. About everything.”

I scoot closer to Jude, even as my brain screams at me to leave. But I can't go now. I can't let Jude blame himself when I know Leena fell because of me. Because I'm weak.

“This wasn't your fault,” I say. “It's—”
mine
, I think but Jude shakes his head before I can get the word out.

“You don't know the whole story.” Jude cuts his eyes toward me. “I was distracted today. If I'd been paying attention, Leena never would have gotten hurt.”

Jude shifts his body closer and lowers his hand to mine. The temperature in the chapel seems to rise another ten degrees. My hair sticks to the back of my neck and sweat gathers between my thighs.

I close my eyes and for a long moment all I think
about is his skin pressed against my own. I feel the rough calluses on his fingers, his heart beating in his palm. I imagine turning my hand over and weaving my fingers through his.

Free yourself.

“I can't,” I say, my eyes flickering open. Jude jerks his hand away from mine, as if he's been burned.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs. “I thought—”

“I like you,” I say. “It's not that.”

Jude searches my face, but I keep my eyes focused on the pew in front of me. I'm not strong. If I look at him, even for a second, I know I'll cave. “Then what is it?” he asks.

“I made a promise to a friend,” I explain. “I've already hurt her a lot, and I'm trying to make up for it.”

Jude is quiet for a long moment. I study the huge wooden cross looming over us, my eyes traveling over every crack in the ancient wood. I'm still not entirely sure how to pray, but I find myself making a wish, like when I toss a coin into a fountain, or find a stray eyelash on my cheek.

Please,
I think.
Help me do the right thing.

“This friend,” Jude says finally. “She means a lot to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you shouldn't do anything to hurt her.”

Jude stands. I shift my eyes down to my lap and pick at the skin around my thumbnail. The sudden burst of pain feels refreshing. Like taking a deep breath. Jude slips out of the pew, his legs brushing against my knees as he moves past me. He walks out of the chapel without another word, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

Sutton finds me after classes the next day. She's dressed in her blue-and-white field hockey uniform, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She tears the wrapper off a Snickers bar with her teeth.

“You're going to get in trouble,” I say, glancing down the hallway.

“It's medicinal,” Sutton says, eating half the bar in one bite. “I have a migraine. Did you hear? Leena's back.”

“Really?” I stop in the middle of the hallway and some girl I don't recognize walks right into my back.

“Campaigning for class klutz, Ally?” Sutton shouts. The girl turns and sneers at us.

“Is Leena okay?” I ask. “How's her leg?”

Sutton crumples up her candy bar wrapper and shoves it in her backpack. “Her leg is fine. Her cast is covered in more dirty jokes than a toilet stall.”

“
Leena
wrote dirty jokes on her cast?”

Sutton wrinkles her nose. “Okay, fine, the jokes were mine. You should sign it while there's still space.”

She cocks an eyebrow and I hear what she's really saying.
Go talk to Leena
.

“Are you sure she—” I start.

Sutton shakes her head. “Stop. I'm not going to be your go-between. We've got that game tonight, and if I don't hurry, I'm going to miss the bus. Talk to Leena!” She slips past me before I can say another word. Tonight's game is in Jackson, which is three hours away, so the entire team will be staying at a motel. Leena and I have the dorm to ourselves until morning.