Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

She felt her own consciousness begin to struggle for control, and the fog began to cover her sight. A snap of black gave way to Maureen’s kitchen cabinets coming into focus across the room. She raised her head from the couch and sat up slowly, searching inside her skull for the familiar headache to come. None was yet apparent, so she decided to get up and check the time. She grumbled unhappily as she saw that she still had two hours before her alarm was due to go off.

Maureen felt grimy from the previous night’s shift at the bar, and decided to jump into the shower. She was surprised to find she still had a job, but Mr. Anderson never brought up her arrest, if he knew about it at all. Maureen stepped in once the water was hot and inhaled the steam deeply, clearing the remaining fog from her mind. She almost regretted it. A lack of clarity would have been more than welcome, but nothing she’d tried so far could erase the imprints the nightmares left on her. She had to find a way out of her situation and this town.

Maureen dried herself off and threw on a pair of jeans and a white tank top, while grabbing a few dollars from her duffel bag. During her shower, she had felt her stomach rumble and decided to take a walk down to Main Street for a quick bite and grab some semblance of normalcy before the hammer fell on her. She stuffed her key and cash into her pocket and ventured out onto the street, shuffling her way north, scrutinizing her options as she went. Among the storefronts on and around Main Street, one finally caught her eye.

The Proper Cup was Sycamore Hills’ only non-chain coffee house. It was a weekday hangout for many of the kids from the college and a midday fueling station for soccer moms and other Main Street business owners or employees. It was a quintessential coffee shop, featuring artisan-style pastries and baked goods along with fancy coffee drinks that the upper class liked. They prided themselves on roasting their own beans and only sourcing from local, organic purveyors, something they made certain to plaster all over the windows.

Maureen normally wouldn’t go to a place like this, but she was hungry and didn’t want to sit down at a restaurant. Given her limited knowledge of the town, it seemed like the best option. She never fancied herself a coffee drinker—she certainly never made any for herself—and when she did drink it, it was only ever the crummy, roadside-diner kind.

She was staring at the menu, trying to find just plain coffee, when a voice from behind startled her out of her thoughts.

“Maureen?” it said. “Ms. Allen, is that you?”

Maureen turned toward the door and saw that it was filled by the silhouette of Father Patrick, dressed in tennis shoes and jeans with his typical black shirt and priest’s collar. His smile broadened as he closed the distance between them. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being spotted in public, much less by a priest she’d yelled at a few days ago. Judging from the old man’s beaming face, however, it seemed to be water under the bridge.

“So nice to run into you again,” he said as he came up to her, tucking his newspaper under his arm. “I didn’t know you were a customer here.”

“Never been before,” she said uncomfortably, scanning the room to see if his jovial greeting had caused any of the other patrons to take notice.

“Ah, well then, welcome. It’s a favorite of mine. I admit, I have somewhat of an addiction to their caramel lattes. Isn’t that right, Sophia?”

The young lady behind the counter nodded.

“One for me, please,” he said.

“Medium, right?” confirmed Sophia.

“Absolutely. And for my friend here?” He gestured to Maureen, apparently indicating that she should order as well.

“Oh, uh, that’s okay,” she stammered. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

“Just a regular coffee, then.” She looked over at him to find his eyebrows raised expectantly, as if he knew that she had intended to order something to eat as well. Maureen turned back to the lady at the counter. “And a raspberry Danish.”

Father Patrick nodded in approval and handed Sophia money, telling her to keep the change.

“Come sit with me for a minute, won’t you?” he said after they picked up their order. He led her over to a high-top table with two stools by the window, pulling out one for her before hopping up onto the other. He extended a hand toward the stool, inviting her to sit.

“Listen,” Maureen said, trying to sound civil, “I appreciate you paying for my coffee, but I’m not really in the mood to talk. I got things I want to think about. Besides, don’t you want to read your paper?”

“I’ve already read it,” he said. He grinned, then pulled a pen out of his pocket and began to twirl it in his fingers. “I don’t have much to do on Mondays so it’s a good day to sit, have some coffee, and work on the crossword puzzle.”

“See, you do have better things to do,” she replied and turned to leave.

“You had another dream, didn’t you?” His words froze her in her tracks.

How does he know? She sighed, turned back, and slowly climbed atop the stool opposite him. Staring at the table top, she nodded, took a sip of her coffee, and immediately gagged.

“Something wrong with the coffee?”

“I wouldn’t know, honestly. I don’t drink it much.” Maureen found a bowl of different colored sugar packets. She grabbed three of the pink ones and stirred them into her coffee. She took another sip and found it more tolerable now that it was sweetened up. She looked up at Father Patrick who was hiding his laughter underneath his hand.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he said, raising his own coffee and taking a big sip.