Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

of adults. She found herself searching through the heads of the crowd, looking for families with small children to see if these people subscribed to the same method of spiritual enforcement. She didn’t see any, though she heard a sharp shush from a mother near the back.

“And now at the Savior’s command,” Father Patrick’s voice shook her from her thoughts, “and formed by divine teaching, we dare to say . . . ,”

At this, the congregation joined in with their monotone chant, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done. . . .”

Maureen knew the prayer well enough. She followed along with her own inner monologue, but didn’t allow her lips to move. She folded her arms across her chest, stared behind the altar at the crucifix, and reflected on all the shit that was allowed to happen in the name of that man hanging on the cross.

“The peace of the Lord be always with you,” Father Patrick intoned to the crowd.

“And with your spirit,” they responded and began to walk about, shaking hands and greeting their neighbors.

No one gave Maureen a second look, though some may have recognized her as the woman who accompanied the detective. She was fine with that. She didn’t want to be noticed. And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She was, yet again, rooted to the floor.

The throng began to assemble in the aisle for the Eucharist. She watched them line up to receive a wafer from Father Patrick and then a sip of wine from either Father Preston or another similarly dressed man on the opposite side of the altar. It was an efficient assembly-line type of system that had the whole mass through in only a few minutes. Organ music from the balcony above her played until everyone was sitting again. Maureen knew the end of the Mass would be coming soon. Father Patrick stood at the foot of the altar and for the first time, made direct eye contact with her. Maureen froze.

“May Almighty God bless you,” he said, holding her with his gaze as she felt the color drain from her face, “in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” the congregation cried out.

Maureen swallowed hard and turned away from the oncoming procession out of the church. She pushed through the outer doors and, as calmly as she could, descended the outside steps, taking a seat on one of the last ones before the sidewalk. She kept herself off to the side and stared out at Main Street while the crowds of people began to trickle past her.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you here on a Sunday, Ms. Allen,” Father Patrick said over her shoulder.

Maureen turned and looked up at him. She scrambled to her feet to stand in front of the priest, surprising herself with her knee-jerk reaction to the sight of a robed authority figure after all these years. “Well, uh, I was walking around and got curious.”

“About?” he said, breaking into his familiar soft grin.

“I wanted to know if your Mass is as boring as I remember mine being when I was a girl.”

“And?”

“Worse.”

Father Patrick actually laughed out loud at this, longer than she thought was necessary. He even put a finger to his eye to wipe a tear as he calmed himself. “Thank you for keeping me humble, Maureen.”

Maureen shifted her weight uncomfortably, unsure if he was purposely laying it on thick.

“So, you spent the entire Mass standing in the entryway. Any reason for that?”

“I like to stand?”

“And you didn’t want to come up for communion?”

Maureen sneered at the question. “Look, Father, I can appreciate the pageantry and symbolism of what you do here, but it’s not my thing. Besides, I may be able to set foot in a church without bursting into flames, contrary to what some might think, but what would your little flock do if they saw a woman get burned from the inside out after taking a sip of the Blood of Christ?”

“I don’t believe such a thing would actually happen,” the priest chuckled.

“Yeah, well, you’re just too taken with my sparkling personality to be objective.” This banter with the priest was actually beginning to annoy her. She turned and began to leave.

“I’ve heard whisperings around the church that the detective from the police department has been questioning our parishioners,” he called after her.

Maureen turned around to face him.

“There’s been quite a bit of tongue wagging as well about the mysterious woman he brings with him.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?” she growled at him.

“Not at all,” Father Patrick told her, breaking into a sly grin once again. “But I needed you to turn around so I could firm up our dinner plans for Wednesday.”

Maureen let out a frustrated groan. He had played her like a fiddle. “You could have just asked.”

“You’re a very difficult person to gauge, my dear.” He took both of her hands in his. “I feel the need to throw the occasional curve ball with you. Just to ensure that your responses are, how do I put this, less guarded? A snappy response to an unexpected question is usually the most honest one in my experience. So, dinner?”

“Yeah, fine, I guess,” Maureen said, giving in. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, by the way. Offering extra time to talk to people and all. Do you think it’ll help any?”

“I wouldn’t offer services that I didn’t think I could provide,” Father Patrick said. “Very often, people who are struck by some sort of tragedy, even if only by proximity, find comfort in speaking to a trusted adviser.”

“What if someone spills something about the case?” she asked. “Like, say someone knows something about what happened, and they tell you. Do you have some sort of confidentiality thing with your congregation, or would you call Manny and tell him?”

“You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you call the detective by his first name.”

Maureen responded