Chapter 51

The inside of the church is dim, lit only by a few high windows and rows of flickering candles, prayers for the dead. The air is heavy with musty incense.

With my long legs, I easily outdistanced Jenna, and as soon as I was past the nursery wall and out of sight, I broke into a run. I slipped into the empty church, the first place I came to that could hide me.

Yeah, in an instant, realities and truth can flip.

Dispose of the problem. Like I'm a piece of trash. Was all of her concern--the tears, everything--just a big show so she could lure me here? Did I upset the balance in her idyllic life? She's not as transparent as I thought she was. Jenna has plenty of secrets.

The heavy wooden door creaks open, momentarily flooding the church with light. I lean close to the confessional, hiding in its shadow. The door closes, and the dimness returns. It is Jenna. She steps forward tentatively. Her footsteps echo against the tile and smooth stucco walls.

I hear her breaths, her temples pounding. I hear the fear. She's been caught. I stay in the shadow, watching her cautiously edge forward down the center aisle.

She stops. Her head tilts slightly like she hears something. My breaths? I am underestimating her in so many ways. She takes one more step forward and stops again.

"So. You read lips."

I step out from the shadows and face her. I let the silent moment linger, feeling the power of it. I am bigger and stronger than even she knows. It is just me and her, even if her henchmen are waiting outside. We stare at each other through the dim light. "Yeah. A fringe benefit of all this extra crap stuffed into me."

"How much did you read?"

"Not much. Just a few words. Words like eliminate. Dispose of. Kill. Interesting vocabulary you have, Jenna."

"Reading lips out of context can be a dangerous hobby."

"Oh, I think I got the context all right. It looks like I've worn out my welcome already."

"Did you get the words like monster and Gatsbro?"

Gatsbro? I never saw his name on her lips. Nice save, Jenna.

She takes two cautious steps closer. "That's who I was talking about, Locke."

I remember the back of the priest's head, always shifting, blocking out her lips. I didn't see every word. I scan the perimeters of the church, looking for other doors opening, looking for dark-robed priests wielding weapons. The church is still.

I look back at Jenna. I want to believe what she is saying. Don't be such a schmuck, Locke.

"What is this place really, Jenna? The priests I knew didn't moonlight as hit men." She doesn't answer. I take a step closer to her. "And why are you keeping track of my descendants?" More silence. I take eight more steps until I'm an arm's distance away, towering over her. She stands her ground. "And why is someone watching you closely? What have you done?"

She looks at me, her eyes set and her jaw rigid.

"Your idyllic life is rapidly getting ugly. Is Kayla really yours? Or some child you snatched off the street?"

Her hand swings out, but mine shoots up faster, and I grab her wrist when it is just inches from my face. Anger trembles through her arm. "Don't you ever bring Kayla into any of this!" she says in a low whisper that drips with threat. "Do you hear me? Because I would cut you down so fast you wouldn't know what happened. And that's if you were lucky. Kayla's where I draw the line. She's off limits."

I don't release her wrist. I stare into her face, reading every line, every flush of color, every rigid muscle ready to pop. She would tear me in two for Kayla. I dissect her face into a thousand planes and my eyes travel over each one. Nothing is hidden. She reads faces. And I'm learning that I do, too. I hope that, like her, most of the time I get it right. For now, I only see a mixture of fear, anger, and what I think is truth. Nothing more. My grip loosens. Have I just made a complete idiot of myself? My hand falls to my side. I step away, sitting down on a pew. She draws in a deep, slow breath, and we're both silent for a long while, trying to process this new distance between us. She sits down next to me.

"I understand," she finally says. "After what you've been through, it's hard for you to trust again. But you have to try. I am not the enemy, Locke."

My gut tells me she isn't. But I'm not sure I should trust even my own gut. I've been wrong about everyone. When does it stop? We both stare straight ahead. I am still the outsider. There are too many secrets. She hasn't really answered anything.

She sighs, like she has read my mind. "I established an anonymous educational trust in your name for your niece. It passed on to her children and her children's children. Call it a guilt gift. Call it whatever you want. It was nothing honorable. It couldn't make up for anything, but it was all I could do. I knew it was the kind of thing you would do if you could. That's why I kept track of them. There was nothing dark and sinister about it."

I should be feeling sorry that I wrongly suspected Jenna, but instead I'm thinking, I had a niece, and Jenna did for her what I couldn't. I had a niece, and I never knew her. She's long dead too. I missed everything about her. Her first birthday. The color of her hair. I don't even know what her name was. Would I have made a good uncle?

Something jumps into my throat unexpectedly and I fight to keep it from shaking loose. I draw my fingers into fists, trying to hold it in.

Jenna misreads my action and blurts out, "I can't tell you the rest. For now, it's better that you not know. You just have to trust me. But I promise you, Father Andre is not a hit man." She reaches out and wraps both of her hands around my balled-up fist. A truce. I relax my fingers in her hands.

I can do that. For now.

But I'm still watching my back around Father Andre.