image. A woman in a long red gown was being led by a guy in a tuxedo from a limousine to a jet airplane. He didn't recognize the movie, but considering he'd spent the last twenty years of his life in the hard-core military, there hadn't been a lot of time for going to the damn pictures.
When he hit
That evening, when Marie-Terese walked into St. Patrick's Cathedral, her feet were slow and the aisle down to the altar seemed a mile long. As she passed by the chapels of the saints, heading for the confessionals, she paused at the fourth bay in. The life-sized figure of a pious Mary Magdalene had been removed from its pedestal, the white marble statue no doubt having been taken to be cleaned of dust and incense residue.
The empty space made her realize that she'd decided to leave Caldwell.
It was all getting to be too much. She just was not in a place in her life where she could afford to get emotionally attached to a man, and that was happening with Vin already. Those dead college boys aside, more time around him was not going to help her, and she was a free agent, able to hit the road at any moment—
The creaking of a door behind her pricked her nerves, but when she looked over her shoulder, no one was close by. As usual, the church and all of its pews were essentially empty, with just two women in black veils praying up front and a man wearing a Red Sox baseball cap settling on his knees in the far back.
As she continued down the aisle, the weight of her decision to pull out of town exhausted her. Where would she go? And how much would it cost to think up another identity? And work. What would she do about that? Trez was unique in the business, and the Iron Mask was the only place she could imagine doing what she did.
Except how would she cover the bills?
At the pair of confessionals, there were a couple of people before her, so she waited with them, smiling once in greeting and then keeping her eyes elsewhere, as they did. Which was always the way it went. The guilty tended not to want to make conversation when they were about to unload, and she wondered if the others were practicing what they would say, just as she was.
No matter what their issues were, she figured she could lap them in the sin contest. Easy.
“Hello.”
She glanced behind her and recognized a guy from the prayer group. He was a quiet one like her, a regular attendee who rarely opened his mouth. “Hello,” she said.
He nodded once and then stared at the ground, clasping his hands together and keeping to himself. For no particular reason, she noticed that he smelled like incense, the kind that was used in the church, and she was comforted by the smoky, sweet scent.
Together they moved up two paces when someone else went in…then another two paces…and then Marie- Terese was up next.
After a lady with red-rimmed eyes came out from behind the thick velvet curtain, it was Marie-Terese's turn to go in, and she gave the prayer group guy a smile of goodbye before stepping up to the cubicle.
When she'd shut herself in and taken a seat, the wooden panel slid back and the priest's profile was revealed on the far side of the brass screen that separated them.
After making the sign of the cross, she said softly, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession.”
She paused, because even though she'd said the words many, many times, they were hard to get out.
“Speak to me, my child. Unburden yourself.”
“Father, I have…sinned.”
“In what manner.”
Even though he knew. But the point of confession was the vocalized recitation of evil deeds; without that there could be no absolution, no relief.
She cleared her throat. “I have…been with men unlawfully. And I have committed adultery.” Because some of them had had wedding rings on. “And…I took the Lord's name in vain.” When she'd seen Vin hit the ground by the diner. “And I…”
It was a while before her list dried up and the priest's profile nodded gravely when she fell silent. “My child… surely you know the errors of your ways.”
“I do.”
“And the transgressions against God's ways cannot go…”
As the priest's voice continued, Marie-Terese closed her eyes and took the message deep inside. The pain of how far she had sunk and what she was doing to herself squeezed her lungs until she couldn't draw in any air at all.
“Marie-Terese.”
She shook herself and looked at the screen. “Yes, Father?”
“…and therefore, I shall…” The priest paused. “Excuse me?”
“You said my name?”
A frown appeared on his profile. “No, my child. I did not. But for your sins, I shall decree that…” Marie-Terese looked around, even though there was nothing to see but the wood paneling and the red velvet curtain.
Dropping her head, she thanked the priest, and after he'd closed the partition, she took a deep breath, picked up her bag, and stepped out of the confessional. Next to the one she'd been in, she could hear the voice of the other sinner. Soft. Muffled. Utterly indistinct.
As she walked down the side aisle, paranoia had her eyes going all around the cathedral. The pair of women with veils were still there. The man who'd been praying was gone, but two others had come in and taken his place at the back.
She hated looking over her shoulder and wondering whether she was hearing her name and worrying if she were being followed. But ever since she'd pulled out of Las Vegas, she'd been hypervigilant and she had a feeling she would always be like that.
Outside, she jogged over to her car and she didn't breathe easy until she was locked in. For once, the Camry turned over on the first try, as if her adrenaline were being transmitted to the engine, and she drove off to the club.
By the time she pulled into the parking lot of the Iron Mask and got out with her duffel, her paranoia was irritating the hell out of her. No cars had followed hers. No dark shadows were moving in for the kill. Nothing was out of the ordinary—
Her eyes went to the alley where the bodies had been found…and she was reminded of precisely why she worried all the time.
“How you doing?”
Marie-Terese spun around so fast, her duffel bag slammed into her. But it was only Trez, waiting by the back door. “I'm…good.” As his eyes narrowed, she put up her palm. “Don't prod me. Not tonight. I know you mean well, but I can't handle it right now.”
“Okay,” he murmured, stepping back so she could pass by him. “I'll give you the space you need.”
Fortunately, he was true to his word, leaving her off at the locker room so she could change. When she was in her god-awful uniform, with her hair fluffed out and her lids caked with eye shadow and her mouth all greasy, she walked down the long hall to the club proper, completely dissociated from who and where she was.
As she trolled the fringes of the crowd, it didn't take long to find business. A little eye contact, some hip, a slight smile and she had her first candidate of the night.
The guy was an utter civilian—in other words, he would have looked absolutely fine anywhere else but here in Gothlandia. He was over six feet tall, with brown hair and brown eyes, and he smelled of Calvin Klein's Eternity for Men—an old-school favorite that suggested he wasn't all that suave, but at least had a good enough nose. His clothes were nice, but not over-the-top, and he didn't have a wedding band.
The conversation about the transaction was stilted and awkward, and he blushed the entire time, so it was clear he'd not only never done this before, but had never pictured himself in the position of exchanging money for sex.
Join the club, she thought.
