She sighed, frustrated by the questions swirling in her mind. There were too many, and no answers or even clues to help guide her to the right path. She honestly felt, for a moment, Marco had been right, as if her head was literally about to pop trying to unravel it all.
She heard the door behind her and started to take her feet off the dash then decided fuck it, and left them there. Mills could yell at her, and they could both pretend for a minute that the world wasn't over, and everything was normal.
He stopped at the door, staring at her for a moment, face set to glare, until he noticed what she’d hung from the display. A slow smile spread across his face and he shook his head. She shrugged, already knowing what he was thinking.
"What the hell is that there for?" he asked.
"Good luck," she replied.
"Think you're gonna need it?"
She nodded slowly. "We all will."
He said nothing more, seeming to sense that she was in a melancholy mood. Instead, he just looked back up, watching with her as the small pink rabbit she’d hung from the display twisted slowly, smiling at them.
Bunny stood in the opening of the small chapel, watching as Reverend Bixby attempted to ease the fears of the many who gathered under the tent, drawing words of comfort from his Good Book, trying as best he could to wash away some of the uncertainty and doubt they all carried. In his eyes, she could see he truly wanted to succeed, though the enormity of his task was clear.
She watched as they bowed their heads in prayer, asking God to deliver them from the monsters that stalked them for their very flesh. Feeling uneasy, she lowered her own gaze, thinking back to a question she’d once asked Marco, the question that had ultimately brought her to stand here, listening without hearing, hoping without really believing there was any.
For herself, Bunny had doubts. She always had, it wasn't anything new. Recent events however had moved that doubt from an occasional thing that cropped up when she drove past a church to a very real and present existential issue she grappled with daily.
In an impossible world, she thought, is anything really impossible? Could there be a God who still loved his children, even one such as her? A self-styled martyr with a will to live, unable to stop even when she wanted to more than anything? Would He understand a conundrum even she couldn’t unravel?
She loitered at the doorway of the tent as people filed out, returning to their duties. There was no such thing as a day of rest anymore, and even if there was, she doubted anyone would rest easily. Still, she smiled and nodded as they passed her, and found she knew more of their names than not. It hurt her, to wonder how many of them she would mourn, and how many would mourn her.
"Well, here's an unexpected surprise," the Reverend said as the last of his congregation exited, looking at Bunny with a genuine expression of disbelief.
She gave him a sheepish grin as she stepped inside. "Sorry, never really been one for sermons. Involves sitting still for overly-long. Makes my feet itch."
Bixby chuckled as he waved her further inside. "I can’t say that surprises me very much. I don’t think there’s been a single day since you arrived that I’ve seen you stationary.”
"Yeah, well, me and paper." Bunny shrugged.
Bixby laughed at that. "I assume you didn't stop by for an overdue social visit. What can I do for you, Bunny?"
"Honestly," she said shoving her hands in her pockets. "I don't know."
The Reverend looked at her with a soft smile and a knowing look. "Come on, why don't you have a seat. Let me get you something to drink."
"If it's some kind of religious thing..." she said before he held up a bottle of vodka.
"More of a calm the nerves thing, really," he replied. “Though these days that can almost be a religion unto itself.”
Bunny nodded. "Is that kosher?"
Bixby chuckled. "I'm guessing you don't know a lot about religion in general, do you?"
"Not really," she admitted. "My parents were more Easter and Christmas Catholics than anything."
Bixby nodded as he poured himself a glass of vodka then another for her. "Well, I'm a Baptist, not Catholic, kosher is for the Jewish faith, and vodka is for everyone."
She took the glass he offered, staring into it absently. For a moment, she felt absurd then ashamed for even being here. Bixby certainly had better things to do than waste his time with her.
"Bunny?" he asked. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she said, trying to smile. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm thinking. I shouldn't have bothered you."
"It's not a bother," he disagreed as she turned to leave. "I'm happy just to listen, if that's what you need."
She stopped, turning to look at him again. "I don't know what I need."
"Nobody does," he said with a shrug. "We all think we do, but few people can really tell the difference between what they want, and what they need. Those who can, however, are both blessed, and tormented."
"I have no idea what you just said," she admitted with a laugh.
"Please, Bunny," he said, motioning to the chair. "Sit. Tell me what's on your mind."
Slowly, she joined him, easing into the folding chair, feeling more out of place here than she’d ever felt anywhere before. Shaking her head, she downed the vodka, grimacing as it burned through her, hoping it could serve as a bit of liquid courage.
"There's things I..." she started then paused, looking up at the simple wooden cross that adorned the back of the tent. "There're things that’ve happened that I can't explain. Things too
