CHAPTER 8
481 Words
The convent courtyard was unusually quiet for midday.
Rebecca sat on the cold stone bench near the fountain, hands folded tightly in her lap. She hadn’t moved for nearly an hour.
Inside her, Mercy was silent.
That silence frightened her more than the whispers ever had.
“Mercy,” Rebecca murmured. “You can’t just disappear after that.”
No answer.
Rebecca exhaled sharply. “You let him see you. You let him hear you. And now you’re quiet?”
A faint chill brushed her arm.
“…I am here.”
Rebecca straightened. “Then talk to me.”
“I am listening.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Rebecca snapped.
“You terrified him. You terrified me. You said this was only the beginning—so what happens next?”
Mercy’s response came slowly, carefully.
“Now he will speak.”
Rebecca frowned. “People like him don’t confess because they’re scared.”
“No,” Mercy replied. “They confess because they think silence will no longer save them.”
Rebecca shook her head. “You’re asking me to push him.”
“I am asking you to stand.”
“And if I can’t?” Rebecca whispered. “If this… whatever we’re sharing… becomes too much?”
A long pause followed.
“Then I will leave.”
Rebecca’s voice cracked. “Just like that?”
“I will not destroy the living to avenge the dead.”
Rebecca swallowed hard. “You sound kinder than the stories make you.”
Mercy’s presence softened.
“I was kind,” she said quietly. “That was why he chose me.”
Footsteps interrupted them.
Sister Agnes approached, eyes sharp, voice low. “Rebecca.”
Rebecca looked up. “Yes, Sister?”
“You were seen leaving the chapel very late last night.”
Rebecca hesitated. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Agnes studied her closely. “Neither could the Reverend.”
Rebecca’s heart skipped. “What do you mean?”
Agnes leaned closer. “He cancelled morning prayers. He locked himself in his office.”
Mercy stirred.
“He is unraveling.”
Rebecca forced herself to remain calm. “Is that… unusual?”
Agnes nodded. “He’s never done that. Not once.”
Rebecca lowered her voice. “Sister Agnes… do you believe the dead can speak?”
Agnes didn’t answer immediately.
Then she said, “I believe the dead remember.”
Rebecca met her gaze. “Even when the living lie?”
Agnes’s lips pressed thin. “Especially then.”
A bell rang in the distance.
Agnes straightened. “Be careful, Rebecca.”
Rebecca asked softly, “Of what?”
Agnes replied, even softer, “Of becoming the voice people fear instead of the truth they need.”
As Agnes walked away, Mercy whispered:
“She knows.”
Rebecca nodded faintly. “And soon… everyone else will.”
- Writer
