One afternoon, a few weeks after the torrid masturbations began, she was recovering, kneeling as she usually did before the wooden altar, when she heard the sound of the chapel door opening behind her. She practically jumped a foot then instantly scrambled to her feet.
McGill appeared in the opening, surrounded by a halo of light behind his body, so she couldn’t see his face and could hardly make out his large form. Regardless, she knew it was McGill; she had studied every nuance of his physical movements in the past two months. She knew his body in her imagination. Knowing who it was, she shuddered now feeling like a trapped rat, ashamed of herself for taking such liberties in a house of God.
McGill stared at her, saying nothing until he stepped inside the chapel and closed the door.
