Bless Me, Father

The Watching Flesh

Ellie.

That image haunted him, the veil, the silence, the way her mouth remained shut as if her soul had been stitched closed.

Jacob ran a hand through his hair as he entered the Whitlock's lodge. No Whitlocks. No Maggie.

Only quiet staff moving about, heads down. He ascended the stairs.

****

In his room Jacob washed his hands and then his face, staring too long at his reflection in the mirror.

Despising the look in his own eyes... curious... doubtful. Like a man caught between two doors, both slightly ajar.

His mind raced with thoughts about the missing girls, Helen, Father Vornero but there was only one thing that kept crawling back into his thoughts.

That herbalist...

He dried his face, throwing the towel on the bed and gravitated towards the window.

Pulled back the curtain by instinct, gazing at the trees.

Then, he spotted a young woman.

Delilah?

No. That's not her.

A young woman in a pale blue dress walked briskly towards the woods with her head bowed. But just before the trees swallowed her, she glanced back, not to admire the sky, or to check if she dropped something...

She looked back like a sinner who feared being caught.

And somehow, that was all it took for him to exit the room, his boots striking fast against the old wood stairs.

He didn't contemplate his actions.

Not really.

He should have walked toward the Barrow's house, toward answers. But his feet led him elsewhere.

A part of him craved this... mystery... this hunt.

He went around the lodge and entered the tree line, careful not to make too much noise.

The wind whispered differently here.

His heart thumped steadily. He recalled being eleven or twelve.

Running with Colin and Jason.

He smiled briefly, thinking about the past.

A ghost story his mother once told him about the girl in the woods, how she was a beautiful, cursed child that would take little children if they didn't obey their parents.

A lie, obviously.

The older kids would also tell Jacob and the other young boys in town that she would grant you anything if you caught her... maybe a wish, a kiss or a secret.

He laughed, remembering how him and his friends would run into the woods, chasing shadows together.

Jacob looked back up following the young woman, pushing away his memories.

As the young woman sped up, Father Jacob lost her through the entanglement of leaves.

He scanned the tree line for her silhouette but couldn't find her anywhere.

Jacob stepped closer to the old pond where he would throw rocks and scream into the trees just to hear the echo return lonely.

The memory struck him as he stared into the water, watching it catch his own reflection.

A girl. Younger than him. Running barefoot through the underbrush. Her brown hair streamed behind her like a banner.

One day he had seen her by the oak river.

He blinked.

He couldn't remember anything else.

It had been years. But he tried.

He shook his head, trying to regain focus, searching for the young woman.

He moved quickly, scanning between trunks, following crushed branches and scattered leaves.

The trail curved. Dipped. Then...

He froze.

Another woman.

In the river. Naked. Water lapped at her thighs, glittering with every ripple. Her back arched against a bed of smooth rocks, the current winding through her legs like a lover. Her skin gleamed smooth olive, her slender neck exposed to the clouds.

She didn't hide.

She performed... for no one.

But herself. And that made it worse. That made it impossible to look away. Her right hand slid between her thighs, fingers gliding in a slow, unhurried dance. Her hips lifted to meet her own touch, patient and skilled. Her left hand cupped one breast, thumb circling her wet, stiff n****e.

She moaned low and breathy, like something just beneath a prayer.

The sound didn't seem coy. It felt possessed. Jacob stumbled back behind a tree, his pulse hammering in his throat. His lips ajar.

He didn't even remember breathing. The crucifix beneath his shirt felt like ice against his chest. He gripped it anyway.

The metal biting into his palm.

He told himself he hadn't seen what he saw.

That it was something else.

Maybe she was really hurt. Maybe she was crying.

That the hand between her legs had been... something innocent.

The image replayed with brutal clarity.

The way she bit her lip, and exhaled through her nose as if teasing herself, drawing it out.

Her breasts swayed gently with current, n*****s dark as water dripped off of them.

Her hair floated around her like a living thing, draped down her spine, fanned and wet on the rocks.

Jacob felt a hot pressure building... oh so low... so shameful and insistent.

He exhaled deeply.

Don't be foolish!

He heard the whimpering louder now.

The wind fell still.

He turned away, blinking hard.

His mind and his body fighting at the images of the woman sprawled out on rocks.

"God help me," he muttered. " God help me."

He took a step.

Then another. And another.

He was almost clear of the trees when...

"Oh... f**k!"

The moan that followed was demanding, sharper, soaked in climax and something darker.

It echoed through the woods like thunder crashing in a chapel.

Jacob froze mid-step.

His breath caught.

He turned... just slightly, just once.

Narrowing his eyes, to get a glimpse of the mysterious woman but her hair covered her features.

Her spine curled up off the rocks, fingers still between her thighs, lips parted as she trembled through her last waves of release.

Her head dropped back.

She still hadn't seen him.

Jacob swallowed hard. The taste in his mouth was metallic.

His stomach tight. His hands clenched into fists he didn't remember making.

He walked faster. Half-running now.

Shame riding him like a second skin.

Who was that woman?

He thought if maybe... it was Delilah?

No... no what am I even—

He grabbed his forehead.

But the woman's voice haunted the air behind him. That moan. That curse. That ownership.

And it sounded like she wasn't praying to any god he recognized.

****

Jacob walked faster, shame burning in his chest. But shame quickly twisted into anger—at himself for watching, at God for creating such temptation.

They created desire from the very thing they called sacred, then called the craving blasphemy.

He was still muttering prayers under his breath when he heard it...

Hurried footsteps.

He walked urgently, following the sound, crouching behind a thick tree.

There she is!

The young woman's dress was stained with what looked like mud.

She was knocking on the door of the small cottage stuck in the middle of the woods.

She looked frantically, to see if someone had followed her.

The door opened.

An older woman. Slender, gray-haired, still upright.

It was Barbara.

He hadn't seen her in years.

They whispered at the door. The girl looked desperate, while Barbara looked paranoid and annoyed.

Then a voice...

That sweet, taunting voice.

Soft. Unapologetic. Almost playful.

" I see you're back for more."

Jacob's stomach dropped.

It was her.

Delilah...

She stepped into the frame, coming from opposite direction, hair damp, clinging to her collarbones. A wet gown hugged her every line on her body. Her bare feet silent on the floorboards.

For a second her step faltered... just slightly as if her legs had forgotten how to hold her. But she recovered, slow and fluid.

Jacob ducked behind the tree more.

His blood stormed through his veins.

He thought she was talking to him, but thankfully she was talking to the younger woman.

It was her... at the river... my God.

He looked up at the sky, whispering a psalm, but all he could see was the way her fingers moved across her own skin. Not shamefully. Not sinfully. Like it belonged to her. Like she didn't answer to anything... not guilt, not God.

He peeked again, this time slowly.

Delilah stood between the girl and Barbara now, voice low.

They were still talking.

And then...

Delilah stopped.

Her face shifted, turning her head slightly.

Not towards Jacob. But towards the woods.

Her eyes scanned the tree line, not in panic but like she was considering something.

Barbara saw Delilah's eyes scanning the woods.

"What is it, Delilah?" Barbara looked concerned looking between Delilah and the woods.

"Did someone follow you here? you brat!" Barbara shouted at the young woman.

But the girl shook her head. Her eyes wide, startled.

But Delilah didn't answer. Just smirked.

The air shifted... subtle but certain. Her nostrils flared once.

"Someone's here."

And Father Jacob held his breath.