Seven Deadly

Chapter 4: Sister Evelyn

St. Selaphiel’s Academy looms before me.

As I make my way across the lawns towards the building’s entrance, I can’t shake the dreadful feeling that I’m like a helpless little mouse walking into the jaws of a waiting lion. But the only way out is through, and the most important thing now is for me to get through this day, then through this week, this month, and finally this year - and then I’ll finally be free.

And so I walk boldly into the belly of the beast, climbing the impressive stone steps at the front of the building and crossing quickly though the entrance doors, clutching my bag tighter as I take in the lofty entrance hall. 

The building is as grandiose from the inside as it is on the outside - a vast cavernous space several stories high, with a resplendent painted ceiling depicting a scene of heaven. Soft white clouds wrought in oils hang in a gilded sky, filled with glittering silver stars. It looks a lot like the Sistine Chapel ceiling which I studied in art history class a few years ago, only without any people. 

A velvet carpet the colour of red wine traverses a black-and-white chequerboard floor, winding up a long wooden staircase and through an arched entrance-way at the other end of the entrance hall. 

There are countless paintings hanging on the wood panelled walls, and if I wasn’t in a rush to get somewhere I’d definitely take my time checking them out. But I have somewhere to be. 

I look around the vast room, wondering where everyone is, and where the classrooms are - when I spot the thing I’ve been searching for.

RECEPTION - THIS WAY.

The words are engraved onto a bronze sign hanging above a small alcove, with an arched doorway set within it. So I walk through the doorway, and find myself in a long, narrow corridor. The passage would be dark if not for the stained glass windows that make up an entire wall all the way along, casting opaque patches of brilliant jewel-coloured light onto the opposite wall. Walking through the corridor is what I’d imagine walking along the inside of a kaleidoscope to be like - a gorgeous riot of multihued illumination.

There’s a sort of waiting room at the end of the corridor, with a dark wooden bench and some comfy looking armchairs covered in forest green velvet. It takes me a moment to realise that there’s also a receptionist’s desk in one corner, and a woman sitting behind it - a woman who to my surprise is wearing plain clothes... normal people clothes. Not the old-fashioned black and white habit of a Catholic nun.

So I guess not every adult at this school is a nun. Interesting.

"Hi," I say, walking up to the receptionist. "I'm-"

"Miss Allbright, I presume?" A dry, shrill female voice reverberates through the room, cutting me off mid-sentence.

"Yes, that's me," I say, turning around to face the speaker, who must have crept up behind me so quickly and quietly that I could almost believe she's some sort of ghost.

And she certainly looks like one. Standing before me is a rake-thin woman, who looks more like an anorexic scarecrow than a healthy flesh-and-blood person. Her face is sickly pale and gaunt, and steel-grey eyes stare at me disapprovingly from deeply shadowed sockets, heavy eye bags accentuating her aged and pallid appearance. Her black nun's dress and white habit billow around her as she turns on her heel.

"You're five minutes late, Miss Allbright," the woman says, turning on her heel and gesturing for me to follow her into an adjoining room. "Come along."

Great. Just wonderful. I've already messed up and shown up late on my first day of school. 

I hang my head in shame, willing myself to do better next time. If there's one thing I strive for in life, it's to be diligent. I hate letting down other people in any way at all, or not meeting expectations. Failing.

I follow the woman into her office - noticing a plaque on the door as we go in.

‘Sister Evelyn Grace - Principal’ is engraved into the bronze in heavy block letters.

The office is roomy and spacious, with high vaulted ceilings and floor to ceiling stained glass windows. Unlike the rainbow multihued windows in the corridor, these stained glass windows are predominantly green - depicting a scene of a dark-haired angel in moss green robes, and matching emerald green wings, holding a staff as he stands in a grove of oak trees. 

A wooden carving of Jesus the cross hangs on the wall behind a massive oaken writing desk.

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, and the room smells nostalgic somehow. Like a childhood memory, half-buried. 

Sister Evelyn settles down behind her desk, pointing at an armchair sitting opposite. I settle down into it, and suddenly there’s a loud ‘popping’ sound from the fireplace. I half jump up out of the seat in fright, and Sister Evelyn sighs, gesturing for me to sit back down.

“Just a pine cone,” she says, then more quietly as if muttering to herself “Sister Cora always forgets to dry them out. I must have told her a million times, wet pine cones on the fire means explos-”

She pauses, catching herself, as if she’s only just remembered again that I’m in the room with her.

I’m still staring at the fireplace, entranced by the hungry flickering flames, how they crackle and dance hypnotically on the hearth. Although there’s an autumnal chill in the air - given that we’re in September, early Fall, that’s not unusual - but what is strange is having a fireplace at a school in the first place. I’ve attended countless schools over the years, and I’ve never seen a fireplace in a school principal’s office. 

What on earth is this place? Hogwarts? Is Harry Potter about to fly past me on his broomstick?

Sister Evelyn notices my confusion.

“All the rooms here have a fireplace, including the classrooms,” she says. “And there’s a good reason for it. The building gets awfully cold in the Fall and Winter seasons.”

She reaches for her rosary, hanging around her neck, and clutches the cross in her hands momentarily.

“You know this building used to be a cathedral? The oldest in the entire Maine area, in fact,” she says. “It was also a nunnery for many years. After that, the church converted the building to serve as an institution of learning. As I’m sure you already know, St. Selaphiel’s was a girl’s-only Catholic school up until the mid nineties. Unfortunately… it was opened up to boys in the early 90s, which is why the academy is now... coeducational.”

She says ‘coeducational’ with a hint of distaste, like it’s a dirty word.

“It is also, nowadays, non denominational…” she continues, “meaning that although religious studies remain a core academic subject in our school curriculum, the academy does accept students regardless of religion. You are welcome here regardless of your faith - or, your lack of it. Did you have a religious upbringing, Miss Allbright?”

She looks at me questioningly, steel grey eyes flashing with curiosity.

“Well, I didn’t exactly grow up religious,” I say, struggling to find the right words. “Gabby pretty much taught me about all religions. Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Shinto... we've even discussed atheism and agnosticism. I've read the Bible, the Quran..." I catch myself rambling, and try to stay on topic. "Anyway, Gabby always says that choice is the most important thing, and I guess I haven’t yet made mine. My choice, I mean.”

“That’s true,” Sister Evelyn says, moving the jet black ebony rosary beads slowly through her fingers as she speaks, a sudden faraway look in her eyes. “God Almighty in his infinite wisdom and grace gave us all the gift of choice. Our role is to choose our own path. To find the right path. The path that leads to his light and his glory. I have faith that you’ll find it, my child.”

“That’s pretty much what Gabby said,” I say, not sure if I’m now oversharing.

“Gabriel - I mean, Gabby - is wise,” Sister Evelyn says. “She knows God’s heart.”

What? Why would she assume Gabby’s full name is Gabriel? I’m sure Gabby’s a nickname for Gabrielle, that would make more sense. Weird.

Sister Evelyn looks down at her watch, making a disapproving ‘tut tut’ sound.

“He’s seven minutes late…” she says.

Just then, there’s a soft knocking at the door.

“Come in!” Sister Evelyn calls out.

A boy with around my own age enters. He's wearing the same school uniform as me, except his is the boys' version - the green blazer is the same, but instead of a checkered grey tartan skirt and matching necktie over a white blouse, he's wearing grey pants, a short sleeved white shirt, and a checkered ascot. From the Drama Club President’ patch and the academic honours badge sewn onto his blazer, I guess he’s a senior, like me. He’s unusual-looking - only a few inches taller than me (which makes him pretty short for a guy), and slight of build. He's almost handsome - with very sharp, severe features, too-thin lips, a pointy noise and close cropped peroxided blonde hair which contrasts with unusually bright green eyes and light brown skin. 

That hair colour can’t be natural - it must be bleached blonde. Only babies and people in fantasy movies have hair that’s so naturally light. Normal people don’t. Except Gabby, I guess - but I have my doubts about whether Gabby is a ‘normal’ person. Or even a (human) person at all.

“Ah, Rhys, nice of you to finally join us,” Sister Evelyn says. “Seven minutes late.”

“Sorry, Sister,” Rhys said. “I had to run an errand for Father Ashdale.”

Sister Evelyn frowns at this, and says “I’ll have a word with him about that. Anyhow… I suggest you commence with the orientation tour. While you still have time. Miss. Allbright, I’ll leave you in the care of this young man. That will be all. Run along now.”

She looks down at the paperwork on her desk, and begins writing something, as if we're no longer in the room. 

I guess up, mumbling “thanks”, and I walk over the the boy waiting in the doorway.

“Let’s go,” he says. “Welcome to St. Selaphiel’s Academy.”

Then more quietly, he says, “Welcome to Hell.”