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A drop of rain falls on the bridge of my nose and I look around for shelter, knowing it’s going to come down hard any minute. There’s a coffee shop up the next block but I’ve only made it a few feet before the deluge happens. The sky opens up and dumps rain on me like an overturned bucket.

I shriek and start running, as does everyone else on the street, laughing as they go. I know I won’t make it to the coffee shop without drowning so I quickly duck into the shelter of a parking garage.

It’s fairly empty which is odd, considering how hard it was for us to find parking for the concert (the thought of Amy sends another worrying jab into my heart) but at least it’s dry. I look down at my clothes, assessing the damage. I’m partially soaked, mainly my hair and shoulders. I should be glad I didn’t wear the white sundress like I was going to earlier since it would have gone totally see through, and opted for a black tank and shorts instead, but I can’t seem to muster the emotion of being glad about anything.

I stand by the entrance, just under the concrete roof, occasionally glancing up at the sky to see if there’s a break coming, but if anything the clouds seem to grow larger, lower, pressing down on me. Rain streams down from the upper levels of the parkade, splashing noisily into an ever-widening puddle a few feet away.

I think I’m alone. I checked when I ran in here, a quick survey over the empty stalls and the few cars parked here and there. It’s one of those garages that don’t have an attendant, you pay via a ticket from the machine.

But the skin on the back of my neck begins to tighten, like the electricity from the storm but not quite, and the most subtle but unnerving sensation begins to build from the inside out. It’s like I have hundreds of ants crawling all over me but they’re not crawling over my skin—they’re crawling underneath my skin.

I shudder, trying to get the sensation to leave, shaking out my arms and legs when I hear a harsh, wet breath from behind me.

I gasp and whirl around, expecting to see a monster. In fact, I think I do, just for a second, red eyes and black matted fur, a creature waiting in the dark depths.

But it steps forward out of the shadows and I realize it’s a nun, which should put my galloping heart to rest but doesn’t.

“Keeping dry?” she asks me in a quiet voice as she stops beside me, her grey habit perfectly ironed. Her eyes study me, not the rain, but there’s no harm in them, just what looks like kind-hearted curiosity. Only I have a strange feeling that it’s supposed to look like that, that her true face is buried underneath.

I have to blink a few times to get the feeling to go away and even the ants under my skin seem to hush.

“I didn’t bring an umbrella,” I say meekly, looking away from her inquisitive gaze.

“The forecast called for sunshine,” she says brightly. “Even I didn’t see this one coming. But sometimes God likes to mix things up.”

I nod, feeling that heaviness in my heart again over Amy. “He sure does.”

“Do you believe in God?” she asks me.

Oh here we go. The problem with so many of the Christians who come knocking at your door is that even when you tell them you do believe in God (if you do), they don’t think it’s good enough. It’s not enough to just believe, they want you to believe the same way that they believe.

Still, I muster up a smile because one must never be rude to a nun and say, “I do.”

She smiles broadly though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, like she knows the reaction she’s supposed to give yet doesn’t feel it.

The ants crawling under my skin start to prickle again.

“Good,” she says, looking back to the street. “It’s impossible to not believe in God when you see all the good in the world.” She almost seems to laugh over those last words. “He must have blessed you more than others. You’re very pretty.”

I frown slightly, pretty sure that prettiness and vanity aren’t exactly things to be congratulated on in a religious sense. I don’t say anything to that, just give her a polite smile. Conversations with strangers have never been my strong point, let alone nuns.

“Does something ail you?” she asks me just as I’m looking across the road, my eyes attracted by a tall shape lurking behind a dumpster, a shape that moves with a familiarity that makes me even more uneasy. Is it just a homeless person sifting through the trash, or is it something else? The sky seems to darken by the second, the rain becoming thicker so that looking across the street is like staring through darkened gauze. The drumming sound of the rain turns hypnotic.