Page 83 of Shrapnel

Would they still gain comfort from knowing the misfortune it came from?

They moved toward the glass doors of the church. Stepping inside the baptistry, Elijah pushed the hair from his face. Jamie dipped his fingers in the shallow bowl set beside the front doors, making a sign of the cross by tapping the wet fingers on his forehead, chest, and right, and left shoulders. Elijah watched him with interest.

Flicking the excess water off at Elijah, Jamie moved farther into the building.

The church was dim. Rows of pews extended on either side of a long central aisle. Carpeted and upholstered in a pale salmon color, the stained glass windows on either side let in just enough light that Jamie could see Jesus’ emaciated body looking down at them from atop a cross behind the altar.

“Do we look for a priest?” Elijah asked in a hushed tone, head ducked in reverence.

“No,” Jamie said in a normal tone. He glanced at the lockbox where donations were kept. “We need to find the one in charge.”

Moving across the thin carpet, he ignored the windows depicting the stations of the cross. They were all technically the same, though every church got to add its own little flair. Jamie had seen enough of them in his lifetime.

A narrow hallway led off the high-ceilinged knave. More industrial than the church itself, this is where the administration was located. No matter how hard they tried to deny it, the church was not altruistic. It was a business and it had to be run like one.

The first office was open. A woman was sitting behind a narrow desk, modest French-tipped nails tapping away on her laptop.

“Excuse me,” Jamie cleared his throat, smiling thinly. “Are you the secretary?”

Her doe eyes flicked up. In a moment she took in the two young men, noting their nice but not too expensive clothes. Her smile softened and she closed her laptop.

“Yes. Are you looking for Father Jared?”

“We are not.” Jamie tried to return the smile, but he didn’t have it in him. The dreams had returned, and his jaw ached. He could feel the pulsing heat from one of his teeth and knew he probably cracked another molar. It had been years since he had those dreams. The dreams that were so close to memories they had the same effect. His chest felt heavy, and he wondered if the fresh feeling of pain Owen had given him caused a domino effect.

His phone had been buzzing constantly. Owen kept up a barrage of texts. Jamie read them but had no intention of responding. He was a good person, a good soul. He felt guilty for hurting Jamie’s feelings. That was something normal people felt.

He could respond with a simple, ‘It’s ok’ or a smiley face. But that would mean what Owen did warranted a reaction. Jamie wasn’t angry. Owen had every right to be afraid of him. He should be.

Jamie was an automaton. A machine that reacted according to a set of predetermined rules and cues. His reactions were conditioned from years of watching. Years of trying to assimilate with humanity.Hello, I’m Jamie, this is my smile. Insert joke here. See how nonthreatening I am? Please do not come any closer, I don’t have a response to that.

Most days, Jamie scared himself.

Owen didn’t owe him anything. He was an unexpected gift, someone that surprised Jamie. He gave him something—moments of respite and pain. He gave Jamie pain. For that, he would do the best thing he could do for Owen—keep his distance.

“I was hoping you could look at some photos? Tell me if you recognize anyone.”

Elijah pulled the photos from inside his coat, laying the glossy stack of 4x6s on the desk.

The secretary looked at the murder victim's driver’s license photos, shaking her head until she got to Koehler.

"Oh," her mouth made a perfect ‘o’. “I know him. He’s…he’s a lost soul.” She smiled sadly.

Elijah stepped forward. “A lost soul?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He hung around the parking lot and spoke to a lot of our local homeless. They come here for guidance sometimes.”

Jamie thought it was more likely they came for a roof and a warm place to sleep but he let it go.

“How was he lost?”

“He…well, I think he sold…” She looked around the room once before leaning in, cupping a hand around one side of her mouth. “Drugs,” She whispered like a dirty secret.

“Ah, that is unfortunate.” Elijah smiled his homey smile, the one Jamie couldn’t fake even if he wanted to.

The woman liked Elijah, most people did. She clasped her hands on the desk, making sure to show off her bare left ring finger. Jamie was tempted to text Noah that someone was moving in on his man. It would be entertaining to watch the lordling tear this woman a new one.

“What did he do with the homeless? Sell to them?”