Uncollected Blood by Kirk Daniel J

Author:Kirk, Daniel J. [Kirk, Daniel J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bride of Chaos
Published: 2015-05-19T07:00:00+00:00

THE END.

ABUSE

August 31st, 1998

Father John Crosby always had trouble with his Roman collar. The white collar rubbed his Adam’s apple every time he swallowed. He drank his sweet tea and thanked Jessica Milton again. The South always had dominance over how they brew their tea. He was thankful for the appointment to the Diocese of Richmond for this reason among only a handful of others. One he counted was God’s will. But despite much prayer the appointment didn’t seem right. Having been born and raised in Chicago, Father Crosby always viewed the south as a little off kilter.

“Do you find she has a hard time relating with others?” Father Crosby asked. He held back another instinctual sip and rubbed his throat.

“She used to be such a happy child. But look at her.” Jessica’s daughter looked like a long buried corpse. Her flesh wasn’t pale but near translucent, eyes sunken into darkness. She sat in a large winged chair, slouched to keep her feet on the ground and her shoulders against the chair.

“You are possessed.” Jessica suffered her daughter, couldn’t not say what was on her mind. She turned back to the priest, “I’ve said wicked things to her and she does nothing. I am to blame, aren’t I?”

The first thing Father Crosby was told about the Miltons came from his predecessor. “Avoid them, but politely.” The words echoed in his mind. He had felt so righteous when he came. He would lend them an ear and perhaps instill upon them discretion in their bold claims. But the words echoed and he wished he had taken things slower, had not entered their home without research.

“Blame is a strong emotion, Jesus would not want us to be unhappy, would not want us to give into unhappiness.” He spoke to the mother but intended the daughter to take it to heart. “I’m sure your daughter loves you, Mrs. Milton, but she will continue this display, it is her choice. Quite beyond you.”

“You don’t understand, that is not my daughter!” Jessica Milton flung her finger at the girl in the chair. “My daughter is happy.” She was cracking.

The girl got out of the chair and passed between the priest and the woman, rounded the banister and went up the stairs. Her footsteps didn’t carry any sound. Father Crosby had expected stomping but found the girl was reserved. Perhaps, thought the priest, it was the mother to blame. He had seen this often. Overbearing and devoted to the faith but without any good understanding of how the teachings should be passed on.

“In the garden we were given a choice, we’ve always had choice, and we’ve always needed to make our own. That is humanity, that is why God grants us forgiveness for all our deeds, He is well aware that we must make our own choices. Does Catherine Ann make her own choices?”

“I told you she is not Catherine Ann, father. She is evil.”

“Pardon, I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Milton took a moment, frustrated and urgent to find the words.

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