Michael Rowe - Enter, Night

“I don’t need to go inside. But is it OK if I run inside quickly and get my sweater? Do you want to come inside and get warm?”

“I can’t,” Finn said. “I can’t go in there.”

“Why not?” Then she thought about it. “Oh, right,” she said. “Sorry.”

Morgan realized she should feel safer knowing Finn couldn’t cross the threshold of the church, but instead it just made her feel sad. “I’ll be right back,” she promised. She knew he could probably stop her if he wanted to.

But he just said, “OK,” and shrugged.

Morgan hurried up the nave to the place where Christina was still fast asleep-if anything, in a deeper sleep than before. The dark circles under Christina’s eyes seemed to have faded by degrees, as though Finn were actually healing her mother from where he stood on top of the snow, outside the church.

I could stay in here and never come out. She picked up her sweater from where it lay on the back of the pew. I could leave him out there in the cold and the snow and the night and never have to see him again. These things can’t come into churches. But he’s not a ‘thing,’ is he? He’s Finn. He’s my friend. He saved my life.

Morgan saw the St. Christopher’s medal lying on the pew next to her mother. She picked it up and slipped it into her pocket.

“There’s a house over there,”Finn said, pointing across the snowy lawn after Morgan returned with her sweater. “Behind the manse. It’s empty. Do you want to go in there?”

“What for?” Morgan said, suddenly fearful again.

“Because it’s cold out here, dummy, obviously,” Finn teased. “And even if I’m not cold, you are. I can tell. You’re still shivering. I know you have that medal in your pocket. You could use it if you wanted. I wouldn’t be able to stop you. Besides, I told you not to worry.”

Morgan’s voice was incredulous. “How do you know all this stuff?”

Finn shrugged again, but this time it was a self-conscious shrug. “Some of it from The Tomb of Dracula, some of it from Dark Shadows . Some of it from… from him. He steals people’s memories, then he shares them with us. The rest of it I just know.” He tapped his chest and his head. “I know it in here. I don’t know how, I just do.”

She thought about it for a moment, then said, “OK, let’s go to the house. How do you know it’s empty? Or that it’s open?”

He glanced briefly at the dark window on the second floor. “Trust me. I’ve been inside already.”

The living room was plainbut clean. There was a photograph of Pope Paul VI on the wall above the television set, but no books anywhere.

The unmistakable odour of boiled cabbage clung to the cheap curtains, indeed had seeped into every porous surface in the living room. Morgan hated boiled cabbage, especially the way it smelled when it was cooking. At that moment, however, it reminded her of her neighbourhood in Toronto, and she just felt homesick.

Sitting next to her on the plastic-covered sofa, Finn said shyly, “Morgan, can I ask you a question?”

Her voice was gentle, but teasing “That’s one question already, Finnegan.”

“My mom called me that,” he said.

“What was the question you wanted to ask me?”

He hesitated. “Have you ever… well, have you ever, you know… like, had a… a…”

“A boyfriend? Is that what you’re asking? If I’ve ever had a boyfriend?” If he could blush, Morgan thought, he’d be beet-red.

Mutely, Finn nodded his head.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend, Finn?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Why not?” She took his hand lightly in hers, finding it ice cold. “Have you ever liked a girl before?”

“Only you,” he said, looking down. “Never before. Nobody else.”

She brought his hand up to her face and laid it there. He leaned forward clumsily to kiss her on the lips but missed, landing the kiss on her chin instead. Morgan inclined her head and kissed him tentatively on the lips.

Blood thundered in Morgan’s ears and her face flamed. “Finn, just so you know, I never… well, I’ve never had a… a boyfriend, either.”

Finn pulled away as though burned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m such a jerk. Why would a girl like you want to kiss somebody as ugly as me? I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m so stupid.”

Morgan sat very still, as thought considering. Then she unbuttoned the top button of her cardigan. Then the second. Finn watched, his eyes wide.

“Finn?” In the dark living room, Morgan’s voice sounded alien, even to her-thicker, fuller, almost a woman’s voice now.

Outside, the wind picked up, blowing thick fistfuls of snow at the windows. Morgan shrugged the sweater off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her on the sofa.

“What?” Finn breathed.

“You’re not ugly. You were never ugly.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” Morgan said, reaching for him. “You’re really not. You’re really beautiful to me, Finnegan.” She hesitated, then said, “Finn?”

“What?”

“Do you promise- really promise -that you won’t hurt me?”

“I promise, Morgan,” Finn said. “Cross my heart.”

They held each other close,naked in the makeshift bed of ottoman cushions and crocheted afghan blankets on the floor of the immaculate, chaste house that smelled like boiled cabbage and carpet deodorizer, under the photograph of Pope Paul VI.

Morgan had asked Finn if he wanted to go upstairs, but he seemed to panic at the thought, insisting instead they stay in the living room. When she asked him why, he shook his head and said, “Here is good. Here is fine.”

Later, in her arms, Finn’s icy body didn’t warm, but neither did Morgan’s body catch the cold from Finn’s and chill in sympathetic response. They tempered each other, explored each other’s bodies with their hands and mouths, wondering at the bevy of sensations aroused as each touched the other in places they’d never been touched before.

“Morgan,” Finn whispered in her ear when they were finished. “Would you stay with me?”

“We’re leaving in the morning,” she murmured. “I can’t stay here.”

“No,” he said. His voice was ineffably sad. “I mean, just for a little bit longer. Just for tonight. I just don’t want to be alone.”

Morgan leaned up on her elbow and looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean? Of course I’ll stay with you tonight. Why? I mean, what else would I do?”

“Just a bit longer,” Finn said, gazing out the living room window at the lightening eastern sky.

Morgan realizedshe must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes, Finn was kneeling at her side, shaking her arm with nearly violent desperation.

“Morgan,” Finn said urgently. “Wake up. I need to ask you something.”

“What?” she muttered, still mostly asleep. “What is it? Are you OK?”

“Morgan, would you do something for me if I asked you to?”

“Sure,” Morgan said. “What?” Then her eyes opened wide and she focused. The scream caught in her throat, becoming a sharp gasp instead.

Finn was sweating blood-literally. It covered him like a delicate, dark red mist, a ruby dew that made his skin shimmer when he moved. He wasn’t bleeding, exactly-instead, the blood was a fine, thin, glowing roseate spray that was becoming more opaque by the second.

“Finn, oh my God ! What’s happening to you?”

“It doesn’t hurt, Morgan, I promise it doesn’t. Not yet.”

“Finn! What’s happening to you?”

“Morgan, do you love me?”

“Yes! Yes! I love you! Now tell me what’s happening!?”