F Wilson - Midnight Mass

"No!" Joseph was on his feet. "No, don't!"

"It's already done," she said.

"Carole, I can't." He backed away a step. "Not you."

She held out her hand, cupping her palm to hold the pooling blood.

"Yes. Me. It's only fair. I don't want to be left out."

That wasn't quite the way Lacey had put it last night after Joseph had left so abruptly. She'd said that if the three of them were going to work together, be a team, then they'd have to act and feel like a team. "One for all and all for one, and all that shit," she'd said.

Which meant they had to feel at ease with each other, and that would never happen unless someone broke through the wall of shame that had sprung up between Carole and her uncle. Joseph couldn't do it. Only Carole had the power.

Lacey had known one sure way for Carole to break through. It was radical, she'd warned, something her uncle would balk at—and Carole wouldn't be too crazy about it either—but it had to be done.

Joseph was shaking his head, his mouth working but saying nothing. She could read no expression in his scarred face, but his eyes looked terrified.

Still cupping her hand, Carole sat on the bed. She placed the knife beside her and tugged on his sleeve.

"Sit, Joseph," she said. "You've given so much, had so much stolen from you, let me give something to you."

"No!"

"Why will you take it from Lacey but not from me? Do you think there's something wrong with my blood?"

"No, of course not."

"They why not me?"

"Because ..." He shook his head.

"Please don't reject me." She felt a thickness in her throat, heard a catch in her voice. "I couldn't bear it if you turned me away."

Joseph must have heard it too. He slumped next to her. "Carole . .. you don't have to do this."

"I do. I want to."

That hadn't been quite true when she'd stepped into the room, but now, this close to him, feeling his anguish, she wanted to be part of this, she wanted this bond, terrible as it was.

She held her cupped palm beneath his chin.

"Please?"

With a groan Joseph bent his head and pressed his lips against her palm. A shiver ran through her as his tongue swirled against her skin.

So close . . . she'd never dreamed they'd be this close.

Carole felt him swallow, then with a sob he pushed her hand away and sagged against her, resting his head on her thighs, facing away.

"Oh, Carole, I'm so sorry. So sorry."

She made a fist over her cut palm to stanch the bleeding. Her other hand rose of its own accord, hovered over his head for a few heartbeats, then dropped and began stroking his hair.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Joseph," she said softly. "This was not your choosing. It's not your fault."

He said nothing. For a moment she feared he might rise and leave the room, but he didn't move.

She said, "You almost told me why you didn't want to take my blood. You got as far as 'Because.' Can you tell me the rest?"

"Because ..." He took a breath. "Because I love you."

She gasped, her hand recoiling from him as if it had been burned.

Joseph began to lift his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No—no," she said, gently pushing his head back down. "Don't move." She couldn't let him see her face right now, for she knew her heart must be shining in her eyes. "It's all right. It's . . . it's ..."

The intoxicating feelings bursting through her . . . she'd never felt anything like this before. It was indescribable. Her words dried up and blew away like dead leaves.

I love you . . . had he really said that?

"It's wonderful," she managed.

"I'm not talking about love as for a fellow human being. I'm saying that I love you as a woman."

"All the more wonderful," she said. "Because I've felt the same way about you."

Now his head shot up and she couldn't stop it. He stared at her, mouth agape. "What?"

She could only nod. She felt tears brimming her eyelids and didn't trust herself to speak.

"That can't be," he said.

She nodded again and forced the words past the swelling in her throat. "I was taken with you the day you arrived to replace Father McMann. And as I came to know you, I came to love you."

"You mean 'loved,' don't you."

"No. I still do. More than ever."

He looked away. "You can't. That man is gone."

She touched his scarred cheek. "No. He's been changed, but he's not gone. He's still there, inside. I feel him when you're near, I hear him when you speak."

"Maybe he's there now, but I don't know much longer you can count on him being around."

"I have faith in you."

"I appreciate that, Carole but. . . I've been having a dream, the same dream yesterday and today. Hanging from a precipice over this swirling darkness that's calling to me, beckoning to me."

"But—"

He held up a hand. "I know what you're going to say, but this doesn't feel symbolic. This feels real. It bothers me that part of me wants to let go and fall into that abyss. But that's all right. I think I can handle that. What bothers me more is there's no sense of light above me trying to draw me the other way. Only the darkness below."

"I don't understand."

"Where's the balance? The darkness seems to be in control with nothing opposing it. Nothing but us."

"God is out there, Joseph, working through us."

"Not working too well, I'd say. Look what's happened to me."

She wanted to tell him that what had happened to him might be all part of God's plan, but held back. Now was not the time.

He shook his head. "All those years at St. Anthony's . . . you loving me, I loving you, longing for you, and neither of us knew. Imagine if things had been different... what a team we'd have made, Carole."

"We're a team now, at least part of one."

"Yes, but the possibilities ... all gone now." He laid his head back on her thighs. "Gone for good."

She began stroking his hair again. "We're together now."

"But look what it took for us to find out how we felt about each other. You've been through a living hell since Easter week, and I. . . I'm not even human anymore."

"I don't care what you are. I know who you are."

After a while he said, "Sex is out of the question, you know."

"Yes. We both still have our vows."

"I don't mean that. I mean . . . one of the changes in me . . . one of the things they stole from me ... I don't think I ever can."

Carole said nothing. It didn't matter.

They stayed this way a long time, Joseph lying still against her thighs, Carole stroking his hair, soothing him, murmuring to him. In the world outside the horror still raged all about them, but here, in this moment, in this place, she'd found a sliver of peace, the closest to heaven she'd ever been.

CAROLE . . .

Lacey burst out laughing. She couldn't help it.

Joe glanced up from where he sat across from her at the little dining room table. "What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking what a cozy little domestic scene this is. Here's Papa Joe, sharpening stakes to drive through undead hearts. There's Momma Carole at the sink mixing up a batch of napalm. And here's baby Lacey cleaning her 9mm pistols." She laughed again. "We're the new nuclear family!"

Carole turned from the sink where she was stirring a strange mix with a large wooden spoon, and gave her a wry smile. "Nuclear... there's a thought."