It was a big church, beautiful, in a gothic, revival architecture style. Saint Patrick's basilica of Montreal.
To get all the way there from Québec we had to leave by 6 a.m., as the service was set to start at 11:30 a.m. and the drive itself took nearly 3.5 hours. It was the three of us, although it should have been only one – Valeria.
But arrangements were made. So I escorted Val for emotional support, and sister Rosalyn escorted us for safety; however, she did not go inside of the church but waited for us in the beaten minivan which our monastery had used in times of emergency.
So there we were, sitting like total outcasts amidst Ronan's family members and friends. It was good that the color of our garments and mood had matched. Otherwise, those individuals all looked rather extravagant for such a sad occasion, and some of them did not even grieve.
It looked to me like more of a dark masquerade of diamonds and velvet to which people had showed up merely to show off. Amazing. More amazing was the number of guests. That made me think of the Easter mass I had attended with granny a long time ago.
It was just as packed if not more packed, so crammed it gave me anxiety. It suffocated me. Granny and I had to literally squeeze our bodies into middle seats of a mid-row pew. We sat there jammed like sardines in a can, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, ankle to ankle. Ew. And my constricted legs fell asleep over 10 times. But I couldn't do anything about it. First: Jesus died. Second: granny prayed right beside me. So if I disturbed Her Lordship – I'd be the other Boleyn girl. Beheaded. Literally. I had no choice but to sit quietly and endure, endure, endure…
Thankfully, Ronan's funeral were held in no teeny-tiny church but a tall basilica. The space just felt dense with faces and energies. Valeria, of course, saw nothing, felt nothing, reacted to nothing.
She just stared at the altar, where Ronan slept in an open casket, stared for almost three-hour length of the service. In that time a priest had gone through scripture, several long prayers and gave way to Ronan's immediate family to deliver their brief but touching eulogies, one by one. The only one who did not speak was Amelia – Ronan's seven-year-old sister.
𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳.
But Amelia looked for the most part oblivious of what was happening around her. Deep down I hoped for her little brain to erase whatever she saw that day and not carry this trauma to adulthood.
At some point, the priest welcomed anyone who wished to pay their respect, and people walked over to lay flowers beneath the casket and whisper their goodbyes to the deceased. When everyone had gone and the priest asked, "Is there anyone else who wishes to come forth?" I knew I had to shake Valeria back to consciousness before she'd miss her one and only chance.
"Val." I rubbed her knee. She winced. "You should go. Everyone else already went." She blinked at me twice, then thrice at the coffin, and stood up.
Everyone watched confusedly how a silent nun 'floated' up to the altar where she kneeled and lowered her head meekly, sadly, like a loyal swan.
I bet they thought she was just a part of the ceremony when in fact she mourned her lover with real bitter tears. It was a strangely vivid picture to see, even from the back pew where I sat. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵, I thought. Even in death Ronan looked his best, dressed in a suit and tie, hair combed, face smooth and calm. He looked just like a groom, and Valeria already looked like a widow.
Someone came up to her, a clergy member. He asked her something, she nodded, he gestured. She rose from her knees, wiped her ceaseless tears and shifted some feet away from the casket, eyes frozen on Ronan as if he had bewitched them to do so.
There was a short pause then, and a choir filled the church. Voices sang to reverberating orchestral music, and through the entrance came more clergy members, all young men in their twenties, dressed in black hoodless cassocks, looking like priests in formation. They each held a tall candle and marched to the altar meekly holding the air of respect.
That is when one of them had caught my eye. He looked so gorgeous that I legitimately stopped breathing for a couple of seconds when I first saw him.
In a line of eight men he was the second to last, and then the fourth in a line of four when the line of eight had reached the altar and separated into two, one at each side of the casket.
I remember how a sickly sweet desire, and hot enough to scorch, scorched my insides. I could not believe my audacity to be drooling over a fucking altar boy when my friend was gaping in silent shock at her dead boyfriend, ready to commit suicide herself.
I tried to keep my eyes down on my boots. Tried biting my lip, so hard it bled. Tried digging my nails into my skin to avert my attention to pain. I clutched at my rosary and recited 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺 just to think of anything besides that boy's mouth sliding down my neck. Nothing fucking worked. He was like a magnet, and my eyes were like nickel, glued to his perfect face with no resistance. 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, I conjured myself. 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴—
"Is this what you like?"
At first I thought I was hearing things, but had to turn when I felt someone's steadfast stare. I looked over at a middle-aged woman in a jet satin suit who sat smirking at me less than 2 feet away.
"Pardon me?"
"I said, is he your type?"
My forehead wrinkled. "Excuse me?"
"You imbecile," spat the woman. "Do you want me to fuck you in that hunk's body or no?"
My face went red, then white. And my organs braced themselves for a war. I instantly recognized the language. "As—" I gaped at the aged female physiognomy with crow's feet, deep red lips and matching colored eyes. "—modeus?"
The last few inches were swallowed by a swift movement of the lady's buttocks. "Why so stunned?" Her hand covered mine, and squeezed. God, the feeling was simply bloodcurdling.
Suddenly I felt just like a sardine in a can, unable to move, or breath. The aura of evil chained my body to the spot.
"Where did—How did you—become—" I stopped and stared at the woman.
"This?" She grinned the nastiest, ugliest grin. "What's the difference between this bitch and that fool?" She jerked her head towards the casket.
I felt a spike of wrath. "You did this to him. Didn't you."
The lady's unwavering fiendish grin was my answer.
"𝘞𝘩𝘺?!" I hissed through clenched teeth. "What did he do to you?!"
"He was weak." She strained through porcelain veneers, eyes swirling angrily. "But perhaps that hot thing in Roman collar will last me longer. Who knows, who knows…" she shot a hungry glare towards the young man, her hand practically boiling mine with heat. I squirmed.
"Please don't," I heaved. "Don't take another life."
"I sense lust. You desire him."
"Not at this cost."
"𝘌𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 at this cost. Huh. What were you expecting, sugar? Black magic comes with a price. And you happened to conjure the blackest one there is. So!" The woman crossed her legs, glaring ahead. "Will it be the hot Roman collar or the scientist?"
I shook my head no at the guy in huge round glasses next to the one I was ogling.
"Roman collar it is."
"No! Not Roman collar! No one at all!"
"Too late for redraw. Your card has been dealt."
"I never asked…I—God may not be with me," I muttered, "but he will not let you harm these people."
"𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦?" She arched a quizzical brow. "You mean, rotten sinners like you? Dumb little mouse. This 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 is a dumping ground, abandoned just like all these rats you see here." I hated how her voice sounded, so sneeringly and exultantly.
"You nasty thing…all you do is spread lies like dirt!" I whispered, hardly refraining my vocal cords from exploding. "These are good people!"
The woman's dark eyes glowed mischievously. "Generally, I make scums like you eat shit for talking shit. Yet again, your luck, nun, I'm in high spirits." She bared her teeth in a disturbing smile. "I'll show you hell but just this once, merely to see that stupid expression of yours."
My heart fluttered painfully. "What are you going to do?"
"I'll let you count your 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 men." The woman growled and turned motionless, with her deep red eyes dead-frozen on mine. I stared back at her.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," I heard someone say.
"What's happening?"
"Count the good, you witless hoe!" Boomed from everywhere, as if all the people had said it in unison.
I slowly turned my head and found myself being stared at by absolutely everyone, including Valeria, the priest and the altar boy. There was not a soul inside that damn place that did not haunt me with those possessed black eyes, for each face I looked at had them. Even little Amelia had them. And another little boy had them too.
My jaw dropped, and cold tears ran down my cheeks. I was aghast.
"Two hundred eighty-four souls and not a saint in sight. It's simple math, nun," thundered a uni-voice, which then exploded in an echoing laughter as every mouth stretched with mad mirth.
I shuddered at the last sentence. "Stop it. Stop it. Please. Stop it."
People kept laughing.
"Stop…STOP IT YOU MONSTER!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. A hand was laid on my shoulder.
"Are you all right, sister?"
I glanced to my right and jumped away immediately. "What do you want?" I barked.
The same lady in jet suit stared at me pitifully, her eyes of a gentle brown color. "You were screaming," she said softly. "Can I help you somehow?"
"I don't need your fucking help, you filthy animal! All of you! A bunch of sinners! Rot in hell!" I screamed and stormed out of the building.
Outside was so chilly that I could not tell whether I trembled from fury or coldness. My flared nostrils hungrily vacuumed the air; it clarified me. I crossed the road towards the minivan in which sister Rosalyn sat waiting.
"How did it go?" She asked when I shut the car door a bit too aggressively.
"I'm…fine. I'm just—"
The minivan's door flew open.
"What has gotten into you?" Valeria hopped in before I could finish mumbling, her expression more alarmed than grieved.
"Val…god." I rubbed my throbbing forehead. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened."
"You don't know? Really?" Val fumed.
"What is happenin—"
"I lost it, okay?" I snapped over sister Rosalyn's question.
"You—lost it…?" Val's eyes went round.
"Yes! I did!" I spat.
"Good lord, what are you two talk—"
"For what reason?" Val barked before the nun could finish.
"If I knew I'd tell you!" Anger began to swirl in me.
"Can you even hear yourself?"
"Can someone expl—" tried to insert sister Rosalyn but was cut off once more.
"I obviously can!"
"Eve, are you out of—"
"Enough." Sister Rosalyn finally snapped.
Valeria, me and the driver all goggled at her with surprise.
"Until we have gotten back to the monastery, whatever happened will not be the subject of discussion. Were you able to see your friend, Jeanne?"
"Yes, thank you," Valeria replied meekly.
"Very well. Thomas," the nun addressed the old man at the wheel.
"Madam?"
"Please, take us home. We're done here." Her green eyes glowed brighter than the green light ahead.