“Then why are you The Director? If they’re so horrible, what does that say about you?”
He scowls, his dark brows coming together. He reaches out and brushes my hair behind my ears gently, and the motion startles me. My breathing hitches. I see him swallow as his dark eyes fix their gaze onto me—but they have an unfocused, faraway look.
“I have my reasons.”
And with that, he turns and walks away.
This time, I let him.
God is a Woman
Evelyn Snow
Brentford,Present
Zoey and I exit the Brentford train station just outside of London. I attempt to guide us toward St. Lawrence’s Church without getting lost, but we end up needing to reroute several times. By the third try, I at least manage to point us in the right direction, and we head off. If there’s one thing I’m terrible at, it’s directions.
“What made you choose this place, again?” Zoey asks, adjusting her beanie. Her converse squeak against the damp stone with every step.
“It’s about to be torn down. They’re building a gym or something. Since my professor said we could choose any religious structure, I figured I’d choose the one that won’t be here next month.”
I’m referencing my Art and Religion course. All of us were assigned an open-ended paper to be written on any religious structure of our choosing. Being in the United Kingdom, I had my pick—there were hundreds to choose from. Most of the other students chose well-known, historic structures—temples, mosques, infamous cathedrals. I’d texted Salem about the assignment. He’d been all over the world, and as much as I didn’t believe in any sort of religion, a small part of me loved being in an old church—which was ironic since Auguste was a priest. I wanted something old and unique with an interesting history.
Salem had given me the names of 3 churches within an hour of Oxford, and from there, I narrowed it down to St. Lawrence’s Church. It was built in the 15th century, and it’s the oldest structure in this part of London. Though it was currently dilapidated and unused, it had been mostly unaltered since it was built, and unaffected by the Blitz in WWII. The church was small and compact for an old church, and the white tower was now aged and ashen. Moss and ivy covered the entire lower wall, slowly thinning to reveal the old, red bricks so common in this part of the world. A cemetery with thin, leaning gravestones wrapped around the entire edifice, and a small sign was pinned to the gate.
Human remains to be moved with care. Please contact Sal for more information.
Large, arched windows were boarded up, ready for demolition, and the monstrous front door was cracked and grey, the wood splintered.
“Clearly, no one has been here in a while,” Zoey chimes, hacking away at the low-lying branches, vines, and leaves. “Why am I always with you when we find these ominous places? Are we even allowed in?” she asks, looking around suspiciously.
I shrug. “Salem said it was open to the public.” I push against the front door, but it doesn’t budge. “Okay, glad I wore my boots.” I give the door a strong kick, and it flies open. A cloud of dust assaults us, and I turn away, coughing.
“Jesus, Evelyn.”
I laugh before marching through the door. Darkness awaits us. Because the windows are boarded, there’s almost no natural light. No one has been here for years—probablydecades.
I eye the darkness. “Should we?”
She scoffs. “You dragged our arses here, Evelyn. Let’s go see what all the fuss is about, shall we?” she moves ahead of me, and I can’t help but smile. As much as she complains about my adventurous nature, she’s just as curious about these things.
I turn my phone light on, but it’s hardly enough light. I trek around slowly, wondering if Salem was mistaken. It’s very obvious that this place has been boarded up since before I was born. A thick layer of dirt coats the floor, and the pews are all broken and leaning over to one side, like someone knocked them over years ago and left them as is. I walk down the aisle to the altar, which is made of wood and stone. I flash the light around, but it’s an ordinary, medieval church. Disappointment rolls through me.
“What are we looking for?” Zoey asks, meandering over to where I’m standing.
“I don’t know,” I answer, frustrated. “I need to get a feel for it for my assignment. The history, the setting…” I trail off. “Salem said it was old, and that it was my vibe.”
“What does that mean?” Zoey replies. “Dark? Creepy? I mean, yeah…” she trails off and laughs. “A case could be made for that.”
I swat her arm and we both giggle. I walk back to the front, near where we entered. “There’s a door over here. Let me check it out. I’ll be right back,” I call out.
I pull on the brass handle, but it doesn’t budge. Letting out a groan, I give it a hefty kick. The door hardly moves.
“Here,” Zoey offers from behind me. Holding her light up to the dull metal handle, she pulls a bobby pin from underneath her beanie and fiddles with it for a minute.
“So, were you going to tell me that you know how to pick a lock, or never mention it again?” I ask.
She grins as the door clicks open. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Evelyn,” she says, her voice low.
