| General Fiction posted May 2, 2016 | Chapters: |
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Margarite and the Church, Joe and rulers for Mother
A chapter in the book Buttons
Margarite
by jusylee72
After Shorty's there was still time to stop at the church.
A rush of emotion invaded Mary's body as she walked in the sanctuary She hadn't been there in years. She avoided church.
"Was it always this beautiful? Was I just too young to appreciate it?"
She looked around the sanctuary, viewed the beautiful polished wood, the storytelling stain glass. She remembered the statues, the prayer candles, the kneeling rails.
She remembered Sister Margarite.
Sister Margarite was entirely too pretty to be a nun. Her eyes were blue and pure, her smile engaging. Most women need hair to be beautiful, but since her habit covered her hair all you could see was the perfectly shaped face. Even her skin was flawless. It was her heart that was the most engaging.
Margarite would be the one who would run to any child on the playground who fell. She would lovingly help them to the infirmary. She would gently clean the scraped knees, all the while comforting them with soft words of understanding. She watched them as they came back out and joined the others in the games we were playing.
As I child, I was comforted by her. As an adult, I always questioned why she chose the life of a nun. What had hurt her so much that she withdrew from the outside world? Maybe she was truly called like the saint Mother Teresa.
Delaney woke her from her thoughts abruptly. "Where is the office where we can speak to the people in charge?"
"This way. Just follow me." She led him out of the Sanctuary and into the next building. At this point, there had not been a new Head Master appointed. She did not recognize the father that was in the office.
Delaney pulled out his badge and introduced them as investigators.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Margarite was in the back of the church preparing the candles for Sunday Mass when Delaney and Mary walked in. She had always been quiet. She liked observing people. She often kept her presence unknown when people came to the church. She liked to study them and see why they were there. Some would only pray in silence, some openly talked to god.
She remembered the time a teenage girl came in. Nervous, anxious, afraid of something. She heard her quietly speak to God.
"Father, I have sinned. I don't know what to do. I am going to have a child. I am not sure I can do this. I haven't told my family. My Father will hate me. My Mother will cry. They will be so disappointed with me. I am so afraid."
She waited until the girl was quiet than made her presence known. She asked her softly. "Is there some way I can help you, child?" She listened without judgment as the girl poured her heart out to her.
She thought the boy loved her, but as soon as she told him about the baby things changed. It was obvious he could care less. "Well, that can be taken care of." He callously told her,"You will have to find money. Make sure you don't tell anyone. I will find out where you need to go to get rid of it."
"I could never get rid of it," tears filled her eyes, "That thought never entered my mind. I believe in the Catholic church. He is Catholic too. How could he even suggest that?" She relayed the rest of the story. He yelled at her. He told her it was her fault. He tried to bully her into an abortion. "I'll deny it he said. I can't be the father. Besides, how do I know you didn't have sex with other men? You acted like you really liked it."
Margarite was a natural counselor. She kept opinions and doctrine out of her comforting words. She simply helped the girl to make her own decision and to wait for the Lord's counsel.
A year later, the young mother and her family came to the church to show Margarite her beautiful daughter. They cried together when they talked about that night. Her Father thanked Margarite for helping his daughter. His Grandchild was the delight of his life. He also asked his daughter's forgiveness.
"I didn't respond well when you told me, but God is wonderful and now we know that it was meant to be."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was something familiar about the woman who had come in. It took her several minutes before she recognized Mary. Mary, the girl with the angel voice. Mary, the one who was so violently teased. Mary, who was so smart. Mary, who never realized how special she was. Mary, who had no idea how the boys wanted her.
Yes, she was a nun, but she recognized lust in a man when she saw it. Almost every young man at school wanted to be with the elusive Mary.
She waited until they left the church. She softly followed them until they found Father John, the newest priest to join their parish.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm Father John, How may I help you?"
"We are here to continue the investigation into the murder of Father Mac Murphy. Several disturbing developments have arisen. We will need the church's complete cooperation in this matter."
Margarite knocked softly before she entered. Mary's face lit up.
"Sister Margarite, it is so good to see you."
"Mary, is that you? You are still so beautiful. Please tell me that you still sing."
Without asking Delaney, Mary stepped out of the room with Margarite.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While Mary was enjoying her girlfriend reunion, Delaney was stuck with the statistical questions. How many people were touched by this man? How many parents would they have to inform about their findings? How many lives had this Man ruined?
"We will need to have a public meeting as soon as possible." He explained the incriminating tapes the two of them found earlier.
Father John's face turned pale, " I will have to inform the Bishop immediately. I will ask for instructions. Could you please give me a few minutes to make a phone call?"
"Of course, but we need to act swiftly."
Father John returned fifteen minutes later.
"The Bishop would like to set up an appointment with you tomorrow morning. Would ten work for you? We will cooperate in any way we can. We can tentatively set up a public meeting for next Thursday in the church meeting hall. It will take us at least that long to notify the parents of current students and past students."
This was going to be painful. The parents were going to be hurt and angry. How to conduct the meeting and keep order was the challenge. They would need therapists and police officers on site.
There would be many long hours of police work. The tapes would have to be analyzed. Pictures of the boys would have to be taken from the videos and shown to parents to see if they can identify their children. We would try to keep it out of the press as long as possible. The former students had to be notified too. Since this looked to be a revenge murder, many of these students could possibly be suspects. He would contact the police publicity office and turn over the logistics to them. Thursday night was going to be one heck of a reunion.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
JOE
Since I started studying serial killers when I was fourteen, I learned many things.
One of the most important things is obvious.
Investigators get frustrated when the killings temporarily stop. Often they assumed the killer is in jail, or a mental hospital and that was the reason the killings abruptly stopped. I would have to wait patiently before I sought any further revenge.
I decided Mother could wait.
She hadn't changed.
She still lived on the bad side of town in a one bedroom piece of shit apartment. She was comfortable there, with her own kind.
I quickly learned to visit her between 3 in the afternoon and 5. She usually started drinking sometime afternoon. She was a Jekyll and Hyde drinker. For the first 5 or 6 beers, she was funny, loving. She even showed occasional moments of intelligence but when she hit the end of the 12 pack, she changed.
She became a raging alcoholic somewhere between the tenth and 12th beer. Her mouth would spit venomous words at whoever was around. When I happened to be around for the switch, the word bastard would constantly vomit from her mouth. She seemed to enjoy telling me over and over how I had ruined her life.
She honestly believed I was the source of her problems. It never occurred to her that she was the one who had opened her legs for whoever my father was.
I started playing what I called the 3 O'clock game. I even wrote down the rules.
1. Show up twice a week.
2. Bring a small gift.
3. Mow her lawn or do other small choirs.
4. Get to know her neighbors.
5. Do small favors for them.
6. Leave by 5.
Her neighbors saw me as the devoted son. They would greet me with happy smiles. They would offer me homemade cookies. They would give me tupperware containers with dinner in it to take home.
"Such a good boy", they would say.
"Wish my son was like you."
"Thank you for helping me with my chores."
"You are such a gift to your mother."
I set the example of the perfect son.
In the end, the neighbors and I would grieve together after Mother was murdered.
They would have no idea who could do such a terrible thing.
After Shorty's there was still time to stop at the church.
A rush of emotion invaded Mary's body as she walked in the sanctuary She hadn't been there in years. She avoided church.
"Was it always this beautiful? Was I just too young to appreciate it?"
She looked around the sanctuary, viewed the beautiful polished wood, the storytelling stain glass. She remembered the statues, the prayer candles, the kneeling rails.
She remembered Sister Margarite.
Sister Margarite was entirely too pretty to be a nun. Her eyes were blue and pure, her smile engaging. Most women need hair to be beautiful, but since her habit covered her hair all you could see was the perfectly shaped face. Even her skin was flawless. It was her heart that was the most engaging.
Margarite would be the one who would run to any child on the playground who fell. She would lovingly help them to the infirmary. She would gently clean the scraped knees, all the while comforting them with soft words of understanding. She watched them as they came back out and joined the others in the games we were playing.
As I child, I was comforted by her. As an adult, I always questioned why she chose the life of a nun. What had hurt her so much that she withdrew from the outside world? Maybe she was truly called like the saint Mother Teresa.
Delaney woke her from her thoughts abruptly. "Where is the office where we can speak to the people in charge?"
"This way. Just follow me." She led him out of the Sanctuary and into the next building. At this point, there had not been a new Head Master appointed. She did not recognize the father that was in the office.
Delaney pulled out his badge and introduced them as investigators.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Margarite was in the back of the church preparing the candles for Sunday Mass when Delaney and Mary walked in. She had always been quiet. She liked observing people. She often kept her presence unknown when people came to the church. She liked to study them and see why they were there. Some would only pray in silence, some openly talked to god.
She remembered the time a teenage girl came in. Nervous, anxious, afraid of something. She heard her quietly speak to God.
"Father, I have sinned. I don't know what to do. I am going to have a child. I am not sure I can do this. I haven't told my family. My Father will hate me. My Mother will cry. They will be so disappointed with me. I am so afraid."
She waited until the girl was quiet than made her presence known. She asked her softly. "Is there some way I can help you, child?" She listened without judgment as the girl poured her heart out to her.
She thought the boy loved her, but as soon as she told him about the baby things changed. It was obvious he could care less. "Well, that can be taken care of." He callously told her,"You will have to find money. Make sure you don't tell anyone. I will find out where you need to go to get rid of it."
"I could never get rid of it," tears filled her eyes, "That thought never entered my mind. I believe in the Catholic church. He is Catholic too. How could he even suggest that?" She relayed the rest of the story. He yelled at her. He told her it was her fault. He tried to bully her into an abortion. "I'll deny it he said. I can't be the father. Besides, how do I know you didn't have sex with other men? You acted like you really liked it."
Margarite was a natural counselor. She kept opinions and doctrine out of her comforting words. She simply helped the girl to make her own decision and to wait for the Lord's counsel.
A year later, the young mother and her family came to the church to show Margarite her beautiful daughter. They cried together when they talked about that night. Her Father thanked Margarite for helping his daughter. His Grandchild was the delight of his life. He also asked his daughter's forgiveness.
"I didn't respond well when you told me, but God is wonderful and now we know that it was meant to be."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was something familiar about the woman who had come in. It took her several minutes before she recognized Mary. Mary, the girl with the angel voice. Mary, the one who was so violently teased. Mary, who was so smart. Mary, who never realized how special she was. Mary, who had no idea how the boys wanted her.
Yes, she was a nun, but she recognized lust in a man when she saw it. Almost every young man at school wanted to be with the elusive Mary.
She waited until they left the church. She softly followed them until they found Father John, the newest priest to join their parish.
A rush of emotion invaded Mary's body as she walked in the sanctuary She hadn't been there in years. She avoided church.
"Was it always this beautiful? Was I just too young to appreciate it?"
She looked around the sanctuary, viewed the beautiful polished wood, the storytelling stain glass. She remembered the statues, the prayer candles, the kneeling rails.
She remembered Sister Margarite.
Sister Margarite was entirely too pretty to be a nun. Her eyes were blue and pure, her smile engaging. Most women need hair to be beautiful, but since her habit covered her hair all you could see was the perfectly shaped face. Even her skin was flawless. It was her heart that was the most engaging.
Margarite would be the one who would run to any child on the playground who fell. She would lovingly help them to the infirmary. She would gently clean the scraped knees, all the while comforting them with soft words of understanding. She watched them as they came back out and joined the others in the games we were playing.
As I child, I was comforted by her. As an adult, I always questioned why she chose the life of a nun. What had hurt her so much that she withdrew from the outside world? Maybe she was truly called like the saint Mother Teresa.
Delaney woke her from her thoughts abruptly. "Where is the office where we can speak to the people in charge?"
"This way. Just follow me." She led him out of the Sanctuary and into the next building. At this point, there had not been a new Head Master appointed. She did not recognize the father that was in the office.
Delaney pulled out his badge and introduced them as investigators.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Margarite was in the back of the church preparing the candles for Sunday Mass when Delaney and Mary walked in. She had always been quiet. She liked observing people. She often kept her presence unknown when people came to the church. She liked to study them and see why they were there. Some would only pray in silence, some openly talked to god.
She remembered the time a teenage girl came in. Nervous, anxious, afraid of something. She heard her quietly speak to God.
"Father, I have sinned. I don't know what to do. I am going to have a child. I am not sure I can do this. I haven't told my family. My Father will hate me. My Mother will cry. They will be so disappointed with me. I am so afraid."
She waited until the girl was quiet than made her presence known. She asked her softly. "Is there some way I can help you, child?" She listened without judgment as the girl poured her heart out to her.
She thought the boy loved her, but as soon as she told him about the baby things changed. It was obvious he could care less. "Well, that can be taken care of." He callously told her,"You will have to find money. Make sure you don't tell anyone. I will find out where you need to go to get rid of it."
"I could never get rid of it," tears filled her eyes, "That thought never entered my mind. I believe in the Catholic church. He is Catholic too. How could he even suggest that?" She relayed the rest of the story. He yelled at her. He told her it was her fault. He tried to bully her into an abortion. "I'll deny it he said. I can't be the father. Besides, how do I know you didn't have sex with other men? You acted like you really liked it."
Margarite was a natural counselor. She kept opinions and doctrine out of her comforting words. She simply helped the girl to make her own decision and to wait for the Lord's counsel.
A year later, the young mother and her family came to the church to show Margarite her beautiful daughter. They cried together when they talked about that night. Her Father thanked Margarite for helping his daughter. His Grandchild was the delight of his life. He also asked his daughter's forgiveness.
"I didn't respond well when you told me, but God is wonderful and now we know that it was meant to be."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was something familiar about the woman who had come in. It took her several minutes before she recognized Mary. Mary, the girl with the angel voice. Mary, the one who was so violently teased. Mary, who was so smart. Mary, who never realized how special she was. Mary, who had no idea how the boys wanted her.
Yes, she was a nun, but she recognized lust in a man when she saw it. Almost every young man at school wanted to be with the elusive Mary.
She waited until they left the church. She softly followed them until they found Father John, the newest priest to join their parish.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm Father John, How may I help you?"
"We are here to continue the investigation into the murder of Father Mac Murphy. Several disturbing developments have arisen. We will need the church's complete cooperation in this matter."
Margarite knocked softly before she entered. Mary's face lit up.
"Sister Margarite, it is so good to see you."
"Mary, is that you? You are still so beautiful. Please tell me that you still sing."
Without asking Delaney, Mary stepped out of the room with Margarite.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While Mary was enjoying her girlfriend reunion, Delaney was stuck with the statistical questions. How many people were touched by this man? How many parents would they have to inform about their findings? How many lives had this Man ruined?
"We will need to have a public meeting as soon as possible." He explained the incriminating tapes the two of them found earlier.
Father John's face turned pale, " I will have to inform the Bishop immediately. I will ask for instructions. Could you please give me a few minutes to make a phone call?"
"Of course, but we need to act swiftly."
Father John returned fifteen minutes later.
"The Bishop would like to set up an appointment with you tomorrow morning. Would ten work for you? We will cooperate in any way we can. We can tentatively set up a public meeting for next Thursday in the church meeting hall. It will take us at least that long to notify the parents of current students and past students."
This was going to be painful. The parents were going to be hurt and angry. How to conduct the meeting and keep order was the challenge. They would need therapists and police officers on site.
There would be many long hours of police work. The tapes would have to be analyzed. Pictures of the boys would have to be taken from the videos and shown to parents to see if they can identify their children. We would try to keep it out of the press as long as possible. The former students had to be notified too. Since this looked to be a revenge murder, many of these students could possibly be suspects. He would contact the police publicity office and turn over the logistics to them. Thursday night was going to be one heck of a reunion.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
JOE
Since I started studying serial killers when I was fourteen, I learned many things.
One of the most important things is obvious.
Investigators get frustrated when the killings temporarily stop. Often they assumed the killer is in jail, or a mental hospital and that was the reason the killings abruptly stopped. I would have to wait patiently before I sought any further revenge.
I decided Mother could wait.
She hadn't changed.
She still lived on the bad side of town in a one bedroom piece of shit apartment. She was comfortable there, with her own kind.
I quickly learned to visit her between 3 in the afternoon and 5. She usually started drinking sometime afternoon. She was a Jekyll and Hyde drinker. For the first 5 or 6 beers, she was funny, loving. She even showed occasional moments of intelligence but when she hit the end of the 12 pack, she changed.
She became a raging alcoholic somewhere between the tenth and 12th beer. Her mouth would spit venomous words at whoever was around. When I happened to be around for the switch, the word bastard would constantly vomit from her mouth. She seemed to enjoy telling me over and over how I had ruined her life.
She honestly believed I was the source of her problems. It never occurred to her that she was the one who had opened her legs for whoever my father was.
I started playing what I called the 3 O'clock game. I even wrote down the rules.
1. Show up twice a week.
2. Bring a small gift.
3. Mow her lawn or do other small choirs.
4. Get to know her neighbors.
5. Do small favors for them.
6. Leave by 5.
Her neighbors saw me as the devoted son. They would greet me with happy smiles. They would offer me homemade cookies. They would give me tupperware containers with dinner in it to take home.
"Such a good boy", they would say.
"Wish my son was like you."
"Thank you for helping me with my chores."
"You are such a gift to your mother."
I set the example of the perfect son.
In the end, the neighbors and I would grieve together after Mother was murdered.
They would have no idea who could do such a terrible thing.
"I'm Father John, How may I help you?"
"We are here to continue the investigation into the murder of Father Mac Murphy. Several disturbing developments have arisen. We will need the church's complete cooperation in this matter."
Margarite knocked softly before she entered. Mary's face lit up.
"Sister Margarite, it is so good to see you."
"Mary, is that you? You are still so beautiful. Please tell me that you still sing."
Without asking Delaney, Mary stepped out of the room with Margarite.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While Mary was enjoying her girlfriend reunion, Delaney was stuck with the statistical questions. How many people were touched by this man? How many parents would they have to inform about their findings? How many lives had this Man ruined?
"We will need to have a public meeting as soon as possible." He explained the incriminating tapes the two of them found earlier.
Father John's face turned pale, " I will have to inform the Bishop immediately. I will ask for instructions. Could you please give me a few minutes to make a phone call?"
"Of course, but we need to act swiftly."
Father John returned fifteen minutes later.
"The Bishop would like to set up an appointment with you tomorrow morning. Would ten work for you? We will cooperate in any way we can. We can tentatively set up a public meeting for next Thursday in the church meeting hall. It will take us at least that long to notify the parents of current students and past students."
This was going to be painful. The parents were going to be hurt and angry. How to conduct the meeting and keep order was the challenge. They would need therapists and police officers on site.
There would be many long hours of police work. The tapes would have to be analyzed. Pictures of the boys would have to be taken from the videos and shown to parents to see if they can identify their children. We would try to keep it out of the press as long as possible. The former students had to be notified too. Since this looked to be a revenge murder, many of these students could possibly be suspects. He would contact the police publicity office and turn over the logistics to them. Thursday night was going to be one heck of a reunion.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
JOE
Since I started studying serial killers when I was fourteen, I learned many things.
One of the most important things is obvious.
Investigators get frustrated when the killings temporarily stop. Often they assumed the killer is in jail, or a mental hospital and that was the reason the killings abruptly stopped. I would have to wait patiently before I sought any further revenge.
I decided Mother could wait.
She hadn't changed.
She still lived on the bad side of town in a one bedroom piece of shit apartment. She was comfortable there, with her own kind.
I quickly learned to visit her between 3 in the afternoon and 5. She usually started drinking sometime afternoon. She was a Jekyll and Hyde drinker. For the first 5 or 6 beers, she was funny, loving. She even showed occasional moments of intelligence but when she hit the end of the 12 pack, she changed.
She became a raging alcoholic somewhere between the tenth and 12th beer. Her mouth would spit venomous words at whoever was around. When I happened to be around for the switch, the word bastard would constantly vomit from her mouth. She seemed to enjoy telling me over and over how I had ruined her life.
She honestly believed I was the source of her problems. It never occurred to her that she was the one who had opened her legs for whoever my father was.
I started playing what I called the 3 O'clock game. I even wrote down the rules.
1. Show up twice a week.
2. Bring a small gift.
3. Mow her lawn or do other small choirs.
4. Get to know her neighbors.
5. Do small favors for them.
6. Leave by 5.
Her neighbors saw me as the devoted son. They would greet me with happy smiles. They would offer me homemade cookies. They would give me tupperware containers with dinner in it to take home.
"Such a good boy", they would say.
"Wish my son was like you."
"Thank you for helping me with my chores."
"You are such a gift to your mother."
I set the example of the perfect son.
In the end, the neighbors and I would grieve together after Mother was murdered.
They would have no idea who could do such a terrible thing.
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