Crossed: Chapter 13

“I’M THINKING WE’LL TAKE PART IN THE FESTIVAL of Fools coming up.”

“Why?” my superior, Bishop Lamont, grunts on the other end of the line. “Parker says he wants it stopped, and I can’t say I disagree.”

“Well,” I start, tapping my fingers on the edge of my desk. “He has enough power to stop it if he truly wished. He doesn’t need us for that. Besides, it’s tradition in the town, and what better way to gain the people’s trust than to ingratiate ourselves in the fabric of what they love?” Silence.

“Without the church, it’s just them mocking us. It’s embarrassing that Father Clark allowed it to go on for so long without trying to intervene, honestly.” I pause. “Or maybe Parker hasn’t stopped it because he knows it would paint him in a bad light. You don’t think he’s trying to make the church look like the bad guy, do you?”

“Fine,” Bishop Lamont replies, his voice rough and choppy. “But you need to work with Parker. I don’t appreciate being called and informed that you’re making things difficult. He’s very important to the church. He singlehandedly keeps Notre-Dame afloat in Festivalé.”

Irritation stabs at my chest. He’s only important because of the money he provides. Parker is not a godly man. This isn’t His way. It’s the way of greed and corruption. “Understood.”

I hang up the phone and scowl down at it right as Jeremiah walks in.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Sighing, I run a hand through my hair and lean back, the chair rocking on its hinges. “Bishop Lamont would like us to get the church involved in the Festival of Fools this year.”

It’s not entirely the truth, but making it seem as though it’s my superior’s idea may smooth over anyone’s reservations.

Jeremiah eyebrows lift. “Really?”

I nod. “Do you have any recommendations on where to start?”

He moves into the room and sits down across from the desk, crossing his legs and rubbing his chin. “You could try Louis Elementary. They always do a big production right out front with all their kids.”

My face twists.

“Plus, Principal Lee is a devout Catholic. She’ll be over the moon to know the church has decided to take part.”

SPEAKING with Principal Lee is a chore. She’s a dowdy woman with black hair so dark it hints at blue and a god complex that goes unchecked from the power she wields over the minds of our future. I’ve only been here for a few moments, but I can already tell that Louis Elementary in general is a drag, but I’m here for a reason, and I won’t leave until that purpose is served.

Jeremiah told me the elementary school usually puts on a play during the festivities and that the principal was one of the few women who would bend over backward for the church. Now that I’m looking at her, I realize I’ve seen her every Mass. She’s never missed. Jeremiah is right. If we want to take an active part in the festival, then she’s the place to start.

So first thing this morning, I made a spontaneous trip to the school, assuring Principal Lee that the church would love to support their efforts. To say she’s thrilled is an understatement.

“More than anything, we need a place for the kids to rehearse,” Principal Lee says. “We have our auditorium, but it’s taken up by the actual school play rehearsals, and nowhere else in the building can accommodate so many students at once.”

“They can use the church for rehearsals and the play,” I cut in. “We have plenty of rooms in the basement.”

A flash of relief coasts across her eyes, and a peal of distant laughter rings through the open door at my back. I turn to see what it is, looking past the front office and into the hall, noticing a large boy crowding a smaller one, a piece of paper falling from the younger kid’s hand when he gets shoved into the wall.

I squint my eyes, realizing that it’s Amaya’s little brother.

What was his name? Quinten.

I hadn’t realized he went to public school. Just like the first time I saw him, an odd sense of familiarity whips through me, warming me to his presence. There’s something about him that reminds me of myself when I was his age, and it makes me protective in a way that I’m not used to feeling. I assume it’s because of my sick obsession with his sister, and it’s manifesting in Quinten as another way to feed my addiction to her.

Or perhaps it’s because I remember being that child, huddled in the corner while the other kids in the orphanage pointed and laughed.

Children— once they lose their innocence— are some of the cruelest creatures on earth.

Quinten curls in on himself. The larger boy bends over, picking up the fallen paper and holding it in front of his eyes, a cruel smirk twisting his features. The way his face twists with menace reminds me of Parker’s.

In fact, a lot about this child reminds me of him.

Does Parker have children?

I tilt my head, watching as the boy murmurs something, but I’m too far away to hear. He leans in, ripping the paper right down the middle, then drops it before stomping on it with his boot.

“Who is that?” I ask.

Principal Lee sighs, and I glance back to her, annoyed at her pinched expression.

“That’s Quinten Paquette,” she says with a monotonous voice. “And Bradley Gammond.”

I lift my brows. “Gammond? He looks so similar to Mr. Errien, I almost assumed that the boy was his.”

Principal Lee laughs tightly, shifting in her chair. “Yes, well… no. His mother is Florence Gammond, a defense attorney for the state. And her husband is Samuel.”

“And what does Samuel do?” I press.

“High- ranking military. He’s gone a lot.” Her eyes flick down the hall and then back.

“And this is common?” I nod toward the commotion.

“What is?”

I motion to the hall. “For you to allow children to behave in such a way?”

“Boys will be boys. You know how it goes.” She waves her hand in the air like she’s fanning smoke.

“No,” I say slowly, leaning in. “How does it go?”

“Bradley, get to class!” An adult voice rings through the hallway. I look back, seeing what I assume is a teacher making her way toward the two boys.

“See?” Principal Lee smiles as she stands, moving toward her door and closing it before spinning back around to face me. “Lydia, Quinten’s handler, is there. No harm, no foul.”

Her lack of care scratches against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard, flashes of Sister Agnes finding me bruised and making them worse instead of helping me heal.

“Does Amaya know her brother is bullied?”

Principal Lee’s brows shoot to her hairline. “Bullied?”

“What else would you call that?”

She huffs out a disbelieving breath, crossing her arms and moving to sit back in her chair. “With all due respect, Father Cade, I’m not sure you understand what kids are like.”

Her words break the dam, and bitter memories of my time in the orphanage burst through like flooding waters. Times when Sister Agnes’s cruelty whispered through the halls and gave the other children free rein to take out their own trauma on the skin of my arms or the back of my legs. The way the adults who were in charge would avert their eyes or whisper that I was a troublemaker. That I deserved it.

Nobody stood up for me then, the same way nobody is standing up for Quinten now.

My chest smarts, and I press my lips together.

“I take it you’ve met Miss Paquette then?” Principal Lee continues.

“Only in passing.”

She nods slowly, her lips thinning as she stares at me. “May I offer a word of advice, Father?” I incline my head.

“I’d keep away from her.”

I frown. “You know, everyone continues to say that, yet no one ever gives me an actual reason why.”

She shrugs. “She’s a bad influence. Everyone in Festivalé knows it.”

A smirk tips the corner of my mouth. “And you think I can be influenced, Principal Lee?”

I say it in a mocking tone, but the truth is that my insides are uneasy from the conversation. I am influenced by Amaya, more than I ever have been by anyone else, God included. Both the monster and the man.

My stomach twists up in anxiety the second I think of it, so I swallow around the panic and push it back down.

Principal Lee leans forward, her brows furrowing. “This town is steeped in superstition, Father. We’ve learned long ago not to question when something stinks of evil. We’d rather rip it out at the root. I’d hate to think that our very own priest doesn’t support the culture of Festivalé, one that’s been passed down through generations.”

“Hmm,” I hum. This is the first someone has said it so plainly. About Festivalé and the eerie feeling that blankets the air. But I believe what she says, as surely as I believe in Him. “And what part will Quinten be playing in the production?” I pivot the conversation.

Principal Lee laughs, like I’ve made a joke.

“Oh no. Quinten wouldn’t know how to do that.”

“Presumption is a sin against hope, Principal Lee.” It’s more than obvious she doesn’t care about the boy’s well- being. “Have you ever given him the chance?”

“Well, I—” she sputters.

“Is he not still made in God’s image?” I cut her off.

“No, of course he is. I just— ”

“Great. It’s settled then. Quinten will take part in the production.”

Her brows draw down and she shakes her head. “Now, wait a minute, Father. I can’t just guarantee him a part.”

“If you want the support of the church, you will.” I stand up, heading toward her door. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and I expect to hear good news.”