“Yes. I believe that is Mrs Crocombe. She is Steven’s cook.”
“I know who she is. I breathed a significant sigh of relief when she left last time, sir. Now she seems to be unpacking in the servants’ wing.”
"Yes. She’s staying.”
“Staying, sir?”
“Everybody is staying. Mrs Crocombe included. You will have to share your kitchen.”
“Very good, sir.” Crichton says in a tone that suggests it is not very good. It is absolutely terrible. Crichton and I have become accustomed to having everything to ourselves all the time, and that includes Nina. We will have to share her and the house for some time at least. I have to believe this is a good thing, even if it is going to be a huge pain in the ass.
All I really care about is having Nina under my roof. Yet again the system has put her into my care. It is as though she is unable to avoid me. Our destiny is too strong. It does not matter what I do. It does not matter what she does. We are bonded in a way that transcends all sins, all evils.
I go to check on her.
She is sitting on her bed and looking at the portrait of her mother.
“Get out.”
She hasn’t seen me, but she knows I am there.
“You will have to talk to me eventually, Nina.”
“I’ll never speak to you again. Leave me alone, or I swear to God I will jump out the window.”
“And what would that do? We are only on the second floor. Most likely outcome is a sprained ankle.”
“You’re such an asshole. A smug, murderous freak. I’m going to make your life so fucking miserable, you’ll regret the day I was born.”
She’s adorable when she’s certifiably furious. I don't tell her that. I doubt she would take the information well. I am burning with desire to be inside her again, but her loathing will not allow her to be receptive, and I am a monster, but not that kind of monster. If she cannot be seduced, then I cannot be satisfied.
Nothing is going to be resolved quickly, and in the meantime the world continues to flow with events and obligations. Before I know it, Sunday has arrived again. As mad as all things have been of late, my congregation needs me to appear and be the respectful pillar of their little community. It is nice to go to the chapel and pretend that I am a normal member of society, just a typical nice man who shares warm thoughts and prayers.
Many of the Brotherhood use the ministry as a cover. I truly enjoy it. These people need me, and I need them in turn. We all make each other better, or maybe we just make each other period. In their eyes, I am a stable font of calm. In my eyes, they are a blessed little flock worthy of all the care and attention I can muster.
“MURDERER!”
The door bursts open mid-service. It is Nina. I suppose it is a good thing that it is Nina. Better than somebody else bursting in shouting critical accusations. She is wearing a brassiere and a pair of sweatpants and mis-matched shoes. Her appearance alone is enough to cause alarm, but of course she has not merely come to shock the local fashion sense. She has come to accuse me.
“He killed my brother!” she yells to the congregation.
I curse underneath my breath. I cannot believe that there are twelve of the order in my home and not one of them is close enough to shut her up and get her out of the chapel. Of course, she can move far more quickly than the average human, but still, how hard is it to keep her locked away?
“He's a murderer! Murderer!”
Everybody is looking at her, and looking at me. They are wondering how I am going to respond and thinking that this is one of the most amusing and interesting services they've attended in a long time.
“She is not lying. I do have blood on my hands. I was unable to help the young man many of you met. He left this hallowed place and met his end in a desperate den of drugs and sin. If only he had accepted his place in the greater scheme of things, found some good in…”
“LIAR!”
My words have enraged her, as I suspected they might. I am forced to dodge a crucifix thrown like a spinning star.
“Whoa!”
Thor finally appears. He is slaked with sweat, suggesting he has had to run for quite some way. He needs to work on his cardio. We all do. He grabs her around the waist and hauls her up over her shoulder.
“NO! LET ME GO!” She wriggles out of his grasp. She’s like a fish out of water, flailing desperately. Now that she's broken free of Thor, she’s back to using the trappings of my church against me, hurling hymnals and prayer books. The congregation is in an uproar. Thor grabs her again, sweeping her up off her feet once more. This time he has a better grip. She’s like a feral animal, spitting and hissing at me with fury. I can see consternation and fear on the faces of my little flock.