God, you guys are going to kill me for this one. xD
Stagnant
Perry thought it strange that she would come by herself. Normally, the boy would be held fast at her side whenever she went into town. The church was his playground – when he was very young, Edmund would run up and down the pews until his mother scolded him otherwise. He would stare in wonder at the stained glass. He enjoyed every story Perry had to tell, sucking on the honey candy the reverend offered, as his mother prayed silently in the corner.
But Edmund was not here. The first question that came to mind was the possibility that Angela had left him home alone. But that wasn't quite a shock anymore. Edmund was eight years old. He wasn't so helpless anymore. Not an accessory. Time flies.
Perry had to shake his head from the shocking jolt that the realization gave him and he closed his book. Angela was slowly approaching the altar as if in a death march, soaking in the surroundings with her wandering eyes. They were the only two in the church, but the Sunday mass would start soon and villagers would start pouring in at any moment.
"Perry, my friend." She greeted him with a sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Perry frowned. "Something is troubling you."
She laughed and the light lit her eyes with genuine amusement. "You read me so well! Before a hello, you've already scrutinized my every move – I reckon you know my motives as well?"
"I read faces, not minds, Miss Angela." Perry said flatly, not able to stop the small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He came round about the podium so he wasn't so distant. "What's on your mind, friend?"
Angela smiled. And got right to the point. "I saw Jin on Friday. It's my heart, Perry. I'm dying."
Everything stopped. But for the rising dread in his heart and the widening of his eyes, Perry was rooted to the carpeted spot. "Your heart…?"
Angela shook her head, extending her hand. Perry took it immediately, feeling she was already a ghost far out of reach. "I don't have more than a year. I won't see winter again." She said, studying his hand and rubbing it with her thumb.
"What can I do? I'll do anything. Anything at all."
She laughed again, her eyes shining up at him. Angela was already so at peace with her death. It astounded him – and frightened him somewhat. "I wish to confess my sins."
Perry's knees felt weak. Was she going to tell him…? The look on Angela's face quickly told him otherwise.
"I am many things, Perry, but fearless is not one of them. I would pray that God is forgiving of all sins – even my own. I wish that I would be at peace in my faith before the very end." She said, squeezing his hand in both of her own. Angela stared down, getting lost in the floor. "Though I may not say his name, for his fate is not a power I shall ever wield, I hope I still have some control over my own life."
The Reverend clasped both her hands. "Angela – you have been so strong. The Harvest God and the Harvest Goddess have watched you and they are proud. God is merciful. He will forgive you if you ask it of Him."
"But I want you to be there. I'm not as strong as you say… I need you, Perry." She insisted.
The two hugged. He held her for a long time. Her frame was slight and Perry thought for the first time how little she really was. Her personality was so huge, it always distracted from her diminutive size. Angela was small. His heart went out to her and if he could, Perry would have traded his heart for hers – if it would keep her alive long enough to see young Edmund grow up.
Still in his embrace, Angela said: "Meet with me. Somewhere no one will see – I won't confess in front of them."
Perry pulled away. He wanted to assure her of the sanctity of the church, but he couldn't find it in himself. She was right to worry – the townspeople seemed to know everything. Hell, they probably knew Angela and he were speaking right now. "I understand. But… I don't know of a place."
"The river." Angela said from experience. "On the bank in the woods. Where the last creek meets."
The Reverend nodded in assent. "No one will bother you there, Miss Angela."
"Soon?"
"Next Sunday?"
Angela smiled. "It's very kind of you, Perry. You've done so much for me – I cannot thank you enough."
She planted a friendly kiss on his cheek and walked away. For the first time, Perry saw the scarf around her neck and read the letter 'A' and did not think 'adulteress.' Instead, he thought 'Angela.'
Jin was neglecting his shaving. In fact, he was neglecting an excess of things. Like fresh air and sun and the ability to care.
He felt completely detached. He was home alone – Anissa and Van went to pay her parents a visit. They had been buying flowers there for the past seven years like clockwork on this day. The Flower Festival always made Anissa yearn for the Earth and the following Sunday, she would take their son and buy dozens of plants to decorate the Clinic. Jin didn't mind – she could spend as much as she wanted. The flowers made her happy. Van seemed to enjoy them, too. He may even be a botanist one day.
That was the nature of Jin's mind as of late. He would ramble in his own head, not able to focus on any one thing for longer than a sentence. His brain was telling him to persevere, but his subconscious was desperately trying to prevent it. It seemed to know the toll it was taking and wanted to avoid it at all costs in whatever way it could. But Jin went back to his desk. Always back to his desk.
Jin was teetering on the precipice of sanity. He had never felt rushed, but now there was a ticking clock. A clock that would stop come winter – at the most. For all he knew, Angela would die in autumn or even summer. Her condition was already so unstable.
Everything was out of his control so suddenly. His methods suddenly too slow. If he wanted to succeed, he would have to change tactics, get smarter, think like him…
But, God damn it! Who the hell was he? Jin held the note at arms' length and let his eyes rove over the letters, not reading them. Slouched and sunk low in his chair, Jin was at his wit's end because of a clue that was so dramatically obvious and yet so completely invisible. He had reached an impossible impasse. Stagnant. His name was written in the ink, but it was a language Jin could not understand. Here he was, right in front of him. And Jin couldn't see him. This man was so close. He held this paper. He wrote these words. He thought these thoughts. But the answer was so far.
It could be further, Jin had to reason. Through eight years of study, he had determined that the hand-writing did not belong to Gill – his personal pick of the group. He didn't like putting him out of the equation so easily, but the writing simply did not match. But then again, someone can change their hand-writing, their style, for a note like this to keep it secret. But Jin couldn't afford to think like that. All he had rested on this yellowed paper. So folded and crushed and folded again that it was bound to split into six even squares if he dared fold it again.
It was not Luke. Luke was not smart enough for this level of vocabulary. Then again, Jin could not underestimate him… Hell, yes he could. It wasn't the brainless carpenter boy. He simply wasn't Angela's type anyway. But what did Jin know about her type? Damn!
What of the fisherman? Toby. He had quickly become a prime candidate until the New Years' festival a few years back. The doctor had watched him interact with his small family, laughing and talking – it was so loving and true. Unless the man was altogether heartless, then it was not Toby. But wouldn't this man have to be? Heartless?
Jin couldn't take it anymore. After all these years, he had nothing. All assumption. All guess. He was no better than the gossiping villagers. Only he was worse. He had dedicated nearly a decade to this – the same amount of time he had spent learning modern medicine techniques – and he had absolutely nothing. Nothing.
Hot tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. The paper crumpled in his fist. Shoulders hunched, Jin curled in upon himself, a stress headache wreaking havoc on his brain.
It's over. Forget about it. Look what it's doing to you.
He couldn't. He was obsessed.
Stop. You have a lot of talk about Angela's health – look in the mirror. You're killing yourself. Over nothing.
Nothing.
Fist under his nose, pressed tightly to his lips, Jin desperately tried to force himself. Force himself to forget. To stop. It's nothing. Nothing.
The subtle smell touched his nostrils. Suddenly aware, Jin looked to the paper clutched in his hand. It had been there all along… He inhaled again.
His eyes went wide.