To Light and Guard

by TheFandomLesbian

Lana has emerged from hell with scars upon her body and her mind alike. Mary Eunice survived the exorcism, but the aftermath might tear her apart. They are Briarcliff's exiled, the world's outcasts. Can they heal together? Or will gravity crush the both of them? Bananun, M for mature content and strong language.

38. Chapter 38

Exiting the church in the flow of people, Lana flanked Mary Eunice, gazing up at the darkening evening sky. "So—what exactly is the purpose of what you just did?" she asked as she unlocked the doors of the car. February had warmed the earth just enough to melt the snow, but frost still clung to the grass, and Lana wore all of the things Mary Eunice had gotten her for Christmas, hands burrowed deep in the pale blue gloves, hair tucked into her knit cap, sweater snug around her middle, green and yellow scarf wrapped around her neck.

"It's Ash Wednesday," Mary Eunice said, folding herself into the car. "It's the beginning of Lent." She played with the buttons of her newly sewn habit. Glancing out of the car window, she tugged her hair out of its comb and released it from its veil. She slid the buttons out of their holes one by one, a purse of concentration on her lips; she handled her new habit with the utmost care, having slaved over it almost nonstop since Lana had given her the material. Taking her arms from the sleeves, she folded it in her lap at the creases, brushing the dusty layer of ashes from its front.

Lana sank into the seat beside her and cranked up the car, flicking on the heater. "I'll need a little bit more than that." Mary Eunice glanced at her sideways, lips quirked in confusion. "I'm a Baptist. We don't do Lent." Lana gesticulated vaguely in the air, like she could touch the concept of Lent and point out the exact places it confused her. "None of this Easter stuff is a big deal for us. Will you explain it to me? The significance?"

Humming in response, Mary Eunice nibbled on her lower lip. Dark circles marked the undersides of her eyes. She hasn't been sleeping well. Lana chewed the inside of her cheek. Since they'd returned from Georgia, Mary Eunice's violent nightmares had matched her own, both in frequency and in gravity. "Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the Lenten holiday. It's a time for grief, repentance, and fasting, in the six weeks before Easter, to represent the forty days Jesus spent fasting in the desert. The holiday ends the morning of Easter Sunday."

Shifting the gears of the car, Lana pulled out into the street. The church was more crowded than usual, bright headlights beaming into her windshield at the darkening twilight hour. "What's the deal with the ashes, then?"

Mary Eunice touched the dark cross slashed on her face on reflex. "Ashes are a symbol of grief and repentance in the Bible. They burn the palm leaves from last year's Palm Sunday—the Sunday before Easter—so they don't go to waste. It's to accompany the Latin blessing—Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris." Her hand fluttered away from the mark and settled in her lap again. Her voice was muted, but her eyes glowed with enthusiasm, her lips curled up at the corners. "Remember, man, that thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return."

"Joyful," Lana remarked in a dry voice, and Mary Eunice giggled. "Am I allowed to wipe that dirt off of you, or do you have to leave it in place?"

"I'm not supposed to touch it. It'll come off next time I shower."

"Alright." Lana nodded in agreement, though she didn't particularly understand. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel. Mary Eunice stifled a yawn behind the palm of her hand. She's beaten down. She didn't even tell me what last night's dream was about. Lana had woken to her shivering in a cold sweat, trying to muffle her own whimpers to avoid disturbing the bed; she hadn't wept, though Lana wrapped her in a tight embrace and rocked her until she drifted back off to sleep. "How about we go get dinner? You don't have to cook tonight. We could call it our first real date."

A tender smile touched Mary Eunice's lips, but she shook her head, much to Lana's surprise. "I can't. Today is a day of fasting. I only drink water from sunup to sundown."

Lana swerved at the vow. "You what? That's not healthy! That can't be normal—for forty days?"

"No—no, of course not. On Ash Wednesday and every Friday preceding Easter. The canon rules involve small meals and no meat, but we all practiced the same way at Briarcliff. Sister Jude said it counted as our independent fast, because we didn't have much else to give up." She gave an awkward half-smirk. "Sister Charity insisted it was because one year, Sister Aloysius tried to give up bathing and the whole sanitarium nearly lost its nose in exchange."

Lana choked. "That's—That's gross. As grubby as that place is. She had to have mold in her armpits."

"Lana!"

"You know she did." Face flushing, Mary Eunice averted her eyes, mumbling something incoherent in response. "I hate to think all of the nasty stuff that grew on her from that." She glanced sideways at Mary Eunice again, evaluating her, the pallor to her cheeks and the slight tremble in her hands. "You ate breakfast, didn't you?"

"No. I got up too late."

"But you were in the kitchen. You cooked." Lana pursed her lips, struggling to remember. She had gotten straight to editing that morning, and every morning preceding; she had slashed and marked her way through the first half of her book and started typing up the finished products of each chapter, eating away at her time to reach the deadline. Her publisher wanted the final manuscript by the first of March to review it and start printing. I might've bitten off more than I can chew by promising it so soon. But since September, since the first night when Mary Eunice had fallen asleep and wrapped Lana in her tight embrace, writing was easier. Remembering was easier. If it overwhelmed her, she could stand up and walk away and find a familiar face. She trusted Mary Eunice to offer any support Lana could fathom, usually in the form of a tight squeeze and a series of breathless kisses, though there were times when she couldn't accept that, and instead she held her hand and leaned back, taking herself to a happier place. Clearing her throat, she said, "You had a plate, didn't you? You had—You had eggs. Scrambled. And you tried to eat those grits." The memory was fuzzy. Her days were bleeding together. I can't wait until I've finished.

Mary Eunice shook her head. "No, that was yesterday. This morning, I made you biscuits and sausage gravy. You didn't have any coffee." Lana's brow quirked in the middle of her forehead. "Do you remember? You spilled orange juice on your copy of chapter thirteen."

Touching her temple, Lana nodded. "Yeah, I remember that—I don't remember anything else." I don't remember eating breakfast at all. She exhaled and fanned her own breath up to her nose, smelling it. Definitely sausage. "I'm sorry. I'm really an ungrateful wretch, aren't I? You ought to swat me with a newspaper when I'm like that. Make me pay some attention to the world around me."

Chuckling, Mary Eunice placed a light hand on her thigh. "You get in the zone. I can't interrupt your focus. Yesterday, when I brought you your lunch, you were berating a semicolon."

"You were in there? You heard that?"

"I brought you your lunch. Did you think it magically appeared?"

Maybe. Lana sucked on the inside of her cheek. She remembered stuffing the sandwich into her mouth with her clumsy left hand while slashing with her red pen in her right. The mayonnaise had leaked all over her desk, and she'd cursed at herself aloud for making the greasy mess. But it was gone when I got out of the shower. She hadn't realized it until now, that the nasty film of mayonnaise on her desk was gone when she'd returned to keep at her craft. I'm not doing that anymore. Her cleaning up my messes without me noticing—that's not going to happen anymore. "Don't bring me meals anymore," she said instead.

The fond, teasing smile fell from Mary Eunice's lips, making an O of dismay. "Why? I don't mind, Lana. I don't want you to have to interrupt your work."

She set her jaw. "It's rude. I need to come out of my hole and spend some time with you. You're not my maid." She had said those words before, months ago, when Mary Eunice first took up cleaning the house, and Lana was overwhelmed by a woman who kept the home so spotless.

The hand on her thigh brushed down to her knee, stopping where the hem of her skirt ended. "I'm not your maid," she agreed. "You never interrupt when I pray. It's not fair for me to interrupt your work. And you need to eat. You're like a hibernating animal in there."

"You don't pray for more than eight hours every day."

"I spend more time praying than you think." What? Lana glanced to her as she headed up the driveway. "Sister Jude taught us to pray while we worked. She told us to keep a conversation with God in our minds all the time to keep us company. It wasn't uncommon for any of us to talk to God from the moment we woke up until we went to sleep. Prayer isn't always on your knees at the foot of the altar. Sometimes it happens when you're in the bathroom and you realize the roll of toilet paper is almost empty and you just need enough sheets to make it through so you can refill it when you're done."

Lana shifted the car into park, laughing a quiet thing at Mary Eunice's analogy. That would definitely be the most appropriate time to pray. But she sent her girlfriend a tender look, neither of them yet reaching for the handles on their doors. "Do you still do that?" she asked. Mary Eunice blinked to her in surprise, questioning what she meant. "Pray all the time, I mean."

Mary Eunice shrugged, sort of shaking her head and nodding at the same time. "Not as much as I used to," she admitted. "I don't think of it as much, anymore. I don't narrate everything I'm doing in my head. I used to find it easy to pray—unique prayers, real prayers—but now I struggle. I pray my rosary during the day, rather than anything else." She averted her eyes, as if shamed, and Lana frowned, wondering if she had proposed a troubling question. "I told Father Joseph. He says it's because I learned to rely on God as my only friend, so I went to Him with all of the things a normal person would discuss with a friend—what I now share with you. So I don't have as much need to tell every little thing in prayer."

Troubles creased the corners of her lips and her eyes. This is bothering her. Confusion tittered in the pit of her stomach. Was it a bad thing for Mary Eunice to trust her with all of the things she had once given to God? She's a nun. Of course it's bad for anyone to replace God in her life. "You still write in your prayer journal every night," Lana reminded her, a gentle thing. "I think you're doing enough."

Mary Eunice's crystalline eyes met hers, a sorrowful form of wisdom written there. For all of her girlfriend's naivete, she knew the trials of faith better than anyone. I see more God in her eyes than I have ever seen in any church. The holiness in her gaze made Lana purer just by looking into them, calmed her broken spirit, cooled the flame inside of her. But it didn't aid Mary Eunice or her struggles with her faith. The overwhelming beauty and trust within her eyes, trust which she gave both to Lana and to God, held a certain emptiness now, a void. I hardly ever see that, except when she has nightmares. "It isn't about what I do." Mary Eunice squeezed her hand tight, all of her love bleeding across her face. "It's about how I feel. The feeling of God in my heart is gone. It has been for months now—I get flashes of it, echoes, but it's not… It's just not the same as it was, before."

Her spirit is broken. Lana tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, her fingertips skimming Mary Eunice's skin. "I thought you were getting better." Lana had never known the elation accompanying church, the high of faith and glory which so many people rode; church had always held more danger for her than promise, and the heaven everyone imagined had no place for her. "You always act like…" She drifted off, uncertain how to continue. Everything about you is veiled in faith. How can you feel nothing for it?

The pad of her thumb trailed over the back of Lana's knuckles. "I act. That's it. I remember how I used to feel, and I—I perform the same way, and I pray, but…" She clicked her tongue in the back of her mouth, sticking in the heavy saliva. "I feel empty. My heart. Void of the place God used to be. I'm full in places I've never felt happy before, but it's—it's not the same. That I can pray for hours and feel no comfort in it but the repetition. That's it's—it's more of a comfortable habit, now, than something holy." She shook her head, a wry thing. "When you were in the hospital, I prayed so much, and it was like—like I was hollow. It all echoed inside of me. It's hard to explain, but I used to have this—this mailbox in my chest where I put all of my letters to God, and He was in my heart, so He would read them all, and sometimes He would write back and sometimes He didn't have time but I still knew He had read them. And I haven't gotten the feeling of the mailbox being opened—" Mary Eunice cut herself off abruptly. "You're giving me a really weird look. The mailbox doesn't make any sense, does it?"

A tiny grin crossed Lana's lips. She touched Mary Eunice's cheek, caressing it with the pad of her thumb. "It doesn't." But it hurts you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I can't fix it. Those azure eyes softened. "I'm sorry, though. I—I've never felt what you've felt, about God, but I know how important it is to you."

Mary Eunice sighed, nodding her head in agreement. "I don't mean to ramble—"

"You don't. I care what you have to say." The inside of the car had grown cold—it had rested in the driveway turned off for so long while they talked, apparently forgetting themselves in the midst of their conversation—and Gus's barks echoed from inside the house, venting his frustration that they hadn't yet entered. "Do you want to start reading?" she offered, hoping the distraction would brighten Mary Eunice's eyes. At the provision, just as she expected, the blue eyes lightened. "The first few chapters are done—I've finished them. If you still want to."

"Yes!" Lana laughed at her enthusiasm. "Don't laugh at me. You're the most exciting part of my life."

"How funny. I think you're the most exciting part of mine."

"Oh, please!"

The shadow had faded, and they unfolded themselves from the car and headed into house, stripping themselves of their heavy winter layers while they embraced, kissing as soon as they had closed the door behind them. I want to take everything off of her. Lana severed from the kiss before she could cave to the temptation. "I'll cook my own dinner," she said, "so you don't have to be around food." She could think of nothing more irritating than cooking food and knowing she couldn't eat it. "Alright?"

Mary Eunice swung upward and pecked her on the lips again, nodding her head in eager agreement with Lana's postulation. "Can I start reading now?"

Lana grinned. "I opened a can of worms, didn't I?" But she guided Mary Eunice by the wrist, tugging her into the office, where she had organized her manuscript in manila folders, each one marked by the number of the chapter, the whole shelf labeled Maniac, the working title she had chosen. "Here. I numbered the pages." Lana stacked them in Mary Eunice's arms. "You've got the first five chapters. That should keep you busy for awhile, right?" Mary Eunice nodded in enthusiastic agreement. Lana kissed the tip of her nose.

The day passed by with ease for them; Mary Eunice spent the rest of the afternoon sipping the glass of water she was allowed and reading the pages. Lana gave her a pen and some sticky notes to mark if she had any questions, but she left them untouched beside her on the couch, her lip between her teeth and toes curling in her cushions, fingers drumming on the arm of the couch as she continued through the pages. Lana, meanwhile, spent her time in the office, typing up the revised chapter she had finished. By the time night fell, she filled her belly with a sandwich and milk—she didn't want to cook anything that would create a scent—and retired to bed after a quick shower. "Sister?" she called as she flicked on her bedside lamp. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Yes—I'm coming." Mary Eunice stopped in the hallway to turn down the furnace. She placed the stack of folders on the nightstand, but she didn't crawl into bed beside Lana. Instead, she went to the hall closet and tugged out the extra blankets, dropping them into the floor, and put her pillow in the floor on top of them.

Lana rolled over, peeking over the side of the bed at her. "What in the hell are you doing?" she asked, eyes narrow at her girlfriend where she sprawled out on the pallet in the floor. "There's a whole half-a-bed up here for you, you know. It has your name on it." She patted the side of the bed, like encouraging a shy dog to join her up on the mattress.

Mary Eunice chuckled, sitting down on top of the pallet she arranged and flipping through the packet of papers to get to where she had stopped reading underneath the lamplight. "Don't be silly, Lana. It's Lent. I'm giving up the bed as a personal sacrifice." She folded down a page to indicate where she had stopped reading. "At Briarcliff, Sister Jude didn't like us to make personal sacrifices—like I said, about Sister Aloysius and bathing. I still tried to find things, but I always preferred to give up the bed. It made me feel more humble, I suppose."

"But you already gave up food." Mary Eunice shrugged, and Lana pursed her lips, irritated her little plea didn't break through to her. "But we sleep together," she tried again, this time imploring her girlfriend for a little mercy. But Mary Eunice didn't waver; she flicked through the papers, ignoring Lana altogether. Don't whine. It's her faith. Lana puffed a frustrated from her nose, nonetheless, and then she pulled the blankets back off the bed, stripping it down to its bare bones.

Mary Eunice glanced up at her. "Lana?"

Throwing all of the bed materials in the floor, Lana dropped her pillow beside Mary Eunice. "I'm blaming you for my sore back." Folding herself down beside her girlfriend, she curled up with her knees wrapped around her lover's legs. Mary Eunice placed a warm arm around her shoulders, tugging her close. Lana planted a warm kiss to her cheek. "I love you," she said, softer than the rest of her words, more tender. "Even when your quirky faith makes me sleep in the floor."

"You don't have to sleep in the floor, Lana. I don't expect it." Mary Eunice turned her head to gaze into Lana's brown eyes, hot as a mug of steaming chocolate, and she leaned forward to kiss her pink lips. "I love you, too."

Lana caught a stray lock of blonde hair hanging around her eyes and tucked it behind her ear to clear her face. "No, I don't have to. I want to. I want to be with you all the time." She rested her cheek on Mary Eunice's chest, not caring that she made it hard for Mary Eunice to turn the pages of her story. "Sleeping in the floor isn't that bad, anyway. I can think of worse places." Her eyes drowsed, half-open, as Gus jumped off of the bed and joined them in the floor, lying on their lump of blankets like a mat. "Did you do this at Briarcliff? Even though she didn't want you to?"

Lips pressed into the top of her head, and her belly caught fire at the gentle touch. "I tried my first year. But… Well, Lent starts in February, and my chamber had a broken window, I…" She drifted off, shrugging, and the movement made Lana open her eyes again to blink up at her. "I got really sick," Mary Eunice admitted quietly. "Really sick. It started as a cough, but things were never all that sanitized, and the flu was going around, so I was spending time bouncing between the kitchens and the infirmary to help Dr. Arden. First just the cough, and then the fever, and then the dizziness and the confusion. I kept waiting to get over it, like normal, because we weren't really supposed to take the medication away from the patients if we could help it."

"Like what you did here." Mary Eunice nodded. But I was here when she got sick. I cared. Nobody there cared about her. "What happened?" Lana asked, quiet and concerned, a wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows.

Dog-earing the page of the story again, Mary Eunice took her gaze away from the place where she had stopped mid-sentence. "Sister Jude caught me. Well, that happened first. She caught me trying to knead the biscuits I'd just baked with a rolling pin, and she took me back to my chamber, and that was where she found my blanket on the cold floor right under the broken window. She told me she would cane me if I hadn't already put myself half in the grave and put me to bed in her chamber. I don't—I don't remember what happened, really, after that. Pepper tried to explain it, the best she could." Mary Eunice nibbled on her lower lip in deep thought. "Pepper found me. I'd gotten confused in my sleep and passed out in the hallway. She found me, all blue and everything, and started screaming—that's all I remember, really, the sound of her screaming for Sister Jude to come help. And Jude came, and she—somehow, she picked me up, and she carried me all the way to the infirmary. Called Dr. Arden in from his house. She wanted his car to take me to the hospital, but he wouldn't let her. He took X-rays of my chest and found a bunch of pneumonia, so he plugged me up on oxygen and put me on a saline drip and gave me antibiotics. I missed Easter Mass and everything. I was so embarrassed."

"But she still didn't get your window fixed?"

Mary Eunice shook her head. "She tried, she brought it up to the Monsignor several times. He kept saying he would fix it and then blowing her off. After that year, she let us share chambers in the winter, because I wasn't the only one with a broken window, and we didn't have enough blankets to go around, anyway." She smiled in spite of herself. "Sister Jude was a good sleep partner. One time, she was out of town with the Monsignor, and I had to share with Sister Aloysius, and she snored right in my ear all night long."

Lana cackled. "I can't believe you! You had to share a bed with Jude? And with some other farting old coot?"

"Hey! Sister Aloysius was fine, except for the snoring and the smell."

Lana snuggled deep against her, stringing an arm around her middle and resting her face in the crook of Mary Eunice's neck. "I'm glad I get to sleep with you now, instead of any of them. This February, I get you." Mary Eunice hugged her tight. "Is this okay? Am I smothering you?"

"I'm fine. I like this." Through the sheer fabric of her nightgown, Mary Eunice's nipples pebbled, pressing against Lana's chest. "I like it a lot." She shifted the papers on top of Lana's back so she could read them while Lana rested. "Do you mind the light? I can wait to keep reading until tomorrow."

"The light is fine," Lana replied. "But… Don't read past chapter four, okay? I don't want to give you more nightmares."

"Mhm."

An ear pressed to her girlfriend's chest, the consistent bass beat of her heart and the whistle of air into and out of her lungs eased Lana into a quick and peaceful sleep, long before Mary Eunice put aside the story and turned off the light to officially retire for the night.

…

Adjusting her coif and veil around her face, Mary Eunice strode into the cathedral to meet Father Joseph, leaving Lana reading in the parking lot, soaking in the warm sun filtering in through the windows of the car. At the altar, she spotted him, kneeling, and she tiptoed down the aisle, waiting for him to rise before drawing any nearer. At the sound of the large wooden doors slamming shut, he roused, standing and turning to face her, but heavy troubles rested under his eyes and in the corners of his eyes. "Sister Mary Eunice," he greeted, offering a hand. She placed her small hand in his large one, letting his squeezing grasp swallow her pale fingers. The scent of coffee clung to him. "It's good to see you this week."

"Are you alright, Father? You look ill."

A smile creasing his face, Father Joseph shook his head. "I'm always alarmed by how much you observe, Sister, and what empathy that grants you." She tilted her head, withdrawing her hand as he released it. "No, I'm not alright. I've heard some troubling news that I must share with you." Clearing his throat, he turned away, beckoning her toward the back of the church, into the office where they always met. "But I wish to hear about you, first. My obligation to you is the same as before."

What sort of news? Mary Eunice wanted to demand it from him, wanted to stomp her foot and cross her arms and pout like a toddler and pitch a fit, none of it paralleling the panic in the pit of her stomach. "Father?" she whispered, but he tossed his notes and books onto the coffee table before sinking into the same chair he always occupied, and she had no choice but to sit opposite him, like usual. "I… I'm well, I suppose. Or, rather, I was, about three minutes ago."

A slight smile cracked his face. "Don't let me bother you, Sister. Tell me about your week. What about your dreams? Are they improving with our meditation and prayer techniques?" Mary Eunice bit back a sigh, but at the sight of her face, Father Joseph recognized her frustration. He clicked his tongue in shame, taking note of it in the notebook. "Not yet, then. I trust that you're practicing the techniques seriously—you're not the type to shirk." Nodding, Mary Eunice averted her eyes, ashamed of herself. "Have the dreams changed recently? I know you said they've gotten worse since you visited Lana's family over Christmas. But has the content changed?"

Mary Eunice cleared her throat. "Somewhat," she whispered. Eyes downcast, she stared at the toes of his shoes. "Before, I had flashback dreams more than anything else. And those are still most common, memories that I can't remember otherwise, but… I've had dreams about justice, and vengeance, and using—using my evil powers to—to protect myself, those I have a lot, and dreams unrelated to that at all, where I'm helpless and people want to hurt me or Lana and I can't do anything to stop them." Worry stirred in the pit of her stomach. I don't want to talk about this. I want to know what's wrong. She drummed her fingers on the arms of the oversize chair which had become her companion through these therapeutic sessions. "It scares me when I wake up wishing I was still strong. That scares me more than any memory, that some part of me wants—wants to be strong again, knowing how unholy that power is."

Father Joseph nodded and hummed, taking note of it in his notebook. "I understand."

"Is this normal, Father?"

He cleared his throat. Oh, no, it isn't normal. Mary Eunice's belly flipped. "I can't say I've encountered it before, no. But you have unique circumstances, Sister. People have sought to hurt you, and you don't have the means to defend yourself. It makes sense to me that your subconscious envies a power which protected you, even if it harmed you at the same time." Raising his eyes to her, he arched a brow. "Do you mind if I ask who usually appears in these dreams? The ones where you defend yourself from people who have wronged you, or who seek to hurt you?"

Mary Eunice closed her eyes and swallowed hard, a lump budding in her throat. "The first time," she whispered, "it was the man in the restaurant. The man who attacked me and Lana when we tried to eat lunch. I dreamed I…" Her stomach backflipped, and she paused to gulp down the bile in her throat. "I dreamed I cut him up alive." Father Joseph's expression betrayed nothing, only a slow nod following from him, complete understanding; he never passed judgment on her, and Mary Eunice thanked all of the stars in heaven for his graciousness. "That was only once. It was sometime in October. But, after Christmas, they've gotten much worse. I've dreamed about the man who—who tried to violate me, in the church bathroom. I dream of c-castrating him." Her fingers curled up into the fabric of her habit. "I've dreamed of him several times, three or four times, since we came home. And I've dreamed of Fred Peyser, the man who threatened to kill Lana for going to see her father. Twisting his rifle back, so the barrel points into his mouth, and making him pull the trigger. I've seen him several times, too."

"Are those the only ones you see? Men who hurt you, or who tried to?"

"Those are the dreams that follow the script, yes, where I cut down other people."

"Are there dreams that don't follow the script?"

Father Joseph leaned forward to peer at her, pushing his glasses farther up on his nose, and at his interest, Mary Eunice lifted her head, fighting to look him in the eyes. "Yes," she mumbled. "I—I dream of Bloody Face, and he doesn't follow the script. I see him in the basement with Lana… on top of her." A shudder passed through her, and goosebumps ripped across the surface of her skin. "Raping her. And I go down the stairs and pull him off of her, and throw him across the room, but then he—he just floats back up, and his eyes turn all red, and I realize that he's possessed, too. And we fight, we always fight, but he's bigger than me, and it doesn't matter what I do—he always wins. He pins me down by the throat, and then he sucks all of the power out of me. Like draining a battery. He just drinks it out of me, no matter how I try to thrash or get him off, and I can see Lana out of the corner of my eye, but there's nothing I can do to save her or myself—" Mary Eunice broke off in a hiccup, unfolding the handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing at the corners of her eyes and lips. I'm sorry. She didn't apologize; Father Joseph told her not to apologize for her tears in his session. But she couldn't weed the urge to apologize out of herself. "I always wake up screaming. The first time, it scared Lana so badly, she fell out of bed."

Father Joseph offered her a reassuring smile, but the darkness lingered in the shadows of his face and the corners of his eyes. "How many times have you had this dream? This one in particular?"

Biting her lower lip, Mary Eunice shrugged. "At least five times. Maybe more, I… I don't really know."

He placed a box of tissues on the center table, but Mary Eunice didn't take one. "I know you like to talk to Lana about the things you experience here. And I agree a secular perspective might aid you in overcoming certain hardships associated with recovering from possession. Have you talked to her about this dream?"

Mary Eunice shook her head. "No, Father, I—I never tell her when I dream of Bloody Face. It upsets her. She tries to comfort me, she does, but—he is her demon. He haunts her sleep more often than he haunts mine." Hesitating, she asked after a short pause, "Do you think I should? Talk to her about him? And the dreams? Do you think it would help?"

"It may help, but if you fear it would upset her, that is your decision to make, Sister. I won't ask you to open up her wounds for your own benefit." Mary Eunice nodded, long and slow. I won't. She knew Lana would want to hear about the dreams, even if they would hurt her, but Mary Eunice had held Lana through too many nightmares to risk giving her more. "I do think it's wise for you to tell her about the dreams which don't involve Bloody Face. Do you still do that?" Mary Eunice nodded in quick affirmation. "Good. I think that's healthy for you to have an intimate friend's support." Friend. The word burned in Mary Eunice's mind. She couldn't tell Father Joseph about the new level of unity she and Lana had found; he called Lana an affliction whenever her sexuality came into the conversation. "What about your other dreams? You mentioned dreams where you feel powerless. What are those?"

She curled her toes inside her shoes. "I have dreams about being abused," she murmured, toying with the corner of her handkerchief. "Usually it's Sister Jude or the Monsignor or Dr. Arden, from Briarcliff. Sometimes I see Bloody Face then, too. They're always in control. Usually I'm—I'm tied up, or I'm strapped down. I can't get away. And they tell me how they're going to hurt me or Lana, and nothing I say or do will stop them. Sometimes they bring Lana to me, to make me watch them hurt her."

"Do you worry about Lana being hurt? In real life, outside of your dreams?"

"It's my biggest fear," Mary Eunice admitted in a whisper. "Everywhere we go, I—I see people look at her. That evil look. Even if they don't say anything, they look, and that hurts me. It hurts me that I love her so much, and no one else sees how wonderful she is. And it frightens me that someone could just—just decide to hurt her, and I might not be able to do anything to stop it." She blew her nose into her handkerchief, trying to look into Father Joseph's eyes. I can't imagine my life without Lana. "She hates when I try to defend her, she hates it. She says she's afraid I would be hurt if I tried to help her."

"She's experienced a lot of loss. It's understandable that she doesn't want anyone else to be hurt on her account."

"But if I were with her, and someone hurt her—I would never forgive myself."

"She probably thinks the same way about you." Father Joseph's tender smile, rueful and fatherly in the same stroke, expanded on his face. "You two are lucky to have one another. Many people go their whole lives without knowing a loyal friendship. Love her, Sister, and support her, and let her do the same for you. And keep praying. Keep meditating." He closed his notebook, grating his jaw. "I hate to cut us short today, but I feel the news I must share with you eating me away inside."

Mary Eunice braced herself. "I—I don't understand, Father."

He sighed, leaning back in his rolling chair. "I told you that when you went missing over Christmas, I tried to reach out to your Monsignor in an attempt to find you?" Mary Eunice nodded in agreement; she had apologized for her disappearance when she returned to him. "And I couldn't reach him, at that time. I left messages at several locations for him to contact me as soon as possible. And, yesterday, he did."

Her lower lip trembled. Oh, no. No one had heard from the Monsignor in months, but she had hoped—prayed—his silence meant he had forgiven her and was giving her peace and time to recover from her ordeal. "Does he want me defrocked?"

Father Joseph held up a hand, shaking his head. "No, no, I assured him you had returned to the area and were safe. We didn't talk about you at all." Her heart flipped, half out of joy, half out of anticipation. "Because I was in contact with him, and I hadn't been for several months, I asked him about the whereabouts of Mother Claudia and Sister Jude. I knew you were anxious to know what had happened to them."

"Are they okay?" Mary Eunice's voice cracked.

He paused. Oh, no, no, no. "Mother Claudia is fine," he murmured after a pause. "The church assigned her to a mission field in Brazil. She's working with disadvantaged children there to try and distribute vaccines."

Her throat closed up. "But—Sister Jude, Lana told me she was supposed to be restored to her position as head of Briarcliff, she said that was what the Monsignor promised her, and then we couldn't find her at Briarcliff, but—" Vision blurred and pixelated with tears, Mary Eunice cut herself off, pressing her hands over her nose. "Where is she?"

Father Joseph rolled his chair across the floor toward her and leaned forward, taking her small hands in his own. "Sister," he said softly, gently. She shivered from head to toe. Her fingers quivered in his grasp. Please, God, no, let Sister Jude be okay. Anything that happened to Jude was her fault. Jude had been electrocuted because of her. Jude had been defrocked because of her. Jude was the only one who knew, who recognized the horrible truth before everyone else, and she paid the price for it. Mary Eunice lifted her desperate, pleading gaze to Father Joseph's, hoping beyond hope to find some reassurance in his eyes. "I'm so sorry." Her heart crumbled, bowing her head, unable and unwilling to restrain the tears. "Jude hanged herself in her cell just after Lana was released, before the Monsignor had the chance to reappoint her or reach out to Mother Claudia regarding her case."

"No…" Mary Eunice shook her head. "No, I—I can't—she wouldn't—" She hiccuped, and she stopped trying to talk. Father Joseph squeezed her hands. Then, he took her handkerchief and dabbed away her tears as they fell. "Please tell me it isn't true, please—"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Sister." Father Joseph extended an arm to her, an invitation, and like a child crawling into the lap of Santa Claus, she crawled to him, allowing him to embrace her with his bear-like arms. His wrinkled neck smelled like coffee and spice. "I'm so sorry. I know you cared a lot for her." The whiskers of his coarse, short beard scraped against her face, and some part of her cringed at the sensation, even in all of her distress. I want Lana. But Father Joseph hugged her like a parent she had never known, and she didn't have the strength to wrench away from him and flee back to the arms of the woman she loved. How will I tell her about this? How can I tell her Jude is dead? Because of me? "She watches over you from heaven." A few of her blonde bangs peeked out from under her veil, and Father Joseph brushed them back beneath the sacred cloth. "All is forgiven there. She knows of your affliction. She doesn't resent you for it. No matter how much you may resent yourself."

Her stomach recoiled. I need to throw up. She swallowed hard, but it didn't help the gagging lump building deep in her throat. "Father—excuse me—" She tore away from him and raced out of the room, down the hall, into the women's restroom, where she sprinted into one of the stalls and dropped to her knees in front of the ceramic bowl. Her veil fell in front of her. She ripped it off and her coif along with it, leaving the comb intact in her hair as she folded over, head in the toilet, bile spewing from her with an angry vengeance.

Lana rested in the car, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight without any of the vengeance of the cold February breeze, holding her newspaper up and browsing it; she had gotten to the puzzles, circling words in the word search, when the broad doors of the church swung open, and she peered over the top of the paper. It's early for Mary Eunice to be out. Instead, she spotted Father Joseph, his habit flapping behind him as he jogged, one knee stiff, toward her car. What on earth? Lana folded up her newspaper and put it aside, ink staining her fingers, and climbed out of the car. "Father Joseph?"

He stopped a few feet away from the dash of her car, chest rising and falling with heavy pants of distress. "Miss Winters, I—I'm sorry to disturb you, I…" He drifted off, clearing his throat, before he straightened his back and planted his feet on the ground, still favoring the leg with the stiff knee. "The Monsignor asked me to deliver some upsetting news to Sister Mary Eunice, and she has made herself ill in distress. I tried to comfort her, but she ran into the women's restroom." Well, at least some men have an idea of where they're welcome. "I hate to interrupt, but—if you could, please—"

"Of course." Lana took the keys from her car and locked it. "What news? Is she okay?" She started with a long stride, but Father Joseph had to scramble to keep up with her, so she slowed, grating her jaw and facing the church ahead with a hardness on her face. "What's wrong with her?"

Father Joseph's limp became more pronounced as he opened the large wooden door which revealed the sanctuary, all things bright and holy with light filtering through the stained glass windows casting images on the floor. The scarlet carpet muffled her footfalls. I've never been in here before. She looked back at him for direction. "The Monsignor informed me of the whereabouts of Sister Jude and Mother Claudia when he contacted me," Father Joseph said, a woefulness tugging down the corners of his lips and his eyes. "I'm aware that the Monsignor made some promises to you about Sister Jude's position within the asylum—"

Lana narrowed her eyes. "He said she would be restored to her place as head, or at the very least allowed to serve as a nun if she wasn't fit to run the place anymore, but—"

He held up a hand, nodding. "But you weren't able to contact her at the asylum and met a group of nuns who had never met her, yes, Sister Mary Eunice told me." He stroked the gray whiskers of his beard, covering over his mouth and nose, hiding behind his bad news. "The Monsignor told me, unfortunately, that he wasn't able to make good on his promise to you or to Jude—she was never restored to her title as a nun." His voice softened, but no quiet volume could soften the dark truth he carried, his eyes melancholy; a sheen of tears appeared there, though he didn't shed them. "Before he could contact Mother Claudia about her position within the order, she hanged herself in her cell. No note. No explanation."

Oh, fucking hell. Lana bit down on the tip of her tongue to keep from dropping those words in front of the priest, who had brought her in here to comfort a nun—her girlfriend—and certainly wouldn't appreciate her vulgarity in this time of grief. The backs of her eyes burned, some level of guilt stirring in the pit of her stomach. I left her. She had left. She had taken the freedom Jude granted her and run for the hills with the tape proving Kit's innocence in tow, without a second thought for the woman who granted it. "She's dead?" Father Joseph nodded, his eyes downcast. "I—" Mary Eunice. "Where is Sister Mary Eunice?" She'll never forgive herself for this. She'll never let herself live it down.

Father Joseph leaned on the edge of each pew as he passed, his bad knee swinging along with him loosely, until he headed down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. To the right, an open door gave her a glimpse into his office, the oversized chair Mary Eunice had described to her, and to the left, she spotted the sign for the women's restroom. "In there." The doors to the sanctuary slammed shut, and Father Joseph turned his head to the person who had entered. "Excuse me, Miss Winters, my next appointment has arrived. Please, tell her I'm sorry." He offered a hand, which Lana allowed him to take, and he squeezed hers gently. "Have her call me once she's feeling better. In a few days. I still would like to talk to her."

"Yes, Father, thank you." Lana wasted no more time lingering on him; she pushed the bathroom door open, and the instant she removed the barrier, the sound of tearful sobs mixed with retching met her ears. She scrambled past the sinks and into the stalls, which Mary Eunice had left open in her haste, her veil discarded on the floor and hair knotted around her comb, like she had started to tug it out but gotten distracted by her need to vomit. Oh, sunshine… Mary Eunice clung to the toilet bowl with both eyes closed, her cheek resting on the cool rim of the ceramic. Lana knelt beside her. "Sister?" She reached over to flush the toilet and took her by the shoulders, tugging her back so the jets wouldn't spray toilet water all over her face. "Come here. Come here, lean on me."

Mary Eunice flinched against the first touch, but then she sagged into it. "Lana?" she whispered in a trembling voice. "Lana… I feel so bad…" She flopped back onto her butt, habit and skirt pushed up above her knees. Lana shifted to give her room to crawl into her lap. "No, Lana, I don't deserve it…" Her red face crumpled up into a distressed ball. "I killed Jude," she whispered. "I killed Jude, it's my fault, she's dead—she—" Mary Eunice retched again, and Lana sat upright to push her head over the toilet. She had already emptied her stomach; she heaved, but it was a futile effort, spitting up only her own stomach acid. "Lana," she croaked, a desperate plea with an unknown desire inside of it.

Lana smoothed her blonde bangs out of her eyes. They had grown long in the time she had lived with Lana, past due for a trim. I don't know what to say. Lana kissed her sweaty forehead, and Mary Eunice closed her eyes, peeking at Lana through the narrowest of slits, the whites of her eyes stained red. "It's not your fault, Sister," Lana whispered. She reeked of sweat and vomit, but Lana paid no attention to it, cradling her face in her hands, smearing away the tear streaks on her cheeks. "It wasn't you."

Her swollen lips buffered against one another. "But it was me." The words had no tone, nothing but the air passing from her mouth to give them a vague sound. "It was my body. It was my weakness, I couldn't fight it off, I couldn't save her—" She hiccuped. Lana wrapped her up into a tight hug, and Mary Eunice shifted her hot face into the crook of Lana's neck. "I hurt, I'm afraid, I—I don't know what to do."

Squeezing her tighter around the middle, Lana rocked her there on the tile floor of the bathroom until her tail bone ached. "Let's go home. Come on, sunshine, we need to go home. We can talk at home, and Gus will be there, and he'll make you feel better."

But Mary Eunice shook her head, her mouth twisted downward in distaste. "I don't want to feel better. I don't deserve to feel better." She shuddered, holding fast to the front of Lana's blouse with two white-knuckled fists. "It's not fair…" Mary Eunice gasped desperately for air, her chest and throat rattling as she gagged on her own breath, choking herself. She tilted her head back, but it didn't aid her, and her hands lost their tight grip, slipping off of Lana's body and instead flapping in the air. "I can't—"

Oh, dear god. Lana pressed a hand flat to Mary Eunice's chest. "Breathe. Breathe, nice and slow. Mary Eunice, listen to me." She's not listening. Mary Eunice thrashed against her with a sort of lost desperation as the anxiety attack overwhelmed her. Her face flushed bright red and then grew deathly pale. "Mary—Mary, you're going to make yourself pass out." The hyperventilating refused to cease, with fat tears escaping her eyes in streams and sweat running down her arms and legs and neck. She swayed where she sat. She's dizzy. Lana unzipped her coat and spread it out on the tile floor, and then she caught Mary Eunice by the shoulders. "Lie down." Like the first night, those months ago, when she had encouraged Mary Eunice to lie back in the tub, she thrashed in panic. "It's okay, it's okay, lie down. I'm right here. I need you to lie down." Like a spineless slug, Mary Eunice sagged, and Lana supported her so she didn't fall to the hard floor.

Her pale hands flapped around, seeking Lana's, and she took them, clutching them tight. "I'm right here." Mary Eunice's grip flexed tight enough to hurt, but then it eased; she couldn't hold it steady. "You're going to be okay. I know it's scary. Can you hear my voice?" That tunnel is so long and deep. Lana knew she had had times where she couldn't hear Mary Eunice's voice, where the hands on her body became someone else's entirely, but Mary Eunice gave her hand a squeeze, an affirmation. She can hear me. "I love you so much, Mary Eunice." Lana leaned over her before her resolve caved, and she lay down on the floor beside her girlfriend, trying not to think about how much time had passed since someone had mopped the floor. She kissed Mary Eunice's cheek with sloppy lips, looming over her, breathing across her face. Their hands tangled like rope, but Lana tugged one free and pressed hard on her chest so she could feel the palpitations of her heart through her chest. "I love you so much. I know you're afraid, but I'm with you. I won't let anything hurt you. You're safe with me. You're in church, and Father Joseph is just a door down the hallway. You're going to be just fine."

A faint choking noise rose in Mary Eunice's throat. Lana shushed her. "Just breathe. Can you try to breathe with me?" Mary Eunice jerked her head, an affirmation. "Feel my hand right here, on your chest." Lana rubbed in a counterclockwise circle in the center of her chest, above her breasts. "Breathe right here." Mary Eunice quivered. "With me. Inhale, nice and slow." Mary Eunice hitched her breath and choked herself, inhaling her own saliva and pitching into a coughing fit, wheezing desperately between each cough. "Sunshine, it's going to be okay. I won't leave you. Try again. Inhale slowly." This time, Mary Eunice had more success keeping her breath from skipping into a panic, though she puffed it out faster than Lana intended. "Good, good, let's do it again."

The massive full-body tremors slowed, leaving her with trembles in her hands and fingertips. Her hyperventilating calmed itself, though her face twitched uncontrollably. "Lana," she moaned, a desperate, grieving sound. Lana pecked some tears off of her cheeks with her lips. "You…" Mary Eunice didn't have the energy to finish her sentence. Lana tugged the comb out of her hair and smoothed it down with her hands. Lazy blue eyes blinked hard against the bright light of the bathroom ceiling. She closed them again, groaning like in pain, and she lifted a hand to cover her eyes to shield them from the harsh lights. "Home?" she whispered, a quiet request.

Lana pressed a hand to her cheek. "Yes, sunshine, we can go home." She tugged Mary Eunice up by the arms and propped her against the wall of the stall so she wouldn't flop over. "Tell me when the world stops spinning, and I'll help you up, okay?"

"Mhm." Mary Eunice swallowed hard, her head leaning back, snot pouring out of her nose and down her face. Lana patted her pockets, but she didn't find a handkerchief, so she ripped off some toilet paper to wipe her nose. At her quiet prompting, Mary Eunice blew her nose into the toilet paper, and then she placed her shaky hands on Lana's shoulders, letting her girlfriend help her stand. Together, they limped out into the cold February morning, the bright sun doing little to alleviate the cold temperature. Lana zipped up her coat around Mary Eunice, ignoring the goosebumps cropping up all over her own skin.

The car ride passed in silence, with Mary Eunice sitting far away from Lana on the seat, her eyes pointing down at the floorboards. Lana reached for her, trying to place a hand on her thigh, but Mary Eunice was out of range, so she sat in the still air of the car, belly twisting with grief as she listened to each broken sniffle leave Mary Eunice's nose. I want to hold you, she wanted to press. Let me comfort you. She couldn't make such a demand, but as she parked in the driveway and waited for Mary Eunice to get out first, she remained steady by her side, placing a hand on the small of her back and guiding her to the couch, where Gus anxiously awaited them, his tail battering all of the furniture in his haste to greet his owners. As Mary Eunice sank onto the sofa, he sprang up to join her, clambering into her lap. His sloppy, drooling tongue splattered across her face. "Gus, no," she protested feebly. Her eyelashes fluttered, skin pale and shivering, and she rested her head on the arm of the couch, folding her arms above her head to protect her face from his attempts at comfort.

Lana took him by the collar. "Gus, no. Not right now." He whined and tugged back with a strength almost rivaling her own, whimpering in grief that she wouldn't let him comfort Mary Eunice. "Sit. Sit." He tried to ignore the command, but on the third repetition, he sank down onto his haunches and hung his head. "Good boy." Lana looked at Mary Eunice, but she didn't uncover her head, curling herself into a tiny ball on the couch. I don't know how to help you. I want to make you feel better. She licked her dry lips. Mary Eunice's every exhausted breath quivered. She just needs to rest. She wore herself out. That attack kicked her ass. Lana smoothed a hand over her hair, easy and gentle. "I'm going to take Gus outside, okay? I'm not going anywhere." Mary Eunice grunted in reply. Lana took the throw off of the back of the couch and placed it over her, and then she tucked one of the pillows under her head. "Get some rest. I'll be right back."

Gus had little interest in the outside. He lifted his leg on her rose bush, which she feared he had killed forever, but he doubled back to the front door, scratching at the screen incessantly until she opened it and let him return to Mary Eunice's side. He didn't jump up on the cushions beside her but rested with his chin on the edge of the sofa, pleading with round brown eyes for her to touch him. Mary Eunice didn't pay any attention to him, her legs tucked up around her chest in the fetal position. Lana sucked her lower lip. She sat beside her. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, considering the first question most important. She didn't want to press Mary Eunice if she wasn't ready to talk.

In a thin, broken voice, Mary Eunice whispered, "No." Her shoulders quaked, but her hands hid her face from view so Lana couldn't wipe away her tears.

Instead, Lana took her long legs by the fuzzy skin of her calf and unfolded them, placing them in her lap. She slipped the black flats off of her feet and the small socks too, and then she rubbed each foot between her fingers, massaging its sole and arch with her thumbs, bending the toes so they cracked and straightening them again. "Okay." She scuffed her fingernails over her ankle, grazing the hard callouses there from the years of abuse and wearing too-small shoes. "Let me know if you change your mind." Mary Eunice curled her toes into Lana's palm. The nail polish they had applied those months ago had chipped to nothingness. Lana traced the bones on top of her feet, and when she had exhausted the massaging and rubbing she could provide, when her fingers were weary of their task, she allowed herself to rest, glancing back to Mary Eunice's pink-streaked face, but the lines of it had relaxed into sleep. She wore herself out. Lana's stomach growled, but she didn't make a move. She held Mary Eunice's feet in her lap, and she would do nothing to jeopardize her girlfriend's temporary peace.

Several hours passed before Mary Eunice stirred again, lifting her head from the pillow Lana had provided and squinting up at the afternoon sun beamed onto the wall. "Lana?" Lana stroked her leg in response, and Mary Eunice glanced down at her. "It wasn't a bad dream, was it?" Lana shook her head. Mary Eunice closed her eyes tight, lips trembling, but she did not begin to cry again, not yet. "I… I can't believe it. I can't believe…" Lana took her by the hand and tugged her up into a seated position, dragging her nearer, and hugged her; no more panic permeated her blood, and she had the strength to hug back. "Lana, I don't… I think I should… I, I think…" Her sentences chipped off, fragmented pieces of subjects unable to perform actions, unable to receive objects. "Sister Jude—" She hiccuped.

Lana kissed her. The stench of vomit had mostly, but not completely, faded from her breath. "It's not your fault. She knew that. She knew it wasn't you." Mary Eunice shook her head, denying it, denying herself any semblance of softness or forgiveness. "Yes, she did. She did. She told the Monsignor what was wrong with you. She told him to perform the exorcism. She knew you, and she knew you would never have done any of those horrible things to her." Lana rambled onward, wondering if she made any sense, if any of her ideas aligned with the church's or if she was pulling shit out of her ass at an alarming rate to help Mary Eunice. Please listen to me. Please. Please don't blame yourself. She leaned forward, planting another soft kiss to Mary Eunice's unresponsive mouth.

Blue eyes averted from hers. Her hands loosened in Lana's grip, but she didn't relinquish them; she clung to Mary Eunice like a shipwrecked survivor clinging to a floating bit of wreckage. "I was weak." No, you're not weak! You've never been weak! "I was weak, I let—I let that thing inside of me." Her breath hitched, and she shook her head as Lana tried to embrace her again. Her eyes glittered, pale orbs of anguish, of emptiness. "And it hurt everyone, it hurt you, it hurt Jude, it hurt Kit, it hurt Clara and the Monsignor—" She covered her mouth and nose with one hand, eyes drawn downward. "I did that to her—"

"No, you didn't. You didn't do anything! You didn't do anything wrong. Jude wasn't in her right mind anymore—"

"Because of me, because I scrambled her brain like an egg! I—I tried to get Dr. Arden to lobotomize her! I electrocuted her until she couldn't think anymore! Until she couldn't remember my name, or anyone else's! Because I thought it would shut her up and keep her from telling anyone about what had happened to me! I was there, Lana, I was in my head, I watched it all happen, and I couldn't do anything, I was stupid and pathetic and weak and now she's dead and it's my fault!" Lana blinked, her mouth open in a gaping O. She had never heard Mary Eunice shout before, not like that. Mary Eunice pushed back away from her, and in spite of the pain on her face, the agony which transformed itself into anger, a shadow of fear crossed her face. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I don't mean to shout."

Lana reached for her. She flinched away, like she thought the hand would strike her where it only sought to tuck her hair behind her ear. Lana withdrew her hand. "Shout if it makes you feel better."

"It doesn't."

She's bottling it up. She needs to feel it. Lana pursed her lower lip, trying to think of a solution, of something she could say to bring some comfort to Mary Eunice. "It's not your fault. Jude knew that. I know that."

Mary Eunice shook her head. "My faith was weak. Everyone around me paid the price."

Desperately, Lana wanted to take her hands and squeeze them tight until she branded her convictions right into Mary Eunice's soul. "Your faith is not weak. I live with you. I see it every day." She kept shaking her head, but Lana took her by the chin. "No, listen—listen to me." She held Mary Eunice's teary blue eyes in her own, the gravity of gazes fixing them in place. "You are the most faithful person I have ever met. I see God in your eyes every day. I see God inside of you. If it weren't for your faith, your love, I would never be able to do that."

"Possession is a matter of faith, Lana. And mine was so frail that I let that monster take it away from me." She shivered. "I haven't felt God since before it was inside of me. It took me with it, all of the good parts. It ate my soul. I'm just a shell."

"No, you're not."

Mary Eunice tugged away from Lana, but Lana refused to let her leave, instead leaning forward and kissing her on the mouth. Mary Eunice caved, but she didn't reciprocate. Lana unbuttoned the top of her habit, revealing the sweater underneath, and tossed it aside once she had loosened it enough. She kissed down her jawline, down her neck, until Mary Eunice whined and said, "Lana, stop." She obeyed without question or comment. A hot flush bled over her neck. "I don't want to do that right now—I just—I'm afraid, and I'm hurt, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just so—I'm scared, I—" Her voice broke. "I wish it were me instead of her, I miss her so much, I want her back, I just want her to tell me I'm stupid and cane me over her desk one more time, she was the only person who cared about me for years and I killed her and everything hurts, Lana, everything hurts, and I know you can make it feel better but right now I don't want that."

Mary Eunice had closed her eyes tight, so Lana took the opportunity to place a tender hand on her cheek. She flinched, but she didn't remove it. "You don't have to explain anything to me. You don't owe me an explanation." Mary Eunice nodded, exhaling a shaky breath, tears escaping from the corners of her closed eyes. "What scares you? Why are you afraid?"

The face nuzzled into her palm, a cat marking its territory. "I'm afraid it will come back. I'm afraid I won't be able to stop it, again, and I'll hurt you." She shuddered. "Lana?"

"Yes?"

"You have a gun."

"Yes, I do, to keep us safe."

"If something happens, where I—I can't control myself anymore, and I'm hurting people, will you—will you stop me?" Lana pinched Mary Eunice in an involuntary flex at the dark request. Mary Eunice scrambled to right herself. "I'm so afraid I'll become that thing again, I have nightmares about it—I don't mean you should kill me, but just—just so I don't hurt anyone, just so no one else has to go through it again—"

"You know that's not the kind of promise I can make. It's not the kind of promise I could ever hope to keep." Lana leaned forward, the tips of their noses almost touching, and planted a kiss there so Mary Eunice opened her eyes. "I love you too much to hurt you. I love you too much to dream of hurting you, ever." The azure hue of her eyes burned Lana's very soul. "Nothing like that will happen. It will never happen to you again. You don't need to worry about it."

Mary Eunice gave her a watery smile. "I'm sorry, Lana. I don't have any right to ask that of you." She exhaled. It fanned across Lana's face. "I love you, too. If I didn't have you, I—I don't know what would have happened to me. If I ever would have had a chance without you." She leaned into Lana's soft touch. "I need to pray."

"Let me pray with you."

Her long eyelashes fluttered upward. "You—You would like to pray with me?"

Lana smiled. "I want to make you feel better. I want to be with you."

"I don't think I can feel better. I don't think I'll ever stop missing her. Or hating myself for it."

"I'm sorry. I know how much she meant to you."

Their fingers laced together, and Lana knelt beside Mary Eunice on the floor, their heads bowed in prayer. "Thank you, Lana," Mary Eunice whispered. "I… I'm sorry that I shouted. Please forgive me."

Lana kissed her temple. "It never happened." A rosary fitted between their two hands, the beads between their skins leaving indents. In silence, they bowed their hands and began to pray, each of them wishing for something different, one requesting forgiveness and one requesting peace, each seeking something in the prayer to benefit the other.

Mary Eunice wept throughout the day as she cooked and cleaned and did her usual chores, and Lana wrote and edited, but she stopped earlier than usual for them to share a shower and retire into the floor of the bedroom, not yet clothed but clothing themselves in the blankets and one another's skin. They didn't tangle themselves in the foreplay of lovemaking which could have no resolve; from their nudity, they drew comfort, not arousal. Mary Eunice read from Lana's manuscript while Lana played with her hair, wrapping it up into a braid and letting it fall and repeating. "You don't read very fast," Lana observed. "Still on chapter three?"

"What did you expect? I'm a dumb high school dropout."

"You're not dumb." Lana wrapped her arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. "What do you think?"

"I think you're distracting me."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" Mary Eunice didn't quite manage a giggle, but her voice was light, and she turned her head around to exchange a small kiss with Lana. "No, never." She pressed her front against her girlfriend's. "Thank you, Lana. For staying with me." Her arms around Lana's neck fit like a snug pair of jeans. Nothing about this made her uncomfortable. All of the ways she had imagined her future as a child, naked beside some faceless man, had made her grateful for her habit as an adult, in which she could bury herself and hide her body from any potential viewers. But she didn't want to hide herself from Lana. She wanted Lana to look at her, all of her, all of her nude skin which she had never imagined allowing anyone to see, much less touch. She dreamed of Lana's fingers on her most tender places, the dreams which made her crawl with blush and ease into an icy shower to banish all of the urges blossoming in her nether regions.

Lana pecked her pulse point. "Don't thank me, sunshine. You were with my family. I'm going to be with you now." Mary Eunice rested her chin on her shoulder, releasing the stack of papers; she had forgotten the task at hand and abandoned it in favor of snuggling beside her girlfriend in the floor, sprawled out on the shag carpet. Her heart ached, and tears stung the back of her eyes, and the unshakeable guilt probed at her insides, but Lana's skin smelled like the floral lotion she smeared across it after her shower, and her eyes held all the warmth Mary Eunice's heart lacked. "Father Joseph wanted you to call him tomorrow, when you felt better." Lana teased a hand through her hair. "You could ask him where they buried her."

Shaking her head, Mary Eunice closed her eyes. The lump budded in her throat, hot and furious again. "They won't have buried her." Her toes curled in the sheets, tangling them around her own ankles, trying to distract herself. Her voice shook, nonetheless. "Suicide—" The word trembled, hard for her to pronounce; she had always used softer terms when talking about her own mother. For the second time in her life, someone who had cared about her, a maternal figure, took their own life, and it made Mary Eunice's stomach burble with grief and guilt. "Suicide is a mortal sin. They wouldn't have thought her deserving—deserving of a Catholic funeral and burial or anything else traditional."

A thumb trailed over her cheek bone, but she hadn't shed another tear. Not yet. "Then what would they have done with her?"

Mary Eunice shrugged. "I… I suppose they would've tried to return her to her family, if she had any, but I don't think she did." She had no one. I had no one. We had each other, in whatever broken order we managed. "Briarcliff has a crematorium. Old. Unused. I would guess they did that. I don't know what they would've done with the ashes."

A wrinkle appeared between Lana's eyebrows. "I thought cremation was against the church's doctrine."

"It is, for the faithfully departed. But, for a mortal sin, you—you have to confess and repent, otherwise it's not…" She drifted off. She didn't know how to explain it; her jumbled brain had taken in too much information in one day to keep relaying the information to Lana. "A person who commits a mortal sin has to demonstrate true contrition. And someone who has taken their own life doesn't have the ability to do that, because—because they're dead. So they're not considered departed in good faith. They're traitors of the church in death. Their remains can't be given the same respect as a true believer."

Her voice quivered, and Lana leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "I'm so sorry." She cradled Mary Eunice's face in her hands like an infant. "I'll do whatever I can to help you find her. To give her what she deserved."

Oh, Lana. The hands pressed into her cheeks; she knew Lana could feel the flush of heat to her face. "But she hurt you." Mary Eunice extended her hand, grazing a single index finger over the burn scar on Lana's temple, barely visible and masked by her long, dark hair. "She kept you in that place—she hurt Wendy—" Her voice choked, and her eyes fluttered shut, shedding the tears still held in her eyes. I loved her so much. She was so good to me. But she hurt you, and I don't know how you could ever forgive her.

Lana shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. "She knew it was wrong. She got me my freedom. And—however angry I am at her, for what she did to Wendy, I know you loved her, and you deserve to say goodbye." She held a dark look in her eyes, a shadow of something like anger, and Mary Eunice bit her lower lip. I'm sorry, Lana. She could murmur a thousand apologies, and they never would hold a candle to the guilt she felt for helping hold Lana in the walls of Briarcliff. "Can I confess something to you?" Lana asked.

She blinked in surprise. "Of course, Lana. Anything."

One of the soft hands left her face, and Mary Eunice resisted the urge to chase it by bowing her head. Instead, the hand wrapped around her own and clutched it. "You may think it cynical of me. And I may be wrong. But…" Her dark eyes darted away, around the room, down to Gus who slept at the foot of their little pallet on the floor, then back up to Mary Eunice. "I don't think the Monsignor tried to help her. I don't think he ever intended to follow through with his promise to me."

"Lana!" Mary Eunice's face fell in distress, her mouth making a little O, choking on her own air before she stammered, "N-No, no, the Monsignor would never. The Monsignor and Sister Jude—they were best friends, he loved her, he would never do something like that to her. He only ever stripped her of her title in the first place because of me, he never would've hurt her otherwise, if it weren't for—"

"Hey, hey, calm down." Mary Eunice puffed at the instruction, but she fell silent with a huff, and Lana wiped the tears from her cheeks with the corner of the sheet. "I didn't mean to upset you. It's just what I think about him. Based on how I saw him treat her, and how he treated you. I don't trust him."

"I do." She tried to glare at Lana, but she couldn't manage it. Every time she look at her girlfriend, her heart floundered with useless joy and overwhelming love, muddling all of her other emotions. "I have to trust him. I have to trust my superiors. I trust he did everything in his power—Sister Jude trusted him, too."

Lana sighed. I haven't convinced her of anything. Lana kissed her, tender and sweet, on the mouth. "I know. I know. But I don't have to like him. I don't like the way he treated you. It worries me. And worrying about you is my job now." Mary Eunice hooked one of her legs with Lana's at the knee. "Are you ready to get some sleep?" Mary Eunice bobbed her head. Lana took the manuscript away from her. "Then let's put away the nightmare material for the night." She folded it into the drawer of the nightstand to handle in the morning. "Will you wake me up if you have a dream?"

Mary Eunice hesitated. "Lana, I… I don't want to disturb you, your rest is important…"

"No amount of sleep is as important to me as you are. I want you to wake me up. Please. Let me help you, like you help me."

That's fair. Some part of her would always whisper condemnations, would always resent her for allowing Lana to love her. She didn't know if she would ever convince herself she deserved Lana's affection. She nodded. "Alright," she whispered. Lana pecked her on the tip of her nose, and she brushed her lips alongside the bump of her girlfriend's chin, though she didn't have the energy to do anything else. She pressed her face into the pillow. "I love you, Lana."

"I love you, too, Sister." I have so many names. Mary Eunice wondered if Lana preferred one over the other, if Lana liked to call her her name or her title or her nicknames more. I don't have a favorite. She liked being Lana's sunshine, but she liked being Lana's Sister, too—the title showed how she belonged both to Lana and to God. And Lana said her name so sweetly and tenderly, with the perfect lilt she could hear in her head. She drifted off to sleep playing the sound of Lana's voice in her head over and over again, each time using a different name in the same loving tone.

But the peace didn't last. In her sleep, she heard Pepper shriek, "Miss Elsa! Miss Elsa!" though her ears were plugged up and stuffy. She couldn't open her eyes. Where am I? The cold stone floor of the asylum pierced her sheer nightgown. She didn't remember putting it on. Her hair hung around her in a golden sprawl. I can't move. I need to put on my veil. I'm not in my room. I should never be unveiled out of my room. She tried to lift her hand, but she couldn't manage it. "Miss Elsa!"

Pepper. Mary Eunice knew that name—Pepper called Sister Jude Elsa for some reason none of them could fathom. Heavy footfalls rattled through the brick to her ear. "Pepper?" Sister Jude. "What on earth…" A hand, frigid, stinging with its very touch, cradled her cheek. "Good Lord, girl, you're burning up." It shifted to her forehead and then back to her cheek, patting hard. "Sister Mary Eunice? Can you hear me?"

The pats on her face stung like grease popping on her skin. Yes, Sister, I hear you, oh, it hurts… She parted her lips. Her mouth had never tasted so dry and stale before in her life. Her tongue had stuck in her saliva, thick as syrup, and wriggled like a beached eel. "Uhn…" The moan ripped from her raw, aching vocal cords, weak and thin in its creation.

The hard hand left her cheek, granting temporary relief, before two arms slipped under her long body. No, no, no… Mary Eunice tried to garble a protest, but she couldn't manage more than another simple croak before her throat had worn itself out. The arms scooped her up. "Oh, dear child." Her arms flopped uselessly, unable to do anything, unable to grab the front of Sister Jude's habit or even arrange herself in a more comfortable position to ease the struggle of carrying her through the vacant hallways of Briarcliff. Each rocking step pained her, jolted her sensitive body. Is this how I'm going to die? Mary Eunice had never imagined death hurting so much. When Jesus took her away, she expected it to be fast and painless, and she had hoped to experience it many years from now, surrounded by people she loved.

But if she died with Sister Jude and Pepper, she supposed those were two people who loved her, and she could accept it. The floor passed in a weary haze. I'm so thirsty. Her lungs wheezed. Her chest had never sizzled like this before in her life, gargling with each breath, like she had inhaled water in her last bath and hadn't realized it. Her slow, shallow breath syncopated Sister Jude's rapid, strained pants, and once she staggered into the infirmary, she dropped Mary Eunice's body onto an empty bed. Agony pulsed through her. She grunted. "I'm so sorry. You stupid, foolish girl." A hand swept her bangs from her eyes, which she didn't have the strength to open. "You're a faithful fool. May God watch over you."

The hand left, replaced by an itchy blanket, and the footsteps headed across the room to the telephone. "Arthur!" she snapped. "I need you here, right now! Sister Mary Eunice is ill. She needs a hospital. You know the ambulance won't come out in this weather—oh, for the love of God, hurry!" Sister Jude slammed the phone back on the hook and tended to Mary Eunice, stabbing her with needles to hydrate her; each one made her innards cringe, wishing she had the health to faint. "Breathe, girl, just breathe." A stethoscope pressed to the top of her chest. "Your lungs are just gargling." She secured a mask over her mouth and nose and flicked on a loud machine pumping a thin mist into her lungs.

Mary Eunice didn't know how long it took Dr. Arden to arrive, but at the sound of his feet on the stone floor, Sister Jude began to strip the oxygen mask off of her and disconnect her IV. "She needs a hospital right now," she growled. "Her skin is blue!"

"She needs to stay here."

"Are you out of your mind? Look at her! She needs a doctor!"

"I am a doctor."

"A real doctor!"

"While your doubtful opinion about my skill as a physician stings, I'm afraid we won't be able to get through the hospital." His hands, rougher than Sister Jude's, placed the mask over her mouth and nose again. "The weather is miserable. If we got stranded, we would have no chance of supportive care for her. The roads aren't clear. She's safer here, where we can keep her stable, at least until the roads can be cleared."

Sister Jude huffed. "Her lungs sound like the bubbles in a hot tub. What are you going to do for her? Breathe for her?"

"I'm going to give her antibiotics for the pneumonia she developed under your watch, trying to uphold your ridiculous faith."

"I never asked her to give up her bed for Lent! She made that stupid decision all on her own!"

"She's still a child!" he scoffed. "She's seventeen years old! You've burdened her, giving her that microcephalic beast to care for—"

"Pepper has done wonders for helping Mary Eunice out of her shell—as a matter of fact, Pepper was the one who found her like this." Somewhere beyond them, Pepper hummed, and Mary Eunice realized for the first time that Pepper had followed Sister Jude to the infirmary—she had been there the whole time. "And you're one to talk, calling her a child. The way you look at her, the way no man should look at a girl, nun or not. It's despicable."

"I love her because she is pure. If you think I would do anything to pervert her, you've misunderstood her, fundamentally."

"I understand her perfectly well!"

They kept arguing, but Mary Eunice stopped paying attention to them, turning inside of her own head. This isn't right. Sister Jude is dead. The thought echoed, and their voices fell silent. Sister Jude is dead. Father Joseph said so. Sister Jude is dead. But the memory hadn't ended, yet; the firm mattress of the infirmary pressed against her, holding her in the dream. She opened her eyes and sat up. Pepper still stood at the foot of her bed, though Dr. Arden and Sister Jude were nowhere in sight. "Pepper?" she whispered. She stepped out of bed and approached the microcephalic woman, her lips pursed in concentration. "Is something wrong?"

Pepper held her gaze. An unknown power flushed through Mary Eunice, tinting her eyes orange, and into those eyes, the demon sucked her, reading the memories of Pepper, her first patient, her personal project. A sink filled with blood, a man tossing her out of the room, the body of a baby and his ears, oh, his sweet little ears, hanging off of his face and floating in the water. Pepper crumpled and cried in her own memory, and then her sister called the police, and they wrestled her into the car. She saw herself, herself through Pepper's eyes. "You made me throw up," her previous self said. Mary Eunice's heart sank. She was innocent. She was always innocent. Pepper hugged her previous self, guilt and grief written in her eyes.

But Mary Eunice sat upright from her dream drenched in a cold sweat. Lana had rolled away from her in sleep, sprawled on the the carpet; she no longer rested on the blankets. She said I should wake her. She said I need to wake her. I had a dream. Mary Eunice gulped and grabbed Lana by the shoulders. I've got to do something! Pepper is innocent! Pepper did nothing wrong! She's still at Briarcliff and she did nothing wrong! "Lana? Lana, Pepper—Pepper is innocent, Lana, please wake up, I've got to tell you about Pepper."

"'S in the kitchen," Lana grumbled. But as Mary Eunice pinched her shoulders a little tighter, she stirred from her sleep and sat up. "What? What's the matter? I heard you… Oh, what did you say? I'm sorry."

Mary Eunice took the clean nightgown from after last night's shower and wrapped it around herself. "It's Pepper. At Briarcliff. She—She's innocent, she didn't kill her sister's baby."

Lana rubbed her eyes with her fists. "You told me she did."

"I thought she did, her sister said she did, but she lied—her husband did it. Pepper didn't do anything wrong, she doesn't belong there, she doesn't deserve to—"

"Whoa. Are we talking about jailbreak at three in the morning?"

Mary Eunice gazed at Lana desperately. "We've got to get her out of there! She doesn't deserve to be in there! She didn't do anything wrong! She only liked me and Sister Jude—who knows what's happened to her without either of us? She already lost so much!"

"Are you sure this wasn't just a weird dream?"

"Yes! I read her mind, I saw what she thought! I saw her memories! She didn't do it! She's in there for no reason! She deserves her freedom!"

Lana gaped at her, still half-asleep. "Mary Eunice, I—what do you think we can do about it? Supposing you're right, and supposing we could prove it, and supposing they would release her into our care, what would we do with her then? Where would we put her? Who's going to take care of her? She—Well, she isn't exactly self-sufficient, is she?"

"Well, no…"

"Where was she before Briarcliff?"

Mary Eunice bit her lower lip, averting her eyes. You're stupid, just like Sister Jude said in the dream. "Her sister told me she belonged to a traveling circus. A freak show. But that might have been a lie, too. Pepper never had a way to tell me much about herself." You can't just leave her. You can't abandon her. You wouldn't leave Lana behind. "Lana, we've got to do something! Anything—She was my friend. I can't just leave her in there to rot." She clambered to her feet and slipped the nightgown over her head, clothing her nude body, which was covered in creases from sleeping on crumpled blankets.

Lana stumbled up after her. "Where are you going? What are you doing?" She paused to grab her robe off of the empty bed and wrap it around herself. "Sister? What's the matter?"

"I've got to get her out of there, Lana, I—I've done so much wrong, if I just do one thing right, maybe it will redeem my soul." Mary Eunice sucked in a deep breath, headed up the hall, through the living room, into the office. "If I just do this right, maybe Sister Jude will forgive me—Pepper can go anywhere, anywhere but there, but that place." Lana touched her shoulders as she sank into the office chair. "There are homes for people like her, good homes."

Lana's tired eyes peered down at her. "I don't want you to make a mistake. We both left that place behind." But she didn't stop Mary Eunice from picking up the phone.

"We left it behind because other people set us free," Mary Eunice whispered. Sister Jude had freed Lana, and the Monsignor had freed her—freed her not only from Briarcliff, but also from her own demons, from her own body. "Someone needs to set Pepper free. And I don't know if there's anyone there who will."

Softly clearing her throat, Lana nodded slowly. "I understand. That you need to do it. And…" She sighed. "I'll help you any way I can."

Mary Eunice picked up the phone. What am I doing? she wondered. What am I going to do with her? Am I crazy? She had wondered that several times. She hadn't yet reached a conclusive answer. I think so. The operator answered the phone. "Hi, can you please connect me to Dr. Arthur Arden?" Lana cringed. Mary Eunice took her hand and listened to the phone ring on the other end of the line, clutching tighter with each passing sound.