The intricacies of the lock were clearly understood by Michael Bennett. It wasn't long before he had developed a scheme to outwit them. The lock was no match for a simple hairpin from his sister's stash combined with his own intelligence and unparalleled reason. Sleight of hand and twist of wrist, and the spell was removed. He returned the hairpin to his shirt pocket and slowly turned the knob. To his complete and utter surprise, the door did not make a single sound, and made no effort to disturb the sleeping beauty sprawled across the tiled floor.
Michael kneeled down on the floor beside her and gently pressed a hand to her bare shoulder. She stirred ever so slightly, illustrating only the vaguest signs of life.
"Abbey," he whispered, his voice kind and gentle, a considerable contrast from his tone the evening before. "Abbey, you have to wake up. Sooner or later, someone's gonna want to come in here and take a crap, and I'm fairly certain you don't want to be around for that."
With her eyes still closed, she yawned and stretched out her arms lethargically. She then rolled over and looked at her brother head on.
"Hi."
"Hey there," Michael replied, softly still.
"I slept here all night?"
He nodded.
"You locked yourself in here last night. Ron spent twenty minutes trying to coax you out, but eventually he just gave up. I gotta hand it to ya, sis, you don't make it easy for that guy. He's certainly got his hands full with you."
"No, he doesn't," Abbey dissented, her voice hoarse and laced with sleep. "Because my life is not in his hands."
"Who's hands is it in then?"
"I don't know. God's?"
"Well, I'm not prepared to argue with that, so I'll accept it. Meanwhile, what the hell is going on with you!" Michael questioned.
Abbey sighed and lifted herself up, leaning against the wall.
"I'm fine."
"Abbey, you locked yourself in the bathroom and cried yourself to sleep. You're not fine."
"How do you know I cried myself to sleep?"
"You're not as clever as you think you are, sweetheart. The mascara-stained cheeks were a dead giveaway."
"You weren't supposed to notice that," Abbey said, touching her cheek self-consciously.
"Abbey, Helen Keller would have noticed that!"
"You're not making me feel better, Michael."
"All right, I'm sorry. Talk to me."
Abbey shook her head and pushed herself off the ground, struggling to maintain her balance. He followed her to a standing position and watched, dejected, as she walked away from him. Despite her indifference toward him, he pursued her into her bedroom and shut the door. She dropped down onto her bed, exhaustedly, and he sat beside her.
"Michael."
"You're not getting off that easy," Michael said.
"I'm fine."
"Why do you keep doing this?"
"Doing what?" Abbey asked, defensively.
"Shutting people out. You've been doing it to Ron for the past few weeks, and he's been nothing but a perfect gentleman. He's been in love with you, for what, four years now? He's watched you date other people and waited patiently for his turn. A few months ago, you seemed to really like him. What's wrong?"
"Why are you sticking up for Ron so passionately, Michael? If I'm not mistaken, you used to loathe him."
"I feel bad for the guy. He's crazy about you and you keep blowing him off. So tell me what this is all about."
"You tried to kill yourself six months ago. Who are you to judge me!" Abbey exclaimed.
"Abbey, I am not judging you. I'm trying to help you. I don't want to see you end up like me."
"I don't think Mom would have liked Ron," she whispered.
"Oh, Christ, Abbey, tell me this isn't about Mom. It's been nearly three years."
"She wouldn't have liked him at all."
"Okay," Michael said, standing up suddenly. "I'm going to get Dad."
"No!" Abbey exclaimed. "No."
"Abbey, you need to talk to someone. If you're not going to talk to me, then you need to talk to Dad."
"It's just going to upset him."
"No, it's not."
"Please, Michael," Abbey pleaded. "I'll do anything you ask, just don't tell Dad."
Michael hesitated, chewing on his lower lip- a nervous habit he had never been able to give up.
"Dad's going to want you to come to church with him this morning."
Abbey glanced up at him, confusion plain in her green eyes, that were always glistening from tears.
"I haven't been to church sinceā¦since Mom died."
"All the more reason for Dad to want you to go."
"Okay." She shrugged her shoulders. "Fine, I'll go."
"Good. Let me know how it is when you get back."
"Michael!" Abbey exclaimed. "You have to come!"
"If I set one foot in that church, I think the whole place will burn down."
"You're not leaving me alone with Dad and Nan, Michael. No way, no how."
"Michelle's going."
"Well, sure," Abbey replied. "God loves Michelle!"
Michael laughed.
"God loves you too, Abbey."
"What about Julia?"
"Are you kidding? You're more likely to get me in there than Julia!" Michael replied. "Listen, it won't be so bad. You used to love going to church!"
"Yeah," Abbey said. "That was before God killed my mom."
Alone in his small room, Jed Bartlet sat at his desk, reading Father McDevitt's sermon with interest. He had been asked to proofread it, for reasons passing Jed's own understanding. He was flattered, of course, but that didn't ease his confusion. If Jed had been a nun, he would have been a novice, and he didn't figure proofreading sermons was something novices usually did.
The sermon focused on the subject of what Father McDevitt referred to as 'spiritual warfare.' He said the angels of God and the angels of Satan battle each other in an invisible war. Angels seem to have rank. Daniel's 'major' angel was stopped by an enemy 'colonel' angel, until 'general' Michael appeared. He said Satan assigns angels to nations. The angel assigned to Persia was called 'the prince of the Persian kingdom.' The bible, however, focuses on things that are more important for human beings, like how to trust God and live in ways that please him. Father McDevitt says the congregation will learn all they need to know about angels when they get to heaven.
Jed enjoyed reading the sermon, and deemed it well-written and organized. Father McDevitt would certainly be pleased, as he seemed to value Jed's opinion greatly. He was about to go find Father and tell him so, when the door opened and Father Paul Norwood stuck his head in yet again.
"Jed. There's someone here to see you."
"Really?" Jed asked. "I can't think of who it would be."
Regardless, Jed followed Father Norwood to Father McDevitt's office in the rectory. Father McDevitt was sitting at his desk, talking with a petite older woman who sat before him.
"Mom!"
Catherine Bartlet stood, smiling brightly, at the sight of her oldest son.
"Josiah."
She threw her arms around him, as Fathers Norwood and McDevitt observed them with a smile.
"Mom, what are you doing here?" Jed asked, not upset, but curious nonetheless.
"Do you chatise a mother for visiting her son?" Catherine asked, one eyebrow raised.
"No, of course not, Mom. That's not what I meant."
"Then what, pray tell, did you mean?"
"Well, it's a good one hour drive from Manchester, Mother."
"And worth every mile!"
Father McDevitt cleared his throat awkwardly and lead Father Norwood to the door.
"We'll leave you two alone."
"Thank you, Father," Jed said, his head turned to watch them as they exited the room.
"How are you, darling?" Catherine asked, taking his hands in hers.
"I'm good, Mom. How are you?"
"Oh, fine, fine."
"Dad's not with you, is he?" Jed questioned, nervously.
"No, no, no. I wouldn't do that to you."
"He didn't even want to come, did he?"
"Sweetheart, he doesn't know!" Catherine said.
"He doesn't know? How did you get that past him?"
"Oh, he thinks I'm visiting your grandmother in Groton. He's never much cared for her, so he didn't ask to join me."
Jed nodded, pensively.
"I take it you're staying for the service?"
"Absolutely! I wouldn't miss it."
"Okay."
"Jed? Darling, what's the matter?"
"Nothing," Jed replied, quietly.
"You're happy here, aren't you?" Catherine inquired, skeptically.
Jed was startled by the question.
"Jed."
"Hmm?"
"I said, you're happy here, aren't you?"
"Yes!" He answered quickly- too quickly. "Yes, of course I'm happy here."
Catherine was not convinced, nor was she prepared to start an argument at that paricular time and in that paricular place.
"Good."
"We should probably get out there."
"Yeah."
Jed opened the door and gestured for his mother to exit before him.
"What's the sermon about today?" Catherine asked.
"Spiritual warfare."
"Angels and demons, and the like?"
"Yeah."
As they walked briskly through the hallways, they were stopped by Father Peter Derek, a man in his mid-forties, who had been at St. Andrew's for the entirety of his priesthood.
"Jed."
"Ah, Father Derek. I'd like you to meet my mother, Catherine Bartlet."
Catherine smiled cordially and held her hand out.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bartlet. Your son is a wonderful addition to our parish. We're so pleased to have him with us."
"Thank you very much, Father. That's very gratifying to hear."
"Jed, Father McDevitt asked me to see if you'd be willing to sit in the confessional this afternoon, following the service. Father Brewster is going to be otherwise engaged at that time."
"I'd be glad to, Peter."
"Good. I'll tell him. See you at the service."
