… solipsubmissive …

In the movies, when one was being chased, a large gothic cathedral with gloomy gargoyles and enormous doors always popped up at just the right time for the girl to enter and find safety.  So it seemed somehow right that it should happen to Zoe.

Of course, nobody was chasing her.  Nobody human.  Just her own torturous thoughts and desires.  Still, given the nature of those desires, it only seemed right to temper them with a bit of religious atmosphere.  So she trudged up the wide stone steps to the rough-hewn doors that soared above her head.  At 2am, she really didn’t expect to find them open.

She wasn’t wrong.  The doors wouldn’t budge and Zoe’s moment of movie star surreality came to a screeching halt.  She had only descended three of the shallow steps when her emotions got the better of her.  She sat down heavily, dropped her face into her hands and began quietly crying.

“There are other ways in if you don’t want to wait until morning.”

Zoe’s back stiffened at the unfamiliar male voice.  It occurred to her that she should likely be alarmed, that the unknown male could be a rapist, a serial killer, or some other equally dramatic predator, but she found she couldn’t be bothered with even such reasonable concern.  She wiped her face, leaving a smudge of dark dust on her wet cheek, then stood to leave without a reply.

“You don’t have to go.  I’ll leave, if you’d rather be alone.”

Zoe stopped on the steps, then turned to look at the stranger.  He was tall with dark hair.  That much she could tell.  Broad shoulders, a dark suit.  She couldn’t make out his features, but decided he fit right into her original Hollywood plot as the perfect hero type.  Her blue eyes sought his, but she couldn’t puncture the shadows enshrouding the upper portion of his face to meet them. 

She took a step forward.  “Do you go to this church?”

His lips quirked in a humorless smile.  “Every day,” he replied.

Zoe squinted up the front of the stone facade.  Her eyes skipped over the stained glass windows, their colors deepened and rendered ominous by the lack of light.  “It’s not very welcoming,” she said, her voice peevish.

“Perhaps you’ll think differently if you return at a decent hour,” he said.  His voice had changed imperceptibly, deepening and taking on a patronizing tone.  Zoe’s gut twisted a bit and she caught her breath, torn between irritation and … something else.  She bit her lip.

The man made a short sound, not quite a grunt or a snort.  “Difficult decision?”

Zoe lifted her chin and glared.  “You said something about another way in?”

“Lose the confrontational attitude, young lady, and I’ll be happy to show you.”

Something in the tone of his voice mollified her.  Slightly ashamed that she’d taken out her frustrations on a complete stranger, Zoe softened her voice and took a step closer.  “I would like that, please,” she said.

“Follow me, then.”  He turned and walked across the wide stone surface, past the huge front doors to a smaller door, hidden in shadow, that stood ajar near the corner of the building.  Zoe followed him obediently, purposely ignoring the niggling safety warnings in the back of her mind.  They stepped inside, took an immediate left, walked a short distance down a dark foyer, and emerged in the high-ceilinged sanctuary.  Zoe breath escaped in an awed hiss.   She stepped past the tall figure she’d been following.

To her left was a large basin of water, and she gave it a cursory glance before returning her gaze to the shadowy nave.  The only light came from sputtering candles in tall wrought-iron stands placed at precise intervals along the walls.  Rows and rows of pews, separated by a wide center aisle, picked up the warmth from the candles, which gave the dark wood a satiny glow.  In the distance to her right was a bank of votive candles in clear glass holders, some of them lit, some not.  Drawn by the tiny flickering flames, Zoe began walking down the aisle, then stopped and turned when she heard the the water ripple behind her.

The tall man stood before the basin of water, his head bowed.  As she watched, he dipped a long-fingered hand in the water, then lifted it, making the sign of the cross.  His eyes were closed, the planes of his face harsh and angular in the light of the dancing flames.  After a moment, he straightened and looked at her.

Her eyes caught his for the first time, and she was instantly lost.  They were a deep, dark green, the green of the forest at midnight, and they held her, immobile, as he approached and stood above her.  His scent, spicy and warm, assailed her, engulfing her senses, resulting in a loss of equilibrium that caused her to reach forward and grasp his arm to keep from falling.  His other hand, large and warm, fingers still slightly wet from the holy water, covered hers.  “What is your name, please?” she whispered.

He smiled.  “I am Father David,” he said, then reached out and wiped the tiny smudge of dust from her face.

Continue to:  Part 2