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Father Michael had saved my life, but I knew in my heart it wasn’t because God had intervened to save my soul. No. I lived because I didn’t deserve to die. Those days, death would have been a mercy.
Suffering is for the living. So, I marked my skin with each innocent life I took.
It took three years for me to confess my sins to him. I expected him to look at me in horror, to turn me out. But all I saw in his eyes was kindness, even after he heard my confession. Knowing what I’d done, and what I was, he only looked at me with kindness. Not pity. Never that. Only gentle acceptance.
Being here now has the same feeling as then. It is a safe haven.
As I approach the entrance of the cottage, the door opens, and I see Madelena looking at me with worry. The sight of her makes me stop. She is the only person in my life whom I’ve brought here, who even knows the existence of this place or its meaning to me.
“Madelena.”
I go to her, hug her to me, and push away the image of her face in my dream as she fell.
She resists at first, then lets herself melt into me. “You were gone.”
Drawing back, I look at her. “You were worried?”
“Of course. I woke up and the bed was empty. No note, no nothing. Of course, I was worried.”
I usher her inside, smell coffee, see the fire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. I had a bad dream and needed to clear my head.”
She studies me, and I remember what she told me Thiago said to her that night at the lighthouse.
In his veins is the blood of a monster.
Thiago knew about Caius. He knew they were half-brothers. I am sure of it. Thiago considered the blood in his own veins that of a monster. I’m sure he felt the same about Caius. But was he referring to Caius when he said those words to Madelena?
“Do I smell coffee?” I want to ask about that night, but I don’t want to worry her more than I already have.
She nods and takes the box of pastries so I can remove my coat. She opens it, her eyes growing bigger at the sight of the freshly baked, plump cinnamon buns. When she breathes in the wafting of cinnamon, sugar, and butter, she moans.
The sight of her pleasure makes me smile. “They’re best fresh,” I say, leading her into the kitchen.
“Father Michael mentioned them,” she says, setting the box on the table. She touches my face, then takes my hands. “You’re freezing.”
“Coffee will warm me up.”
“Sit down, Santos.” I do and watch her as she makes a fresh batch of coffee. She studies me quietly as it brews, then pours me a mug and brings it over to the table. “What was the dream?”
I see her face again as it was in the dream, and I think Thiago and I aren’t even-Steven. We never will be. Because he saved her life, and I will forever be indebted to him for that.
“The lighthouse.” I reach to take her hand, squeeze it. “I keep seeing you go over. You and Thiago.”
“Jesus.”
“It’s okay. You’re safe. I know that. Eat, Madelena.”
She eyes the cinnamon rolls, then reaches in to take one that’s sticky with buttery cinnamon-sugar. She bites it. “Oh. Wow.”
I smile. “We’ll have to save one for Father Michael. He has a weakness for these things. Surprised he’s not big as a house considering.”
“He mentioned that. He came over with firewood earlier and told me you always walk the beach when you’re here and come back with cinnamon rolls.”
I nod, drinking my coffee and watching her eat.
“Next time you have a bad dream, wake me up, okay?” she asks as she pops the last of it into her mouth.
“You have a little something,” I start, getting up and moving toward her. I lean my face close to hers. “Cinnamon sugar.” I kiss her mouth, taste the sticky sweetness of her lips. “Let’s go upstairs, Madelena.”
