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I turn around to look at my surroundings. The place is dark, with just a few lit sconces on the stone walls and a number of flickering candles at the altar straight in front of me. I keep to the shadows, making my way around the edge of the sanctuary. The pews look dusty, as if no one really comes to sit in the church these days.
The whole place has a somewhat sad feel to it, despite it being my only hope for refuge.
I figure that whoever is in charge of this place won't be too happy with me sleeping over, so I try to find a place to stash myself for the night.
In the middle of the far right wall is a confessional. It's perfect, because I seriously doubt that anyone is going to be showing up to confess their sins at three in the morning. Even if they are, it's even less likely for a priest to be there to hear them.
I try to take silent steps to the little booth, grabbing a pillow off one of the pews on my way. My heart is beating really fast as I pull the door to the little wooden box open. I don't know who or what I'm going to find inside.
It's empty, thank goodness.
As I close myself in, my heart starts to race again. The darkness starts to consume me and my breathing starts to increase. I realize I haven't been locked in a small cage like this since . . .
I try to take a deep breath and tell myself to calm down.
I am not in a cage.
My parents are dead.
I can get out of this box anytime I want.
I need somewhere safe to sleep tonight and this is the only place.
I say these things to myself over and over again, like a mantra, until I fall into an uneasy sleep, huddled in the corner with the pillow tucked under my head.
* * *
Light from somewhere above me is what finally wakes me up in the morning. I rub my eyes groggily and look around. I'm still in the confessional and it was the first real night of sleep I've had in a while.
My stomach growls and I start to wonder whether this church has a kitchen somewhere. I'd gladly eat communion bread and grape juice if it got something into my stomach.
Movement next to me startles me. My hand is on the door to the booth in a flash, but the calming voice makes me pause.
"There's no need to be afraid, child. I mean you no harm." It's a deep, male voice, but its tone is very kind.
"I, I should go," I stammer, starting to push open the door again.
"Go where?" the voice from the other side of the divider asks.
I hesitate.
He's right.
I have nowhere to go.
"I . . . I don't know," I finally admit.
"If you have nowhere to go, then you're in no rush," he says. "So, why not sit for a minute and talk to me? I could use the company."
"Okay," I say quietly, letting go of the handle and moving back into the corner to hug the seat cushion.
"I appreciate it," said the voice on the other side. "Believe it or not, I actually have very few visitors these days. It's nice to have someone to talk to."
"Yeah," I reply in nothing more than a whisper.
"I'm not from here originally," the man says. "I was actually born to a rather wealthy family and grew up just outside of San Diego. They were pretty disappointed when I became a priest, but there was never any questioning the calling for me."
He pauses for a second when I don't respond.
