Page 46 of Borrowed
Deliberate.
I moaned.
Father Elliot staggered forward, the Bible clattering to the floor.“Stop—stop this.You need help?—”
“She’s already been helped,” Toby said.“Sanctified.Filled to the brim.”He kissed the back of my head.“But if you want your turn, you’ll have to get wet.”
The priest’s face went white.
He backed away but too slowly.
Toby slipped out of me.
And I stood.
Water dripped from my thighs like tears from the Virgin.I walked toward Father Elliot naked, smiling.Toby was behind me, like a shadow that never quite touched the ground.
“You came to save me,” I whispered, brushing my fingers over the priest’s wrist.“So noble.”
He stared at me, at all of me, and trembled.
“You’re sick,” he murmured.“You’re not…this isn’t—please!”
“You did it, Father.I feel…divine.”
And then I lunged.
“Tobias!”
The scream caught halfway out of his throat.
“Toby won’t save you, silly man.He wants you to burn.”
We crashed into the baptismal font with a slap of flesh and stone.I was on top of him now, straddling him as he flailed.Toby circled us like a shark.The water frothed as the priest screamed, begged, and prayed.
“Let’s see if He listens to you,” I said.
Then I pushed his head down.
Hard.
His legs kicked.
Hands flailed.
“Shhh,” I whispered.“It’s a baptism.You’ll be clean soon.Cleanse yourself, Father.”
Toby crouched beside me, watching like a boy at a fish tank.
“Good girl,” he said softly, brushing hair from my cheek.“Hold him down.Don’t stop.Just like he did to us.”
Bubbles rose like ghosts.Then slowed.
Then nothing.Just quiet.
I held him there with both hands and felt his last breath escape like a confession.
I let go.The priest’s head slumped forward, resting gently in the water like a tired child.
