Lorraine fumbled with her keys until she found the right one. With shaking hands, she turned the key and the ignition sprang to life. The day had started out like every other one had in Lorraine's recent memory. Life went on just as her family and friends gently reminded her that it would-the phone still rang; the bills still arrived in the mail with malicious regularity, though this time, addressed only to her. The sun still rose, forcing its cheerful rays into her darkened and lonely home.
She had felt the world stop the day she had gotten that awful phone call: why hadn't the rest of the world felt the horrible loss that had occurred? Happy couples passed her, hand in hand, smiling, unaware of how much pain they were causing just by the simple act of being so obviously
together in front of her. Tears clouded her eyes every time she saw his favorite foods in the grocery store, or their regular haunts...there was the restaurant where he had proposed to her. She drove by, both with and without knowing where she was going. She felt she was being drawn to a place, but at the same time, she had no idea why. She hadn't gone there in years. She had renounced the Catholic faith when she was a teenager; rebelling against her controlling parents. She had lived the rest of her years until this point as an atheist.
It had happened on their date night, a night they had made into a ritual since they had gotten married. She came home to his familiar handwriting: "Sweetheart-I'll be right back..I have a surprise for you. I love you baby. I'll see you soon." She remembered smiling to herself, and wondering what it was he had in store for her. He always knew how to make a her day. An hour passed, and though she wasn't worried yet, she was starting to wonder when he'd be back. Thirty minutes later, the phone rang. "Mrs. Delano? We need you to come to the hospital. There was an accident, and your husband's been injured." "Please," she thought, "please, let him be ok.." She remembered nothing about the drive there, only that she made the 15 minute trip in 5 minutes. Two policemen and the hospital clergyman met her at the front desk. She knew immediately that her James was gone..
Perhaps it was the comforting familiarity of the place that she felt when she was a child; a feeling she reluctantly admitted she missed from time to time. Perhaps it was a desperate bid for fulfillment in that part of her heart that was now unbearably empty. Either way, she had no where else to go. She couldn't tolerate one more moment in their..in HER empty house, with constant reminders of his presence still surrounding her.
She drove for miles into the country, through all the small towns she had remembered frequenting during her teen years. How strange it was to be back on this road again; a place that evoked such happy memories. It was 9:45 pm by the time she pulled up to St. John's. She wasn't concerned; she remembered that the doors were always open.
The graveyard, not far behind where she had parked, caught her eye. Her grandparents had been buried here, and their parents before them. The rusted gate creaked slowly in the wind, and the rising moon shone softly on the headstones. All was quiet, save for the occasional whispering of the wind between the trees.
The sun had set a while ago; the sky was crystal clear save for a few forlorn stars and the pale moon. The breeze had grown colder and more persistent; she turned her collar up against the biting fall wind as she walked to the doors of the church. Dry leaves tumbled skittishly across her path, whispering reverent prayers in a language only they knew.
The door closed behind her with a loud and resounding thud. Lorraine jumped, cursed, then immediately felt foolish for doing so. She was the only one here; she was in no danger. She dipped her fingers in the holy water and reflexively made the sign of the cross before moving forward into the church. Her footsteps echoed hollowly as she walked up the pews to the red votive candles. They were still in the same place as they were when she was a child; in fact, not much had changed about the church. The confessionals were still on the far left side, the pews were still made of the same unpolished wood as the floor beneath her.
She looked at the statue of Jesus on the wall and felt nothing. She still wasn't entirely sure what she was doing here, but the feeling of being called here hadn't abated. She knelt before the candles and lit the one nearest to her, looking into the flame and remembering his face. Tears slid down her face and she began to cry, the sobs wracking her body and reverberating through the small church. Slowly, she regained control of herself. She took his picture from her wallet and, with shaking hands, gently caressed the face she knew so well, and missed so dearly. Suddenly, the picture slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor. She blamed it on the tremors and bent to retrieve it. She had almost reached it when it began to move. Her heart began to pound-there was no breeze in here, no reason for this to be happening. Wondering if she had finally gone insane, she closed her eyes tightly and opened them-yes, the picture was still sliding across the floor, flat, as though being dragged along on a string.
