Pairing: Macelle (Father MacAvoy x Belle) or Nostelle (Nosty x Belle), who is to say which (I feel like it's obvious which)
Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.
tws: alcoholism, homelessness. FOR THIS CHAPTER: references to self-harm, suicidal ideation.
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Belle drove to her flat in silence. She didn’t know what to say to Nosty, and he didn’t seem up for talking, so she handed him her purse with a vague gesture toward the water and food, buckled herself in, and drove.
Every time she glanced at him, he was sipping the water or eating a new snack, and that gave her some peace. She didn’t know how much they fed prisoners in the holding cell, but Nosty looked thinner than usual. Instead of a shirt, his torso was bandaged under his leather jacket.
She wanted to ask. She wanted to ask everything. But he’d barely spoken a word to her since saying her name, and she wouldn’t push. The time for pushing, for answers, would come eventually.
At least she’d gotten hold of one of the uni students who worked the weekends to come relieve Joseph. She didn’t know how he would get home, but he was sober now. He could figure it out.
She parked in front of her building, and Nosty hissed getting out of the car. What did the bandages hide? Later. She’d find out later.
His hand touching her elbow stopped her at the front door. She licked her lips, then turned to him. She had always felt so much smaller than him, but standing before him in his dirty bandages with a circle of blood that she hoped didn’t cover a bullet wound, she dwarfed him.
“Thank you,” he said, voice a barely-audible rumble. It wasn’t what she needed to hear, but it was a start. She touched his hand, then turned to the door.
“Of course,” she said. “I would never leave you.”
She didn’t want to see his reaction to this, so she busied herself unlocking the door. They climbed the stairs, Nosty lagging behind, and when she checked on him, his jaw was clenched in pain. What had happened?
“Almost there,” she said. “And then you can clean up and I’ll make some tea.”
If she focused on caring for him, she wouldn’t have to focus on anything else. And more than either herself or Joseph, Nosty needed to be cared for.
“I don’t need tea,” he said. He sounded so dull, like he’d taken sleeping pills and never quite woken up. Maybe he was on some sort of pain medication?
When Belle finally got inside, Nosty stopped in the doorway, looking around. She tried to see it from his point of view—his book still on the end table, two coffee mugs and two breakfast plates just visible through the kitchen doorway, two blankets tossed over the couch.
He shut the door behind him and stepped toward the living room. Nosty was hypervigilant and observant—there was no way he wasn’t connecting the dots.
“I don’t know where my shirt is,” was all he said when he opened his mouth.
“I have shirts.” She had to look at his bandage now. “How often are you supposed to change your dressing?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. Doctors didn’t tell me fuck-all before sending me off to sleep in the fucking dirt.”
She wanted to pull him to her, wrap him in her arms and tell him that she’d go to every doctor who ever wronged him and personally set them straight, but instead, she held out her hand for his. She feared he wouldn’t take it, that he would again leave her waiting for him, but he closed his fingers around hers and allowed her to lead him to the bathroom.
It was a small blessing that Joseph’s towel was already in the hamper, leaving no evidence that he’d ever showered there. Nosty ran a finger along the counter edge, still holding her hand in his other.
“Your flat’s so clean.” He breathed deeply, and then winced in pain.
“I’ll go get bandages and tape while you shower,” she said.
He squeezed her hand, watching her carefully, and she thought he might ask her to stay. She wanted to stay, but how else was she going to get supplies? Joseph couldn’t bring them—he didn’t have a car.
“Fine.” He didn’t let go of her hand, and she looked up at him. Was he going to kiss her?
More importantly, if he did, would she stop him?
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.
He dropped her hand, letting his knuckles linger by hers. “I’m not okay,” he said. “I’ve never been okay.”
If he did kiss her right then, she would forgive him, and then they’d be right back to where they started. She couldn’t trust him yet.
“You’re safe here, at least,” she said. “I’ll take care of you.”
He nodded and walked past her, careful not to brush her arm with his injury, then shrugged out of his jacket. She took it for him so it wouldn’t steam in the bathroom, and she still couldn’t get a good look at what was under the bandage. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“Belle?” he called as she left.
“Nosty?”
He swallowed, jaw pulsing around his clenched teeth. She wanted to hold him until his jaw relaxed, but all she did was stand and watch.
“Thank you,” he said.
****
Belle waited to cry until she was in the car, though she didn’t intend to drive anywhere. The drugstore was around the corner and she’d walk there, but she needed privacy to sob.
After a minute or so, she fumbled for her phone to check on Joseph. She had several missed calls from him and a few texts and voicemails. Not wanting to hear whatever it was he had to say, she sent him a quick text to let him know they were home safe, put her phone away, and got out of the car.
She didn’t know exactly what Nosty needed, so she filled her basket with any first aid item she thought might come in handy as well as some more gummies, sour candies, and a bag of assorted mini chocolate bars. Nosty had a sweet tooth like her, but she didn’t know what he liked specifically. She’d never asked.
When she got home, the shower was still going, so she set about taking his clothes out of where she’d shoved them and shoving Joseph’s clothes in their place.
Then, a horrible thought struck her. What if Joseph came here? He’d left all his toiletries and clothes, and though he still had some things at the church, she could see him using this as an excuse to check on them. As much as she feared making a bad decision while alone with Nosty, she also didn’t want anyone else to be there. She wanted freedom to watch him move and know that he was alive and safe. Damaged, but not beyond repair. In her home.
The shower turned off and Belle slammed the closet door shut, grabbing a pair of sweats and boxers on her way to the bathroom.
“Nosty, I have clothes!” she called. She half expected a quip, some attempt to make her laugh, but all she got was silence until the door opened to Nosty in a towel, holding his hand out for the sweats. He’d taken off whatever they’d wrapped around his torso to hold the dressing on, but the bloody square of gauze remained.
“I’ll clean that for you when you’re dressed,” she said.
He nodded and shut the door, so to keep herself busy, she filled the electric kettle and set out two mugs. When she turned to go back to the bathroom, Nosty was standing behind her, watching, and she yelped. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“You’re so quiet,” she said.
“You don’t listen hard enough for danger.” He loped toward the table, no less powerful for how gaunt he was, and took his seat.
By the time she’d gathered her first aid supplies and washcloth and added bags to the mugs, the kettle was done, so she poured them each a cup and brought them to the table.
Nosty had already pulled her chair close to his, and their knees touched when she sat down. She ignored the sparks that raced up and down her legs. If she fell back into Nosty, who knew what would happen? He didn’t seem to want her as urgently as before anyway.
They had shaved the fine hairs along Nosty’s chest, but he still sucked in air when she peeled the tape off, and then it was her turn. The gauze revealed a barely-scabbed over circle of thick marks. What did that mean? It wasn’t a bullet hole, and if it was a series of stab wounds, it meant that someone had held him down and spent time on it. From her amateur view, the wounds looked deep.
She traced each slash with the tip of her finger, barely resisting the urge to press her lips to his wounds. Nosty grabbed her hand.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.” He curled her fingers to his chest, holding them there. “You would never.”
You would, she wanted to say, except she didn’t want to say it at all. She wanted Nosty to be himself, to be the man who left her to kick around a football without a care so she could rage and scream and cry. She wanted him to be quiet because he wanted to be, not because he’d had the volume beaten out of him. She wanted him to be okay.
“Who did this to you?” she asked.
“You’re looking at him.”
When she looked up, their faces were so close, she could have kissed his chin. “Why?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed near her lips, and she wanted to kiss that too. “Looking for a wee section two holiday.”
She frowned, pulling away enough that her lips had to behave. A mandatory mental health hospitalization for a break from his life? He bared his teeth at her, but she thought he was trying to sneer, to be jaunty. He couldn’t quite manage.
“You knew you could have come here,” she said. “You could have stayed here.”
He squeezed her hand closer to his chest. “I know.” His other hand whispered along her cheek, gently, like he didn’t want to scare her away. “The truth is, I wanted to fucking die.”
She met his eyes, willing hers not to mist over. If she cried and Nosty tried to comfort her, she’d be done for. “Why’d they send you home if you—if you’d really—hurt yourself.”
“They wanted me to fucking die too,” he said. “Been there so many times, they’re sick of me.”
When Joseph had spoken to the hospital, is that what they’d meant? Nosty came in regularly for self-harm? Her stomach roiled. It didn’t matter now—he was here, and she wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
“I’m so glad you’re alive, Nosty.” She blinked tears away. Nosty didn’t move to wipe them.
“I’m a fucking survivor,” he said, voice hard. “Can’t even kill meself.”
“Good.” She turned her face to kiss one of his fingers. Just a little kiss would be fine. “I want you to live.”
“Aye?” He bowed his head toward her, eyes closed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. No one else does.”
She kissed his forehead, and his hands relaxed beneath her. She didn’t know about anyone else—for all she knew, they did want him dead. But she knew that she didn’t, and even if she didn’t trust him with her heart again yet, she wanted him to feel safe.
“Let me dress this,” she said. “And then we’ll find dinner, okay?”
“I’m starving,” he said.
She pulled away from him so she could work, and he might have, for just a second, looked agonized. She had to bandage him up though—the scabs didn’t look as secure as she’d like them to be.
The washcloth had cooled, so she stood to re-wet it, pushing Nosty’s tea toward him. Obedient, he wrapped his hands around it, and she caught him breathing in the steam when her back was turned. She’d forgotten to put out the sugar, but Nosty took a sip anyway, and she wondered if anyone had given him anything comforting or even fed him at all. Had they just released him from the hospital with a bandage and nothing else?
“When did this happen?” She sat, scooting her chair around so she could reach him better.
“Couple days ago, I think.”
She sponged at his chest, pleased to hear his quiet sigh at her touch. “Did they give you anything for the pain?”
“Didn’t even give me fucking stitches and you think they gave me summat for pain?”
She shrugged. “They might have given you something to take the edge off.”
He laughed darkly, sending a shiver down her neck. She switched sides of the cloth so she could dry him.
“Belle, I know you’re brilliant. Use your fucking head.”
She swallowed, cheeks flushing. “I would think—”
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Look at me. Do I look like a bloke they’re gonna give oxies to? Do you think they look at me and think ‘och, that’s a fellow we can trust not to be in pain?’”
Belle wanted to look away, but she was brave enough to hold his gaze, even as what he said sank in and she wanted to pretend she’d never heard it.
He released her chin and ran a hand through her hair.
“People as kind as you?” He tugged gently on a curl. “They don’t work in hospitals.”
She hated that idea. “Does it hurt now?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. How’s it look?”
She took a deep breath to gather herself, then shrugged. “I’m not sure how it looked before, so I can’t really say. It doesn’t smell infected.” Before she could change her mind, she pressed her lips to the wound the same way her dad used to kiss her forehead to check for fever. “Doesn’t feel warm either.”
“If a nurse fucking checked me like that, hospital might not be so bad, hey?”
She thought it was a real smile on his face now, not just an approximation for her benefit, and she bit her lip in return. “Hand me that gauze, would you?”
****
MacAvoy was not unaccustomed to anxiety, but this was a whole new level. This time, he knew for a fact that Belle had put herself in a compromising situation, and every minute that she didn’t respond to his texts and calls was a minute that she could have been in danger.
At the very least, she was in danger of falling under Nosty’s spell again.
He considered going to her flat, figuring his presence would be enough to stop any budding romance, but what if he was on his way there while she was on her way to the church and they missed each other? And what if they just pinged back and forth like that until Nosty took Belle in his arms and made her forget why she’d ever been sad?
If she would just answer her phone or text anything other than “we’re home,” he could have planned.
Instead, he took a taxi home from the library as soon as the replacement arrived, then sat in a pew and waited. If he went to the rectory, he might not hear them, and Belle might have forgotten her phone.
His stomach wasn’t happy with any of this, and it took him an hour of sitting and staring at his phone to realize he could put a note on the sanctuary door.
With that taken care of, MacAvoy hauled himself up to the rectory kitchen and poured himself a soda. It was a good thing Belle had tossed all his alcohol because there was no way he’d resist temptation tonight. His skin buzzed, his heart pounded, and his stomach took all of this as a declaration of war. If he wasn’t worried he’d miss Belle, he’d have taken a sleeping pill and tried to be unconscious through it.
“Oh god.” He pressed his forehead into his hand. He needed a drink. He deserved a drink for working as hard as he had, suffering so much.
But he couldn’t have a drink, because if he did, he’d have to do it again.
How could he have expected Nosty to come back? He’d thought they were done with him, that he and Belle could move on together. She’d made it clear that there was nothing romantic between them, but that was fine. He didn’t need romance. He just needed her here in his church or to be there in her flat.
He fumbled for his phone and glanced at the time. It was barely six.
“Fuck.” He scrambled up, dialing Belle again. Surely she wouldn’t just leave Nosty at her flat while she went on her date?
She didn’t answer, so MacAvoy sent her a text about it, reminding her that she could bring Nosty there even though he didn’t want her to. Being alone with Nosty sounded almost as torturous as detoxing from alcohol.
He set the phone on the table, then gulped down his soda. It was going to be a long night.
****
Cleaned, fed, and wearing pajamas, they both sat on opposite ends of the couch, tucked into separate blankets. Belle wanted nothing more than to be in Nosty’s arms, but she wouldn’t allow herself. Besides, Nosty hadn’t given her any of his usual signals. He’d stayed to his side, curled up in the old uni sweatshirt of hers that he liked.
While he’d been shirtless, the gauze had remained clean, and she was hopeful that his wound hadn’t and wouldn’t reopen. That meant they could focus on everything else.
She didn’t want to.
Instead, she made hot chocolate and deposited her assortment of candy between them on the couch, and then they sat in silence.
“So.” Nosty picked up a miniature Mars bar. “Where is he, then?”
“Where’s who?”
He gestured to their blankets. “Your new boyfriend.”
She couldn’t help laughing. He had to know how miserable she’d been, didn’t he? She had opened up her soul to him, spilled her guts on the floor, and he’d chosen to leave her like that. He had to know.
“I don’t have a boyfriend. Joseph was here.”
“Joseph? The fucking priest?”
Part of her was glad to hear the fire in his voice, but a bigger part was furious. “Yes, the priest. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Aye, I’ve got a problem with it, it’s fucking weird!” He flung the blanket to the floor. “A fucking priest cozying up on your couch?”
Too many things fought for Belle to retaliate with, so all that came out was a strangled scream. For his part, Nosty shrank back at this, and she calmed just enough to snatch his blanket back up and throw it onto him.
“You—” She jabbed a finger toward him. “You left me! You can’t be mad that Joseph was the one here to pick up the pieces.”
He draped the blanket over his knees, watching her like she might erupt. “The pieces?”
She stared at him. What did he mean the pieces? What did he think she did when he left—came home and immediately forgot him?
She had so many things to say, so many thoughts racing through her head, but they all just jumbled and spun, so instead of speaking, she slammed her mug onto the end table, stalked into her bedroom, and shut the door.
****
Belle didn’t know how long she lay in bed, crying into her pillow. She was paralyzed, unable to even turn toward the clock. Even worse, she feared that Nosty would take this as a cue to leave. If he left her again, maybe she’d just start over in another town. Maybe she’d move to France and live on patisserie.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and then the handle turned. Nosty pushed it open with his knee, holding a steaming mug in each hand.
“I made tea,” he said.
She looked at him, eyes red, then turned her face into her pillow. He hadn’t left. He’d made tea.
“Belle, I’m trying.”
She waved a hand toward her nightstand and was rewarded with the sound of him walking over and setting the mug there. More steps, another clink from the other table, and then he was climbing into his side of the bed.
“Thank you,” she said.
She wondered if he’d spoon up behind her like he liked to, and if he did, would she move? She didn’t think so. She wanted to feel the solid weight of his arms around her, the rise and fall of his too-thin chest as he breathed, alive.
The headboard moved, she felt his hip near her shoulder, and then he laid his palm on her back.
“I shouldn’t yell at you,” he said.
“I don’t care.”
“Och, right, I always fucking slam doors and cry over shite I don’t care about.”
She wanted to glare at him, but she still didn’t feel like moving. His hand on her back was nice. “I don’t care about the yelling,” she said.
“What do you care about then?” He traced his thumb along her shoulderblade, and she closed her eyes.
“What did you think would happen when you left?”
His hand stilled. “What do you mean?”
“When I said Joseph picked up the pieces, you said ‘the pieces?’ Like you were surprised.” She squeezed her comforter. “What did you think was going to happen?”
Of course, she should have expected that he wouldn’t answer. Answering would mean acknowledging that he’d hurt her, and he hadn’t done that all day. Why would she expect it now?
After a full minute of silence, she struggled to sit up, then leaned against the headboard next to him. He stared into his tea the whole time, watching it like a crystal ball. She picked up her own mug and held it in front of her, and the surface was oddly captivating when one did not want to look at the person next to them.
“You thought it wouldn’t matter,” she said to her tea. “You thought, after everything I told you, that I would still throw you away. You didn’t believe that I could love you.”
“I had to leave.” He thrust the hand that had been on her back into his pocket. “I had to.”
“Why?” She finally looked at him. “Tell me why.”
“I wanted to stay too badly.” His voice was so soft, she wouldn’t have been able to hear save for the absolute silence in the bedroom. “I want to stay now.”
Her throat felt hot and sick, and she wanted to lay back down and cry, but she forced herself not to move. “I can’t trust you now,” she said. “I can’t trust that you won’t break my heart again.”
He tensed, fist clenching around his mug. “So what now, then?” His voice broke, and he clenched the mug harder. “You’ll send me back tomorrow?”
“No, of course not,” she said, but he didn’t relax. More than anything, she wanted to say I’ll take you back right now, we’ll work on it together, but she couldn’t do that because she couldn’t trust him.
“When, then? When this heals?” He slapped his injury, and she winced.
“I’ll take you to the church tomorrow,” she said. “There are plenty of spare rooms in the rectory.”
“The church? Are you fucking with me?”
She shook her head, chancing a look at him. He was watching her now, face set in a grimace, teeth bared.
“You can’t stay here.”
“What, so it’s either your priest boyfriend’s church or the fucking streets? Jesus fuck, what did you even bother me for?”
She swallowed. “No.”
“No?”
“Nosty—”
“Fucking look at me.” Despite his tone, his finger was gentle when he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. They were bright, feverish. She’d seen this look before, but never directed at her. She didn’t even know if it was directed at her now, or just in her direction.
Belle shook her head. “No. If you really, really don’t want to go to the church, you can stay here in the other room.”
He tilted her face back and forth with gentle pressure, watching her eyes move. Before he let go, he brushed his fingers along her jaw. She wanted to close her eyes, lean into it, but she held his gaze instead.
“You would let me stay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “It might break my heart, but I won’t let you go back.”
He watched her for a second, then, inexplicably, put his palm over her eyes.
“Nosty, what—”
“I’ll go to the church tomorrow.”
A laugh bubbled out of her. Had he covered her eyes because he didn’t want to say it to her face? Maybe he was a coward, but he was a coward with technique.
“Thank you, Nosty. Can I look at you again?”
“No. Your eyes’re too blue. Hurts mine to stare too long.”
She bit her lip, but she knew she looked amused anyway. “Maybe you should be the one covering up then.”
“Don’t blame me, hey? I’m the victim here.”
God, she wanted to kiss him right then more than she had all day. Instead, she raised her cup, only bumbling a bit before she found her mouth.
Nosty’s fingers flexed around her eyes. “Belle?”
“What now? Is my hair your next aggressor?”
Briefly, his hand drifted to stroke her hair from her temple, but then it was back over her eyes. “Can I hold you?”
It was probably a bad idea to say yes. This was how people fell back into bad habits and got hurt again. But he’d already agreed to go to Joseph’s in the morning, and she was not going to fuck that up.
“Yes.”
Because of his injury, he couldn’t spoon up behind her, so they kicked the covers out from under them and pressed their legs together while Nosty slid an arm behind Belle and tucked her against the good side of his chest.
He rested his cheek on her head, and she closed her eyes. She could easily drift off in the warmth of his embrace, but she didn’t want to sleep before Nosty. She may have been put through the emotional ringer the past few weeks, but Nosty had been brutalized. She didn’t want him to have to be alone.
“How did you find me?” he murmured into her hair.
“It wasn’t easy.” She laid her hands over his, and he laced their fingers together. “I would have called every hospital and police station in London, but I got lucky on the fifteenth or so, and Constable Butler said he would let me know if he saw you.”
“Who?”
Right, why should Nosty know baby officer Cliff Butler? “The kid who let me into your cell.”
“You called fifteen stations?”
She shrugged. “At least. Joseph called hospitals and told them he was your chaplain.”
“Can’t believe you did that.”
If she could have known that moving wouldn’t jostle him painfully, she’d have twisted to glare at him. Since she couldn’t, she settled for pinching him lightly on the hand.
“I was worried sick. I could barely eat or sleep. I thought you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and then you—” Her voice caught, eyes filling. She hadn’t expected to cry over this now that he was here.
“Then?”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “The first time Constable Butler called me was to tell me how well you were doing. He saw you—” It was stupid to be so upset, so upset about a football when clearly, Nosty had had issues. “Playing a game.”
Nosty’s arms tightened around her, and her shoulders shook while she tried stifling her tears.
“Anyway, that was when I decided I should move on, because if you cared about me, you’d have come back.”
Nosty’s arms tightened again, and then he groaned and loosened them, flexing the shoulder near his injury. “So why did you come back for me?”
She almost slapped him on the hand but was afraid of startling him into hurting himself. “Nosty, I know you’re brilliant. Use your fucking head.”
He snorted. “‘Spose I had that one coming.”
She snuggled into him, having a hard time remaining vigilant about boundaries and not trusting him when truly, aside from the injury, this was everything she wanted.
“Fuck, Belle, you’ve got work tomorrow.” His arms loosened, and she wanted to scream.
He let go and climbed out of bed, but all he did was turn the lights out before lying flat and holding his arm out for her to lay on his chest. It was much more boyfriend-y than was probably smart, but Belle fit herself against him anyway. Now she’d know if he left.
“I promise,” he whispered, resting a hand in her hair. “I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.”
“If you’re not, the next time I hunt you down, I’m throwing you off the Tower.”
His chest shook with laughter, and she smiled, eyes already closing.
“Goodnight, Belle,” he said.
“Goodnight, Nosty.”
He played with her hair, fingers rubbing along her scalp. It lulled her almost to sleep before he whispered, “Belle?”
“Mm?”
“Can I bring books with me to the church?”
She wanted to look at him but couldn’t quite pry her eyelids open. “‘Course,” she said. “However many you like.”
He kissed her on the head and she smiled, but even that was fleeting as she fell into the deepest sleep she’d had for two weeks.
Summary: Macelle. Exploring the churchyard of the small town she has just moved to, Belle finds a statue with an uncanny resemblance, and she starts to wonder if perhaps she has been here before, and if she knew the church’s priest in a former life...
Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling December moodboard prompt, available here.
Rated: G
Note: Ealasaid is an old Scottish name from the same root form as Belle.
Déjà Vu
The statue wasn’t frightening as such, no more frightening than any old statue standing alone in a churchyard was, but there was something about it that Belle found distinctly unnerving, nonetheless.
It was likely something to do with the fact that looking at the statue was like looking into a mirror. A weather-worn and lichen-covered mirror, certainly, but a mirror all the same. She recognised the face in the statue as her own, and she really wasn’t sure what to do with this new discovery.
She was so intent on staring down her stone doppelgänger that she didn’t notice the church door opening and the priest coming out and walking down the path towards the statue until he was right beside her, and she jumped out of her skin when he spoke.
“The mystery angel.”
“Pardon?”
“The mystery angel.” The priest nodded towards the statue. “It’s the town’s only claim to fame. No one knows the origins. It’s as if one day it was just here, with no record of how it arrived. No one commissioned it; no one paid for it. No one even saw it being put up. An unsolved mystery.”
This explanation of the statue’s background, or lack of it, did nothing to quell the growing feeling of unease in the pit of Belle’s stomach.
“There are old stories, of course,” the priest continued. “There always are. Some say that the priest who served here a couple of hundred years ago was visited by an angel and fell in love with her, and she with him. She couldn’t stay with him, not whilst he was mortal and she was a heavenly celestial, and although it broke both their hearts, she had to leave him. She left the statue as a reminder, and an anchor to draw her back to her love once she’d found a mortal form.”
Belle smiled. Although the story was a sad one, it lifted a lot of the creepiness away from the statue.
“Did she return in mortal form?” she asked.
“Some say she did. Others say she didn’t.”
“What do you think?”
The priest looked at the statue for a long time. “I don’t think she did. Or at least… I don’t think she has done yet. Finding a mortal form might take a while.”
“I’m Belle, by the way. I’ve only just moved here.” She turned to face the priest fully at last, holding out a hand.
“Father Macavoy…” He trailed off, hand still frozen in hers as he got his first proper look at her face, mirrored in the statue beside them.
“Yeah.” Belle hoped she sounded apologetic. “That was pretty much my reaction when I saw it too.”
“I…” Father Macavoy regained his composure and shook her hand firmly. “Welcome to the neighbourhood, Belle. And, you know, it’s all just a load of old stories. There’s probably a perfectly innocent explanation for it all. Like someone losing the church records somewhere along the line.”
Belle smiled, but at the same time, she knew that Macavoy was about as convinced by his own words as she was.
He turned to go back into the church, and Belle fell to studying the statue again, but as he walked back up the path, she could see him sneaking astonished glances at her back over his shoulder. She tried to look like she wasn’t watching him walk away.
There was something in his face that seemed familiar. It hadn’t at first, but now, thinking about him and his expression of wonder when he had seen her…
Belle shook away the feeling and turned away, leaving the churchyard. She was determined not to go back to it for a long time.
She tried to put it to the back of her mind, but her train of thought kept leading her to things that she also wanted to put to the back of her mind.
Why did Macavoy seem familiar? Why had she come to this town in the first place? What was it that had drawn her here? At first she’d thought that it was just because this was a quaint little place in the middle of nowhere and she’d get along nicely here writing her book.
Now she wasn’t so sure. Why here over all the other quaint little places she could have chosen? What had drawn her to the churchyard as soon as she had arrived – before she had even finished her unpacking from the move?
Something had made her go and find her statue.
Belle shook her head crossly. It wasn’t her statue, although there was definitely an uncanny resemblance. It was the church’s statue. It just happened to look like her. Honestly, the thing was covered in moss anyway, it probably hadn’t looked anything like her when it had first been carved. And after all, it was extremely presumptuous and self-important to think that she could have been an angel in a previous life. An angel would probably remember that they had been an angel.
Not if they were mortal now, a helpful voice in the back of her mind pointed out. Normal mortal people don’t believe in past lives and certainly can’t remember them.
Belle sighed. Her mother had been one of the most sensible people she’d ever known, but even Colette French, with her head squarely on her shoulders, had a superstitious and spiritual side to her. Déjà vu, she always said, was a sign of your past lives getting confused.
And Belle had been suffering odd flashes of déjà vu ever since she’d arrived in the town.
Could she really have been here before in a previous existence? Could she really have been an angel who fell in love with a priest and promised to return to him?
And the priest… No, Macavoy could not have been him. The statue had been there for hundreds of years, after all.
He still seemed very familiar.
X
Logically, Belle knew that she was dreaming. She knew that she could probably wake herself up if she wanted, but this wasn’t a nightmare that she wanted to get out of. It was weird, yes, but she wanted to see where it went.
She was in the churchyard.
Joseph… My Joseph… Where are you? I’ve come back for you, like I promised I would… I’m sorry it took so long… I never realised just how fragile mortals are… Did you wait for me, Joseph?
She passed by the statue without giving it a second glance, moving into the church itself.
Belle knew that she had not been inside the church, and yet, when she stepped inside, she somehow knew that she was looking at the correct interior, not simply something out of her imagination. If she woke up and went into the church in the morning, she knew that it would look exactly like this.
Maybe if she was awake, that thought would scare her, but as it was, she just let it wash over her. She had more important things to do.
Joseph? Joseph? Are you here? I’m sorry it took me so long, my love… Joseph?
The church was empty, and Belle felt herself beginning to panic in the dream. Something was wrong. Where was Joseph? Who was Joseph?
She left the church. She was moving at run now, slipping in among the graves in the darkness. She was looking for something, dreading finding it but needing to see it anyway.
Joseph! Joseph! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to have to wait so long!
Belle stopped in front of the stone. How did she know it was the right one?
Two hundred years… Oh, Joseph!
The emotional turmoil was scary now, and Belle found herself wanting to wake up. She closed her eyes in the dream. It was a technique she’d used before when she’d had nightmares in this lucid dream state where she knew she was dreaming. Close her eyes in the dream, and when she opened them, she’d have opened them in real life and be safe in her own bed.
“Belle?”
She felt a touch on her shoulder, and she recognised Father Macavoy’s voice. She turned, but it was too late.
She opened her eyes on her on bedroom ceiling, and sat up, feeling cold sweat dripping down her back.
Something was definitely going on, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it, no matter that it was the middle of the night.
Belle got out of bed and threw her clothes on, grabbing a flashlight and setting out of her cottage along the long lane that led up to the churchyard. She ignored the angel statue, heading straight for the headstone that she’d seen in her dream that had caused her so much distress.
Joseph Macavoy, 1772 - 1820, Father of this church…
Belle didn’t know why she was crying. Crying for a lost love that she sort of half-remembered from a dream, a memory of another life…
Joseph
She felt a soft touch on her shoulder, and someone said her name.
Her name that wasn’t Belle.
“Ealasaid?”
The voice was barely more than a breath, and Belle recognised it. She recognised her name. It had taken her a long time to find a mortal form with a mortal name, but she remembered her other one.
And so did someone else.
She turned and saw Father Macavoy behind her. He looked as dishevelled as she no doubt looked, as if he’d had exactly the same thought as she’d done: waking from a far too real dream, needing to come to the churchyard to see the reality of it for himself. She wiped her eyes.
“Relative of yours?”
Macavoy nodded. “Distant uncle many times removed. I think. Everyone said it was fate when I ended up taking this church, but I think it was more than that… Ealasaid…”
“Joseph…”
They had never kissed before, not the first time she had visited this earth. The sheer force of her celestial will would have killed him.
But she was celestial no longer. She was mortal like he was, and his lips were soft against hers, and his mouth tasted of toothpaste, and she wanted to stay in his arms forever.
It had taken her a while, but she had finally returned, reborn into a mortal form. And here was her Joseph, reborn into another mortal form and waiting for her like she had asked him to, like he had promised to do.
So I finally got around to watching “The Tournament” because of, well, this guy. Not my favorite movie or anything, but I did love Robert Carlyle in it. But the best thing is the amazing Macelle stories that I’ve gotten to read by @bad-faery. I just finished “Gently at Twilight” and it was SO good. Seriously, go to her masterlist & check it out.
Belle dropped onto the bed beside Joseph, lightly bouncing. "I hope your lambs don't miss you today." There was a playful gleam in her eyes before she looked away from him and laid back. "I wasn't planning on letting you go. I thought I would keep you for a while." // ( belle & macavoy obviously )
Father MacAvoy was seated in bed with a journal in hand. He’d been writing a few things down that he wanted to remember. Along with a variation of a sermon and indifferent things. “Are you holding me hostage?” Joseph asks glancing over at the woman. A faint smile upon his face. The clergy wasn’t sure how he had became so lucky to find such a love in his life. Even if it felt late and forbidden. He had never been so happy to know someone.
Every Thursday afternoon, an hour before suppertime, when the sun hits the front window and bathes the soda fountain in sparkling light, librarian Belle French comes in for shopping and ice cream.
