Hello, my name is Ramona Abner, I'm the owner of "The Open Arms" shelter! This account is both my personal one and the official account of the shelter. I'll be sharing some moments of my life here as well as work stuff and important announcements. Don't be afraid to ask me questions or ask for help, I'll try to assist you as best I can!
OOC:
•This is my first attempt at rping on Tumblr (or rping in a while) so if I'm doing something wrong please let me know
•Some slight NSFW is allowed, but nothing outright explicit
•My timezone can be a lot different then yours so please keep that in mind
Esther knocked on the door- polite, but firm. She stood in her full habit, sleeves still a little dusted with flour, arms stacked with multiple containers of cookies. What had started as a harmless baking session had turned into a full-on spree after Isaac gave her unrestricted access to their kitchen. Now she had far too many cookies and not nearly enough mouths to feed.
Isaac had mentioned Ramona Abner’s Shelter a few times lately especially after he and Father Ward had gone down to deal with the graffiti problem and ended up blessing the whole building. Esther figured if there was ever a place to drop by with a little sweetness and a smile, this was it. Folks who came through a place like this were often in need of something. Maybe comfort, maybe company. Maybe just a warm cookie and a reminder they weren’t alone.
- @sisteroftheblameless -
Ramona's loose hair was stuck to her forehead, her breaths came out shaky and tiredly. She had been trying to fix the air conditioners for several hours now, and so far without success. The weather was alright, but the owner had to work in a stuffy room with not a faint breeze.
Luckily Janet, a student who was cleaning up the place from time to time, convinced her to take a short break before she overheats, which she did reluctantly. Her hands ached both from work and the absence of it as she sat on the couch at the reception.
'It seems the blessing does not extend to electronics,' Abner thought, her chest rumbling with a laugh.
She almost missed the knock on the door, but her ears still caught the sound. Groaning, she stood up and slowly walked to the door, wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and turned the handle.
Somehow the sight of the nun didn't surprise her as much as it would a couple of weeks ago. Her presence seemed soothing, her apperance a picture of warmth - hands full of cookies (an offering to the shelter, she assumed) and sleeves dusted with flour. Ramona noted that there was a surprising amount of religious people in her life now. It wasn't a bad thing, but a bizzare one nonetheless.
She tried to smile as best she could, her lips forming a slight yet sincere curve. Her posture straightened as if she were greeting guests, and her shoulders relaxed.
"Oh, welcome to The Open Arms!" Ramona greeted the nun, happiness evident in her voice, "I'm Ramona Abner. I believe we haven't met before."
After a moment of thinking she hurriedly stepped aside, gesturing at the inside of the shelter.
Esther rocked back on her heels while she waited, doing her best to be patient but truthfully, she was pretty excited to meet this Ramona she’d heard so much about. Lately, her life had been almost entirely overrun by men, so finally talking to another woman felt like a breath of fresh air.
When the door finally opened, she lit up with a bright and genuine smile. Her eyes quickly scanned the woman in front of her. She noted that Ramona looked tired, sure, but kind. Like someone who worked hard and didn’t have time for nonsense. Esther already liked her.
“Miss Abner! It’s so lovely to meet you! No, we haven’t met before, but I’ve heard quite a lot about you! I’m Sister Esther Wilson, a friend of Father Jones and Father Ward- but really, just call me Esther.”
There was a cheerful, welcoming tone in her voice, and an undercurrent of finally, someone I might actually relate to. As much as she adored the guys, being surrounded by them 24/7 was…certainly exhausting.
She stepped inside gratefully, glancing around before turning back to Ramona with a grin. “Oh! I brought cookies. I had a bit of a baking spree earlier- definitely made way too many. There’s no way Isaac, Ezriel, John, and I are finishing them all. I thought maybe you and your wonderful shelter might appreciate them. Better than letting them go to waste, right?”
Her smile didn’t waver, This was exactly the kind of moment she lived for.
Sister Esther Wilson. Quite a melodic name, pleasant to the ear. Ramona nodded, memorizing the image of its owner.
The woman had made quite a few acquaintances in the church. Previously, she would have been skeptical about this, but given her situation which could be described as worrying at best, the presence of someone from the clergy calmed her down.
"Ah, so you know them. That explains a lot then," Ramona remarked cheerfully. So this visit was no coincidence after all. Not that she's complaining, it really is nice to have such a calming presence inside the shelter.
As the woman's gaze traveled down towards the cookies, eyes sparkling. People's kindness never seemed to not make her cheer up even at the darkest times, such as the breaking of the air conditioners.
"That's great! They look delicious! I bet everybody's gonna love it," The words of gratitude escaped her mouth effortlessly and naturally yet with no flattery.
Too focused on the cookies Abner nearly forgot to properly meet her guest. Realization hit her and her face turned into one of embarrassment.
"Please put the tray down - I'll make you something to drink," Ramona gestured at the clearly worn-out but clean sofa with a coffee table, the one she sat the priests at some time ago. She went towards the counter, looking at the things she could offer Esther, "Tea, coffee, water perhaps? I can try making something cool, the weather's been not so nice lately..."
As she spoke she wiped the sweat from her forehead - the work had exhausted her. She wouldn't mind drinking some water with the Sister. Perhaps this day's gonna end much better after all.
Esther knocked on the door- polite, but firm. She stood in her full habit, sleeves still a little dusted with flour, arms stacked with multiple containers of cookies. What had started as a harmless baking session had turned into a full-on spree after Isaac gave her unrestricted access to their kitchen. Now she had far too many cookies and not nearly enough mouths to feed.
Isaac had mentioned Ramona Abner’s Shelter a few times lately especially after he and Father Ward had gone down to deal with the graffiti problem and ended up blessing the whole building. Esther figured if there was ever a place to drop by with a little sweetness and a smile, this was it. Folks who came through a place like this were often in need of something. Maybe comfort, maybe company. Maybe just a warm cookie and a reminder they weren’t alone.
- @sisteroftheblameless -
Ramona's loose hair was stuck to her forehead, her breaths came out shaky and tiredly. She had been trying to fix the air conditioners for several hours now, and so far without success. The weather was alright, but the owner had to work in a stuffy room with not a faint breeze.
Luckily Janet, a student who was cleaning up the place from time to time, convinced her to take a short break before she overheats, which she did reluctantly. Her hands ached both from work and the absence of it as she sat on the couch at the reception.
'It seems the blessing does not extend to electronics,' Abner thought, her chest rumbling with a laugh.
She almost missed the knock on the door, but her ears still caught the sound. Groaning, she stood up and slowly walked to the door, wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and turned the handle.
Somehow the sight of the nun didn't surprise her as much as it would a couple of weeks ago. Her presence seemed soothing, her apperance a picture of warmth - hands full of cookies (an offering to the shelter, she assumed) and sleeves dusted with flour. Ramona noted that there was a surprising amount of religious people in her life now. It wasn't a bad thing, but a bizzare one nonetheless.
She tried to smile as best she could, her lips forming a slight yet sincere curve. Her posture straightened as if she were greeting guests, and her shoulders relaxed.
"Oh, welcome to The Open Arms!" Ramona greeted the nun, happiness evident in her voice, "I'm Ramona Abner. I believe we haven't met before."
After a moment of thinking she hurriedly stepped aside, gesturing at the inside of the shelter.
Father Ward had been wandering around the area, near mindlessly. he’d Awaken from another nightmare, and felt the need to move (although his bad leg protested it.)
he couldn’t help but stop as he saw the Woman pacing back and forth with an increasing amount of boxes in her hands.
he paused his walk. Turned to look at her. Turned away. Turned back towards her. And then he began to walk to the woman.
“Excuse me?”
He started, his voice monotonous, though his face looked slightly concerned.
The monotonous carrying and putting down of boxes of equipment is difficult even for people who are familiar with liftlifting firsthand. Ramona's back ached and her fingers felt as if they were being simultaneously pulled and squeezed right into her knuckles.
'Just a few more boxes,' she thought, putting her muscular hand on an oblong box 'And I'm free to go.'
Abner didn't even register the man's words - she was too focused on not becoming a puddle of sweat. But when her vision finally cleared from exhaustion her vision focused on the line figure in front of her. The realization startled her - she was probably 'ignoring' the man for a while now.
"Oh, no, not at all, sir!" She rushed to say, flashing her warm, convincing smile, yet extreme tiredness and hoarseness of her voice betrayed her, "It's quite alright, thank you!"
he says, taking a step closer, his cassock fluttering around his feet. his face twists a little further, now looking at the strain in her arms. And then he cringes. he… probably shouldn’t do this. Didn’t want to make her anxious. (Anxious like he always made them. his jaw tenses.)
“You seem. A little. Exhausted, if I may say.”
he lets out an anxious laugh, baring his teeth (like a dog.)
“And.. just John is fine. Or Father, if you must.”
No matter how exhausted she is she can't help but let out a tired, but genuine laugh. She turned her body towards the priest, looking at him with eyes the color of fresh grass.
"There's no need, really, I'm paid to carry those after all," Ramona said under her breath, but loud enough to be heard, "And besides, I've only got a couple of those left."
The woman lightly slapped the surface of the box, from which a protesting noise of scraps was heard in response.
"But I still appreciate the offer, Father!" She beamed with a smile once again. Just knowing that there's someone out there willing to help her made her work a lot more bearable.
John kind of flushes at that, the blue undertone of his skin shifting to pink. he probably should’ve kept walking, would’ve saved me the embarrassment.
he hadn’t… met anyone with green eyes. For a long time, if ever. They stuck out in his mind. (Might plague his nightmares.)
“Well.”
he said, his throat clicking as he swallows.
“If you ever need help… setting anything up, I’m free a lot of the time. I could give you my home’s number if you’d like.”
Something in this man made her heart ache. It's clear he tries his hardest to be helpful, and turning down his help just like this makes the encounter a lot more awkward.
"I don't usually need any help," Ramona started, not smiling too much now, leaving a light warm smirk, "But the shelter I run is always in need of any help. You might've heard of it, The Open Arms, just a few blocks away!"
The woman waved her strong calloused hand in the approximate direction of where the place is located. Fatigue no longer squeezed her as much as it did before, overwhelmed by a conversation with the stranger.
"We would appreciate anything, really" Abner stayed silent before quickly correcting herself, "Only if you want to, of course!"
John says, eyebrows raising. The little exclamation the most emotional-filled thing he’d said— he most definitely had a flat affect of some kind. he seemed pleased by the information, the face of concern shifting into a soft smile, his eyes creasing just a little bit.
“I have heard of you. It’s lovely what you’re doing for the community.”
he then paused. agh, he should’ve asked this earlier.
“Sorry. What’s your name? I could probably… ask my friends of the church—“ (Friends, like he knew anyone except for Father Garcia,) “—to help. I will as well, if you’d like. I’ve only got time.”
Honestly, he’d been itching to do some work. Really anything. Staying in his house, in bed, lead to more time alone, lead to more time staring into mirrors (and at the false reflections within them.)
he could sense the awkwardness from her. he felt it too. Could cut the tension with a spoon. His hands began to sweat.
Abner's eyes immediately lit up and her cheeks acquired a more pinkish color. She couldn't help but feel excited any time someone offered help to her cause, and this time was no exception. One could even swear that she was glowing.
But still, the fact that she forgot to tell her own name made her chuckle awkwardly once again.
"Huh, silly me, didn't even tell my name!" Another heartfelt laugh escaped her mouth before she wiped her hand on her jeans before holding it out to John "Name's Ramona Abner, glad to meet you!"
The sight of the priest's smile calmed Ramona down, making her feel not as intrusive as she knows she may be.
John said, the name unusual on his tongue. he’d never met a Ramona before.
“That’s… a lovely name. I’m glad to meet you too. Though, I do Apologize for interrupting your work— I’ve just been… well, looking for something to do.”
his eyes, deepset and darkened by bags, darted to the ground before flickering back up to meet her eyes.
he seemed to settle too, now seeming less like a scared animal (deer) and more like a. Normal, semi-anxious “man.” he takes her hand and shakes it. his hands are cold.
The woman's smile faltered for a moment when she felt the coldness of John's hand. It contrasted with the heat of her own palms, almost stinging her.
"Damn, you're freezing! You'll get sick at this rate," Ramona spoke hurriedly, with evident concern in her voice.
The gears started turning in her head. Her mind focused solely on how not to get this strange but sweet man to warmth.
"You should go home, it's dangerous to walk around like this!" Her tone sounded like that of a mother hen "I can walk you back home after I finish those boxes if you want!"
Ramona couldn't bear the thought that she made someone stand there, all cold. She squeezed the hand she was still holding, maybe to convince the priest or to calm herself down.
he’d always ran cold, his (ex-)wife had always complained about it when he would hold her hands. (The blue twinge of his skin seemed to indicate he was freezing.) But he didnt feel it at all, very comfortable in his cassock in almost any weather.
still. he didn’t really want to reject Ramona. She was very, very kind, and he sort of felt. Like she wanted to spend time with him? Which he… also wasn’t used to.
he could tell her hands were very warm, though. Calloused hands against his softer ones. he almost leaned into the touch, squeezing her hand back, barely holding himself back because it would be fucking embarrassing.
“Uhm. That, would be very nice, actually. Maybe we could get coffee? Too? I, uh, was out to get a cup.”
The woman let go of the man's hand, lingering her hand near his for a few seconds before turning back to the boxes once again. She still had work to do after all, but at least she had some more motivation to do it faster.
"I'll be back as soon as I finish with these boxes!"
The little break of hers did her good - she wasn't as tired as before. Abner walked briskly back and forth with the boxes, thinking only about how to finish as quickly as possible so that she could take this timid man somewhere warm. Ramona knew that this was a grown man, but she couldn't shake the feeling that her reminded her of a deer, a mesmerizing one, but so, so frozen in place. It pinched on her heart, and she didn't even notice that - box after box - all was finished.
She hurried to get back to the priest, a triumphant smile on her face, ruddy from hard labor.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting, John, couldn't leave this stuff laying around," She placed her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. "So, anyway, I know a good place, it's not that far. We can get ourselves something to drink!"
Ramona felt like it's gonna be the best event of the day. John somehow captivated her - his whole demeanor was bizarre, but it didn't push her away at all.
John shifted from leg to leg every once in a while, keeping his weight off of his injury for as long as he could before his other leg started hurting, and then repeating that over and over again. Still, he didn’t seem to be bothered, watching over her with a small smile. Or maybe he just wanted her to think he wasn’t bothered. Either way, he seemed to be a little less uncomfortable in his skin.
“No need to apologise, my child.”
he says, waving at her to show that he was dismissing it. That it was no issue. That she wasn’t bothering him at all.
”I’d love that. Both the… not being so far, and good drinks. I don’t think I’ve had a good cup of coffee in years.”
Something about the words 'child' being directed to her made her freeze. It was for a moment though, before the cold grip of something let go of her insides, allowing her to chuckle carefree once again.
"Let's go then!"
She tried to walk at the same pace as her companion. Ramona couldn't stop herself from looking at and examining John - an old, nasty habit of hers that she has a hard time breaking.
"So, are you from around here?" A typical question, maybe even a stupid one, but at least it might start something decent.
“Born ‘nd raised. I’ve been here forever. Probably will stay forever, too.”
Every few seconds, almost to check that she was still looking, his anxious eyes met hers. he had to turn his head down, just a little, to match her. And then he’d look away, back down at his hands, his shoes, or the trees lining the city’s sidewalks.
For some reason, he didn’t seem to mind her stares. (They almost seemed to ground him.)
"Me too! Changed houses one time, but ultimately I never even left the state."
The thought didn't register as something bad to her. She wasn't the one to travel all over the world, she much rather preferred to make her hometown a better place instead.
As they continued to walk she finally noticed the limp in John's leg. Pity and concern is something Ramona felt automatically, although she didn't show it. She just continued to match his pace.
'What a curious man, wanted to help me with a leg like this..,' she thought to herself, 'Don't think I've ever met him. Well, I haven't met all people in CT, so it makes sense.'
Abner didn't even notice that they've already approached the coffee shop. Perking up, she went and opened the door, holding it and urging the other one to come in after her.
he followed her in, looking a little embarassed that he hadn’t been the one to hold the door open for Her. Though, of course, he knew that was silly, he still felt… a little. Emasculated. he cringed at the word. And then smiled back at Abner.
“What would you like? I could. Pay, if you want. Or… do you have any recommendations?”
As Ramona followed John inside she took a deep breath, breathing in the smell of heated milk and some slitely burnt coffee beans. Looking down at her company her frame tensed for a moment before shaking with a chuckle.
"Oh, there's no need, really!" She rushed to assure the man yet felt happy hearing the offer anyway.
"Well, usually I drink coffee for the energy I need, not for the taste, but flat white here is pretty good. Gives you the rush you need when you have lots of things to do, you know?"
Her face became thoughtful, already imagining the taste of the drink on her tongue and the rush it would give her. Yet guilt creeped her way into her heart - John might not be into coffee for the same reason she is, and she's helpless here.
"Aside from that I only know that there's some good stuff from my friends so I can't really give any recommendations... Heared that the latte is good though."
John stood at the door, visibly anxious. He’d checked the sign outside at least twenty times, and even asked the younger man beside him to double check before he finally worked up the nerve to knock. “Nervous” barely scratched the surface of what he felt, he was practically buzzing with uncertainty. Isaac rested a hand on his shoulder in a quiet attempt to soothe him, but it did little to calm his nerves.
He wasn’t even sure he should be here. Ms Abner hadn’t given him the address, he’d taken it upon himself to come after being unable to shake the gnawing unease that had settled in his chest after seeing the graffiti. Isaac clearly wasn’t thrilled about tagging along either. He claimed he was “in the middle of something,” but John knew better. If he hadn’t dragged him out of his motel room, he was 99.9% sure the other man would’ve just spent the day curled up in bed.
(First time initiating this. Shaking and crying.)
Another day on the road. Another day at work.
Ramona got her arms up, stretching her back after an hour of filling out the paperwork. Despite the fact that one chore was over, the woman had already started thinking about a hundred others.
'There will be discounts at the center, we need to buy some new sheets- I have to help Carlton with the logistics of picking up donation boxes- And also-'
However, her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. The tired irritation from such a busy day was replaced by professional concentration. With heavy steps, Ramona hobbled to the door and abruptly opened it, startling even herself.
Meeting two men in front of her, one visibly nervous and the other trying to calm him down, the owner of the shelter smiled her trademark inviting smile. There was exhaustion in her eyes, but her open pose spoke of her willingness to speak.
"Hello, gentlemen," she greeted, fixing one of her ebony braids, "I don't think I know you. Although, wait..."
After a moment of careful examination of the face that was most likely knocking on the door, Abner was finally able to draw the chain.
The silence after John knocked was unbearable. Each passing second made the dread in his chest twist tighter. Even after checking the sign a dozen times and making Isaac check it too, he was still convinced he’d gotten the wrong place. That he’d humiliate himself, have to walk away in shame, and hear Isaac laughing about it the entire way home.
Then the door opened.
Despite John being the one full of nerves, it was Isaac who flinched at the sudden movement, nearly jumping out of his skin. John quickly pulled on a warm smile, he didn’t have Father Allred or Father Garcia to hide behind anymore. "Hello, Ms. Abner! I am, in fact, Father Ward." He nearly added ‘the one and only’, but recent events had proven otherwise.
"And this is Father Jones," he added, gesturing behind him. "I believe I mentioned him briefly in our exchanges."
Isaac, now the one looking sheepish, awkwardly shifted behind John’s shoulder and stubbed out the cigarette he’d only just lit into the back of his own palm. Probably not the best first impression, but still he managed a polite smile. He silently prayed that would spare him from needing to speak.
Ramona was more than surprised to see them on the doorsteps of The Open Arms. She didn't even give them the address (not that this place was difficult to find), so they wasted their time to actually get in contact with her.
"Father Jones, Father Ward, you came just in time!" She blurted out, stepping to the side to reveal a small reception room, "Please come in!"
She moved away from the door, quickly heading towards the couch next to the coffee table. As the feeling of surprise slowly dulled Ramona wondered why they actually went to such length to meet her. Both Fathers seemed to be tense to say the least, so she jumped to the conclusion that something happened or they really needed to know something from her.
"You can sit down if you'd like," The proposal came out easily and naturally, as if it had been repeated many, many times. "Anything you'd like? Coffee, tea?"
The two men stood blankly in the doorway for a moment before shuffling inside, moving with all the coordination of a singular shared brain cell. Isaac, despite his earlier vow to himself of silence, managed a soft, “Thank you, Miss,” as he stepped inside after John.
Neither had visited before, so they paused to take in their surroundings. John sat down first, while Isaac lingered awkwardly before finally plopping down far too close to John for it to be normal. Both did look awfully tense, though John at least tried to mask it. Isaac, on the other hand, wore his usual expression which consisted of a haunted sort of blankness that screamed ‘I have seen things no man should see.’
At the mention of tea, however, Isaac perked up like a startled rabbit. “Oh! I’ll have tea!…p-please…” He immediately shrank back, clearly embarrassed by how quickly he’d responded at the mention of tea.
John stifled a laugh, still smiling as he added “I’d like coffee, if it’s no trouble, Ms.”
Isaac elbowed him in retaliation for the chuckle, but John barely reacted as he was simply too amused to care.
Awesome! At least now she had something to do before having an actual conversation with the men at her reception. With a nod, she went behind the main desk, where everything necessary was kept - sugar, tea bags, an electric kettle and a bag of coffee.
'I was lucky to have turned on the kettle just as they arrived,' she wondered to herself as she quickly prepared drinks for the three of them. While in the process she glanced at the guests from time to time. They seemed to be pretty close, with the way they teased each other, and although at least one of them tried to hide it, it was evident they were both nervous about something - which concerned Ramona greatly but also made her curious.
Finally, she brought three cups - one with tea, two with coffee - on the wooden table. The spoons and sugar bowl followed suit, settling with a clink. Sitting down on the chair next to him, Ramona glanced first at the seemingly stoic Father Ward and then at the obviously nervous Father Jones. Her face was soft yet still held an edge of concentration, worry creeping through her.
"You came to discuss the graffiti, right?" The one she had to scribble off once again after she took the photos.
John watched the young woman step out, exhaling quietly before glancing over at Isaac.
“What are we even supposed to tell her? If we're too direct, she’ll probably panic-”
Isaac cut in quickly, “But we have to tell her. It’s wrong not to. What if we say nothing and she ends up in danger because of us?”
John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know...I’m just not sure yet. Let’s take a look at the graffiti again. Scout the building. Then we can decide how much to share. I don’t want to say ‘cult’ unless we’re absolutely certain.”
Their voices stayed low. They didn’t want Ramona overhearing, not until they had something solid to tell her. Still, neither of them had come to a real conclusion, and the uncertainty left a heavy weight between them.
John rubbed the back of his neck, gaze drifting down as if he could avoid the strange laughter that flickered at the edge of his hearing. It was low, clearly amused, and coming from nowhere. He tried to ignore it.
Isaac had an awful sense for these things and noticed, his expression quickly softening. He didn’t say a word but reached over and rested a hand on John’s thigh. A quiet gesture of support. Moments later, Ramona reentered the room and both men straightened quickly, their movements almost in sync…again. (Singular brain-celled creatures…)
“Thank you kindly, Ms. Abner,” John said as she set their drinks down.
Isaac offered a quick, quiet thanks and immediately reached for the sugar, prompting another small laugh from John.
“Take away tea,” he whispered with a smirk, “and I think he’d just about stop functioning.”
Isaac elbowed him lightly yet again but said nothing, hiding his smile behind the rim of his cup.
John cleared his throat. “Yes- yes, we’ve had a look. It’s a curious case, truly. And, as I mentioned, I’ve seen something similar before at Deacon Wyborn’s parish.” His tone shifted slightly, a little more serious now. “I don’t mean to frighten you, not at all. But there’s a reason we’re here, and urgency felt necessary.”
A light laugh escaped Ramona's lips. Her rough fingers curled around the handle of her mug as she added a couple of spoons of sugar to her fresh coffee.
"Well, if someone took away my coffee I would be the same," she smiled once again.
Those two priests were something... Unusual for the shelter, to put it lightly. College dropouts, musicians, even a professor of computer science have stayed for some time there, but not them. She wondered if something quite this would happen to the shelter, and something told her that it definitely would.
"Well, I should be thanking you. I'm truly glad you came here. And please believe me when I say you don't frighten me," she paused, gripping her cup tighter, "And if you have your own reasons to be here, then I'll be more than happy to help. Deacon Wyborn spoke well of you, and I believe him."
Yes, Abner wasn't frightened, but it didn't mean that she couldn't feel dreadful and sense that something about all of this was wrong. No matter how much she tried to rationalize it, how much she hoped her mind was alert.
John smiled faintly at the mention of Deacon Wyborn. Beside him, Isaac’s cheeks flushed as he stared down into his cup. Of course Wyborn would bring him to mind. Damn it, he needed to get his head checked.
John didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m glad he spoke well of me,” he said smoothly. “I’m only here to help. I mean no harm.” He reached for his coffee without sugar, hand a bit too steady. He drank, paused. Blinked. He swore it tasted like ash for a second.
He quickly cleared his throat. “I roughly translated the graffiti, I’m not sure if I mentioned that in our earlier messages...” He hesitated, eyes flicking to the corner of the room for slightly too long, like something had moved. Nothing had.
Isaac caught the glance, but said nothing, just nodded. Nervous.
John continued, tone flat. “I’m sorry to come on so strong, but I believe your building may be targeted. The Latin, it was something along the lines of ‘tear down the walls and strangle your lambs.’” As he spoke the phrase aloud, his voice seemed to dip (only briefly) into something colder. A strange cadence, like the words were too comfortable in his mouth.
He looked at Ramona, expression soft but unreadable, before glancing away and sipping again. This time, the coffee tasted normal.
“I don’t want to scare you, truly. But I’d rather you be prepared than have us stay quiet and…” he pauses. Glances across the room. Blinks. “…end up giving statements.” His fingers fidgeted against the cup. With his free hand, he dug his nails into his palm again- deeper this time. A little red welled up, but he didn’t seem to notice. It grounded him briefly.
Isaac finally spoke, visibly a bit unsettled. “As Father Ward said, we don’t want to frighten you. We’re only here to help. We’re more than happy to bless the building and keep an eye out for any unusual activity.” He shifted slightly closer, gaze still down. “Have you noticed anyone lingering outside? Or when the markings usually show up? I…I have someone I can ask, but I need more to go on.” He didn’t look up. His voice was steady, but his hands were trembling.
John stayed still, quiet. He felt a pressure behind his eye. A whisper not in his ear but in his teeth. He blinked again. No one noticed. He smiled calmly. “We’ll keep you safe, Ms. Abner.”
As both men spoke Ramona's expression grew more and more concerned. Her brows furrowed, and her hands began to soundlessly beat out some rhythm on the cup that's known only to her.
She looked from Father Ward, who acted like the main conversationalist, to Isaac, who spoke only occasionally. Eventually, her gaze shifted to her own cup. It seemed as if Abner was trying to find something in its contents.
"So someone is threatening us and our guests," she nodded, more to herself. The words about walls and lambs made her truly freeze. Raising her gaze, Ramona continued, "I mentioned in the message that a neighbor told me about a group rushing away from the shelter building immediately after the inscriptions appeared on it, but they disappeared too quickly. We don't have any other information about them."
She paused again, looking almost guilty, thinking about the answer.
"It looks like you're already suspecting someone, right?" Abner tried to straighten up, to appear more friendly. She could only hope that it worked, "If you need more information, I'll try to get it. And, although I am not religious, if you think that rituals should be held, then I will be all for it. However, please..."
Her voice became slightly pleading, but insistent. Ramona knew that sometimes she could be too pushy, but she just couldn't stay clueless.
John tilted his head in a slow, thoughtful gesture. "Yes, we believe so. You might've mentioned it before, but do you happen to recall what time the markings started? Or when they tend to appear?"
Isaac hesitated, fingers brushing nervously against the edge of his cassock's sleeve. "Well...I'm not saying it's definitely him, but he did do the graffiti at Jonah's Keep. Latin, red- The wording was different, but it had the same...presence? We think it's the same group. And... he wet his lips, avoiding John's eyes, "I think we should, at the very least, bless the building."
John stilled. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Something curled behind his eyes, something listening. When he finally spoke, his tone was different again. Smoother. Precise. "We've no intention of keeping you uninformed, Ms Abner," he said, softly. "But we also don't want to act on our own fear. Not without certainty."
The words slid out like oil- polished and distant. Something inside him was smiling. Isaac flinched before he realised he had. A chill ran up the back of his neck, not from anything said, but from the sudden wrongness in the air. The hair on his arms stood up. He coughed gently, trying to clear something from his throat that wasn't there. His mouth tasted like iron.
John kept talking. "If we're wrong, you've simply had two overcautious men in your shelter. But if we're right, well...better you hear it now than during the aftermath."
Isaac glanced at him again. 'Who even says that???' His tone wasn't right. It was John's voice, but there was a slant to it... like the words weren't his, or like they were filtered through someone else's mouth.
"Apologies," John added, as if nothing had changed. "We're both a bit weary. Things haven't been running as smoothly as I would have liked them to be recently." The nightmares. The dead animal. The blood.
He pressed two fingers briefly against his temple, his free hand tapped against the table now. The tapping was slow and rhythmic in nature, almost like a heartbeat.
John glanced up. "Let us see the building in full, if you'd let us. We'll be careful as to not damage anything."
Isaac swallowed hard. His throat burned. He wanted to speak again but couldn't. Not with that hum in the back of his skull, he simply nodded along instead and fiddled with something in his pocket. (His cigarettes...of course...)
Ramona tried to relax in her chair, but something seemed to be preventing her from doing it. Now John's every word seemed to reverberate through her bones, as if making them shake, and her muscles were tense, as if they were preparing for something.
The woman tried to throw it off to overexertion, which often kept her company, but still this time it felt different. It's like someone is watching them intently. It was more logical to look out the window, but for some reason her eyes kept returning to Father Ward.
'Stop being paranoid. You know that your feelings are letting you down, there's no one else here.' And even though she could see that Isaac was worried too, she just brushed it off. 'He may have his reasons. I'm just getting hysterical again.'
Wetting her lips (which she didn't even realize had become dry), Abner finally responded to the men with some deliberate ease.
"I understand, this case needs to be approached with a cool head, no matter what it turns out to be."
"As for the time of the appearance of graffiti... Ehhh, they mostly appear when none of the workers are near the reception windows. They appear sometime... Sometime in the afternoon or early in the morning, when they were most likely made at night. Inscriptions appear once in about 3-4 days..."
After a moment of silence, Ramona couldn't add anything else - no more details about the time surfaced in her head. Leaving her cup on the table, the woman stood up, too ready and quick, straightening her shirt.
"If you want, we can walk around the building, I'll take you anywhere you deem necessary!"
Isaac jumped up too quickly, nearly choking as he gulped down the last of his tea- idiot. John rose more deliberately, setting his half-empty cup down with quiet precision. His usual chuckle at Isaac’s clumsiness was nowhere to be found; instead, a cold glare flickered in his eyes, sharp and unsettling. Isaac felt the weight of that look and looked away.
Turning to Ramona with a calm, measured smile, John asked, “Hm, where does the graffiti usually show up? I want to start there.” His tone was polite but carried an undercurrent of something darker.
Isaac felt that familiar presence lurking just beneath the surface again, a quiet pressure at the edge of his mind. He kept silent, knowing it was wiser not to speak out, at least for now.
John’s gaze flicked back to Isaac briefly before he spoke again, voice steady but tinged with an edge. “Would you mind if I spoke with Father Jones for a moment? It’s nothing related to you or this case. Just another matter we’re handling. I apologise for the inconvenience.”
Beneath the words, the unspoken tension lingered. John wasn’t just a man trying to solve a problem anymore. Something else was there with him.
Abner didn't understand. John was barely able to control himself a few minutes ago, but now there's something almost calculating in his manner. Even his attitude towards Isaac, his companion, had changed noticeably-his gaze made even her feel uncomfortable, even though it wasn't directed at her.
"Usually the inscriptions appear on the facade, on the windows... But sometimes they can appear in the alley between the buildings." Ramona waved her hand towards the front door.
The woman wanted to run go outside to bring herself to her senses a little in the fresh air and stay with Isaac at the same time. She didn't want anything to happen while he's with-
' 'Something to happen'? Seriously? Father Ward came here with Isaac to help you, and you treat him like this? He's not some kind of maniac, but a man who's trying to help you, damn it!'
Restraining her voice so that it wouldn't tremble, Abner finally said,
"Then I'll be waiting for you outside," And after taking one last look at Isaac, full of support and a strange longing, she left the shelter, closing the door behind her and leaving the two men alone.
Leaning heavily against the wall, the woman just stood for a couple of seconds, resting against a crack in the asphalt. Then, adjusting the cuffs of her shirt, she tried to calm herself down.
'Maybe John just calmed down? Maybe he's always like this?'
No, not always, it's obvious even after such a short conversation. However, there was nothing she could do to explain such a drastic change in the man's behavior.
Unable to find any explanation, Ramona returned to the pressing issue - the inscriptions. Last time, she didn't even really check the alleyway - it's harder to clean the walls than the windows, and it makes less sense, so maybe there are already more threats or who knows what else written there. She didn't want to go there alone, and she didn't want to leave the men at a great distance either. So she just stood at the shelter, basking in the sun and trying to stop shivering.
As soon as Ramona was out of sight, John turned to Isaac. The poor man looked wrecked compared to how calm he looked mere seconds ago. His shoulders sagged like something had been torn out of him and his eyes darted around the room like he wasn’t sure what was real.
“This- this keeps happening, Isaac,” he gasped, voice cracking on the other priest’s name. “I can’t keep- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look at you like that. I didn’t. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t me.” He gripped the back of a chair to keep upright, knuckles pale. His whole body trembled like he was fighting to keep himself tethered to the room. “I could feel him. I could feel him in my mouth. My hands. I was still watching, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t-”
Isaac stepped forward carefully, reaching for the bottle in his coat. This wasn’t just a flare-up. This was getting worse. “John, it’s alright. You’re safe. I’ve got it,” Isaac said gently, hoping to be reassuring. But even he was starting to look shaken by the frequency of this. This was ruining the man in front of him and it hurt to see. John dropped to his knees almost automatically. The moment Isaac pulled the stopper from the holy water, John’s shoulders jolted like he expected to be struck. “He won’t let me sleep,” the older of the two whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his teeth. I see Lisa. I see my own face but it’s wrong. He’s there. I can hear him laughing like it’s funny to him.” His breathing hitched. “He doesn’t want me dead, he wants me tired. Weak. So I agree to what he wants.”
Isaac sprinkled the water as he began to pray aloud, firm and practiced. The water hissed faintly against John’s scalp and forehead, and John winced, but didn’t pull away. “He’s afraid of Gary,” John spoke quietly, eyes clenched shut. “Won’t come near me when he’s around. Even if I dream, he won’t speak when Gary’s voice is there. I-I think I need to ask him. Just to sleep. Just a little.” That statement stunned Isaac into silence, but only for a second. He couldn’t say anything. He kept praying.
After several minutes (only about 8, but for John it felt like a whole decade had passed), the ritual ended. John stayed kneeling, breathing hard, hair dripping with blessed water. Isaac offered his hand to help him stand, John took it like he was clinging to a rope above an ocean. They emerged together from the building, John blinking against the light. His cheeks were wet not just from the water.
Isaac straightened his shoulders and gave Ramona a brief, professional nod. “Apologies, Ms. Abner. Everything’s alright now. We’re terribly sorry if that caused any concern. Father Ward has just been…struggling recently.” John didn’t speak- he just nodded, jaw tight. He looked like he was trying not to cry. He felt embarrassed. His hand fumbled through his bag and eventually pulled out his camera. He needed photos of the graffiti. Something so he could prove it had happened as well as study them later, look for anything he didn’t get from their visit today.
The woman's head cleared up a bit, but she didn't stop worrying. Ramona was ready to visit the priests as early as the sixth minute, and only her self-control allowed her to stay in place. A couple of minutes later, when she wanted to know exactly what was going on, John and Isaac finally came out the door.
Involuntarily, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was hard for her to admit that she felt better when she saw John the same way he was before, a little nervous but genuine. Abner didn't know what had happened, but the fact that they were out made her smile.
"It's nothing, Father Jones!" She hastened to reassure the man. Her voice became really joyful, "We're not in a hurry so take your time."
Her gaze went to the alleyway, now confident. She knew that nothing could possibly threaten her there, but it would be easier for her to be there with someone, anyone.
"There is nothing on the facade - we have already erased everything. We can't just leave our 'face' like this," A chuckle, "Sooo we can go around the corner. I haven't looked there for a long time and most likely there is something there."
She moved, turning slightly to look at Isaac and John. She hoped it was something trifling - just a bunch of teenagers who decided that writing creepy messages was funny and that nothing was actually threatening anyone.
The alley was dark and cramped - you could barely stand in it with your arms outstretched on your sides, creating a claustrophobic feeling. Looking up at the shelter wall, Ramona was not surprised when she saw jerky, frantic graffiti plastered on the wall, the same color as they were before - red and black, but still these notes filled her with anxiety.
Ramona’s warm smile briefly caused the tension in both men to simmer out. John managed a faint chuckle in response, nodding politely as he followed after her. Isaac trailed behind a little slower. The moment he saw how narrow the alleyway was, he hesitated.
The memory hit fast- being locked in that coffin, the demon whispering against the wood. Isaac swallowed thickly and shuddered. Christ. He hated tight spaces now.
He gave John the lead, then reluctantly stepped in after him, staying near the edge. Just in case. Just so he could bolt if the walls felt like they were pressing in.
Both priests lifted their eyes to the graffiti, it was far too familiar. There was a moment of heavy silence then John began to translate under his breath, his tone clipped and tense.
“Closed eyes invite him who will consume you. Bite the hands of false saviors and open your hearts to the truth.”
Isaac stepped forward slowly, fingers brushing the painted letters. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s…not good.”
They exchanged a glance, worry unmistakably written on both their faces. The pit in John’s stomach seemed to worsen. “I’m sorry, Ms. Abner,” he said, voice lower now. “But this- this doesn’t seem to just be harmless vandalism. I don’t think you’re safe here.”
Isaac nodded grimly. “It might be nothing, but…we saw nearly identical phrasing back at Jonah’s Keep.” He trailed off, brows furrowing. John stared at the message again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the words weren’t just a warning. They felt like a promise- a summoning.
Isaac tried to ground himself. It didn’t look like Jessie’s handwriting, thank God, but something about it still felt familiar. He made a mental note to ask Jessie about it later anyway. Better to know than wonder.
John, meanwhile, kept staring at the wall, heart crawling in his chest like something just behind his ribs wanted out. The alley suddenly felt colder.
And Alu…Alu was quiet. Which was worse than when he spoke.
Her face dropped - truly dropped. Abner leaned against the wall, staring blankly in front of her.
"Shit"
She said quietly, voice blank. No matter how much she hoped for the better it was no use. Someone was seriously threatening her and the people in the shelter.
' 'Bite the hands of your saviours'? I'll show you 'bite', I'll show you.'
The mere thought made her clench her fists in righteous anger. There were vulnerable people in The Open Arms, no one ended up there because of a good life, so the fact that those messages were directed at them made her blood boil with fury.
But still, this wasn't all over. They still had a lot of work to do. Ramona steadied her breathing, looking less and less intimidating.
"I think that I- have to explain, It's not- It's not about me being safe, but about... them," She nodded her head at the wall of shelter, "The people, they... trust us. We say that it's safe with us, that it'll all be okay, but this," She gestured slowly at the graffiti. "Is a direct threat. So..."
Abner paused once again, contemplating if she should ask them the questions or if she should stay silent so as not to let the answer potentially gnaw on her mind. But she was determined - she must know all she possibly can.
"Father Ward, Father Jones, I know it's in your best interest to not scare me, but I assure you - I'm far from those who fear any threat sent their way. You seem like you have a guess on who this might be. Please, tell me. Or at least tell me how to protect ourselves from them."
Ramona's gaze became clear as she looked upon them, revealing a scorching fire burning in her eyes. She would stop at nothing now.
Isaac nodded. “Right, understood.” He could understand her worry- this was why he was here, after all. Helping the vulnerable, protecting the frightened. That was the calling.
John raised his camera and took a photo of the graffiti, the shutter clicking quietly before he slipped it away into his bag. Both men turned their attention back to Ramona, then briefly to each other, before Isaac stepped forward to explain.
“There’s a cult,” he said, hesitating only slightly. “A fairly large one. We believe they might be behind this…for now. One of their members was responsible for the markings at Jonah’s Keep. The phrasing and coloring here- it’s similar, but the handwriting’s different. Doesn’t match the previous suspect.” At his own mention of Jonah’s Keep, Isaac faltered. His eyes dropped, and for a moment, guilt flickered across his face. He didn’t elaborate.
John nodded slowly, mostly in agreement, though the gesture seemed more for Isaac’s benefit than Ramona’s. “I’ll try speak with Deacon Wyborn,” John added. “See if the cultist’s been showing his face there.” He paused for a moment. “I’m sure Isaac can gather more from his end too.” He glanced sidelong at the younger priest, a barely concealed judgment flickering in his expression. This look, this time, was undeniably John. Despite everything, he was absolutely not above casting a lighthearted but dry look when Isaac started to fluster.
“Anyway,” he continued with a smoothness to his voice, “we do understand your concerns. If it would ease your mind, we could look into arranging temporary accommodations for the people staying here. We’d rather not see anyone else in harm’s way.” John paused, thinking. “How many usually stay overnight?” he asked, voice quieter now. “I know a few safe places we could reach out to. My own home has…oddly become something of a refuge itself. I suppose it’s big enough.”
He didn’t finish the thought. Big enough now that Molly was gone. The weight of that reality pressed briefly on his shoulders, and he shifted uncomfortably before glancing back toward Ramona with a forced, almost apologetic smile “Just until we get a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
How sweet. A cult. A cult that threatens her guests with death. A wonderful reward for several years of work. The danger to almost all of her surroundings knocked the air out of her lungs and made her legs feel like cotton wool.
"Well, that's wonderful..." the woman breathed thoughtfully.
She couldn't help but notice the way John looked at Isaac - with disapproval, but at least a sincere one. A conflict maybe? Even for someone as tactless as her, it was obvious that she had no right to get involved.
At first, Abner wanted to object. After all, their shelter is positioned as something safe. Why should she retreat after a small threat? Can't she handle it? Can't she tear apart anyone who gets even close to those poor people?
Fortunately, her gloomy thoughts did not show on her face, otherwise her appearance would have been frightening. Ramona knew they weren't questioning her competence and were just trying to help, but her fists were still itching, and the writing was scratched into her brain.
"So... On average, we have about 4-5 people, sometimes more. But..." She needed to convey herself, "We always said it was safe here. We don't just provide a roof over the head - we have shower, food, and help with document recovery. To close it all, even for a short time, will greatly cost us in the future."
The tension in Ramona's voice was obvious. She didn't want to appear weak, to retreat in a moment of danger. But still, she's not the only one involved-one wrong step can hurt many. She understood it with her head, but her heart did not want to accept it. Therefore, the only solution was to compromise.
"Fathers,"
'Is that even right to say that?'
"Are you familiar with how they work? Is there any way to isolate yourself from them without relocating?"
“Sadly…we’re all too familiar with how they operate,” John murmured, “I’m sorry to say it, but usually once they set their sights on something, they rarely let go.” He didn’t need to explain how he knew that.
Isaac remained quiet beside him, his eyes glued to the floor. Jessie was clearly on his mind. He just prayed the redness in his cheeks came off as fear and not…something else. God, not now.
John tried to offer comfort, if only a little. “We understand what you’re doing here and you’ve done a remarkable job. This isn’t your fault. None of this is.” But his eyes flicked toward the graffiti again, uneasy. Why a shelter? Vulnerable people, perhaps? Easy prey. That was usually enough for them.
Isaac finally spoke, his voice still uncertain. “As we mentioned before, we can try blessing the building. That might keep some of the cult’s influence at bay.” He hesitated. “I know this probably all sounds...insane. But demons, spirits- They summon them regularly.” He glanced at John, but the older priest gave nothing away.
“Their leader…he claims to be a man, but he isn’t. He’s something else. A demon wearing a flesh suit.” Isaac continued, his tone shifting slightly. “Crosses can help. Exorcisms too…though I don’t recommend walking up to anyone and trying that unless you really know what you're doing.” He gave a short, dry laugh, but it died quickly in his throat. “Actually, I don’t recommend doing it at all if you can avoid it.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“We could arrange for one of us to visit regularly,” Isaac offered, trying to find some sort of reasonable step forward. “If relocating isn’t an option…maybe our presence alone could be enough to ward off the worst of it. But I’ll be honest, we’re worried for you and the people staying here. If the cult is active, if they’ve marked this place…”He trailed off again. His gaze wandered toward John. Alu! A predator even the damned might flinch at. But could he drive the cult away? Probably not. They summoned him, after all. Plus, the demon didn’t seem awfully fond of John anyway.
Isaac exhaled slowly, “I’m- I’m not sure what to suggest, Ms. Abner,” he finally admitted. “But Father Ward and I…we can stay. At least temporarily. They might not expect either of us to be here. If one of them shows, maybe we can follow them. Confirm what we’re dealing with.”
His eyes flicked to the shadows around them, then back to her. “If you’ll have us, we’ll do everything we can.”
Ramona had to hold herself together. She clenched the sleeves of her shirt. The walls felt constricting, but she tried to shift her focus and to not thing about the thing on that thing on the wall. Her breathing came out loud but steady enough to not make her mind go hazy.
"I guess some crosses won't hurt," She mused, already setting up the logistics of where to get them, "And I think that maybe if you do the rituals and visit us it would be enough to buy us some time. Not really sure if we need any exorcism - our flickering lights can be fixed just by tapping on the lamp."
'If this cult operates by religious rules then they might be warded off by them.' She rationalized.
"We aren't terrorized by them for now so you have no need to stay here. You might be needed elsewhere after all." Ramona assured the men quickly, "But still... You've cleared up a lot for me. And although the reality of the situation is... Kinda a mess, we can at least do something about it."
Those words couldn't described how grateful she was for their help. Her burden felt heavier and lighter at the same time thanks to John and Isaac. Their assurance filled her with the determination to press on.
"I'll do everything in my power and more as well," She almost whispered while looking up at the building, at everything it represented - a home, a community, a hope.
She doesn't yet know where to start, but she must get to the bottom of this. The unknowing made Abner feel like she was losing in some twisted game the rules of which she didn't know. Like a silly critter to see running around. So condescending.
John caught the way Ramona’s fists clenched and gave her a look filled with quiet sorrow. It wasn’t fair, none of this. He loathed how the cult always preyed on the vulnerable. Amy. Tiffany...Lisa. His thoughts snagged on the name and for a moment his mind went completely blank. His eyes glazed over, unfocused, and unintentionally locking on Ramona.
Isaac, more present than John in that moment, stepped in gently. “We’ll start the blessings in a minute,” he said softly. “I’m glad they haven’t terrorized you much yet, but...I’m afraid that might not last.” He paused, then offered her a sincere smile. “Still, I’ve no doubt you’ll stand your ground. Just be careful, alright? They’re still dangerous. We’ll help however we can. Whenever you need.” He turned his gaze back toward the graffiti, trying to reassure himself that it wasn’t Jessie’s work. It was a comfort that likely only mattered to him.
John was still staring blankly until Isaac’s words finally registered. He blinked hard, startled, and quickly looked away. His eyes burned with dryness. He couldn’t even recall what had just been said but nodded anyway.
When Ramona met John's gaze, at first she thought he wanted to say something to her, so she prepared to listen intently. Still, she looked at Isaac for a moment, sighing with relief at his assurance.
"Then let's get started. If it can delay them, then we need to try," And, leaning on her other leg, she continued, "I will definitely be attentive, I promise, Father Jones."
However, occasionally shifting her gaze back to Father Ward, she realized that he was… Just looking at her. Silently.
'This… Well, it doesn't matter. He's probably just tired.'
The woman headed for the exit of the narrow alley, squinting at the painted wall. Her hands almost itched to paint over those threatening words right here and now, but now was not the time.
Abner went in there confused, and came out scared, but with a clear goal. To protect the shelter and those who trust her.
Isaac was more than relieved to finally escape the narrowness of the alley, inhaling deeply like he hadn’t breathed in hours. “Holy mother of Christ,” he muttered to himself, shuddering. “That was awful.”
Behind him, John emerged a few seconds later, quieter, more withdrawn. His face was blank, his expression had softened with that distant look he sometimes wore after…incidents. He was digging through his bag, fingers fumbling in search of his crucifix. Isaac already had his own clutched in one hand, having pulled it out during the impromptu exorcism back inside.
“We’ll start by blessing the outside,” Isaac said, already moving toward the right side of the building. He waved a hand vaguely, more focused on getting to work than explaining. “If you need us, we’ll be over here.”
John gave a small nod again. He was lagging a little, both physically and mentally. His steps were delayed, like they had to catch up to his body and there was a blankness in his eyes as if he wasn’t entirely present.
It wasn’t new. These moments came and went, what he called his “episodes.” Usually, they struck right after a possession. But this time was different. Alu hadn’t even fully overtaken him, so why was he like this now? Why did the last fifteen minutes feel like they’d been erased from his mind?
He didn’t ask. Didn’t speak. Just offered a gentle smile, as if nothing was wrong, and continued searching through his bag. His hands were trembling slightly.
The air seemed much fresher outside the alleyway. Ramona's gaze travelled on the opposite side of the road towards different shops and buildings. This area was quiet, with few accidents ever happening. And the very fact that someone is threatening her is already disrupting this idyll.
Ramona just hoped no one around here faced the same things as The Open Arms.
"Of course, do as you see fit. I'll be there if you need any help," She nodded, looking intently at the way Isaac was preparing for the ritual. The way he moved his hands, how he searched for the right props was really admirable. However, she stopped when she glanced back at John.
The man looked almost numb after leaving the alleyway. Even when he smiled it felt almost stiff. Forced even. The whole look of his made her feel a pinch of sadness.
After a moment of pondering, she finally decided to approach him. Her footsteps were pretty loud and noticeable. A warm, big hand rested on John's shoulder.
"Father Ward," Abner whispered, "Are you alright?"
Just a small question, which is more aimed at comforting than getting a specific answer.
Isaac already had his Bible out, fingers curled tightly around the worn leather, the crucifix in his other hand was now practically pressed to his chest. He cast a sidelong glance toward John but didn’t speak. He exhaled softly and began muttering the first Latin phrases under his breath. Whatever was happening with John, he could give him space for now. He’d handle the rest.
John hadn’t moved. He stood like a statue, eyes blank, almost like he was somewhere else entirely. His shoulders were stiff, his posture tight- it felt as if he didn’t know how to hold himself in his own body. So when Ramona gently laid her hand on his shoulder, his reaction was immediate and almost childlike. He flinched hard and stumbled back a step with a sharp inhale, as if he’d been struck.
“A-ah…s-sorry,” he stammered, voice low and thin. His eyes darted to the floor, his face quickly flushing red. He looked ashamed just for existing. One hand rubbed nervously at the back of his neck as he tried to steady his breathing.
“I-I didn’t mean to react like that, I just…I wasn’t expecting…” His voice faltered again, and he winced. He was embarrassed by how clumsy the words felt in his mouth. “Sorry. Really. I’m…I’m not usually like this.”
He finally forced himself to meet Ramona’s eyes, and the effort it took was visible. It was like he had to physically lift his head against the weight of something heavy. His mouth twitched into a fragile, apologetic smile.
“My head’s just been a little…fuzzy lately. I’m trying, I just-” His voice caught in his throat again. He gave up the sentence halfway through, just shaking his head softly. “I’m trying.”
Ramona flinched as well, raising her hands in front of her, showing she meant no harm. She felt ashamed that she had scared John like that, her brows furrowing even more.
"No, I shouldn't have startled you like that!" She apologized, her gaze still fixed on the priest.
He really has been acting weird, but she couldn't blame him. Dealing with this cult must've been hard on him. Abner didn't know exactly where to start, yet she had to try.
"It's alright," She began, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible and putting her hands down, "Busy life, I sort of get it."
The owner of the shelter paused, thinking of other ways of easing down the atmosphere. The sound of Father Jones words reached her ears, making her perk up.
"Oh, the way you translated the graffity on spot was really cool," Maybe having at least something positive about it would make Ramona not freeze at the memory of it, "I know that some of the clergy know Latin, but it still surprises me."
In truth, she didn't speak any language besides English. Sure, she knew a couple of words in other languages, but seeing someone understand a sentence so effortlessly made her feel fascination.
“Please, really- it’s fine. I’ve just been...jumpy lately. It’s not your fault,” John said gently, his voice steadier now that Ramona was speaking with him. Her presence seemed to anchor him, and his tense posture began to ease.
“Thank you! I actually spent years studying,” he added with a modest smile. “Isaac, on the other hand…he doesn’t need to know Latin like I do. I still don’t know why he does.”
He let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “He told me once that back when he and Esther were teenagers, they learned it so they could talk in front of the sisters without getting caught. They thought they were being clever- until they tried it in front of me when they first came here and found out I understood every word.”
There was a flicker of fondness in his voice, but it faded as his tone shifted to something more serious. “In situations like this, it does come in handy. I just hope the people doing this don’t cause you too much trouble, Ms. Abner.”
The woman chuckled, shaking from her laugh. Isaac certainly seemed like the one to do that, even if she knows him for an hour or so.
"Well, that's an actually good reason, if I'm being honest," Ramona spoke with a smile, casting a glance at the working priest.
"Don't worry, there's nothing except those graffiti."
'For now.' A thought concluded darkly.
She still stood beside John, her presence hard to ignore.
"I think I had a friend like this. I don't remember what language he spoke, but every time I asked him what he said he just shrugged and laughed," She crossed her arms over her chest, huffing, "Should've shared at least once, damn it!"
There were sparks of laughter in her eyes. The corners of her mouth moved upwards while looking at Father Ward. Ramona just hoped that this conversation can relax him at least for a moment.
Ward felt lighter in Ramona’s presence. There was something about her joy and her nature that seemed to soften the air around them. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
“Thank you, Ramona,” he said at last, her name warm on his tongue. He felt more at ease with her now, more in his body.
His gaze shifted back toward the building- and froze.
Isaac was gone.
A flicker of panic rose in his chest, but then he heard it: frantic muttering. Rambling. Mumbled latin and quiet drops of water. Isaac.
John turned slightly and saw that the young man had already made it halfway around the building in the time he and Ramona had exchanged a few words. His jaw tightened for a second before a surprised laugh escaped him.
“He really doesn’t waste time,” he said, grinning. “I had to bribe him out of the house with cigarettes this morning. Told him he doesn’t get them until we finish. Guess that did the trick.”
Isaac's absence didn't go unnoticed to Ramona. She noticed that the man was walking around the building, turning the corner. That's why John's surprise was a surprise to her as well. She couldn't help but smile at his worried expression, no matter how impolite it might seem.
Father Ward looked less tense now, which made Abner's spirit rise. Finally his blank face changed to a more lively one.
'Quick, don't let it die out!'
"Poor guy! Hope he gets his stuff back," The voice spoke, light and playful, "Even Ernie, our cook, has the right to take a smoke break every twenty minutes while he's cooking all the food. On the other hand, he doesn't need to be bribed…"
John Ward wanders into the Open Arms shelter, training goo and blood behind him, stuck to his shoes.
his face is eerily blank. For once, his eye is wide open, staring down at his hands. he limps, like he’d been running. sweats like he’d been running. Is wearing a cassock different to his usual one.
he’s shaking. Like he’s hypothermic. Glancing around like a madman. his face is almost tinted green from sickness.
“Ramona?”
he calls, his voice breaking. his head is eerily quiet. he needs to speak to someone.
(@agunwithonebullet — this takes place after their coffee hangout :3)
A day like any other. Ramona was arranging the boxes, their contents varying between food and books. They were pretty solid, so the woman felt almost relaxed as she moved them here and there, one at the top, the other two at the bottom...
That is, until she heard the door open.
Turning her head sharply, she almost dropped the box in her hands. It was John - the one who offered to help her, the one with whom she got coffee, chatting about their lives in Connecticut. That timid, awkward man stood there, shaking and sweating and-
'Is that blood? Blood on his shoes?'
Ramona- Ramona had to calm down. Her shaking wouldn't help anyone yet the mere thought that something happened to John made her blood run cold. She left the box on the floor, nearly sprinting towards him. With trembling hands she took him by the shoulders, twisting him slightly in an attempt to examine him.
"John, what happened?" She spoke as if demanding an answer. Her hands lightly squeezed his shoulders, digging into the cassock's fabric.
he follows her movements, lets her shift him around to check him for injuries, and shockingly— besides old scars underneath the sleeves of his cassock— there are none.
“I. I was going to go outside this morning. Just, just another walk— was going to check with Isaac. Just check with Isaac. But then when I walked out, out of my room, there was—“
John squeezes his eye shut, grimacing to try and force the flashing images out of his mind. The eyes. Was he still being watched?
What… what if he’d just lead it to Ramona. Oh God. he grabbed Ramona’s wrists, and then her hands.
“Is there. Anywhere private? Away from the door? I don’t— I don’t know if it’s safe to say somewhere where anyone could hear me.”
She didn't say a word. Ramona immediately led the man to a place where most likely no one would enter. Somewhere where it will be quiet enough.
A thousand questions were spinning in her head, as if multiplying in her mind. John's erratic behavior, his fear, and incomprehensible speech only made the situation worse. Abner was overwhelmed by an almost animal sense of danger, from which she wanted to shield the priest with her back.
However, all she could do so far was peek at the man and lead him somewhere-
'Private. Where no one will hear.'
Time passed more slowly for the woman than it actually was - a few seconds to the right door seemed like an eternity. Finally, with her hand firmly on the doorknob, Ramona burst into a small room filled with junk, equipment, and other things, leading Father into it. Closing the door behind them in a hurry, she immediately turned to him.
"What happened?" The question sounded even more urgent than before.
he said, shuddering even harder for a second, shaking his head before being able to elaborate. he didn’t want to. But he was safe. he had to tell someone, and she— she was. his. Only friend. Right now.
(God, he was lonely.)
“Someone. Someone with claws. Scratched up my door and,, and left,, eyes, cows eyes, all over my porch. Covered it in blood. Scratched my door to try and get in. I had to walk through it. And I can’t go to the police, they. They don’t trust me, not anymore, and I think. I think it’s a threat?”
he squeezed his eye shut tight.
“I think someone— something— is watching me. I’m … worried” (scared) “it’ll be real this time. I don’t even know who it could be.”
For a few moments, Ramona just stared at John. Her eyes were wide and empty in the dim light of the storage room. The woman's mind was preoccupied with the simple fact that someone was threatening John.
She always felt it when someone next to her her responsibility was in danger, and now was no exception. It seemed to her that her figure towered like a bear standing on both legs, and that she was ready to tear apart the threat with both hands.
She had to summon all her self-control to avoid accidentally squeezing the man in front of her. With a shaky exhale, Abner took Ward by the forearms, forcing him to look into her eyes.
"It's not here. It won't reach you here."
Who or what could have done such a thing? Why is he following John? She didn't know, but it didn't matter at the moment. What was important is both him and Ramona to calm down.
John nods at her, eye flickering around the room but finally. Finally matching hers. his mouth flitters downward and his face pinches up just a little bit before tears began to stream from his eyes.
he… had no idea why his body let him cry around her.
he hadn’t cried in years, since the …hospital. through the pain and horror. he was afraid that somehow. he knew this woman for less than a day, and her presence seemed to bring comfort.
he awkwardly, leaning down, pressed his head against her shoulder, shoulders wracked with silent sobs.
“i.”
…
“I don’t.. I’ve been through a,, a lot. Tried to find,,, I thought it was all over. It was just… besides the… I thought it was all over. And I don’t know how to find it. I don’t know anyone who could do this to me.”
Her eyes seemed to widen even more as John began to cry. Of course she suspected that he's been through some crap, but Ramona definitely doesn't know the full extent of it. She didn't know if it was for the better or for the worse. Probably the latter.
A lot of people cried in front of her yet John was... Special, somehow. Seeing him like this made her thoughts tangle into a mess.
'I should- No, stay silent. But what if...'
'Just what happened to you, John?'
She hadn't realized that John was crying into her shoulder until she felt a wet spot grow on her shirt. She froze again, but this time in fear of disturbing the man. However, after half a minute of such inaction, Ramona decided to slowly wrap her arms around the priest's body, hugging him.
The warmth of her body was like the one of a fireplace - potentially destructive, but comforting if controlled. It was felt even more clearly in the stuffiness of the room, embracing the man from head to toe.
“I don’t… I don’t want to bring you into all this. I.”
She was warm. So warm. Felt like he was wrapped in a blanket, like something soft and careful. It soothed him. he pulls out of the hug like it hurts him, knowing more touch would only make him crave it more and more and he didn’t want to get close to anyone anymore.
But Ramona was so sweet. Held him like she cared about him. Spoke to him like he was a spooked deer. (He basically was.)
“There’s a lot going on here. In this city. In my home. You’re a good woman, Ramona. You need to be more defensive,, I’m just. I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m so… scared. And I hate being scared.”
She raised her eyebrows in response. The woman didn't claim that John was weak, but her trained, well-defined physique was far superior to his. He wouldn't be able to hurt her - if anything, she's afraid of hurting him, of tearing apart anyone who poses at least a little bit of threat.
But Ramona didn't voice that. The man was clearly in distress, scared to death, his thought process might be erratic - she just had to calm him down. Her eyes flickered, millions of ideas flashing through her mind yet settling on a select few.
The air was dusty. She hoped it won't settle on them.
"I've been through a lot, I've seen a lot. It's my job to be involved in such messes after all," Her voice was quite yet her grip became tighter, attempting to bring John down to earth, "So believe me when I say that I'm capable of withstanding whatever you have going on."
That same tannish bike was leaning against the shelter. Great.. Maverick Madlock was here. That kid.. The quiet one. The kid who never spoke. Never let anyone get too close. The one with the too messy hair and the tanned, freckled skin. The one with the horrifyingly endless, apathetic black eyes. The kid who's revenge schemes were something no average teenager would think of. He had been volunteering for a few weeks now. His parents had forced him because they thought that 'Some community service will do him well'. Yeah right.. All Maverick does is wander around, mumble cryptic things under his breath when no one is watching, and is very hostile to any of the guests who ask for assistance. He isnt allowed near the guests anymore after.. the incident. No one likes speaking of it. The kid only causes more trouble than good. He is only allowed to clean. Because last time they put him in charge of cooking he tried to poison one of the guests with bleach. Ms. Abner couldn't do much about Maverick. He always covered his tracks a little too well. To the point he could get away with everything. But that didnt matter. He was here now. And the shelter didn't look as bright as it usually did with Maverick around. That tan bike was always a sign no one liked to see outside. No doubt the freckled kid was inside. How did he even get in? Ms. Abner hadnt even opened the doors yet. God knows.. Atleast no one was in there for him to harm.
(First time initiating this-)
The walk back to the shelter was usually an easy one.
It's only a couple of blocks on foot, and you're already at the door of The Open Arms, keys jangling in your hands. Yet for the past few weeks it was getting more and more difficult to walk this particular path.
The threatening messages, the strange dreams and, of course, him - Maverick Madlock. The kid that seems to come up with more and more stuff to mess up the work of the shelter. Despite Ramona insistently telling Mr and Mrs Madlock that the work at the shelter is a volunteer one and shouldn't be used as a 'lesson', they weren't listening.
And look what it led to - a visitor of the shelter nearly poisoned and a lot more scared to death, the other volunteers struggling to remain in the building when the teen is there. Letting him do jobs that don't require interaction with people was the least she could do.
Seeing the bike at the front of the shelter made Abner sight. She had no idea how he managed to do this several times, let alone why, but she knew one thing for certain - it's gonna be a huge headache for her no matter what.
Opening the door that was already unlocked with her stiff hands, she stood for a moment, listening for any sounds. Then, after not hearing a single sound but knowing he's there, she finally spoke loudly to be heard:
"C'mon, kid, I know you're here!" Her tone wasn't outright hostile, but wasn't happy either.
There was silence in that damn shelter. Maverick never came out voluntarily. They would just have to wait. Even after guests started popping in and out Maverick hadnt really shown up.
Other than once where he walked into the large communal room area to see who was there. Two elderly folks. One child who had been showing up often. Three adults. And one teenage boy who was Maverick's age. Seven guests of the shelter was a little more than average. But never too much where the other volunteers had to get Maverick involved.
None of the other volunteers liked Maverick either. They called him creepy or hostile. Or just downright terrifying to be around. Everyone flinched whenever he walked into a room. However the boy seemed to be behaving himself today. Nothing sinister had been plotted yet. Maverick also seemed to be more social. And by social that meant hiding in one of the closets, peeking out to stare at the guests. There wasnt much to get him in trouble over. He'd gotten all of his cleaning done. So they let him stare. None of the guests seemed to notice. However it did appear for Maverick to have taken an interest in the other teenage boy. His cold black eyes locked on the other. Staring. Not quite empty in the way they usually were.
His view was suddenly blocked by a green dress. He looked up ever so slightly to see Ms. Abner blocking his view from the closet. No doubt he was about to get scolded. It never worked. He never seemed to feel any remorse for his actions. He didnt say a word. Only met Ms. Abner's gaze with that terrifying empty gaze. The interest that had filled his eyes was now gone. Instantly. Now blank and staring back up at the other woman.
Ramona has been searching for Maverick for the whole day. Of course she had some other things to do around the shelter, but the moment she wasn't too busy she asked the other people if they've seen the boy. Earning a positive reply she just sighted. Guess it was just one of the days when she couldn't catch him.
That is, until her gaze fell at the crack in the closet. A watchful eye was there, observing the guests (or at least one guest in particular). Letting out a quiet but frustrated sight, she went towards the dors of the closet, peeking into it, staring back at the black, cold eyes, with her own green ones.
Something about the teen creeped her out. Not just his violent behaviour - the way he spoke, the way he stared at people - it all made her uncomfortable, like many. In moments when he was truly dangerous she had the urge to just pull his arm and squeez it for she knew that her grip was far more intense then that of an average person
'He's just a teen,' She rationalised, 'And brute force would hardly change things.'
So she restrained herself, trying to act as calm as possible, while trying to coax Maverick to come out.
"Well?" She asked, rising an eyebrow, "Wanna come out?"
Maverick scowled slightly when the woman spoke. His shoulders tightened into a more defensive posture. Previously they had been relaxed, calm even. He had just been staring at that boy.
The teenage boy staying here was named Sebastian Sane. He had blond hair (nearly browned with dirt when he got here) and bright golden hazel eyes. The boy was relatively pale, except he had been extremely sunburnt. He was from a few states over. His parents had kicked him out. He had been staying at the shelter for a few days by that point. He was rather skinny, having lived off beef jerky and root beer until he had arrived. But Sebastian was a ray of sunshine. He was kind, charming, and very polite.
And Maverick seemed to have taken a liking to the boy. God knows what that meant. It probably wasnt a good thing either. He had been staring at that poor guy ruthlessly for awhile now. It was surprising there hadnt been a hole burnt into the side of his head.
Maverick didnt say anything. His tanned skin flushing just ever so slightly, his freckles hiding it mostly. He could've been embarassed, but Maverick had never really felt embarassment before. He opened his mouth and spoke with such polite formality it was like Abner wasnt speaking to the kid who had been trying to start a fire in the kitchen a few days ago.
"That's alright ma'am. I was just taking a break."
God this kid was creepy as shit. He stepped out of the closet and walked away. Probably to hide somewhere again. Or cause trouble. He was so much like cat. A stray cat more specifically. Something about Sebastain had gotten his interest. It was probably best to keep Sebastain far away from Maverick. For his safety.
Ramona barely spoke with the kid and he's already off to somewhere else. All she's left to do is stare as he goes his own way.
A break. In the closet. While looking at other people.
Sure, some of the people at the shelter hid in some dark, quiet places when the atmosphere is the shelter was too overwhelming, but that was deffinetly not the case. She looked over the guests in the reception, the once that were in the potential view of Maverick. An adult man, few older folks and a teen around Maverick's age, nearly a polar opposite of him.
A terrible feeling made its way into Abner's guts as she looked at each one of them. The teen wasn't showing any signs of hostility, but she preffered to stay cautious. She spent all possible time with those people, simultaneously keeping an eye on the teenager and making sure that the bleach did not fall into his hands again. The previous incident was still fresh in her mind.
'Not a workday, but some kind of baby-sitting' She thought bitterly as she handed a new set of clothes to an elderly woman.
Of course, she took some of the religious residents of the shelter there, but she preferred to stand outside and wait. There was something about such buildings that involuntarily made the woman shrink, no matter her age. It wasn't hate or dislike, she was just plain uncomfortable. Whether it was the walls, the frescoes, or just the sheer size of the building, she didn't know what caused such a feeling.
However, now, after such a good chat with Deacon Wyborn, she was ready to cope with her discomfort. Finding such a kind and pleasant person was worth a lot, and Abner would not want to miss such a chance to talk to him personally.
Hesitating, the muscular woman nevertheless opened the church door, entering the temple. Her eyes carefully studied the empty benches, the white walls, and the light fixtures on the walls. The place still felt uncomfortable for Ramona, which is not surprising at all, but not as much as other similar places. When she fully entered, she began to walk more confidently, trying to find the person she had come here for and for whom brought a jar of black tea and a package of cookies.
The place is much kinder looking in the day. The sun makes it inviting and warm. But passing under the loft still gives a strange feeling- once past the threshold, an inexplicable feeling that the place isn't much a church anymore.
It still very much is, nothing changes but the view. Looking up shows a higher ceiling, like a breath of fresh air you didn't know you were holding out for. The broken wooden beam, strangely splintered at an end instead of the middle, where an old rope is sunken into the wood. Must've hoisted something up there, once upon a time.
The loft's door is sectioned off with police tape, as if anyone could even reach it now.
It doesn't matter, because the deacon emerges from storage, toying with the tassels on his stole before noticing Ramona. In an instant, his face lights up with excitement.
" Oh! Hello, hello, hello! I wasn't entirely sure if I was expecting someone or not, so I'm lucky not to have left you waiting, aren't I?"
He briefly glances over what she's holding, and recognition fills his expression. " OH!!! You're Ramona, aren't you? Oh, goodness- consider yourself lucky that you stuffed your arms full, otherwise you would be wrapped up in a hug by now. You look like you could break my spine though..."
The moment she saw Deacon Wyborn across the church the corners of Ramona's mouth turned up. She couldn't help but size him up, noting his glasses, cassock and other details of his appearance. It wasn't something she quite expected, but it wasn't unpleasant.
"Yup, that's me! Deacon Wyborne, right? It's nice to meet you in person!" She said joyfully, shifting the bag containing everything she had brought from one hand to the other. "Yeah, you're right - my hugs tend to be quiet... Overwhelming for some."
Abner's shoulder's shook as she laughed, but it trailed of as her eyes unconsciously focused on the things above them. When she looked at the door and the splintered wood she felt as if she doesn't know something important about this place - something crucial that she's supposed to know. It's like the place was mocking and pitying the woman for not knowing, engraving the sight of the police tape into her mind as punishment.
She shook her head as she got out of this strange trance, hastily returning her attention to the Deacon once again. She flashed an apologetic smile as she began to speak once again.
"I brought some tea as well as snacks. I hope you like butter cookies."
His eyes trail where hers do, and he winces at the sight. But he shakes out a solemn expression fast enough to return to his smiling.
“ Butter cookies, you say? Those are dangerous, you know- might pass out and wake up with the whole bag gone.”
He snickers at the idea. Realistically, that would only happen if he was left unsupervised, so he waves Ramona up front.
“ Come, sit down! If- ah, if you’re not comfortable on the pews, you’re plenty welcome to sit on the…”
A vague gesture. “ Stage? Is that the right word? It can’t be. Sorry, our Father here explained it once, but… well, I just can’t say I was paying attention.”
It shows, just a bit. Without a doubt, he’s a Deacon, but visibly it isn’t too certain, not with the way he wears his stole- that’s the way a priest would. He’s… not the most focused of men. Maybe not the most devout. Still trying.
“ You better be sharing those with me. I don’t know if either of us could manage a bag on its own.”
The Deacons words calmed her once again. Getting a pack of butter cookies out of the bag, she handed the package out to the man.
"Of course I planned to eat it all by myself while you just sit and watch, but I guess I'll have to share. Oh well..." The woman said with feigned sadness, still smiling.
Ramona Abner was a pretty concentrated person, her mind always focused on the task at hand with no real problem, be it filling out paperwork or physical activity. However, she had to meet different people over the course of her work - some like her, and some completely opposite. Deacon Wyborne's absent-mindedness even relaxed Ramona to some extent. It seems as if there is not an important and serious spiritual figure standing before her, but an ordinary person with whom one can have a chat in a secular manner.
However, as Abner turned her gaze away from Wyborn to look at the benches, a chill ran through her body. The feeling of being watched that seemed to have haunted her all her life suddenly became more acute. Her gaze quickly scanned the room, but there was nothing and no one extra there.
However, the woman brushed this feeling aside.
'Most likely it's just an excess of feelings, that's all,' she rationalized.
Turning again to Deacon, she suggested a little more quietly:
"We can sit on the... Stage, I suppose? I think it's more cozy."
“ Such a terrible fate bestowed upon you! Sitting down and eating cookies! You’ll have to find it in you to forgive me.”
Ramona seems a little unsettled. People who don’t go into churches often are. To make it seem less of a house of god and more just a home is the ultimate goal, usually- but he’s more focused on just talking.
Maybe that’s better? To have her more acquainted with himself instead of the building. It’s hardly a place of safety. Just looking at the pulpit makes him shudder a bit, but it’s not about who isn’t there.
Wyborn finds a place right at the edge of the stage, sitting down before brushing away dirt and dust for Abner.
“ Sorry. Not the most comfortable, but I don’t think anything here is really meant to be. Otherwise I’d get you a cushion… maybe a fan, if it didn’t get drafty. I think we might have a blanket in the back…”
But the sun comes in through the windows beautifully up on the stage, so being cold is no issue. Just a formality.
“ Cozy enough to fall asleep… like a cat.” It shows on his face that he truly contemplates it.
Wyborn's hospitality felt so warm, as if she had brought her hands closer to the stove. Few people in Connecticut came into contact with Ramona so easily, her rather massive appearance slightly scared off some, but she was glad that the Deacon wasn't like that.
Following him, her footsteps echoed and muted through the church. Her braids in the light seemed not just pitch black, but rather like pieces of black velvet. Happily taking the place prepared by the man, she immediately decided to take out all the contents from her bag.
"I hope I'll have it in me to forgive you, I really do."
A pack of cookies in a sky-blue package rustled between them, followed by two brown plastic cups. An orange thermos flask appeared in Abner's hands.
"I added a little sugar there, hope you don't mind," she warned as she poured the steaming tea, her nostrils sensing the floral aroma, "Careful, it's still hot! Let it cool down for now."
Even with Ramona's warning, he nearly goes and burns himself anyways. Wyborn lets out some sort of yip sound at the close call.
" Right, yes... I suppose exercising patience is the smart and wise thing to do."
He set the cup to his side and chuckles to himself about his own shortsightedness, but he easily distracts himself with a cookie.
His face lights up. " Holy-" and then he quickly claps a hand over his mouth, going red. " I mean. I. I didn't say that. I wasn't... saying anything. Apologies. It was just... similar to a type I've had before."
He can't think of much to say, initially, and leans back in the silence he lets rise. But Abner came here, came to church when she hadn't in... did she ever say? He's forgotten, already.
His eyes drag over to that door again and he finds himself blurting out words so he doesn't have to think about it.
" You didn't have to meet me here, you know. I would've been plenty happy to visit you at the shelter. Not- not that I'm complaining! I just... I don't know, I figure it's not actively falling apart, hah. Much... safer."
His hand taps at his side anxiously. He still keeps his smile, but it's a little strained. Don't think about it, don't say it, and Ramona won't either. It's not an issue until he makes it one.
A chuckle involuntarily escaped her lips when Wyborn made that sound, friendly rather than sadistic.
"I warned you. And yes," She made a serious face for a second and looked away, "I didn't hear anything. Absolutely nothing."
Even though the step under her was solid, the woman did not notice it at all. The evening rays of the sun fell on the walls, turning them into warm shades. Ramona turned back to Wyborn with a smile and thought.
The Deacon was worried about something. He tried to keep it casual, and he seemed to be genuine, but still something weighed heavily on him. Is it related to the church? Or maybe to that door? In any case, it's better to keep quiet about it for now.
"I just wanted to... Look at this place. It seemed to me that you would be more comfortable here - sometimes we have quite a lot of fuss at The Open Arms. It's very peaceful here."
It was all true, but that wasn't the whole reason. A part of her still wanted to look at the condition of the church in order to insist on help if it needed it. She always has to pull herself together so as not to offer unwanted help, but sometimes she just can't control herself.
" I suppose it is peaceful. Didn't always used to be. It's better this way, when it's quiet, I guess."
Maybe. Probably not. He doesn't entirely enjoy how it gets quiet. It used to be full of life. Used to be out of his hands.
But he's not doing too terribly, it seems. If Ramona likes it, he's doing something right. She knows a place like home better than anyone else.
" Terribly small though. Certainly not comfortable enough for anyone to stay in. You've got that on us, huh? Busier, bigger, much more alive. Stuck revering the dead here, but you celebrate life and give it new meaning."
Church has always been much more solemn than he was. A sordid type of affair. Learn what all you're doing wrong and beg for forgiveness over it.
Ramona gave hope. She didn't pervert it, didn't prey on it.
She paused for a moment, looking at Wyborne with a sparkle in her eyes.
"I'm really glad that you see it that way," Ramona replied, settling herself comfortably.
She was flattered to say the least. She has heard both a lot of praise and a lot of criticism, in particular she was accused of covering up criminals, encouraging homelessness and a whole list of other things.
'My appearance doesn't help me either,' the woman thought bitterly, picking up a pack of cookies with her hands, which were noticeably muscular even under her shirt.
However, despite everything, her shelter was not a magical cure for all problems. It was necessary to look for a reason for the guests to continue to fight no matter what outside. Family, friends, religion - I had to turn to everything to encourage them to cherish their lives.
Abner actually associated churches with death, feeling as if she, still alive, had no place in them. However, next to the Deacon, she felt at peace, as if the white walls were not pressing down on her, but were parting, allowing her to breathe, and the frescoes did not seem so fragile that they would break in a single gust of wind.
'Is this how other people feel when they come in here?'
"I don't think it's a bad thing that it's small," smiling again, Abner continued with a light heart, "I am sure that your services are important to your flock. People find solace even in such ceremonies - and I saw with my own eyes how they inspire many."
For a moment, the woman was lost in memories - how she saw off some of the shelter's guests and stood in front of huge wooden doors on the street, how she later saw their gloomy, sometimes tear-stained faces. And she remembered how they almost blossomed afterwards, trying to rebuild their lives anew.
"So don't belittle your efforts, Deacon," Ramona said, opening a bag of cookies and placing it closer to him, encouraging him to take some, "You are as important to people as we are."
She’s awfully nice to him. There’s a sad sort of appreciation in his smile. It means a lot to Wyborn, but he doesn’t believe the words, not fully.
“ Ah. Well, I try. But there’s only so much I can really be to someone other than a few words of hope.”
What was he, other than an enabler? All he ever did was welcome a killer into his arms. It’s hardly like he could tell Ramona that. Not after suggesting Jessie even visit her shelter.
He would, if Wyborn only suggested it. And he would, so sincerely, even if it put Ramona and everyone else in danger, out of belief for her work.
The church might feel so open for her, but it feels like it wants to cave in on him.
“ I don’t even lead services, hah… the priest here used to do that. All I can do is stand in his place and hope he comes back.”
He’s not terribly hard to encourage, gladly taking two to toy with.
“ That’s why everything you do is so invaluable to me, I suppose, why I’d want to help. I’m not sure what I’m doing here, but… pretty clear cut on your end.”
Abner's light green eyes looked at her companion gently, but with confusion. She wanted to give the Deacon confidence, but this task looks more difficult than it seemed at first glance. This is not a problem that can be solved in one meeting with a few compliments.
'I'll try gradually though'
Ramona shrugged and chuckled.
"Sometimes our words can mean more than we know..." She said meaningfully, adjusting the elastic band on her braid and glancing at Wyborn intermittently, "However, I will be very glad of any help from you, no matter how small or big it is."
The woman took the already slightly cooled cup of tea in her hand, looking around again along the way. A church with no priest? Without much thought, she asked:
"Where did the priest go? How long has he been gone?"
There was genuine interest and surprise in her voice. How can that be? Isn't it lonely for him to spend his days in such a majestic but empty building?
Ramona took a sip of tea, feeling the warmth flowing down her throat.
“ … I suppose just you being here is help enough. Goes to show, doesn’t it. Some words and a presence…”
Seeing Ramona move with her tea reminds him of his own, and he finally gets to drinking it when it doesn’t scald him. He seems very pleased with this, idly bouncing his leg.
Not all good things can last forever. Avoiding a question will only mean they’ll come back to it.
He tries avoiding her gaze at first, but decides not to. Abner is a smart woman. She’s getting an answer either way. He doesn’t need to shy from it.
“ Three weeks, now. Or, at least, three Sundays. I was scared to death on the first one, I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening or where he was. I couldn’t hold mass. The second one, I… called in Father Ward. This most recent one, I tried leading myself, but… it just wasn’t right.”
He quiets to glance up at the loft. His hands shake, just a bit.
“ He’s dead. I don’t have proof. But I know he is. There’s just no way that J…” He trails off, letting grip tighten on the cup. His tone slips from his usual warm to… faster, shaky, uncertain.
“ We found… bones. In the loft. Lots of them. All the same kind- human jaw. We… don’t know whose. But, with the number exact, I… can only guess. It’s stopped, I know- nobody will add to it any time soon, the- the- the man who did it- he won’t, not again, but. It still… it’s not like stopping it changes who’s gone.”
How confidence wanes, how a usually open man shrivels in on himself. The cooled tea his source of warmth in an otherwise cold building- to him, at the least.
“ I’m all alone here and it’s my fault. Don’t have the right to complain.”
Ramona stilled, her eyes growing wider the more she listened to him. Her hand, outstretched towards the bag of cookies just hovered in the air before settling on her lap.
She wasn't just alert now. She was straight up worried. Looks like her suspicions about the loft were not in vain. She follows his gaze up there, sensing the cool dread ensnare her heart. Her brain quickly provided her with a picture of a pile of human jaws, some old and some fresh, with cracks and chunks of something-
Abner stopped her imagination from continuing further. Knowing that something horrible like that happened at this place made the woman fearful. She has rarely felt anything like such fear, so it is more than an unusual feeling for her. Scratching the back of her neck, she looked back at the drooping man.
Ramona could understand why he felt guilty, but he could hardly have done anything significant, after all, he hadn't killed the Father. However, that's not how guilt often works, and she knew it better than anyone.
Leaning a little closer to the man, making herself a little smaller, she said:
"It's certainly not your fault, Deacon Wyborn," Her voice was set in stone yet compassionate, her eyes noticing the trembling of his hands, "I doubt that you could've prevented it."
And, after looking around, trying to see if there was anybody else watching their conversation, she continued:
"You were left like this by force. Please don't think that you deserve it."
Wyborn ruined it. The lightness they shared, warmth. It’s all gone now, in his mind, all because he couldn’t lie. He still holds onto the glass like she might take it back from him. That would probably be better, though, if she did, so he can’t place why he doesn’t want to let this go.
At least Ramona tries to comfort him. He smiles, though tinged with sadness. It has to be his fault, because it is, because who else could there be to blame?
“ … I really thought I was doing the right thing too. Maybe, maybe I’d believe I didn’t do anything wrong if he seemed normal, but… we were supposed to turn him away and I still let him in. I let him know every single person who took issue with him.”
He sets the glass down to let his hands snake into his hair, tensing and pulling just so slightly. It doesn’t look painful from the get-go, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s trying to do, trying to punish himself
“ He told me to my face that he did it for me. He told me I was too negligent and it was true.”
“ … But I keep trying to make up for it. I… I can’t help the wrong person every time. Somebody out there will need it. Something I do has to be right. With all they say about broken clocks… I’ve got to find that twice a day eventually.”
That shaky smile is there still when he looks back at Abner. She’s such a good person. She knows what to do, what to look for, how to help. It takes no genius to tell somebody is hurting, yet she can tell why and knows how to help. Ramona fixes things, with strong hands and the right words and good intentions. He just knows how to pray.
Oh. Oh, looks like Ramona struck something really important to Wyborn. And something dark that is. Not really good.
The woman leans down to have a clear look on the Deacons face. It's clear that he's trying to hurt himself, his hair looks like it's about to be torn off, no less. It intensifies the more he speaks and she has to do something.
'Ah, to hell with it'
She rests her hand on the man's shoulder with a sight, squeezing it. Her eyes turn reassuring and her speech flows like a steady river.
"Wybo-" Not that informal, "- I know you might not see it," She begins, gripping her tea tighter, "But curse me if I'm lying, I see you're trying. And trying may cause mistakes. And those mistakes might be..."
She paused, trying to find the appropriate words to place her thoughts into.
"Some bad people may stumble upon you, and you might even help them. And it might even cost you a lot. But at the same time a person in need may be in need of it, someone who even might be saved by you only. Helping everyone against all odds is what we do."
She hoped that her words didn't ring hollow. Ramona's green eyes studied Wyborn's face and hands, begging for at least a little change.
That same tannish bike was leaning against the shelter. Great.. Maverick Madlock was here. That kid.. The quiet one. The kid who never spoke. Never let anyone get too close. The one with the too messy hair and the tanned, freckled skin. The one with the horrifyingly endless, apathetic black eyes. The kid who's revenge schemes were something no average teenager would think of. He had been volunteering for a few weeks now. His parents had forced him because they thought that 'Some community service will do him well'. Yeah right.. All Maverick does is wander around, mumble cryptic things under his breath when no one is watching, and is very hostile to any of the guests who ask for assistance. He isnt allowed near the guests anymore after.. the incident. No one likes speaking of it. The kid only causes more trouble than good. He is only allowed to clean. Because last time they put him in charge of cooking he tried to poison one of the guests with bleach. Ms. Abner couldn't do much about Maverick. He always covered his tracks a little too well. To the point he could get away with everything. But that didnt matter. He was here now. And the shelter didn't look as bright as it usually did with Maverick around. That tan bike was always a sign no one liked to see outside. No doubt the freckled kid was inside. How did he even get in? Ms. Abner hadnt even opened the doors yet. God knows.. Atleast no one was in there for him to harm.
(First time initiating this-)
The walk back to the shelter was usually an easy one.
It's only a couple of blocks on foot, and you're already at the door of The Open Arms, keys jangling in your hands. Yet for the past few weeks it was getting more and more difficult to walk this particular path.
The threatening messages, the strange dreams and, of course, him - Maverick Madlock. The kid that seems to come up with more and more stuff to mess up the work of the shelter. Despite Ramona insistently telling Mr and Mrs Madlock that the work at the shelter is a volunteer one and shouldn't be used as a 'lesson', they weren't listening.
And look what it led to - a visitor of the shelter nearly poisoned and a lot more scared to death, the other volunteers struggling to remain in the building when the teen is there. Letting him do jobs that don't require interaction with people was the least she could do.
Seeing the bike at the front of the shelter made Abner sight. She had no idea how he managed to do this several times, let alone why, but she knew one thing for certain - it's gonna be a huge headache for her no matter what.
Opening the door that was already unlocked with her stiff hands, she stood for a moment, listening for any sounds. Then, after not hearing a single sound but knowing he's there, she finally spoke loudly to be heard:
"C'mon, kid, I know you're here!" Her tone wasn't outright hostile, but wasn't happy either.
There was silence in that damn shelter. Maverick never came out voluntarily. They would just have to wait. Even after guests started popping in and out Maverick hadnt really shown up.
Other than once where he walked into the large communal room area to see who was there. Two elderly folks. One child who had been showing up often. Three adults. And one teenage boy who was Maverick's age. Seven guests of the shelter was a little more than average. But never too much where the other volunteers had to get Maverick involved.
None of the other volunteers liked Maverick either. They called him creepy or hostile. Or just downright terrifying to be around. Everyone flinched whenever he walked into a room. However the boy seemed to be behaving himself today. Nothing sinister had been plotted yet. Maverick also seemed to be more social. And by social that meant hiding in one of the closets, peeking out to stare at the guests. There wasnt much to get him in trouble over. He'd gotten all of his cleaning done. So they let him stare. None of the guests seemed to notice. However it did appear for Maverick to have taken an interest in the other teenage boy. His cold black eyes locked on the other. Staring. Not quite empty in the way they usually were.
His view was suddenly blocked by a green dress. He looked up ever so slightly to see Ms. Abner blocking his view from the closet. No doubt he was about to get scolded. It never worked. He never seemed to feel any remorse for his actions. He didnt say a word. Only met Ms. Abner's gaze with that terrifying empty gaze. The interest that had filled his eyes was now gone. Instantly. Now blank and staring back up at the other woman.
Ramona has been searching for Maverick for the whole day. Of course she had some other things to do around the shelter, but the moment she wasn't too busy she asked the other people if they've seen the boy. Earning a positive reply she just sighted. Guess it was just one of the days when she couldn't catch him.
That is, until her gaze fell at the crack in the closet. A watchful eye was there, observing the guests (or at least one guest in particular). Letting out a quiet but frustrated sight, she went towards the dors of the closet, peeking into it, staring back at the black, cold eyes, with her own green ones.
Something about the teen creeped her out. Not just his violent behaviour - the way he spoke, the way he stared at people - it all made her uncomfortable, like many. In moments when he was truly dangerous she had the urge to just pull his arm and squeez it for she knew that her grip was far more intense then that of an average person
'He's just a teen,' She rationalised, 'And brute force would hardly change things.'
So she restrained herself, trying to act as calm as possible, while trying to coax Maverick to come out.
"Well?" She asked, rising an eyebrow, "Wanna come out?"
John stood at the door, visibly anxious. He’d checked the sign outside at least twenty times, and even asked the younger man beside him to double check before he finally worked up the nerve to knock. “Nervous” barely scratched the surface of what he felt, he was practically buzzing with uncertainty. Isaac rested a hand on his shoulder in a quiet attempt to soothe him, but it did little to calm his nerves.
He wasn’t even sure he should be here. Ms Abner hadn’t given him the address, he’d taken it upon himself to come after being unable to shake the gnawing unease that had settled in his chest after seeing the graffiti. Isaac clearly wasn’t thrilled about tagging along either. He claimed he was “in the middle of something,” but John knew better. If he hadn’t dragged him out of his motel room, he was 99.9% sure the other man would’ve just spent the day curled up in bed.
(First time initiating this. Shaking and crying.)
Another day on the road. Another day at work.
Ramona got her arms up, stretching her back after an hour of filling out the paperwork. Despite the fact that one chore was over, the woman had already started thinking about a hundred others.
'There will be discounts at the center, we need to buy some new sheets- I have to help Carlton with the logistics of picking up donation boxes- And also-'
However, her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. The tired irritation from such a busy day was replaced by professional concentration. With heavy steps, Ramona hobbled to the door and abruptly opened it, startling even herself.
Meeting two men in front of her, one visibly nervous and the other trying to calm him down, the owner of the shelter smiled her trademark inviting smile. There was exhaustion in her eyes, but her open pose spoke of her willingness to speak.
"Hello, gentlemen," she greeted, fixing one of her ebony braids, "I don't think I know you. Although, wait..."
After a moment of careful examination of the face that was most likely knocking on the door, Abner was finally able to draw the chain.
The silence after John knocked was unbearable. Each passing second made the dread in his chest twist tighter. Even after checking the sign a dozen times and making Isaac check it too, he was still convinced he’d gotten the wrong place. That he’d humiliate himself, have to walk away in shame, and hear Isaac laughing about it the entire way home.
Then the door opened.
Despite John being the one full of nerves, it was Isaac who flinched at the sudden movement, nearly jumping out of his skin. John quickly pulled on a warm smile, he didn’t have Father Allred or Father Garcia to hide behind anymore. "Hello, Ms. Abner! I am, in fact, Father Ward." He nearly added ‘the one and only’, but recent events had proven otherwise.
"And this is Father Jones," he added, gesturing behind him. "I believe I mentioned him briefly in our exchanges."
Isaac, now the one looking sheepish, awkwardly shifted behind John’s shoulder and stubbed out the cigarette he’d only just lit into the back of his own palm. Probably not the best first impression, but still he managed a polite smile. He silently prayed that would spare him from needing to speak.
Ramona was more than surprised to see them on the doorsteps of The Open Arms. She didn't even give them the address (not that this place was difficult to find), so they wasted their time to actually get in contact with her.
"Father Jones, Father Ward, you came just in time!" She blurted out, stepping to the side to reveal a small reception room, "Please come in!"
She moved away from the door, quickly heading towards the couch next to the coffee table. As the feeling of surprise slowly dulled Ramona wondered why they actually went to such length to meet her. Both Fathers seemed to be tense to say the least, so she jumped to the conclusion that something happened or they really needed to know something from her.
"You can sit down if you'd like," The proposal came out easily and naturally, as if it had been repeated many, many times. "Anything you'd like? Coffee, tea?"
The two men stood blankly in the doorway for a moment before shuffling inside, moving with all the coordination of a singular shared brain cell. Isaac, despite his earlier vow to himself of silence, managed a soft, “Thank you, Miss,” as he stepped inside after John.
Neither had visited before, so they paused to take in their surroundings. John sat down first, while Isaac lingered awkwardly before finally plopping down far too close to John for it to be normal. Both did look awfully tense, though John at least tried to mask it. Isaac, on the other hand, wore his usual expression which consisted of a haunted sort of blankness that screamed ‘I have seen things no man should see.’
At the mention of tea, however, Isaac perked up like a startled rabbit. “Oh! I’ll have tea!…p-please…” He immediately shrank back, clearly embarrassed by how quickly he’d responded at the mention of tea.
John stifled a laugh, still smiling as he added “I’d like coffee, if it’s no trouble, Ms.”
Isaac elbowed him in retaliation for the chuckle, but John barely reacted as he was simply too amused to care.
Awesome! At least now she had something to do before having an actual conversation with the men at her reception. With a nod, she went behind the main desk, where everything necessary was kept - sugar, tea bags, an electric kettle and a bag of coffee.
'I was lucky to have turned on the kettle just as they arrived,' she wondered to herself as she quickly prepared drinks for the three of them. While in the process she glanced at the guests from time to time. They seemed to be pretty close, with the way they teased each other, and although at least one of them tried to hide it, it was evident they were both nervous about something - which concerned Ramona greatly but also made her curious.
Finally, she brought three cups - one with tea, two with coffee - on the wooden table. The spoons and sugar bowl followed suit, settling with a clink. Sitting down on the chair next to him, Ramona glanced first at the seemingly stoic Father Ward and then at the obviously nervous Father Jones. Her face was soft yet still held an edge of concentration, worry creeping through her.
"You came to discuss the graffiti, right?" The one she had to scribble off once again after she took the photos.
John watched the young woman step out, exhaling quietly before glancing over at Isaac.
“What are we even supposed to tell her? If we're too direct, she’ll probably panic-”
Isaac cut in quickly, “But we have to tell her. It’s wrong not to. What if we say nothing and she ends up in danger because of us?”
John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know...I’m just not sure yet. Let’s take a look at the graffiti again. Scout the building. Then we can decide how much to share. I don’t want to say ‘cult’ unless we’re absolutely certain.”
Their voices stayed low. They didn’t want Ramona overhearing, not until they had something solid to tell her. Still, neither of them had come to a real conclusion, and the uncertainty left a heavy weight between them.
John rubbed the back of his neck, gaze drifting down as if he could avoid the strange laughter that flickered at the edge of his hearing. It was low, clearly amused, and coming from nowhere. He tried to ignore it.
Isaac had an awful sense for these things and noticed, his expression quickly softening. He didn’t say a word but reached over and rested a hand on John’s thigh. A quiet gesture of support. Moments later, Ramona reentered the room and both men straightened quickly, their movements almost in sync…again. (Singular brain-celled creatures…)
“Thank you kindly, Ms. Abner,” John said as she set their drinks down.
Isaac offered a quick, quiet thanks and immediately reached for the sugar, prompting another small laugh from John.
“Take away tea,” he whispered with a smirk, “and I think he’d just about stop functioning.”
Isaac elbowed him lightly yet again but said nothing, hiding his smile behind the rim of his cup.
John cleared his throat. “Yes- yes, we’ve had a look. It’s a curious case, truly. And, as I mentioned, I’ve seen something similar before at Deacon Wyborn’s parish.” His tone shifted slightly, a little more serious now. “I don’t mean to frighten you, not at all. But there’s a reason we’re here, and urgency felt necessary.”
A light laugh escaped Ramona's lips. Her rough fingers curled around the handle of her mug as she added a couple of spoons of sugar to her fresh coffee.
"Well, if someone took away my coffee I would be the same," she smiled once again.
Those two priests were something... Unusual for the shelter, to put it lightly. College dropouts, musicians, even a professor of computer science have stayed for some time there, but not them. She wondered if something quite this would happen to the shelter, and something told her that it definitely would.
"Well, I should be thanking you. I'm truly glad you came here. And please believe me when I say you don't frighten me," she paused, gripping her cup tighter, "And if you have your own reasons to be here, then I'll be more than happy to help. Deacon Wyborn spoke well of you, and I believe him."
Yes, Abner wasn't frightened, but it didn't mean that she couldn't feel dreadful and sense that something about all of this was wrong. No matter how much she tried to rationalize it, how much she hoped her mind was alert.
John smiled faintly at the mention of Deacon Wyborn. Beside him, Isaac’s cheeks flushed as he stared down into his cup. Of course Wyborn would bring him to mind. Damn it, he needed to get his head checked.
John didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m glad he spoke well of me,” he said smoothly. “I’m only here to help. I mean no harm.” He reached for his coffee without sugar, hand a bit too steady. He drank, paused. Blinked. He swore it tasted like ash for a second.
He quickly cleared his throat. “I roughly translated the graffiti, I’m not sure if I mentioned that in our earlier messages...” He hesitated, eyes flicking to the corner of the room for slightly too long, like something had moved. Nothing had.
Isaac caught the glance, but said nothing, just nodded. Nervous.
John continued, tone flat. “I’m sorry to come on so strong, but I believe your building may be targeted. The Latin, it was something along the lines of ‘tear down the walls and strangle your lambs.’” As he spoke the phrase aloud, his voice seemed to dip (only briefly) into something colder. A strange cadence, like the words were too comfortable in his mouth.
He looked at Ramona, expression soft but unreadable, before glancing away and sipping again. This time, the coffee tasted normal.
“I don’t want to scare you, truly. But I’d rather you be prepared than have us stay quiet and…” he pauses. Glances across the room. Blinks. “…end up giving statements.” His fingers fidgeted against the cup. With his free hand, he dug his nails into his palm again- deeper this time. A little red welled up, but he didn’t seem to notice. It grounded him briefly.
Isaac finally spoke, visibly a bit unsettled. “As Father Ward said, we don’t want to frighten you. We’re only here to help. We’re more than happy to bless the building and keep an eye out for any unusual activity.” He shifted slightly closer, gaze still down. “Have you noticed anyone lingering outside? Or when the markings usually show up? I…I have someone I can ask, but I need more to go on.” He didn’t look up. His voice was steady, but his hands were trembling.
John stayed still, quiet. He felt a pressure behind his eye. A whisper not in his ear but in his teeth. He blinked again. No one noticed. He smiled calmly. “We’ll keep you safe, Ms. Abner.”
As both men spoke Ramona's expression grew more and more concerned. Her brows furrowed, and her hands began to soundlessly beat out some rhythm on the cup that's known only to her.
She looked from Father Ward, who acted like the main conversationalist, to Isaac, who spoke only occasionally. Eventually, her gaze shifted to her own cup. It seemed as if Abner was trying to find something in its contents.
"So someone is threatening us and our guests," she nodded, more to herself. The words about walls and lambs made her truly freeze. Raising her gaze, Ramona continued, "I mentioned in the message that a neighbor told me about a group rushing away from the shelter building immediately after the inscriptions appeared on it, but they disappeared too quickly. We don't have any other information about them."
She paused again, looking almost guilty, thinking about the answer.
"It looks like you're already suspecting someone, right?" Abner tried to straighten up, to appear more friendly. She could only hope that it worked, "If you need more information, I'll try to get it. And, although I am not religious, if you think that rituals should be held, then I will be all for it. However, please..."
Her voice became slightly pleading, but insistent. Ramona knew that sometimes she could be too pushy, but she just couldn't stay clueless.
John tilted his head in a slow, thoughtful gesture. "Yes, we believe so. You might've mentioned it before, but do you happen to recall what time the markings started? Or when they tend to appear?"
Isaac hesitated, fingers brushing nervously against the edge of his cassock's sleeve. "Well...I'm not saying it's definitely him, but he did do the graffiti at Jonah's Keep. Latin, red- The wording was different, but it had the same...presence? We think it's the same group. And... he wet his lips, avoiding John's eyes, "I think we should, at the very least, bless the building."
John stilled. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Something curled behind his eyes, something listening. When he finally spoke, his tone was different again. Smoother. Precise. "We've no intention of keeping you uninformed, Ms Abner," he said, softly. "But we also don't want to act on our own fear. Not without certainty."
The words slid out like oil- polished and distant. Something inside him was smiling. Isaac flinched before he realised he had. A chill ran up the back of his neck, not from anything said, but from the sudden wrongness in the air. The hair on his arms stood up. He coughed gently, trying to clear something from his throat that wasn't there. His mouth tasted like iron.
John kept talking. "If we're wrong, you've simply had two overcautious men in your shelter. But if we're right, well...better you hear it now than during the aftermath."
Isaac glanced at him again. 'Who even says that???' His tone wasn't right. It was John's voice, but there was a slant to it... like the words weren't his, or like they were filtered through someone else's mouth.
"Apologies," John added, as if nothing had changed. "We're both a bit weary. Things haven't been running as smoothly as I would have liked them to be recently." The nightmares. The dead animal. The blood.
He pressed two fingers briefly against his temple, his free hand tapped against the table now. The tapping was slow and rhythmic in nature, almost like a heartbeat.
John glanced up. "Let us see the building in full, if you'd let us. We'll be careful as to not damage anything."
Isaac swallowed hard. His throat burned. He wanted to speak again but couldn't. Not with that hum in the back of his skull, he simply nodded along instead and fiddled with something in his pocket. (His cigarettes...of course...)
Ramona tried to relax in her chair, but something seemed to be preventing her from doing it. Now John's every word seemed to reverberate through her bones, as if making them shake, and her muscles were tense, as if they were preparing for something.
The woman tried to throw it off to overexertion, which often kept her company, but still this time it felt different. It's like someone is watching them intently. It was more logical to look out the window, but for some reason her eyes kept returning to Father Ward.
'Stop being paranoid. You know that your feelings are letting you down, there's no one else here.' And even though she could see that Isaac was worried too, she just brushed it off. 'He may have his reasons. I'm just getting hysterical again.'
Wetting her lips (which she didn't even realize had become dry), Abner finally responded to the men with some deliberate ease.
"I understand, this case needs to be approached with a cool head, no matter what it turns out to be."
"As for the time of the appearance of graffiti... Ehhh, they mostly appear when none of the workers are near the reception windows. They appear sometime... Sometime in the afternoon or early in the morning, when they were most likely made at night. Inscriptions appear once in about 3-4 days..."
After a moment of silence, Ramona couldn't add anything else - no more details about the time surfaced in her head. Leaving her cup on the table, the woman stood up, too ready and quick, straightening her shirt.
"If you want, we can walk around the building, I'll take you anywhere you deem necessary!"
Isaac jumped up too quickly, nearly choking as he gulped down the last of his tea- idiot. John rose more deliberately, setting his half-empty cup down with quiet precision. His usual chuckle at Isaac’s clumsiness was nowhere to be found; instead, a cold glare flickered in his eyes, sharp and unsettling. Isaac felt the weight of that look and looked away.
Turning to Ramona with a calm, measured smile, John asked, “Hm, where does the graffiti usually show up? I want to start there.” His tone was polite but carried an undercurrent of something darker.
Isaac felt that familiar presence lurking just beneath the surface again, a quiet pressure at the edge of his mind. He kept silent, knowing it was wiser not to speak out, at least for now.
John’s gaze flicked back to Isaac briefly before he spoke again, voice steady but tinged with an edge. “Would you mind if I spoke with Father Jones for a moment? It’s nothing related to you or this case. Just another matter we’re handling. I apologise for the inconvenience.”
Beneath the words, the unspoken tension lingered. John wasn’t just a man trying to solve a problem anymore. Something else was there with him.
Abner didn't understand. John was barely able to control himself a few minutes ago, but now there's something almost calculating in his manner. Even his attitude towards Isaac, his companion, had changed noticeably-his gaze made even her feel uncomfortable, even though it wasn't directed at her.
"Usually the inscriptions appear on the facade, on the windows... But sometimes they can appear in the alley between the buildings." Ramona waved her hand towards the front door.
The woman wanted to run go outside to bring herself to her senses a little in the fresh air and stay with Isaac at the same time. She didn't want anything to happen while he's with-
' 'Something to happen'? Seriously? Father Ward came here with Isaac to help you, and you treat him like this? He's not some kind of maniac, but a man who's trying to help you, damn it!'
Restraining her voice so that it wouldn't tremble, Abner finally said,
"Then I'll be waiting for you outside," And after taking one last look at Isaac, full of support and a strange longing, she left the shelter, closing the door behind her and leaving the two men alone.
Leaning heavily against the wall, the woman just stood for a couple of seconds, resting against a crack in the asphalt. Then, adjusting the cuffs of her shirt, she tried to calm herself down.
'Maybe John just calmed down? Maybe he's always like this?'
No, not always, it's obvious even after such a short conversation. However, there was nothing she could do to explain such a drastic change in the man's behavior.
Unable to find any explanation, Ramona returned to the pressing issue - the inscriptions. Last time, she didn't even really check the alleyway - it's harder to clean the walls than the windows, and it makes less sense, so maybe there are already more threats or who knows what else written there. She didn't want to go there alone, and she didn't want to leave the men at a great distance either. So she just stood at the shelter, basking in the sun and trying to stop shivering.
As soon as Ramona was out of sight, John turned to Isaac. The poor man looked wrecked compared to how calm he looked mere seconds ago. His shoulders sagged like something had been torn out of him and his eyes darted around the room like he wasn’t sure what was real.
“This- this keeps happening, Isaac,” he gasped, voice cracking on the other priest’s name. “I can’t keep- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look at you like that. I didn’t. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t me.” He gripped the back of a chair to keep upright, knuckles pale. His whole body trembled like he was fighting to keep himself tethered to the room. “I could feel him. I could feel him in my mouth. My hands. I was still watching, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t-”
Isaac stepped forward carefully, reaching for the bottle in his coat. This wasn’t just a flare-up. This was getting worse. “John, it’s alright. You’re safe. I’ve got it,” Isaac said gently, hoping to be reassuring. But even he was starting to look shaken by the frequency of this. This was ruining the man in front of him and it hurt to see. John dropped to his knees almost automatically. The moment Isaac pulled the stopper from the holy water, John’s shoulders jolted like he expected to be struck. “He won’t let me sleep,” the older of the two whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, I see his teeth. I see Lisa. I see my own face but it’s wrong. He’s there. I can hear him laughing like it’s funny to him.” His breathing hitched. “He doesn’t want me dead, he wants me tired. Weak. So I agree to what he wants.”
Isaac sprinkled the water as he began to pray aloud, firm and practiced. The water hissed faintly against John’s scalp and forehead, and John winced, but didn’t pull away. “He’s afraid of Gary,” John spoke quietly, eyes clenched shut. “Won’t come near me when he’s around. Even if I dream, he won’t speak when Gary’s voice is there. I-I think I need to ask him. Just to sleep. Just a little.” That statement stunned Isaac into silence, but only for a second. He couldn’t say anything. He kept praying.
After several minutes (only about 8, but for John it felt like a whole decade had passed), the ritual ended. John stayed kneeling, breathing hard, hair dripping with blessed water. Isaac offered his hand to help him stand, John took it like he was clinging to a rope above an ocean. They emerged together from the building, John blinking against the light. His cheeks were wet not just from the water.
Isaac straightened his shoulders and gave Ramona a brief, professional nod. “Apologies, Ms. Abner. Everything’s alright now. We’re terribly sorry if that caused any concern. Father Ward has just been…struggling recently.” John didn’t speak- he just nodded, jaw tight. He looked like he was trying not to cry. He felt embarrassed. His hand fumbled through his bag and eventually pulled out his camera. He needed photos of the graffiti. Something so he could prove it had happened as well as study them later, look for anything he didn’t get from their visit today.
The woman's head cleared up a bit, but she didn't stop worrying. Ramona was ready to visit the priests as early as the sixth minute, and only her self-control allowed her to stay in place. A couple of minutes later, when she wanted to know exactly what was going on, John and Isaac finally came out the door.
Involuntarily, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was hard for her to admit that she felt better when she saw John the same way he was before, a little nervous but genuine. Abner didn't know what had happened, but the fact that they were out made her smile.
"It's nothing, Father Jones!" She hastened to reassure the man. Her voice became really joyful, "We're not in a hurry so take your time."
Her gaze went to the alleyway, now confident. She knew that nothing could possibly threaten her there, but it would be easier for her to be there with someone, anyone.
"There is nothing on the facade - we have already erased everything. We can't just leave our 'face' like this," A chuckle, "Sooo we can go around the corner. I haven't looked there for a long time and most likely there is something there."
She moved, turning slightly to look at Isaac and John. She hoped it was something trifling - just a bunch of teenagers who decided that writing creepy messages was funny and that nothing was actually threatening anyone.
The alley was dark and cramped - you could barely stand in it with your arms outstretched on your sides, creating a claustrophobic feeling. Looking up at the shelter wall, Ramona was not surprised when she saw jerky, frantic graffiti plastered on the wall, the same color as they were before - red and black, but still these notes filled her with anxiety.
Ramona’s warm smile briefly caused the tension in both men to simmer out. John managed a faint chuckle in response, nodding politely as he followed after her. Isaac trailed behind a little slower. The moment he saw how narrow the alleyway was, he hesitated.
The memory hit fast- being locked in that coffin, the demon whispering against the wood. Isaac swallowed thickly and shuddered. Christ. He hated tight spaces now.
He gave John the lead, then reluctantly stepped in after him, staying near the edge. Just in case. Just so he could bolt if the walls felt like they were pressing in.
Both priests lifted their eyes to the graffiti, it was far too familiar. There was a moment of heavy silence then John began to translate under his breath, his tone clipped and tense.
“Closed eyes invite him who will consume you. Bite the hands of false saviors and open your hearts to the truth.”
Isaac stepped forward slowly, fingers brushing the painted letters. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s…not good.”
They exchanged a glance, worry unmistakably written on both their faces. The pit in John’s stomach seemed to worsen. “I’m sorry, Ms. Abner,” he said, voice lower now. “But this- this doesn’t seem to just be harmless vandalism. I don’t think you’re safe here.”
Isaac nodded grimly. “It might be nothing, but…we saw nearly identical phrasing back at Jonah’s Keep.” He trailed off, brows furrowing. John stared at the message again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the words weren’t just a warning. They felt like a promise- a summoning.
Isaac tried to ground himself. It didn’t look like Jessie’s handwriting, thank God, but something about it still felt familiar. He made a mental note to ask Jessie about it later anyway. Better to know than wonder.
John, meanwhile, kept staring at the wall, heart crawling in his chest like something just behind his ribs wanted out. The alley suddenly felt colder.
And Alu…Alu was quiet. Which was worse than when he spoke.
Her face dropped - truly dropped. Abner leaned against the wall, staring blankly in front of her.
"Shit"
She said quietly, voice blank. No matter how much she hoped for the better it was no use. Someone was seriously threatening her and the people in the shelter.
' 'Bite the hands of your saviours'? I'll show you 'bite', I'll show you.'
The mere thought made her clench her fists in righteous anger. There were vulnerable people in The Open Arms, no one ended up there because of a good life, so the fact that those messages were directed at them made her blood boil with fury.
But still, this wasn't all over. They still had a lot of work to do. Ramona steadied her breathing, looking less and less intimidating.
"I think that I- have to explain, It's not- It's not about me being safe, but about... them," She nodded her head at the wall of shelter, "The people, they... trust us. We say that it's safe with us, that it'll all be okay, but this," She gestured slowly at the graffiti. "Is a direct threat. So..."
Abner paused once again, contemplating if she should ask them the questions or if she should stay silent so as not to let the answer potentially gnaw on her mind. But she was determined - she must know all she possibly can.
"Father Ward, Father Jones, I know it's in your best interest to not scare me, but I assure you - I'm far from those who fear any threat sent their way. You seem like you have a guess on who this might be. Please, tell me. Or at least tell me how to protect ourselves from them."
Ramona's gaze became clear as she looked upon them, revealing a scorching fire burning in her eyes. She would stop at nothing now.
Isaac nodded. “Right, understood.” He could understand her worry- this was why he was here, after all. Helping the vulnerable, protecting the frightened. That was the calling.
John raised his camera and took a photo of the graffiti, the shutter clicking quietly before he slipped it away into his bag. Both men turned their attention back to Ramona, then briefly to each other, before Isaac stepped forward to explain.
“There’s a cult,” he said, hesitating only slightly. “A fairly large one. We believe they might be behind this…for now. One of their members was responsible for the markings at Jonah’s Keep. The phrasing and coloring here- it’s similar, but the handwriting’s different. Doesn’t match the previous suspect.” At his own mention of Jonah’s Keep, Isaac faltered. His eyes dropped, and for a moment, guilt flickered across his face. He didn’t elaborate.
John nodded slowly, mostly in agreement, though the gesture seemed more for Isaac’s benefit than Ramona’s. “I’ll try speak with Deacon Wyborn,” John added. “See if the cultist’s been showing his face there.” He paused for a moment. “I’m sure Isaac can gather more from his end too.” He glanced sidelong at the younger priest, a barely concealed judgment flickering in his expression. This look, this time, was undeniably John. Despite everything, he was absolutely not above casting a lighthearted but dry look when Isaac started to fluster.
“Anyway,” he continued with a smoothness to his voice, “we do understand your concerns. If it would ease your mind, we could look into arranging temporary accommodations for the people staying here. We’d rather not see anyone else in harm’s way.” John paused, thinking. “How many usually stay overnight?” he asked, voice quieter now. “I know a few safe places we could reach out to. My own home has…oddly become something of a refuge itself. I suppose it’s big enough.”
He didn’t finish the thought. Big enough now that Molly was gone. The weight of that reality pressed briefly on his shoulders, and he shifted uncomfortably before glancing back toward Ramona with a forced, almost apologetic smile “Just until we get a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
How sweet. A cult. A cult that threatens her guests with death. A wonderful reward for several years of work. The danger to almost all of her surroundings knocked the air out of her lungs and made her legs feel like cotton wool.
"Well, that's wonderful..." the woman breathed thoughtfully.
She couldn't help but notice the way John looked at Isaac - with disapproval, but at least a sincere one. A conflict maybe? Even for someone as tactless as her, it was obvious that she had no right to get involved.
At first, Abner wanted to object. After all, their shelter is positioned as something safe. Why should she retreat after a small threat? Can't she handle it? Can't she tear apart anyone who gets even close to those poor people?
Fortunately, her gloomy thoughts did not show on her face, otherwise her appearance would have been frightening. Ramona knew they weren't questioning her competence and were just trying to help, but her fists were still itching, and the writing was scratched into her brain.
"So... On average, we have about 4-5 people, sometimes more. But..." She needed to convey herself, "We always said it was safe here. We don't just provide a roof over the head - we have shower, food, and help with document recovery. To close it all, even for a short time, will greatly cost us in the future."
The tension in Ramona's voice was obvious. She didn't want to appear weak, to retreat in a moment of danger. But still, she's not the only one involved-one wrong step can hurt many. She understood it with her head, but her heart did not want to accept it. Therefore, the only solution was to compromise.
"Fathers,"
'Is that even right to say that?'
"Are you familiar with how they work? Is there any way to isolate yourself from them without relocating?"
“Sadly…we’re all too familiar with how they operate,” John murmured, “I’m sorry to say it, but usually once they set their sights on something, they rarely let go.” He didn’t need to explain how he knew that.
Isaac remained quiet beside him, his eyes glued to the floor. Jessie was clearly on his mind. He just prayed the redness in his cheeks came off as fear and not…something else. God, not now.
John tried to offer comfort, if only a little. “We understand what you’re doing here and you’ve done a remarkable job. This isn’t your fault. None of this is.” But his eyes flicked toward the graffiti again, uneasy. Why a shelter? Vulnerable people, perhaps? Easy prey. That was usually enough for them.
Isaac finally spoke, his voice still uncertain. “As we mentioned before, we can try blessing the building. That might keep some of the cult’s influence at bay.” He hesitated. “I know this probably all sounds...insane. But demons, spirits- They summon them regularly.” He glanced at John, but the older priest gave nothing away.
“Their leader…he claims to be a man, but he isn’t. He’s something else. A demon wearing a flesh suit.” Isaac continued, his tone shifting slightly. “Crosses can help. Exorcisms too…though I don’t recommend walking up to anyone and trying that unless you really know what you're doing.” He gave a short, dry laugh, but it died quickly in his throat. “Actually, I don’t recommend doing it at all if you can avoid it.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“We could arrange for one of us to visit regularly,” Isaac offered, trying to find some sort of reasonable step forward. “If relocating isn’t an option…maybe our presence alone could be enough to ward off the worst of it. But I’ll be honest, we’re worried for you and the people staying here. If the cult is active, if they’ve marked this place…”He trailed off again. His gaze wandered toward John. Alu! A predator even the damned might flinch at. But could he drive the cult away? Probably not. They summoned him, after all. Plus, the demon didn’t seem awfully fond of John anyway.
Isaac exhaled slowly, “I’m- I’m not sure what to suggest, Ms. Abner,” he finally admitted. “But Father Ward and I…we can stay. At least temporarily. They might not expect either of us to be here. If one of them shows, maybe we can follow them. Confirm what we’re dealing with.”
His eyes flicked to the shadows around them, then back to her. “If you’ll have us, we’ll do everything we can.”
Ramona had to hold herself together. She clenched the sleeves of her shirt. The walls felt constricting, but she tried to shift her focus and to not thing about the thing on that thing on the wall. Her breathing came out loud but steady enough to not make her mind go hazy.
"I guess some crosses won't hurt," She mused, already setting up the logistics of where to get them, "And I think that maybe if you do the rituals and visit us it would be enough to buy us some time. Not really sure if we need any exorcism - our flickering lights can be fixed just by tapping on the lamp."
'If this cult operates by religious rules then they might be warded off by them.' She rationalized.
"We aren't terrorized by them for now so you have no need to stay here. You might be needed elsewhere after all." Ramona assured the men quickly, "But still... You've cleared up a lot for me. And although the reality of the situation is... Kinda a mess, we can at least do something about it."
Those words couldn't described how grateful she was for their help. Her burden felt heavier and lighter at the same time thanks to John and Isaac. Their assurance filled her with the determination to press on.
"I'll do everything in my power and more as well," She almost whispered while looking up at the building, at everything it represented - a home, a community, a hope.
She doesn't yet know where to start, but she must get to the bottom of this. The unknowing made Abner feel like she was losing in some twisted game the rules of which she didn't know. Like a silly critter to see running around. So condescending.
John caught the way Ramona’s fists clenched and gave her a look filled with quiet sorrow. It wasn’t fair, none of this. He loathed how the cult always preyed on the vulnerable. Amy. Tiffany...Lisa. His thoughts snagged on the name and for a moment his mind went completely blank. His eyes glazed over, unfocused, and unintentionally locking on Ramona.
Isaac, more present than John in that moment, stepped in gently. “We’ll start the blessings in a minute,” he said softly. “I’m glad they haven’t terrorized you much yet, but...I’m afraid that might not last.” He paused, then offered her a sincere smile. “Still, I’ve no doubt you’ll stand your ground. Just be careful, alright? They’re still dangerous. We’ll help however we can. Whenever you need.” He turned his gaze back toward the graffiti, trying to reassure himself that it wasn’t Jessie’s work. It was a comfort that likely only mattered to him.
John was still staring blankly until Isaac’s words finally registered. He blinked hard, startled, and quickly looked away. His eyes burned with dryness. He couldn’t even recall what had just been said but nodded anyway.
When Ramona met John's gaze, at first she thought he wanted to say something to her, so she prepared to listen intently. Still, she looked at Isaac for a moment, sighing with relief at his assurance.
"Then let's get started. If it can delay them, then we need to try," And, leaning on her other leg, she continued, "I will definitely be attentive, I promise, Father Jones."
However, occasionally shifting her gaze back to Father Ward, she realized that he was… Just looking at her. Silently.
'This… Well, it doesn't matter. He's probably just tired.'
The woman headed for the exit of the narrow alley, squinting at the painted wall. Her hands almost itched to paint over those threatening words right here and now, but now was not the time.
Abner went in there confused, and came out scared, but with a clear goal. To protect the shelter and those who trust her.
Isaac was more than relieved to finally escape the narrowness of the alley, inhaling deeply like he hadn’t breathed in hours. “Holy mother of Christ,” he muttered to himself, shuddering. “That was awful.”
Behind him, John emerged a few seconds later, quieter, more withdrawn. His face was blank, his expression had softened with that distant look he sometimes wore after…incidents. He was digging through his bag, fingers fumbling in search of his crucifix. Isaac already had his own clutched in one hand, having pulled it out during the impromptu exorcism back inside.
“We’ll start by blessing the outside,” Isaac said, already moving toward the right side of the building. He waved a hand vaguely, more focused on getting to work than explaining. “If you need us, we’ll be over here.”
John gave a small nod again. He was lagging a little, both physically and mentally. His steps were delayed, like they had to catch up to his body and there was a blankness in his eyes as if he wasn’t entirely present.
It wasn’t new. These moments came and went, what he called his “episodes.” Usually, they struck right after a possession. But this time was different. Alu hadn’t even fully overtaken him, so why was he like this now? Why did the last fifteen minutes feel like they’d been erased from his mind?
He didn’t ask. Didn’t speak. Just offered a gentle smile, as if nothing was wrong, and continued searching through his bag. His hands were trembling slightly.
The air seemed much fresher outside the alleyway. Ramona's gaze travelled on the opposite side of the road towards different shops and buildings. This area was quiet, with few accidents ever happening. And the very fact that someone is threatening her is already disrupting this idyll.
Ramona just hoped no one around here faced the same things as The Open Arms.
"Of course, do as you see fit. I'll be there if you need any help," She nodded, looking intently at the way Isaac was preparing for the ritual. The way he moved his hands, how he searched for the right props was really admirable. However, she stopped when she glanced back at John.
The man looked almost numb after leaving the alleyway. Even when he smiled it felt almost stiff. Forced even. The whole look of his made her feel a pinch of sadness.
After a moment of pondering, she finally decided to approach him. Her footsteps were pretty loud and noticeable. A warm, big hand rested on John's shoulder.
"Father Ward," Abner whispered, "Are you alright?"
Just a small question, which is more aimed at comforting than getting a specific answer.
Isaac already had his Bible out, fingers curled tightly around the worn leather, the crucifix in his other hand was now practically pressed to his chest. He cast a sidelong glance toward John but didn’t speak. He exhaled softly and began muttering the first Latin phrases under his breath. Whatever was happening with John, he could give him space for now. He’d handle the rest.
John hadn’t moved. He stood like a statue, eyes blank, almost like he was somewhere else entirely. His shoulders were stiff, his posture tight- it felt as if he didn’t know how to hold himself in his own body. So when Ramona gently laid her hand on his shoulder, his reaction was immediate and almost childlike. He flinched hard and stumbled back a step with a sharp inhale, as if he’d been struck.
“A-ah…s-sorry,” he stammered, voice low and thin. His eyes darted to the floor, his face quickly flushing red. He looked ashamed just for existing. One hand rubbed nervously at the back of his neck as he tried to steady his breathing.
“I-I didn’t mean to react like that, I just…I wasn’t expecting…” His voice faltered again, and he winced. He was embarrassed by how clumsy the words felt in his mouth. “Sorry. Really. I’m…I’m not usually like this.”
He finally forced himself to meet Ramona’s eyes, and the effort it took was visible. It was like he had to physically lift his head against the weight of something heavy. His mouth twitched into a fragile, apologetic smile.
“My head’s just been a little…fuzzy lately. I’m trying, I just-” His voice caught in his throat again. He gave up the sentence halfway through, just shaking his head softly. “I’m trying.”
Ramona flinched as well, raising her hands in front of her, showing she meant no harm. She felt ashamed that she had scared John like that, her brows furrowing even more.
"No, I shouldn't have startled you like that!" She apologized, her gaze still fixed on the priest.
He really has been acting weird, but she couldn't blame him. Dealing with this cult must've been hard on him. Abner didn't know exactly where to start, yet she had to try.
"It's alright," She began, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible and putting her hands down, "Busy life, I sort of get it."
The owner of the shelter paused, thinking of other ways of easing down the atmosphere. The sound of Father Jones words reached her ears, making her perk up.
"Oh, the way you translated the graffity on spot was really cool," Maybe having at least something positive about it would make Ramona not freeze at the memory of it, "I know that some of the clergy know Latin, but it still surprises me."
In truth, she didn't speak any language besides English. Sure, she knew a couple of words in other languages, but seeing someone understand a sentence so effortlessly made her feel fascination.
“Please, really- it’s fine. I’ve just been...jumpy lately. It’s not your fault,” John said gently, his voice steadier now that Ramona was speaking with him. Her presence seemed to anchor him, and his tense posture began to ease.
“Thank you! I actually spent years studying,” he added with a modest smile. “Isaac, on the other hand…he doesn’t need to know Latin like I do. I still don’t know why he does.”
He let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “He told me once that back when he and Esther were teenagers, they learned it so they could talk in front of the sisters without getting caught. They thought they were being clever- until they tried it in front of me when they first came here and found out I understood every word.”
There was a flicker of fondness in his voice, but it faded as his tone shifted to something more serious. “In situations like this, it does come in handy. I just hope the people doing this don’t cause you too much trouble, Ms. Abner.”
The woman chuckled, shaking from her laugh. Isaac certainly seemed like the one to do that, even if she knows him for an hour or so.
"Well, that's an actually good reason, if I'm being honest," Ramona spoke with a smile, casting a glance at the working priest.
"Don't worry, there's nothing except those graffiti."
'For now.' A thought concluded darkly.
She still stood beside John, her presence hard to ignore.
"I think I had a friend like this. I don't remember what language he spoke, but every time I asked him what he said he just shrugged and laughed," She crossed her arms over her chest, huffing, "Should've shared at least once, damn it!"
There were sparks of laughter in her eyes. The corners of her mouth moved upwards while looking at Father Ward. Ramona just hoped that this conversation can relax him at least for a moment.
I guess I'll try to share what happened in that dream. Sorry for not posting a lot, I was just sorta calming down from it
The figure - the one that saw me, chased after me while the that voice was still screaming. It was saying something but its voice was raspy and I was running and running and crying
I tried to run back to where my dad was to were the grownups were yet the forest went on and on. My legs burned I tripped and fell on my back it hurt it hurt like it was real
The figure, the red man found me he smiled his smile was jagged he was shaking when he stabbed me in the chest again and again it hurt so much I screamed I cried and it hurt, hurt so much
But then I heard another scream, a familiar one, the one that called me. They got him too. They got him too and it was because he followed me. I don't know how much it lasted but the man suddenly got off me and run. The two screams stopped yet I continued on even when I was lifted up, even when my dad's voice told me it's okay
And then I woke up. I still can't figure out what the fuck happened. It was all so real and I'm terrified that the scar on my chest matches the wounds I had in my dream
I don't know what I need. Is my mind playing tricks on me? This just can't be real it's so absurd yet I feel so empty at this dream, like I lost someone
That same tannish bike was leaning against the shelter. Great.. Maverick Madlock was here. That kid.. The quiet one. The kid who never spoke. Never let anyone get too close. The one with the too messy hair and the tanned, freckled skin. The one with the horrifyingly endless, apathetic black eyes. The kid who's revenge schemes were something no average teenager would think of. He had been volunteering for a few weeks now. His parents had forced him because they thought that 'Some community service will do him well'. Yeah right.. All Maverick does is wander around, mumble cryptic things under his breath when no one is watching, and is very hostile to any of the guests who ask for assistance. He isnt allowed near the guests anymore after.. the incident. No one likes speaking of it. The kid only causes more trouble than good. He is only allowed to clean. Because last time they put him in charge of cooking he tried to poison one of the guests with bleach. Ms. Abner couldn't do much about Maverick. He always covered his tracks a little too well. To the point he could get away with everything. But that didnt matter. He was here now. And the shelter didn't look as bright as it usually did with Maverick around. That tan bike was always a sign no one liked to see outside. No doubt the freckled kid was inside. How did he even get in? Ms. Abner hadnt even opened the doors yet. God knows.. Atleast no one was in there for him to harm.
(First time initiating this-)
The walk back to the shelter was usually an easy one.
It's only a couple of blocks on foot, and you're already at the door of The Open Arms, keys jangling in your hands. Yet for the past few weeks it was getting more and more difficult to walk this particular path.
The threatening messages, the strange dreams and, of course, him - Maverick Madlock. The kid that seems to come up with more and more stuff to mess up the work of the shelter. Despite Ramona insistently telling Mr and Mrs Madlock that the work at the shelter is a volunteer one and shouldn't be used as a 'lesson', they weren't listening.
And look what it led to - a visitor of the shelter nearly poisoned and a lot more scared to death, the other volunteers struggling to remain in the building when the teen is there. Letting him do jobs that don't require interaction with people was the least she could do.
Seeing the bike at the front of the shelter made Abner sight. She had no idea how he managed to do this several times, let alone why, but she knew one thing for certain - it's gonna be a huge headache for her no matter what.
Opening the door that was already unlocked with her stiff hands, she stood for a moment, listening for any sounds. Then, after not hearing a single sound but knowing he's there, she finally spoke loudly to be heard:
"C'mon, kid, I know you're here!" Her tone wasn't outright hostile, but wasn't happy either.
