around the shop. She needed to increase production. She had to bring the finger of suspicion here, and there had to be no doubt about it.
30
Lacey had been at the monastery for three days, and Harris had failed to find the red-headed woman.
He knew Lacey was getting anxious. Her pimp would have expected her back, and it wouldn't take him too long to come looking for her. Harris kept feeding her, nursing her, sleeping on the floor. But they were both aware that this was just a reprise, an intermission. Sooner or later, Harris would need to find her a way out of the city, or she would have to go back to her pimp.
Harris couldn't let her end up dead. Not Lacey.
He glanced towards the window. Maybe there was a way. But he'd need Brother Grant's help again.
Grant wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He dug his shovel into the ground and leaned against it.
“So, a few days ago, we buried her, and now we're digging her back up?”
Harris crouched by the open grave. The smell was unbearable. He reached in and pulled back the habit's hood, turning the girl's face towards Grant.
“Does she look familiar?”
Grant took a hesitant glance, before taking a closer look. He looked away. “Alright, she looks like Lacey.”
“All the girls I choose do. She's the woman I want more than anyone, and the only one I won't touch. Can't touch. She's a goddess.”
“But will her pimp be fooled?”
Harris looked up at Grant. “When I've finished with her, there'll only be one way to identify her as Lacey.”
Grant held up his hands and took a step back.
“It's alright,” Harris said. “This is my mess. You don't have to stay for this.”
He looked back down at the body. He pulled a scalpel from his pocket, and placed it beside the shallow grave. Climbing down on top of her, he positioned his thumbs on the eyelid, and began to push.
Harris found one of the old hearse carts in the back storage shed. It had a large, central pair of wheels, and a set of handles at either end. The steps down to The Floor would be hard-going, but this would be easier than carrying her.
Lacey collected herbs, flowers, and other fragrant plant cuttings from the garden, and laid them around the body to try to disguise the stench a little.
Grant walked in front, his back turned to the body. It was covered with a sheet, and laid with plants, but the stink was still terrible. Grant didn't deserve to be facing it. Harris was amazed he'd talked the novice monk into helping at all.
They stood at the top of the steps and looked down. They'd waited until dusk, so that they had fewer witnesses, but the deepness of the shadows on the uneven steps could prove fatal for them both.
“We'll just have to take it really slowly,” Harris said. “Feel each step before you tread down to it. Maybe I should go first.”
Grant looked at the body. “No, I'll be fine.” He picked up the front of the hearse and, gingerly, stepped down the first step. He slipped down the next. “Don't push!” he snapped.
“I'm sorry,” said Harris.
Grant continued down, feeling for the edge of each step before committing his weight to it.
Progress was frustratingly slow, and they stopped every few steps to roll their aching shoulder joints, and stretch out their cramping hands. Harris' knuckles were already bruised and sore from beating the corpse.
“We're going to be here all night,” Grant grumbled.
“I really appreciate you doing this,” Harris said. “Thank you.”
Grant looked out towards the river. “Despite everything, Father Harris, I still look up to you. And while you may be selfish, and weak to sin, there's a good heart inside you.”
Harris nodded. “Thank you, Grant. That means a lot.”
Grant wrapped his hands around the hearse's handles. “Let's head on.”
When they reached the bottom of the steps, they heaved the hearse onto one of the wooden planks.
“Which way?” Grant asked.
“Straight on, we'll take her down through The Cubes. The
30
Lacey had been at the monastery for three days, and Harris had failed to find the red-headed woman.
He knew Lacey was getting anxious. Her pimp would have expected her back, and it wouldn't take him too long to come looking for her. Harris kept feeding her, nursing her, sleeping on the floor. But they were both aware that this was just a reprise, an intermission. Sooner or later, Harris would need to find her a way out of the city, or she would have to go back to her pimp.
Harris couldn't let her end up dead. Not Lacey.
He glanced towards the window. Maybe there was a way. But he'd need Brother Grant's help again.
Grant wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He dug his shovel into the ground and leaned against it.
“So, a few days ago, we buried her, and now we're digging her back up?”
Harris crouched by the open grave. The smell was unbearable. He reached in and pulled back the habit's hood, turning the girl's face towards Grant.
“Does she look familiar?”
Grant took a hesitant glance, before taking a closer look. He looked away. “Alright, she looks like Lacey.”
“All the girls I choose do. She's the woman I want more than anyone, and the only one I won't touch. Can't touch. She's a goddess.”
“But will her pimp be fooled?”
Harris looked up at Grant. “When I've finished with her, there'll only be one way to identify her as Lacey.”
Grant held up his hands and took a step back.
“It's alright,” Harris said. “This is my mess. You don't have to stay for this.”
He looked back down at the body. He pulled a scalpel from his pocket, and placed it beside the shallow grave. Climbing down on top of her, he positioned his thumbs on the eyelid, and began to push.
Harris found one of the old hearse carts in the back storage shed. It had a large, central pair of wheels, and a set of handles at either end. The steps down to The Floor would be hard-going, but this would be easier than carrying her.
Lacey collected herbs, flowers, and other fragrant plant cuttings from the garden, and laid them around the body to try to disguise the stench a little.
Grant walked in front, his back turned to the body. It was covered with a sheet, and laid with plants, but the stink was still terrible. Grant didn't deserve to be facing it. Harris was amazed he'd talked the novice monk into helping at all.
They stood at the top of the steps and looked down. They'd waited until dusk, so that they had fewer witnesses, but the deepness of the shadows on the uneven steps could prove fatal for them both.
“We'll just have to take it really slowly,” Harris said. “Feel each step before you tread down to it. Maybe I should go first.”
Grant looked at the body. “No, I'll be fine.” He picked up the front of the hearse and, gingerly, stepped down the first step. He slipped down the next. “Don't push!” he snapped.
“I'm sorry,” said Harris.
Grant continued down, feeling for the edge of each step before committing his weight to it.
Progress was frustratingly slow, and they stopped every few steps to roll their aching shoulder joints, and stretch out their cramping hands. Harris' knuckles were already bruised and sore from beating the corpse.
“We're going to be here all night,” Grant grumbled.
“I really appreciate you doing this,” Harris said. “Thank you.”
Grant looked out towards the river. “Despite everything, Father Harris, I still look up to you. And while you may be selfish, and weak to sin, there's a good heart inside you.”
Harris nodded. “Thank you, Grant. That means a lot.”
Grant wrapped his hands around the hearse's handles. “Let's head on.”
When they reached the bottom of the steps, they heaved the hearse onto one of the wooden planks.
“Which way?” Grant asked.
“Straight on, we'll take her down through The Cubes. The
Similar Books
