The Expected One by Kathleen McGowan

days’ time.
    They were enjoying ice cream cones, eating rapidly before the confections could drip in the sun and leave a sticky rainbow trail in their wake.
    “Mmm, you were right, Pete. Berthillon just may be the best ice cream in the world. This is amazing.”
    “What flavor did you get?”
    Maureen was practicing her French. “Poivre.”
    “Pepper?” Peter burst out laughing. “You got pepper-flavored ice cream?”
    Maureen turned red with embarrassment but tried again. “Pauvre?”
    “Poor? You got a poor flavor?”
    “Okay, I surrender. Stop tormenting me. It’s
pear
-flavored.”
    “Poire. Poire is pear. Sorry, I shouldn’t make fun of you. Nice try.”
    “Well, it’s obvious who got the linguistic talent in our family.”
    “That’s not true. You speak beautiful English.”
    They both laughed, enjoying the lightness of the moment and the beauty of the day.

    The Gothic magnificence of Notre-Dame dominated the Île de la Cité as it had for 800 years. As they approached the cathedral, Peter looked reverently at the looming exterior, with its mixture of saints and gargoyles.
    “The first time I saw it I said, ‘God lives here.’ Want to go inside?”
    “No, I’d rather stay outside with the gargoyles, where I belong.”
    “It’s the most famous Gothic structure in the world and a symbol of Paris. You’re obligated as a tourist to go inside. Besides, the stained glass is phenomenal, and you have to see the rose window in the midday sun.”
    Maureen hesitated, but Peter grabbed her arm and pulled her along behind him. “Come on. I promise the walls won’t tumble down as you enter.”

    Sun streamed through the world-famous rose window, illuminating Peter and Maureen in azure light streaked with crimson. Peter wandered, face elevated to the windows, enjoying a perfect feeling of bliss. Maureen walked slowly beside him, trying her best to remind herself that this was a building of enormous historic and architectural significance, and not just another church.
    A French priest walked past them, nodding a solemn greeting. Maureen stumbled slightly as he passed. The priest stopped and held out a hand to steady her, addressing her with mild concern in French. Maureen smiled and put her hand up, indicating that she was fine. Peter returned to her side as the French priest went on his way.
    “You okay?”
    “Yeah, just a little dizzy all of a sudden. Jet lag, maybe.”
    “You haven’t had much sleep in the last few days.”
    “I’m sure that hasn’t helped.” Maureen pointed to one of the side pews that was in line with the rose window. “I’m just going to sit down here for a minute and enjoy the stained glass. You go look around.”
    Peter looked concerned, but Maureen waved him away. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll be right here.”
    Peter nodded and went off to explore the cathedral. Maureen sat in the pew, steadying herself. She didn’t want to admit to Peter just how unstable she was really feeling. It had come on so fast, and she knew that if she didn’t sit down she would fall. But she hadn’t wanted to tell Peter that. It probably was just a combination of jet lag and exhaustion.
    Maureen wiped her hands over her face, trying to shake off the dizziness. Kaleidoscopic beams of colored light from the rose window shone on the altar, illuminating a large crucifix. Maureen blinked hard. The crucifix appeared to be growing, looming larger and larger in her sight.
    She grabbed her head as the dizziness enveloped her and the vision took over.

    Lightning ripped through the unnaturally dark sky on that bleakest Friday afternoon. The woman in red stumbled up the hill as she scrambled to reach the crest. She was oblivious to the cuts and scrapes that were accumulating on her body and shredding her clothing. She had only one goal, and that was to reach Him.
    The sound of a hammer striking a nail — metal pounding metal — rang with a sickening finality through the air. The woman finally lost her