Read The Rejected - Episode 1 of 9 (Urban Fantasy Dystopian Serial) Page 10

  Chapter 8

  It’s time for answers. I’m not leaving here today until I speak to Father Lamont. I have to wait until the he is finished greeting a few elderly women. Most of the worshipers head toward the prayer and fast registration table. The secretary takes the list of names and collects consent forms, so that they can arrange to pray together and encourage each other for the fast. A sumudral had to seek special permission from the sector mayor’s office in order to conduct a prayer and fast for its members. It took three months for the request to be approved. Only a few of the members leave early. Most of them seem enthusiastic about it.

  Our sumudral can house two hundred persons but it’s seldom full to capacity. The old building is still beautiful with antique stone wooden trims and stained glass arched windows. The walls are light yellow with a dark and light brown encaustic tiled floor. There’s a fund raising drive to replace the dilapidated furniture. Most of the wooden benches are shaky and rotting. Nanny and others baked pies and cakes to help out.

  Members of the congregation greet each other after the service. Children run after each other to their mother's irritation and the joy of the childless widows. Women form cliques together to share gossip while some of the members have group meetings like choir and prayer group. Choir members bustle about in their ecclesiastical garb. I always felt so painfully alone at times like these. A room full of people but I am unable to really connect with any of them because of my phobia. I would always stumble over my words when meeting someone new, or I would say nothing at all. People found me to be weird; most thought I was pompous or both. If Natasha was here, she would occupy my time with talk of coding or some interesting event in her love life. I live vicariously through my friend and I miss her now more than ever.

  Nanny is uncharacteristically distant today. She is usually with the prayer group discussing some poor soul that needed prayer or counseling. Instead she is off by herself close to the door, looking outside. Father Lamont walks over to her and rests his hand on her shoulder as if to reassure her about something. She looks at him and they start arguing quietly. Whatever it is, it seems important because other members of the sumudral notice. He leaves her standing by the door. This is my chance to talk to him.

  I head toward Father Lamont and I accidentally bump into an usher in my haste to have a few minutes with him.

  “Sister Sapphire, how are you!?” He bellowed the greeting.

  He is always cheerful but his face lights up when he sees me coming. I never quite knew how to respond to greetings like this without feeling a bit awkward, even though I am more comfortable with Father Lamont that most.

  I am very happy to see him. In many ways he is like a father to me. I just don’t know how to communicate those feelings to him.

  “I’m fine father. How are you? I say smiling.

  “Oh the Lord is good my child.” He laughs. “God is good all the time!”

  “All the time God is good.” I finished the phrase. “I need to ask you something.” I am a bit apprehensive.

  He motions for me to sit down on the wooden bench as he takes a seat next to me.

  “What’s on your mind?” His posture is one of attentiveness. I begin.

  “You’ve known my grandmother since she migrated here right?” I pause to study his reaction. “And my parents, since they were very young?” If Father Lamont had any problems with my questions, his face didn’t show it.

  “Oh yes, I knew your mother as a little girl. I wasn’t a preacher then. I also remember when you were born. I performed your christening ceremony. You laughed the whole time, even while we prayed. Back then your mother would bring you to the sumudral. You were such a tiny delightful thing, escaping your mother and running all over this very sumudral between the pews.” He looks happy and nostalgic as he speaks of me.

  If his intention is to soften my mood and steer me away from my questions, it works. But not for long.

  Nanny is in my periphery but I do my best to ignore her until my questions are answered. I steal a glance in her direction but she is not focused on me. I expected her to be a hindrance to my truth-seeking mission. Instead she is staring intently outside the sumudral window; her gaze alternating up and down the street. I have no idea who she is looking for but I have never seen her get this anxious.

  “Do you know why my grandmother left Kisawa?” I blurt out. I am tired of everyone dancing around issues of the past.

  “She never told me the reason she came to Kisawa and I respect her privacy. I never pry.” He said the last sentence slowly as if to say that I shouldn’t pry either. His forehead creases as if he is troubled.

  “She never told you, but you know, don’t you?” I shock myself. I usually never speak like this to anyone outside of those very close to me. Talk less of someone of importance like my preacher. But I need to know what they are hiding. How could keeping me in the dark ever be a good idea?

  “Sapphire, we all love you dearly and we want what’s best for yo-.”

  “I want to know what happened to my father. At least I deserve to know that much. I hardly remember him but I know he loved me. He would never want me to be surrounded by all this secrecy.” I am bordering on disrespectful with my forceful rant.

  “Your father was a brave man, and he did love you very much, so he would have wanted us to protect you.” His response was calm in the face of my emotion.

  “Protect me from what?”

  Did Father Lamont let this information slip intentionally to scare me? In any case I need to know what he’s talking about. I was about to press further when a loud voice interrupts me.

  “Everyone outside! Now!” Nanny barks the instruction in a shrill tone, across the room of the sumudral.

  We all stop talking and look at her confused.

  Next I hear the sound of broken glass and then a soft thump as something hits the ground. There’s a short pause then a deafening ‘boom’ obtrudes my thoughts. My ears ring. Scorching flames erupt from the source of the noise creating an acrid smell.

  I can’t hear myself think as panicked people scatter in all directions of the sumudral. The two side doors are locked but horrified men and women still hammer against it, sending large judders all through the entire building. Father Lamont attempts to take charge of the situation.

  “Please remain calm everyone. Let’s use the front exit.” He could not hide the panic in his own voice.

  I see him leading a few children through the door before he abruptly pelts across the room in my direction. This explosion causes a ferocious inferno right at the exit as if by design. The blaze eats away at the wooden doorway and the furniture in the vicinity. I shut my eyelids in futile attempts to escape the heat. Noxious smoke showers down on my hair and clothes.

  I squint my eyes to look for Father Lamont. He is lying on his back, raising his hands. He appears unable to move anything else. His eyes are wide with disbelief as he tries to stand. His attempts prove futile. I sprint forward and kneel at his side.

  “They have spies everywhere. Don’t trust anyone.” He gasps for air but inhales smoke instead. “Get your grandmother out of here.” It is all he could manage. He is in immeasurable pain. “Run child.” His body shakes a bit then goes still and he stares blankly at me. Father Lamont is gone.

  A burst of broken glass rains all over me as the third grenade sails through the window and lands a few inches from my feet. I freeze.

  Nanny appears out of nowhere. She is gracefully nimble as she maneuvers the grenade right back in the direction it came. She reminds me of a cricket bowler, the way she hurls it through the window. A loud explosion is heard just as it passes through the broken glass. A few seconds later, there are screams of agony, this time from a male voice outside the temple; most likely from the person who threw the grenade.

  Nanny smiles.

  Injured people are moaning in pain and asking for help all around me and I don’t react. The fire is spreading feverishly and I am fixed
in my position despite the oppressive heat. The smell of burnt wood pervades my nostrils.

  I watch as Nanny grabs the wooden podium and flings it forcefully through one of the sumudral's stained glass windows.

  “This way.” She motioned to everyone. With hands and clothing clamped to their mouths and noses, the riotous crowd clambers through the open window gasping the fresh air that awaits them. We all run to safety outside while ferocious fire threatens to engulf us in its fury.

  Nanny is one of the last persons to leave the building. She is gasping for air like everyone else but she seems to be struggling and wheezing a little more than most of us. She grips her chest as if trying to manufacture the air she needs to breathe. It’s only now I remember that my Nanny is an old woman. She is always so capable and self-sufficient. Nanny is my rock and now she is threatening to leave me.

  I am frantic and helpless while she struggles to breathe and I see my teardrops rain on her beautiful wrinkled face. Nanny can’t breathe.

  The weight of the world is resting on my shoulders and there is nothing I can do. There’s a numbness in my brain, and salty tears flow unbridled from my eyes. A deep nothingness takes hold of me threatening to utterly overwhelm me. My legs buckle and my knees sink into the ground as I watch Nanny slip away.

  “Nanny! Nanny! Breathe Nanny. You alright? Answer me please!” I shook her shoulders.

  “No hospital.” She gasps before she loses consciousness.