Chapter 1
If Cassidy didn’t have work today she’d explore that road she always drives past that leads off and up into the hills, behind all the blackberry thickets and towering hawthorn hedges.
But she does have work today.
So instead of doing that she drives right on past as she usually would, car chugging along through the fog towards the city. At least she has this winding, country route to keep her slightly sane. Here she can see rolling hills smothered in grass, thin trickling creeks glittering in the early morning light and even the occasional wallaby stopped by the side of the road enjoying their dewy breakfast. All of this before she starts her mundane job in her mundane city, surrounded by mundane people doing exactly the same.
In saying that, her regular life now is marginally better than it was last year.
She smoothly turns the bend just past the old road and is continuing on her way to work when she abruptly brakes, pulling over into the muddy ditch alongside the road. She flicks her indicator on, checks her mirrors and does a u-turn, driving back the way she’d just come.
Screw work. She isn’t going in today.
Cassidy drives back, indicating when the old dirt road appears on her left. She hesitates only minutely, but swings resolutely onto the road, dirt and dust kicking up behind her tires and she chugs along. The road winds up the hill, fog slowly falling away to reveal golden sunlight which spills through the gaps in the high hawthorn hedges. Cassidy can’t help a small smile as it lights her face up, gently warming her skin.
Eventually the road evens out, becoming more bumpy rock than packed dirt, and the hilltop comes into view. Cassidy peers eagerly out, leaning up against the steering wheel as the car comes up and over the crest. Her eyes widen as she spots a building in the near distance.
It’s a church, she realises after a moment. A classically shaped church, complete with steeple and stain glass windows. The sunlight bounces off the white outer creating an ethereal glow amidst the thin sheen of fog.
Cassidy pulls her car over and pops it into park, climbing cautiously out to get a closer look. She curses when her shin knocks against something rough, sticking from the ground like a rotten tooth. It’s a gravestone. Dark and old, the name and dates so worn they leave barely any indentations, even as she rubs her thumb over the surface in an attempt to garner any letters or numbers. Cassidy draws back with a tiny hum, hand moving instead to rub at her barked shin. She isn’t bleeding at least.
Standing back up, Cassidy turns to look closer at the church. There is no sign, no date plaque or anything that might indicate the church’s name or the religion it belongs to. What Cassidy does notice, however, is that whoever designed and built this church was a very talented artist. It is a real piece of art, sculpted and simply adorned, it is a wonder she has never heard or seen pictures of this church before.
She wanders closer, eyes roving over the building, wide in wonder at how beautiful it is. How magnificent the white of the stone is against the springy green lawn surroundings. Even the sprawling graveyard has a pretty charm to it, as morbid as that may be.
“Do you like it?”
Cassidy jumps, hand pressing to her chest as she whirls about, coming face to face with a young man dressed all in black. He is smiling at her, one brow quirked in question.
Cassidy laughs awkwardly, hand massaging at her collarbone as her heart recedes from galloping to only mildly anxious thudding, “Sorry! I didn’t realise this was private property! I’ll just go on my way, sorry again!” She hustles to leave when the young man speaks up,
“Oh! No, it’s not private property at all! Quite the opposite. All are welcome here, please,” he swings out an arm, “don’t feel you need to leave on my account.”
Cassidy pauses, feet shifting in the gravel, “Are you sure?” She asks hesitantly, “I really don’t meant to impose.”
He shakes his head, smiling brightly, “It really isn’t an imposition, in fact I quite enjoy having people come to enjoy the place. Makes me feel less lonely at least.” He raises his head and they lock eyes. An electric buzz trails down Cassidy’s spine, his eyes are so clear and bright, green as moss dripping with dew. She can’t help but be drawn in by how earnest they seem and how genuinely happy he appears to have her there. She smiles back,
“Well if you’re sure.”
He holds out a hand, “I’m sure. I’m Lucas.”
She takes the proferred hand and grips it firmly, “Cassidy.”
He nods, golden curls flopping against his forehead, “Lovely to meet you Cassidy. Would you like to have a look inside?” He tips his head back, gesturing at the church and Cassidy can’t help the eager nod, eyes flitting over the architecture once more,
“Oh absolutely!”
Lucas steps back and gestures in a ‘ladies first’ fashion. Cassidy walks ahead, marvelling all the while at the clean brightness, the sharp detailing, the faint whispers of age lingering in the foundations. It fills her with a warm sensation that she files away under nostalgia, which does instil some confusion. She bats it away and allows the warm, fuzzy blanket of ‘I know this place’ settle around her shoulders.
Lucas jumps up the front steps, a large iron key held aloft. He slots it smoothly into the lock and twists. There is no satisfying clunk of the locking mechanism turning, rather the door just swings alluringly open, inviting Cassidy to ghost past the threshold and drink in the interior.
She does so, eyes wide and glittering with awe.
The exterior is just the beginning, the inside is even more magnificent. Despite the small stature of the building, the interior sores, stretches to the heavens. A sandy flagstone floor, two lines of glossy pews and the most exquisite feature - the statues.
So detailed, so life like! They appear to live and breathe, lining the walls, tucked between the stained glass windows, each as intricate as the next. And then Cassidy notices, the walls are adorned with sculptures as well. It’s as if the walls are comprised of people, twisted and twined together in an endless dance. Their carved faces are serene, having glimpsed and captured the light of the heavens as they are surely meant to be angels.
Cassidy drifts through the space, mouth agape as Lucas follows quietly behind her. Had she spotted his face she would have noticed the pleased smirk as she takes in the space. As it is, she does a small spin, eyes roving hungrily over each feature, until finally landing on the centrepiece.
The large stained glass window on the far back wall.
It is breathtaking.
Only . . .
It’s missing something.
The smaller windows flanking either side have people in them. Both girls, each glowing brightly and casting jewel tones onto the pale floor. Shards of deepest red, serenest blue and emerald green. They blend smoothly in the light of the sun. Each face is crafted so carefully, so accurately. Cassidy cannot believe how talented the artist must have been to put these windows together so masterfully.
Yet, the middle window is empty.
The glass depicts a picturesque landscape, complete with swaying trees and babbling river. But the foreground is dismally empty. As if the artist simply ran out of time to impose the final figure. She feels a twinge of disappointment at the artist having not placed the finishing touches on what is otherwise the most beautiful church she has ever seen.
She turns around, “Why is this one blank?”
Lucas’ face droops sadly, “I don’t know.” He admits, stepping up beside her. He is now completely swathed in the dazzling array of colour cast by the windows. Cassidy is almost too caught up in the way the red shades his features to perfection, giving his plump lips a rosy tinge, his golden hair a fiery glow, to hear the rest of his sentence, “Perhaps the creator never found the right inspiration to finish the piece.”
He turns and catches her eye.
Good God, this man is exquisite. Of course he spends his time here, in this place. It suits him so perfectly. He could have been one of the sculptures he is so finely crafted himself. Cassidy follows the straight line of his perfect nose, down to his grinning lips so sinfully shaped. On further to the sharp cut of his jaw and the fine column of throat to where his chest disappears into this black collared shirt. She can just make out the rise of his collarbone before it vanishes. It is then that she spots the black and white collar and jolts as she realises the implications.
She backs off, face pinking, not having realised she had leaned in so close.
This man is a priest!
“I-I am so sorry!” She stutters out, brushing her hands hastily down the front of her work shirt. She ducks her head towards the floor and swallows uncomfortably, only to realise that Lucas is laughing. A delightful sound, loud and utterly joyful.
“It’s ok!” He assures amidst chuckles, “No need to apologise Cassidy, none at all.”
It doesn’t make her feel any less awkward.
“Would you like to learn some of the history?” Lucas throws her a lifeline. Cassidy nods eagerly,
“I would love that.”
Lucas’ smile widens and he moves off to begin a slow loop around the interior as he speaks, voice low and smooth as a rich hot chocolate, “I haven’t been the live in priest here for very long so you’ll have to excuse if some areas of my knowledge are lacking.”
Cassidy nods assent, to which Lucas flicks her a look she can’t quite decipher, offering his arm for her to grip on to while they walk. A little ruffled, but grinning like a loon, Cassidy places her trembling hand on his arm and allows him to set the pace as they amble along,
“Built quite some time ago, this church was found as ruins initially. No one knows when it was built or who built it, only that they were, quite obviously, immensely talented.” Here he stops and points out one of the statues. It’s pearly gleam has certainly dimmed over time and he has some small cracks and spidery fractures traversing his skin. Regardless of these imperfections, he is still as stunning as all of the others, “This is what we think to be the eldest of the statues.” Lucas intones, running a careful finger down the statue’s firmly muscled arm. He taps gently on the stone, “See here?” Cassidy draws closer, spine tingling when Lucas pulls his arm carefully from her hand and lays it instead on the small of her back. She can feel the warmth seeping through her shirt, branding her skin with its intensity.
“This is what we think to be the artist’s signature.”
Cassidy follows his finger and can just make out an indent in the stone. It certainly feels like it was deliberately placed, but she cannot tell what it is supposed to be. Before she can think too much on it, Lucas gently pulls her away and onto the next statue. On it goes, him leading her slowly around the church, narrating away in a voice so soothing it’s almost soporific. Cassidy finds herself not really paying attention to the words, rather allowing herself to simply enjoy to deep cadence and melodic rise and fall of his voice.
“Cassidy?”
She startles, the world falling back into sharp focus, the warm, fuzzy edges receding as Lucas peers at her, grinning lightly. His eyes flick between hers, a question gleaming amongst the sage flecks in his iris’.
“Sorry,” she cards a hand through her hair, “I must have zoned out.”
Lucas laughs, “And here I thought you were paying rapt attention!” He taps her lightly on the hand, “Like a good little student.”
Cassidy laughs along with him, the awkwardness floating away as quickly as it had arrived. “I was never very good at school.”
Lucas’ smile dims a little, but only into something softer. Less blinding. Almost . . . nostalgic when he replies, “Me neither.”
Silence lingers on the air, floating along with the dust motes caught in streams of milky sunlight. Cassidy shifts, unable to let it linger too much, “Actually,” she starts, voice echoing amidst the rafters, “I do have a question for you.”
Lucas gestures, “Be my guest.”
“How did you find this place?”
“It’s not much of a story I’m afraid,” he chuckles, one hand running absently through his hair. “Much like you did actually, I imagine.”
Cassidy gives his shoulder a playful push, “And how do you think I found myself here?”
Lucas rocks with the force of her push, spins and traps her hands between his, “Those who belong will always find their way here.”
Cassidy snorts, “Is that your way of saying that I was destined to find this place?”
Lucas nods, “You, and all those like you.”
This gives Cassidy reason to pause. She tilts her head, “What do you mean, ‘those like me’?” Her forehead creases into a minor frown, mulling over his choice of words while his hands tighten their grip on her own.
“Didn’t they teach you that all the lost sheep find the flock at the end of days?” Lucas asks, tone still alight with a humour Cassidy seems to have let slip a little in her confusion over his word choice. Perhaps she is reading too much into it.
“I’ve already told you, I’m not a very good student.”
“Ah, but this is not a lesson learned through school Cassidy, but one learned through life!” He shouts the last word, voice ringing from every hard surface, bouncing like clanging church bells around and around the space. Cassidy can’t help the smile that pushes forth at his enthusiasm.
“Ok, ok!” Cassidy shrieks as Lucas suddenly spins her around, almost toppling off her feet at the shift in momentum. “So you found the church. What’s kept you here? Secluded from everyone?”
Lucas slows the spin until they come to a complete stop, hands still twined together, “Well,” he breathes, pulling Cassidy close, “I think that what kept me is what keeps most people.” He reaches up, one hand coming to rest cupping the side of her face. Cassidy’s breath hitches almost embarrassingly, face reddening, so much so she almost misses the next word. He says it so reverently it sends shivers down her spine, “Beauty. The beauty contained in this church is enough to keep anyone around. Don’t you think?” His thumb traces along her cheekbone, feather light.
Cassidy was aware she was drowning. Was fully aware of the growing fuzziness in her peripheral, of the way her heart was thrumming so quickly and loudly in her ears and the way her breath was coming in short, sharp bursts. She knew she was falling, as cliche as it was, into Lucas’ eyes. How could she not when they were so close? When she could count the freckles spattered across the bridge of his nose? Feel his breath misting along her skin? She knew she was collapsing beneath the weight of his stare, helpless to claw her way back to the surface. Unsure if she even wanted to.
He was leaning even closer now, she recognised dimly. His hand was so firm, so warm against her cheek. She was melting into it, tipping her head to the side as he encroached on her even further.
One glance. Her eyes move for a fraction of a second to the right of his head, just past his burnished golden hair. She catches sight of one of the statues, the very first one they had approached together.
It’s crying.
Cassidy abruptly jerks backwards.
She’s heard of this kind of thing before, everyone has. The mystery of the spontaneously crying statues who weep genuine tears, sometimes even blood. ‘A miracle!’ all the articles say, until it’s uncovered that it’s a hoax to generate publicity for whichever church it is that houses this miraculous statue. That it might be a hoax crosses her mind briefly only to be dispelled a second later, because it’s not just the crying that has startled her.
The statue’s face is different.
What had once been an expression of absolute bliss riddled with adoration, with euphoric absolution is now twisted into one of abject horror. Brows twined and heavy with pain, mouth lowered and gaping. Cassidy can almost hear the howls of anguish that might come forth had the statue been real. And the tears, they leak from the outer corners, the inner corners, spilling over the bottom rim and clumping in the top lashes.
In the light cast through the red stained glass behind him, the tears could almost pass as blood.
She feels Lucas’ hand tighten on her wrist but otherwise pays him no mind as her eyes jump along the far wall.
They’re all different.
It occurs to her slowly, like dripping molasses gradually filling a bowl. Once it reaches the top the realisation settles in and sends a wash of chilling cold over her skin and down her spine. Her skin comes out in goosebumps and she physically shudders.
The window behind the first statue she saw is one of a young woman. Before, this young woman had her face tilted reverently to the sky, eyes glowing with wonder. She is draped in what appears to be silken fabrics, but they droop and swathe around her chest and arms, exposing her pale shoulders. One hand is clutching the fabric to her breast, the other reaching out towards the edge of the frame.
Her arms, neck and shoulders are covered in scratches. Thick and ropey and tinged with angry pink. She has bruises up the side of her face. Tears of her own stream down her cheeks. There is a bite mark on the side of her neck.
The glass is aflame from the sun, casting shards of light along the floor setting the window, a true monument to horror, up in bright bursts of colour.
Cassidy’s eyes jump around hoping to fix on something less disturbing.
Another statue, this one another young man.
He is kneeling, hands held in a prayer position in front of his lowered head. His bare, muscled back is on full display, not a detail missed. What had been smooth, unblemished stone is now cut through with thick, deep slashes. His back is a lattice of jagged wounds. They are leaking. Streams of water dribble up and over the edges, running down along that delightfully formed muscled into puddles on the floor below.
Cassidy spins around, tugging thoughtlessly at the ruthless grip still clamped around her wrist.
It doesn’t matter where she looks, they’re all the same. All the windows, the statues.
Even the walls.
Hands, legs, feet, elbows, fingers. The columns and support beams have transformed into grotesque, grappling structures comprised entirely of human parts. When she looks down she can see faces in the flooring, pressed up as if those below were trying desperately to crawl out of hell and back up to earth.
“You like them, even now?”
Cassidy whips back around to Lucas, whose hand is still unrelenting on her wrist. It burns like a brand, melting through her skin and searing into her bone. His eyes are no longer fresh and green. Instead they are big black holes dug into his sockets, tugging her effortlessly down into their endless depths.
“Humanity seems to enjoy things more when they are entrenched in pain. In suffering.” He rubs his thumb along the skin of her inner wrist, feeling along the thin, raised lines permanently etched there. “You know this already, intimately.”
Cassidy flushes with shame, forgetting for a split second the fear that had ensconced her.
“Do you like your life better when you hurt yourself?” He croons, “Does it make you feel more than you ever have before? Isn’t that why you do it? Why any human does?” He pulls her up to him, presses them together from chest to toes, “Humanity would be nothing without the beauty that comes with pain. Why else do you exist? To live is to feel pain in every form. It’s why the most popular stories, pictures, sculptures are rooted in pain, in suffering! They are lauded, they are wondered at. Pain is all you are. Is the saying not ‘beauty is pain’? If so, then why cannot pain be beauty?” He trails his free hand along the side of Cassidy’s face, lips twisting in a longing smile, “It’s why you are here.” He whispers, breath caressing her face, “It’s why any of them are here. You suffer enough, I give that suffering, that sweet pain, a home. An immortal place to be seen and marvelled! I grant you freedom.” His index finger traces her lips, “I give you what you so desperately crave, and you feed me your beautiful pain. Your sweet suffering.”
He draws closer. Cassidy cranes backwards, desperately trying to avoid his open wound of a mouth. She can’t. He presses his glistening lips to her ear, “You are beautiful Cassidy. Beautiful in your suffering.”
A tear drops over her bottom lashes, it falls and lands with a sharp ‘plink’ on the floor. Like a shard of broken glass. Cassidy sucks in a shaky breath and raises on trembling hand to press against her face. Her skin is cold, hard beneath her fingertips. Smooth and unblemished, like a pane of window glass.
Lucas withdraws, still smiling wistfully at her.
Cassidy frantically feels along her face, her neck. Stares down at her arms and screams when she sees them.
Sunlight carves through the windows and sets her aflame. She glows and twinkles, flecks of multicoloured light dancing, falling along the floor.
Lucas gently leads her as she continues to scream and sob, up to the large, empty window at the very back of the church. He leads her up the stairs as a gentleman would lead his lady, as tenderly as a lover.
“There is no need to cry, my dear.” Lucas shushes her gently, one hand pressed to the small of her back, his hideous warmth fading with every jerky step. Her hind brain recognises that she needs to start resisting, start fighting, yet the other side of her brain, the logical human side realises how futile it would be. She is nearly nothing but glass. Smooth, unblemished, incredibly fragile glass. Her heels dig in for a moment as her sob turns to a hoarse scream, but Lucas merely tuts and lifts her up, hands on either side of her waist.
She weighs nothing to him. There is no weight to her life, to the woman she was only moments ago.
Instead he raises her high and sets her carefully in her new frame. One of her arms burns momentarily. There is a sharp, electric pain and then . . .
“Beautiful.”
****
Michael hasn’t seen his sister in months.
She simply vanished one day on her way to work. She never arrived, she never contacted anyone and she hadn’t been seen since. Neither has her car.
And Michael is not doing well.
He and his sister had been close, before she started struggling. Before she started staying in bed and refusing to go outside. Before she started hurting herself. Even after that Michael liked to think their relationship was stable, stable enough for her to come to him if something was wrong. But she’s simply disappeared with nothing to hint at what might have happened, where she might have gone.
Michael turns up the volume in the car and allows the thoughts to slide away, drowned out by the blaring music. He swipes angrily at a stray tear and sniffs aggressively. He’s such a mess these days. Constantly on a rollercoaster, emotions flipping and dipping at the flick of some invisible switch. It hurt. It hurt so badly that his sibling had vanished, and they didn’t know if it was a momentary blip in time that would fade when she returned, or if it was the permanent kind that people tended to not want to entertain. It was the mystery of the circumstances that cut the deepest.
Michael pushed a little harder on the accelerator as he rounded another country corner, lined by brambles bushes and soft dewy grass, when a little dirt road became visible off to the right. He slowed, having never noticed this road before.
Leave no stone unturned, no road less travelled he thought, flicking on his indicator. Cassidy could be anywhere, there was no harm in checking wherever possible, right?
The road travelled up, dirt and stones skidding beneath the tyres. Finally, the crest evened out and a small, intricately built church came into view. It was surrounded by small, grey headstones, each with a name too worn and weathered to read.
Michael mentally shrugged as he threw the car into park and pulled up the handbrake.
He popped the door and slid smoothly from the seat, dark eyes roving over the lush green field the church was set upon. Once he walked closer, Michael realised that this church was more than just another little holy house, it was a literal piece of art. So delicately crafted, so masterfully put together. He wondered if the inside was just as intricate.
He wandered over and pressed on the door, stepping back when it opened. The hinge did not squeak, the door dig not drag over the stone floor. Michael walked in and over the threshold, head curiously turning from left to right, drinking everything in.
He was right. The inside was an architect’s dream. An artist’s paradise.
Humanlike statues were lined along the walls, the stained glass windows glowed like precious jewels in the soft, sultry sunlight. Even the pews were shining, glossed and lacquered as they sat patiently, waiting for the day crowds would gather again and give them purpose.
Michael drifted up the centre path. His footsteps echoed richly in the blanketed quiet. He slipped his hands into his pockets as he leisurely sauntered along, enjoying the calm cadence and magnificent views,
until . . .
The large centre window shone down at him. It depicted a young woman, draped in luxurious fabrics, her features sharp and rapturous. She was standing with both arms held a little away from her clothed sides, forearms bared and palms facing up, as if she were offering her hands out to those below to aid them in stepping forth to join her.
She looks familiar. Michael squints and walks closer.
He is almost nose to nose with the window when he spots something strange on her arm. It almost looks like a signature? He tilts his head, puzzled as he tries to make it out.
“May I help you?”
Michael jumps and twists abruptly.
Standing behind him is one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen. She smiles coyly at him, emerald eyes blazing at having caught him on the wrong foot. Michael stutters over an apology, hurrying away from the window,
“I’m so sorry! I was just curious and the door was unlocked so . . .” He trails off. The woman studies him for a moment before breaking into musical laughter. Like church bells tolling on a clear, sunny day.
“Not to worry,” she exclaims brightly, “I’m always happy to entertain visitors.” She sidles up to him, blonde hair glinting like gold, caught in the light streaming through the windows,
“Would you like a tour?”
END
