Be Not Afraid Read Free

javelin injury? Maybe an old sprain. I stared at it as long as I could until he disappeared down the aisle.
    Father Nickolas was next, with his odd cluster of yellow egg-shaped orbs inside his neck, followed by Father William, the parish priest at Sacred Heart, where Nan went to Mass every morning. He walked slowly, leaning on a cane, mouthing, “Hi, Marin,” as he passed. I nodded back, giving him a small smile.
    Since we’d moved, Nan had invited Father William over to the house for dinner a few times. He liked to stay afterward, sitting with her in the living room while they sipped glasses of warm whiskey and talked into the late hours. He was a nice man. Quiet. Easygoing. Quick to laugh, too, although I sensed a sadness about him, a heaviness that clouded his eyes and stooped his shoulders when he walked. Now, as he passed, I could make out the series of large, ruby-hued shapes beneath his heavy robes. They settled along the bottom half of his spine, glimmering like a string of fading Christmas lights as he made his way up the steps and shuffled in behind the altar.
    “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Father William made the sign of the cross over the student body.
    I closed my eyes as the priest began the opening prayers. It was Holy Week, which meant that the service would be a long one, maybe even twice the length of a usual Mass.Around me, the sounds of familiar prayers filled the room, the lull of them creating a warm, drowsy effect. Even closed, my eyelids felt heavy. The steady cacophony of voices began to drift into the background.
    Grnnnt! Sssst!
    I opened my eyes with a start and tried to focus. Father William was behind the makeshift altar onstage, praying over the bread and wine. On the right, Dominic sat in a chair next to two other boys, who were acting as altar servers. His interlocked fingers hung down between his knees and he stared at the floor as if studying something between his shoes. Had they gotten this far into the Mass already? I must have fallen asleep, dreamed those weird noises. Maybe they’d even come from me. I snuck a glance at Lucy, but she was staring straight ahead, absorbed in the Mass. I exhaled and felt my muscles start to relax.
    Until I heard it again, something that sounded like a low growl this time. It seemed to be coming from farther down, toward the front.
    “What is that?” Lucy whispered, elbowing me. “Did you hear that noise?”
    I raised myself up against the arms of my seat, ignoring the blur of colors and shapes that assaulted me, and looked in the direction the noise seemed to be coming from. For a split second, I wondered if I was imagining the sight before me. Cassie Jackson’s head was thrown back against her seat. Her eyes were so wide open that they were bulging from inside her face, and her mouth was parted, as if she wasstruggling for air. Another hissing sound came out between her lips, and as it did, the students around her reared back and gasped.
    “What is it?” Lucy whispered, tugging on my sleeve. “What’s happening? I can’t see anything.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “It looks like Cassie. Is she sick, maybe?”
    “Cassie Jackson?” Lucy hopped up on her seat now, folding both legs beneath her, and tried to see over my shoulder. “Why do you think she’s sick? Is she throwing up?”
    Up on the stage, Father William hesitated as he glanced in Cassie’s direction. His voice began to intone a prayer:
“Then Jesus, taking the bread, broke it and said: ‘This is my body, shed for you and all of your sins. Take and eat of it, in memory of me.’ ”
    At the sound of the words, Cassie began to pant. Her head lolled back and forth along the seat, and a vein in her neck bulged like rope. Father William raised the host up in the air with both hands and held it there. Suddenly, Cassie stood up. It was an abrupt, violent movement, as if someone had yanked her to her feet by an invisible string. Father