Avenged. Jacqui Rose

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      Hugging herself, she stared at Father Ryan, uncomfortable with his hostile gaze and speech.

      ‘What sinful acts have you been party to, Mary O’Flanagan?’

      Terrified, Mary edged back into the hard metal bed frame as Father Ryan sat down next to her.

      ‘None, Father.’

      ‘I’ll ask you again. What sins of the flesh have you partaken in?’

      ‘None. I swear. On the holy bible, I swear.’

      ‘Then you need to tell me what happened, otherwise I have no alternative but to think you played some part in this.’

      Mary paused and gazed down at her hands. She could see the mud from the woods still under her fingernails, and under her middle fingernail was a slight trace of dried blood.

      ‘Well?’ Father Ryan’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked at his face and saw no kindness.

      ‘I can’t remember, Father.’

      ‘Rubbish. Have you forgotten that I am a servant of God, and, that being so, your lies are direct lies to our good Lord?’

      Mary buried her head in her hands as tears dripped through her fingers. ‘I swear I can’t remember … please, please can you get my ma?’

      ‘Your mother wisely wants me to sort this out before she talks to you. She’s worried that perhaps in some way you … how shall I put this, Mary? … You invited this.’

      Mary shook her head furiously. ‘No! No! It wasn’t like that.’

      ‘Then, if it wasn’t, tell me what it was like; otherwise, as I said before, I can only assume the worst.’

      With no choice and taking a deep breath, Mary tried to overcome her shame. ‘I was in the woods.’

      Father Ryan looked shocked. ‘The woods!’

      ‘Yes, I was with Patrick, but he saw someone. Patrick told me to stay where I was but I got frightened and followed him. And then, when I was waiting there, I …’

      ‘Go on.’

      ‘I got up, thinking I should go back because I couldn’t see Patrick any more and, as I did, I felt someone grab me and push me back down from behind. They put their hand over my mouth and …’ Mary stopped and threw herself back onto the bed, racked with sobs and self-hatred.

      Father Ryan’s voice was steady. ‘Mary, continue.’

      ‘I can’t. I’m ashamed, Father.’

      ‘Of what?’

      ‘Of where he touched me. Of what he did.’

      ‘And where did he touch you?’

      Mary blushed, her pale face turning scarlet as the memories and the pain rushed through her body. She wished her mother had come to sit with her. Then it suddenly dawned on her why she hadn’t. Her mother was ashamed. And Mary didn’t blame her.

      ‘Mary?’ Father Ryan’s voice cut through the silence.

      ‘I’m sorry, Father. He … he touched me all over, and then he put his thing inside me. It hurt. I cried out but no-one came.’

      Father Ryan exuded venom as he sat next to Mary. ‘And why didn’t you try to stop it, Mary? Or perhaps you liked it?’

      Fervently, Mary shook her head. ‘No, Father. No!’

      More to himself than to Mary, Father Ryan spoke. ‘And you never saw his face.’ It was a statement rather than a question but Mary answered anyway.

      ‘No. Nothing. I didn’t see anything. It was so dark, and I know this sounds silly, Father, but I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see. I just didn’t.’

      For a few moments Father Ryan sat in silence mulling over his thoughts. He gazed up at the ceiling, catching sight of a tiny spider making its way across the length of the old wooden beam. With a renewed intensity, he chose his words carefully.

      ‘Mary. Can you recall what time this was?’

      ‘No, Father.’

      ‘And you say you never saw the person’s face who did this to you?’

      ‘No, Father.’

      Again, Father Ryan fell into a brooding silence. The minutes passed and twice Mary found herself peering at the priest, checking to see he hadn’t fallen asleep. Eventually he spoke.

      ‘I myself saw Patrick in the woods last night; hiding and skulking as if he were running away from something. And when I asked him what he was doing, he couldn’t tell me. I thought it most strange at the time, but now it’s beginning to make sense.’

      Mary looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

      Father Ryan sighed loudly, irritated by the baffled expression on Mary’s face. ‘What I’m saying is that Patrick Doyle, cunning as he is, made you think you were there on your own. He wanted you to believe that.’

      ‘But why, Father? I’m not following you.’

      ‘Is there anything between those ears of yours, Mary?’ Father Ryan snapped, berating Mary as he often did. ‘This is how you ended up in such a sorry state.’

      Mary bowed her head, biting back the tears, making Father Ryan soften slightly.

      ‘I think it was Patrick. I think Patrick was the one who attacked you.’

      Mary scrambled off the bed and began to scream. Loud and vociferous. Her piercing cry reverberated through the house, bringing Mr and Mrs O’Flanagan flying up the stairs; bundling themselves through Mary’s bedroom door with terror on their faces.

      ‘Get out! … Get out!’ Father Ryan bellowed at them. He stood up, pointing to the door without bothering to turn his head to look at Helen or Fergus, who both quickly and timidly backed away, out of the room.

      With the same thunderous tone, Father Ryan boomed at Mary, ‘Mary O’Flanagan, cease that noise. This is a time for being calm and rational, child.’

      Mary held onto the end of the bed, hyperventilating as the realisation of what the priest was saying sunk in. ‘I can’t … I can’t …’

      With speed under his feet, Father Ryan dashed across to where Mary stood and with a raise of his hand he slapped her hard across her cheek, welting a red mark. Immediately her hysterics dropped into a deep painful sob.

      Smoothing down his cassock as he sat down, he murmured to himself. ‘I’m sorry to have to do that, but nobody needs to hear such noise and it certainly won’t help things … That’s better. Now Mary, let’s try again.’

      Through her sobs, Mary gasped. ‘It’s impossible, Father. Patrick wouldn’t do anything like that. He wouldn’t. He loves me.’

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