No one had spoken to them, as if they were afraid they might catch some dread disease.
Bunch of kiss-ups, that's all they were, he thought.
Then, when they'd finally been called into Father Bernard's office, the priest made them stand at attention, like they were in some kind of military academy or something! And he'd even given them the "this hurts me as much as it hurts you" line of crap, like he really cared what happened to either one of them.
The way the priest had spoken, Jared assumed they would be suspended, but in the end he told them they were going to have to clean the church. "Perhaps if you see what it's like to work as a janitor, you might appreciate your classes a bit more."
More likely it was free labor that Father Bernard wanted, Jared decided.
"I bet he finds some reason to make a kid clean the church every single week," he said when he and Luke left the school. Sometime during the afternoon the weather had shifted, and the heavy mugginess in the air made Jared wish he could just go home and maybe sprawl out and take a nap. "What do you 'spose he'd do if we ditch it?" he asked.
Luke scuffed at the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. "You can do whatever you want. But if I don't show, my mom'll find out, and she'll kill me."
Jared eyed the church that loomed across the street. The last time he'd been inside was for his aunt Cora's funeral. He remembered thinking it had been kind of pretty, with the light coming through the stained-glass windows. But now it seemed forbidding, and as he came to the steps, he suddenly didn't want to go inside.
But why should I want to? he wondered. Going inside meant spending the next three hours scrubbing the floors, polishing the brass railing in front of the altar, and cleaning all the statues. But even as he silently ticked off the list of chores Father Bernard had assigned them, he knew there was more to his reluctance to enter than just that.
As he stared at the high limestone facade of St. Ignatius, a deep anger took hold inside him.
"Come on," he growled. "Let's get it over with."
They walked into the vestibule, and Luke automatically dipped his fingers into the font of holy water that stood just outside the doors to the sanctuary, and genuflected.
Jared reached toward the water himself, then stopped. Why should I? he asked himself. I'm not here to pray. I'm here because I'm being punished. "Where do they keep the cleaning stuff?" he asked.
"Downstairs," Luke told him. "I know where it is."
He started up the aisle toward the altar, with Jared trailing after him. But halfway up the aisle, Jared felt a strange queasiness in his gut, as though he were getting the flu. He stopped. Now, he felt a cold sweat break out, his whole body feeling clammy, and a shiver passed through him. "Hey, Luke," he said. "Where's the bathroom?"
Luke spoke without turning around. "You either have to go next door to the parish hall, or use the one downstairs."
"What do you mean, downstairs? Where're we going?"
"Will you just come on?" Luke countered. "Jesus, what's wrong with you?"
"I-I just don't feel so good," Jared replied.
Luke turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Well, you don't look like anything's wrong," he said. "You trying to stick me with all the work?"
Jared glared at him. "I just need to use the can. No big deal."
As he followed Luke down the aisle, his queasiness getting worse, he prayed that he wouldn't puke or have an attack of diarrhea right here in the middle of the church. Luke would never let him forget that. Everything inside him was churning by the time they got to the sacristy, and when he saw the stairs at the back of the small chamber, he hurried down them. At the bottom, there were three storage closets and the rest room.
"Start getting the stuff," Jared said. "I'll be out in a minute." Going into the rest room, he groped around until he found a light switch, turned it on, then closed and locked the door. As his guts continued to churn, he pulled down his pants and sat down on the toilet.
A plume of vomit spewed from his mouth, and as he turned to throw up the rest of the contents of his stomach into the toilet, the diarrhea struck.
Jared was drenched in a cold sweat and thought he was going to pass out. But a moment later the attack began to pass. His vision cleared, the pain in his stomach eased, and the chill that had seized his body released its grip. Easing himself back onto the toilet, he lowered his head between his knees.
There was a knock at the door, and Luke said, "Hey, Jared-you okay?"
"Yeah," Jared grunted. "I'll be out in a minute."
He sat up straight. The last of the queasiness had faded, and he didn't feel any different than he had before the attack had hit him. Using most of the roll of toilet paper that hung from the wall of the one stall, he cleaned himself up, then pulled up his pants. As he was washing his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror, and for a moment he didn't recognize his own face.
His complexion was chalk white, and his eyes were bloodshot and looked as if they'd sunk deeper into their sockets.
Dead, he thought. I look dead!
But then the color began to creep back into his face and his eyes cleared.
Still, he didn't look quite right. In some weird way he couldn't describe, he looked different.
On the other hand, why wouldn't he? Hadn't he just puked and shit his brains out? It was a wonder he could stand up at all!
Turning away from the mirror, he set to work with the paper towels he found on a shelf over the sink, cleaning up the mess on the floor. When he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was still pale, but he thought he looked better.
"Jeez, Jared, what took you so long?" Luke asked when he finally came upstairs ten minutes later.
"The runs," Jared said. "Never had anything like that happen before."
"You still trying to get out of this?" Luke asked suspiciously.
Jared glowered at Luke. "Let's just get it done and get out of here, okay?" His eyes wandered over the church, and again he felt the sickness building inside him. "I think I'm starting to hate this place."
They worked steadily for the next two hours, alternately scrubbing, polishing, and dusting until at last there was nothing left to be done.
The brass gleamed; the statues shone.
Luke shook his head. "I never want to see another can of Brasso in my life."
Jared, though, said nothing, for while Luke was surveying their work, he'd been staring at something in one of the niches set into the sanctuary's walls. It was a shrine to one of the saints, the altar on which the statue stood constructed of ornately carved marble. Surrounding the statue were more than a dozen crosses of various sizes.
"What's the big deal with that one?" Jared asked, tipping his head toward the statue.
Cocking his head, Luke gazed at it. "I don't know. I guess maybe she was someone's favorite saint or something."
Jared moved closer to the statue, which now seemed to be looking straight at him.
Looking at him, and accusing him of something. "She looks like she thinks she's better than the rest of us," he said. His eyes swept over the rest of the figures that adorned the church. "They all do."
"So?" Luke countered. "They're saints. They were better than the rest of us. Whatcha gonna do about it?"
Jared smirked. "Oh, I've got a couple ideas." Stepping over to the altar on which the figure stood, he reached out and broke off one of the crosses.
"Jeez, Jared," Luke breathed. "What are you doing?"
Jared's eyes locked on Luke's. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm taking one of these things. There's so many of them, they'll never miss one. Bet they don't even notice it's gone."
"But what are you going to do with it?" Luke asked.