MARIEL

16~ God, Forgive Me ~

Fr. Jerome had been livid. He had composed a response message to the emails, but most of the content had been inappropriate due to the amount of rage he been feeling. Needless to say, he had deleted the entire message and then had responded with a simple message that stated: 'St. Michael's has taken your concerns under consideration and will come to a decision in the following weeks. Please remain patient and remember to treat ALL members of the congregation with respect. Thank you.'

They hadn't responded.

As he awaited Esther's return text, Fr. Jerome shuffled past Harlow and approached the hallway. The cat sped past him, winding through his feet and nearly causing the old man to lose his footing.

Despite his ability to reconcile this abnormal behavior for himself, he still felt guilty for what he was about to do. He rarely invaded someone's privacy, including his son's. The priest thought of Phil Jameson and, for a moment, wondered if his behavior were as deplorable.

"I'm the parent," he muttered. "I just want to make sure he's safe."

Taking in a breath, he entered Mariel's bedroom.

The room was tidy, something that had always been a disciplined habit of Mariel's. During his time without Mariel, Fr. Jerome had left the room as it had been before his death. He hadn't even touched the white paper plate that Mariel, while since removed, had forgotten on his nightstand. The only unruly parts of the room had been the closet door that had been left slightly ajar, and the pillow that Mariel had always centered in the bed.

As Fr. Jerome switched on the light, his eyes quickly scanned the room. The phone buzzed in his pocket. The queen-sized bed creaked a little as the priest sat down and looked at Esther's text message on his phone.

'You don't want to know. Just... try to carry on and pretend I never texted you.'

Fr. Jerome was very confused and his heartbeat increased its pace. Whatever potential rumor she might have in mind couldn't have come at a worse time in his life.

Another message from Esther. 'That sounded really rude. I'm so sorry, Fr. Jerome. We need to talk soon though. I am slowly losing my mind.'

"You and me both, kid," he grumbled, scratching his head again. Between this, and her private comments to him at church last Sunday, his suspicions of Mariel's involvement were steadily rising.

That certainly wasn't a good thing.

Sighing, the priest responded quickly. 'Let me look at my schedule and we will talk soon. Be well, Esther.'

He turned his attention to the laptop on the small desk that sat across from the bed. It was open, but the screen was black. Swallowing hard, Fr. Jerome approached the desk and seated himself in the wheeled desk chair that always creaked loudly when sitting down or standing up. Honestly, he couldn't remember if Mariel ever had a security password on his laptop. If he did, there wouldn't be any possibility of entering the system and -

"Shoot," Fr. Jerome whispered. It was, indeed, password protected. He supposed it made sense, but he hadn't ever remembered seeing a lock screen on Mariel's past computers. Of course, he had never gone digging as well.

Harlow sprinted into the room and then stopped, glanced around wide-eyed. Continued running in circles while Fr. Jerome stared blankly at the laptop.

What, exactly, was he even looking for? What did he expect to find? It annoyed him that he was doing this, and he wanted to be able to trust his son. He wanted Mariel to trust him enough to talk, and yet he never did. The young man had a extraordinarily smooth manner of dismissing important conversations, like making Fr. Jerome laugh during an argument, telling him that he promised he would talk later, telling the priest that 'God had it under control'.