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After we got Gram settled, we headed back home and I disappeared into my room and booted up my computer, determined to figure anything that would give me a clue on how to stop a reaper. I knew facts would be thin to nothing, but maybe there would be an old wives’ tale or urban legend that had a grain of truth.
My stomach rumbled and I glanced at the clock, blinking and rubbing my eyes at the flashing numbers. It was almost eight and my mom hadn’t called me down for dinner like she usually does. I swung the chair around and froze halfway to my feet. I had been so deep in the research that I never heard my mother come in. She left a tray with a ham and cheese sandwich, an apple, and a bag of chips along with my favorite soda on my bed a few feet away from my desk.
I grabbed the sandwich and sat back in the chair, swiveling toward the computer with a sigh. I hadn’t found a thing online. It seemed that if the article didn’t have to do with music or gaming, then it rambled about religion. I took a bite of the sandwich and turned that over in my mind. Mid-chew I stopped and almost palmed my forehead.
Religion.
A priest. I should talk to a priest.
I finished the rest of the sandwich in two bites and swiped the soda off the tray on my way out of my room. “Mom?” I yelled from the top of the stairs and descended into the well-lit family room where my mother was channel surfing.
She muted the television and glanced at me. She raised an eyebrow, inviting me to continue.
“I think I need to talk to Father Michael.”
Both eyebrows arched. “Why?”
“I think he might be able to help me.”
My mother’s expression didn’t change, it remained frozen in perpetual surprise and I thought for a moment the world stopped spinning until she blinked and pressed her lips together. Her concerns were expressed in the thin line of her mouth and etched into the scrunch between her eyes, but more than that, I could almost hear the whisper of her thoughts.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him who my father is.”
The lines smoothed, followed by an audible sigh of relief. “You really think he can help?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t certain of anything, but it was better than spinning my wheels at the computer. “It’s gotta be better than just doing random Google searches.”
“I have to work tonight, but you can give Father Michael a call if you’d like. If he isn’t available, we can stop in and see him tomorrow.”
“Okay, but I’m supposed to go to the library with Julia tomorrow. Think we can talk to Father Michael before I go?”
“Let me know if you get a hold of him. If not, I’ll give him a call first thing in the morning and see if we can swing by the rectory.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said and tried Father Michael while she got ready for work. All I got was the answering machine and I hung up without leaving a message. I’d try again later and instead, plopped myself on the couch. The minute I got settled in the soft cushions, my eyelids drooped heavy from the stress of the day. It didn’t take long before the lull of the television sucked me into another dream.