Joan of Snark Ch. 13

Joan grabbed the knob and the bathroom door and, as slowly and as quietly as she could, turned the handle. She eased the door open just a crack and peeked out. She did not see anyone in the hallway. So she opened the door a little wider. If she were to go down the hall to the left, that would take her into the living room where the front entrance was. But the living room was also where Father Ben would be waiting for her.

If she were to instead turn right, that would take her into the kitchen and the back door, which led out into the churchyard. If Joan were to take that route, she would have to hope that the doors to the church were unlocked. Otherwise there would be no way out. The stone walls of the churchyard where too high and slippery for her to climb. She would have to go through the back door of St. Vincent's, run down one of the lengthy aisles and out the front entrance. That would then bring her to the front steps of the church and out onto the street. From there she could hopefully run home.

Taking a deep breath, Joan exited the bathroom. She stepped lightly, hoping that the wooden floor would not creak. She looked to her right and peered into the living room. She could see the back of Father Ben's head as he sat on the couch. His left shoulder was moving up and down. He was clearly doing some sort of repetitive motion with his left arm or hand. And it did not take Joan long to figure out what that repetitive motion probably was.

"Joan!" he called out. "Are you alright? You've been in there a while. Hurry up! I have something for you that I think you'll like. You've been asking me for it since the first evening I met you."

Joan blushed as she remembered her first night working for Father Ben at the rectory. The forward and amorous way she had come onto him. Knowing what she now knew of Father Ben - or at least what she suspected - that first evening seemed life a lifetime ago. Even though it had only occurred a few nights prior.

Joan turned to the right and began to creep towards the kitchen.

"If you don't come out soon, I'm going to have to come in there and get you," he warned.

Treading as lightly as she could, Joan entered the kitchen. She eyed the back door from across the room. She silently prayed that she would be able to open and close it without Father Ben hearing her exit the rectory.

As she tiptoed across the linoleum something, which was moving around on the floor under the kitchen table, caught her eye. It was long, thin and grey. And had a white stripe running down the center.

It's the snake! Joan thought with alarm. The snake from her nightmare. The snake, which had slithered into her mouth and crawled down her throat. It was here in the kitchen of the rectory. Joan could not stop herself. She involuntarily screamed.

"Joan, what's wrong?" The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard thudding down the hall.

"It's a snake!" Joan cried as she recoiled away from the kitchen table.

Father Ben appeared in the hallway at the threshold of the kitchen. He swiftly tucked his erect and exposed member back into his pants.

Joan was cowering in a corner near the back door, pointing at the floor under the table.

"A snake? Where? Under the table?"

Joan fearfully nodded. The young priest stooped down and looked to where Joan was gesturing. A smile spread across his face as he broke into laughter. Joan looked on in confusion. "What's so funny?" she snapped.

The handsome cleric reached under the table and retrieved a grey strip of fabric with a white stripe stretching from end to end. "It's not a snake, Joan. It's a stole."

"A what?" she squinted at the garment.

"It's part of my vestments. When I'm all dressed up for Sunday mass, wearing my priest's robes, this piece goes over my shoulders."

"Oh ... I could have sworn ..."

"It's funny what the mind sees when it senses danger. You know, cats often mistake cucumbers for snakes. So if you're a cat person, I guess you're in good company," Father Ben teased.

"But I saw it move!" Joan insisted.

"Your eyes are playing tricks on you," he shrugged as he placed his stole on the kitchen table. The then turned to her and asked, "What are you doing in the kitchen?"

"I ... uh ... wanted a glass of water," Joan nervously swallowed.

"I thought you went into the bathroom for a glass of water." He gave her an puzzled look.

"I ... um ... I wanted some ... uh ... juice," Joan mumbled.

Father Ben opened a kitchen cabinet above the sink and grabbed a glass. He then opened the refrigerator and took out a jug of orange juice. He poured the vibrant orange liquid into the glass and extended it toward Joan, offering her the beverage.

Joan cautiously accepted it and slowly brought it to her lips. She took a timid sip and lowered the glass. She stood, frozen in an awkward pose as Father Ben scrutinized her from across the kitchen table.

"So, are you going to come back into the living room? Or would you prefer to go up stairs?" He placed the jug of juice back onto the shelf next to the milk and shut the refrigerator door. He reached down and began stroking himself through his black trousers. He looked at Joan with a rakish smile.

Joan's hands began to tremble. "I ... uh ... I ... I ..." Before she could finish her sentence, the glass she had been holding slipped from her shaking fingers and shattered all over the floor. The sound startled them both as juice splattered all over the linoleum.

"Jesus Christ!" Father Ben swore, as he looked down.

Joan decided to use that momentary distraction as an opportunity. She raced to the back entrance, flung open the door and bolted out of the rectory.

"Joan!" Father Ben hollered. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Joan leaped down the stairs of the back porch and took off running through the yard, down the stone path that led to the church. A moment later she heard Father Ben's feet as they hit the stairs not far behind her.

Joan was not confident that she could outrun the young clergyman all the way to the church. To the left she eyed the baptism chapel. If the door was unlocked, maybe she could run in there and lock the door behind her. So she veered off to the left, departing from the stone path, and sprinted towards the smaller building.

She grabbed at the door handle and pulled. Miraculously it was not locked. She yanked the door open, scurried inside and slammed the door shut behind her. She looked down and saw a locking mechanism on the knob. She pushed the button and then jiggled the handle to make sure that it was secure. She also noticed a dead bolt a few inches above. She turned the thumb latch and heard the deadbolt slide into place.

Not even a second later, a thunderous pounding was coming from the other side of the door. "Joan, open the door!" Father Ben commanded.

Joan thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. How was she going to get herself out of this situation? She frantically looked around the chapel for an alternate exit, but could not see one.

"Joan, I'm not going to hurt you. But we need to talk. Open this door at once!" he ordered.

From the other side of the door Joan could hear a metallic jangling sound. Horrified, she watched the doorknob judder as something penetrated it from the other side. Oh no, Joan silently fretted. Father Ben must have had the keys for St. Vincent's entire premises in his pocket.

Once again she looked around. Was there something she could use as a weapon perhaps? She did not see anything particularly useful. Maybe she could open one of the windows and sneak out that way. But as she briefly studied the stained glass windows of the chapel, she was disappointed to discover that none of them seemed to open.

The door rattled against its frame as Father Ben attempted to open it. However, he still had not unlocked the deadbolt. Once again, Joan heard the sound of keys clinking together as the young priest went about opening the remaining lock.

Father Ben was not a real Catholic priest, Joan thought decisively. But who he was exactly, she was not certain. A Satin worshiper? A man possessed by a demon?

Joan ran over to the baptismal altar in the center of the chapel and looked down into the basin. Her heart sank when she saw that it was empty. "Damn," she muttered to herself. "No holy water."

Nervously she ran back over to the door and look at the small font mounted on the wall next to the entrance. It was about half full. She removed the benitier from its holder and ran back over to the altar. She crouched down behind the christening basin, trying to make herself as small as possible and waited.

Eventually she heard a distinctive clicking and the dreaded sound of the deadbolt dragging through its chamber as it was unlocked. There was a loud creak as the chapel door slowly opened. "Joan? Joan, where are you?"

Joan could hear footsteps on the marble floor as the Father Ben strode into the chapel. She held her breath. Her eyes were wide with fear. The baptism chapel was small. It would not be long until he found her. As the footsteps neared, she wondered if it would do any good to pray. But as a shadow fell over her, she knew that it was too late for that.

"Joan, why the hell are you hiding from me?" He looked down at her with an exasperated look on his face.

Mustering up all of her courage, Joan jumped to her feet and shouted, "The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!" Gripping the small vessel in her right hand, she thrust her arm forward and threw the holy water directly into Father Ben's face.

The priest stumbled backwards as he began sputtering. "Joan, what the fuck?"

"The power of Christ compels you!" she hollered.

"The only thing I'm compelled to do right now is to give you another spanking, young lady!" he bellowed. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"You're not a real priest!" Joan declared. "I don't know who you are. Or what you are. But you're evil," she ranted. "The power of Christ compels you!"

"What on earth are you talking about, Joan?" he asked incredulously.

Joan's was somewhat disheartened as she watched Father Ben's anti-climactic reaction to her spontaneous attack of holy water. She was not exactly sure what she had been expecting. Was the holy watch supposed to burn him? Should her words make him recoil from her in terror? She clutched the now empty benetier in her hands as she panted with fear and adrenaline.

He looked down at the object in her hands. "Joan, did you throw holy water in my face?"

"Yes!" she defiantly replied. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"No. Why would it hurt? It's just water. And really dirty water at that." He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his face dry. "Do you have any idea how many people dip their fingers into that thing as they walk into the chapel? That water is swimming with germs. I'll be lucky if I don't end up getting an eye infection because of that stunt you've pulled just now." He glared at her.

"Who are you?" Joan demanded to know.

Father Ben looked taken aback. "Joan, you know who I am."

She reached down just above her bust and grabbed the pendant with her thumb and forefinger. She held it up away from her chest. "You made me wear the star of Satin!"

Father Ben heavily sighed. "Joan, a pentacle doesn't necessarily represent Satin."

"Yes it does!" she countered.

"It does for some people," he conceded. "But that's not why I gave it to you." His tone of voice softened somewhat. "Joan, have you ever hear of the Morrigan?" he asked

"The what?"

"The Morrigan," he repeated.

"No." She eyed him suspiciously.

"Before the Romans colonized western Europe, forcing Christianity on everyone, the people of the Ireland had their own religion."

"So?"

"The Morrigan was the goddess of war and fate. She inspired warriors to fight bravely in battle and she terrified her enemies." Joan was not sure what this impromptu history lesson had to do with anything. "Sometimes The Morrigan is represented by three three sister. And sometimes she's depicted as just one entity. But either way, the Morrigan is strong, fierce and female."

"You're such a feminist," Joan said dryly.

Father Ben snickered. "I know you're an atheist Joan, and you don't really believe in Catholicism. And I know that there is a lack of strong women role models in Catholic literature. Given the way you behave, I highly doubt that the Virgin Mary is someone who you'd aspire to be."

"That's true," she shrugged.

"So forgive me for borrowing from a culture outside of Christianity. But I wanted to find a courageous female deity with whom you might be able to identify with," he explained. "And one symbol that often represents the Morrigan is the pentacle. That's why I gave you that particular pendant." He gestured to the star around her neck. "That isn't the star of Satin. It's a sacred symbol of a powerful Celtic goddess."

"Oh ..." Joan let out a long exhale as relief slowly washed over her.

"And considering your beliefs - or lack thereof - I figured you'd appreciate the Morrigan pentacle alot more than a cross or a crucifix."

"Hm ..." His explanation sort of made sense. However, Joan was still troubled. "But doesn't the five pointed star still represent the devil?"

"Only if you want it to," he replied matter-of-factly. "That necklace is simply an object. It's just a man-made thing. The only meaning it has is the meaning that you give to it. You can choose to think of it as the star of Satin. Or you can choose to believe that it represents a strong Irish female spirit. It's completely up to you."

Joan tilted her head to the side as she considered what the young cleric was saying. "But if you're a Catholic priest, why would you use a pagan symbol during an exorcism?"

"It wasn't a real exorcism. We did it just for the placebo effect," he reminded her. "So does it really matter what paraphernalia I used?"

"No ... I guess not ..."

"And it was your exorcism. Not mine. So I wanted to use different religious symbols that might be be more meaningful to you."

"I suppose that makes sense," she relented. "But why ..." she trailed off.

"Why what?"

"Well, you're supposed to be celibate. Why did we ... you know ..."

"Joan, throughout history priests weren't always abstinent. There was a time when Catholic priests could marry and have children. So that meant that the priest's children would inevitably inherit all of his land and money." He continued, "But eventually the Vatican wanted to keep all of that wealth and property for themselves. So they began banning priests from getting married. The rule about priests being celibate has absolutely nothing to do with sex being a sin. It's a way for the Vatican to maintain control over its vast amount of wealth."

"So ... you just choose to ignore that rule?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"It's just a man-made rule. It isn't God's law." He stepped closer to her and reached down. He took the empty font out of her hands and placed it down on the altar next to the christening basin. "God made us sexual beings. You and I engaging in sexual acts is natural. It doesn't hurt anyone. And it doesn't hurt God." Then he leaned down and in a low voice, he whispered in her ear, "And you and I denying ourselves pleasure doesn't help anyone. Nor does it make God any happier."

He brought his mouth to hers and kissed her gently on the lips. His lips were soft but cold. He slowly pulled away and looked down at her expectantly.

Joan took a deep breath. "Okay," she said with conviction. "I want to."

Father Ben narrowed his eyes and grinned. "Mm, I'm glad to hear that." With his left hand he reached out and stroked her hair, tucking it behind her right ear. He then brought both hands to his neck and began removing his clerical collar. Joan decided to follow his lead and started to unbutton her blouse.

Suddenly a haunting cry echoed throughout the baptism chapel. Joan and Father Ben both looked around to see what had caused the noise. Near the entrance of the chapel was a statue of St. John the Baptist. And perched on the crown of St. John's head was an owl.

"Oh no, it's back," Joan bemoaned.

"What? You've seen it before?" the priest inquired.

"Yeah, a couple of nights ago in the church. It tried to attack me. It chased me down the aisle." She turned and looked back at Father Ben. "Is this the first time you've seen it?"

Instead of replying, the young priest walked over to where the owl was situated. "It must have flown in through the open door." He gestured to where he had left the chapel entrance wide open.

The owl once again opened its beak. But this time instead of a mournful cry, it let out more of a high pitched squeal. "Be careful," Joan warned as the priest neared the bird. "What it it attacks you?"

"I'm not too worried," he nonchalantly said. He did not take his eyes off the animal as he continued his approach.

The owl then shifted forward and unfolded its wings. It vigorously flapped them. Startled by the noise, Joan gasped. In one big swooping motion, the feathered creature took off, leaving its perch on St. John's head. It sailed through the chapel, headed directly at Joan.

"AH!" Joan screamed as she dove to the ground on the bottom step of the alter.

The owl swooped down, coming within an inch or two of Joan. It then pulled itself back up and ascended slightly, landing smoothly and gracefully in the center of the baptismal basin. It closed its wings and nestled itself within the empty marble sink. It twisted its head around, looked down at Joan and shrieked.

Joan shook as she balled herself up at the foot of the altar. She felt a tap on her shoulder. "I think maybe we'd better return to the rectory," Father Ben suggested as he grabbed her upper arm and pulled her to her feet.

Joan's feet felt heavy as she made her way on wobbly legs towards the open door. Father Ben was right behind her, hurrying her toward the exit. "What are you going to do about the owl?" Joan asked as they stepped outside.

"l'll leave the door to the chapel open overnight. It'll fly away eventually," he said sounding fairly sure of himself as they climbed up the steps of the back porch.

As they entered through the back door of rectory, Joan felt relieved to be in the safety of the kitchen. She turned to Father Ben. "So ... uh ... do you want to go upstairs?"

Father Ben opened his mouth to answer. However, before he could say anything, a familiar voice interrupted their conversation. "Joan, what a pleasant surprise! I wasn't expecting to see you here this evening. Benny told me that you had quit you part-time job."

Joan grimaced as she eyed the attractive redhead standing in the hall just outside of the kitchen. "Lil, you're back," Joan said with little enthusiasm. "Nice to see you again."

"Yeah, I just got in," Calla Lily said, her green eyes twinkling. She then lowered her gaze to just below Joan's throat. "What do you have there?"

"Oh, the necklace. Father Ben gave it to me." Joan anxiously fiddled with the pendant, which lay against her neck. She was not particularly appreciative of Lil's surprise entrance.

Lil stepped forward, reached out and took the pentacle from Joan's fingers. "Hm, a pentacle. The star of the Morrigan?"

"How'd you know?" Joan asked.

"Oh, at college, Benny and I took a Celtic studies class together. He was obsessed with all of the old Gaelic gods. I was shocked when he became a Catholic priest. I thought for sure that he would convert to Wicca or some other pagan cult," Lil laughed.

"Just because I'm a man of the cloth, that doesn't mean I can't be interested in other cultures," said Father Ben, shaking his head. "There's alot that you can learn from alternative religions. We should always make an effort to be open minded and question authority. There's more to life than just Catholic dogma."