The dark robe that fell to her toes swirled a little as Salome took long strides forward. She walked with grace, in the silky light of the dawn, her presence a comforting beacon to all the patients gathered in their rooms.

“Hello, Ezra. How are you doing today?” She asked, pausing beside an elderly man’s bed. His eyes, dim with age, brightened at the sight of her, a flicker of relief breaking through his weariness.

He struggled to sit up as he said, “Sister! Oh, how long I've prayed for a miracle.” 

Salome gently urged him back down with her hands on his shoulders. She held his hands and continued, “And here I am. Let us pray to our dear Lord for continued strength and healing.”

Those warm brown eyes held a lifetime of faith and hope, and Salome was determined not to shatter the fragile comfort she had brought him. She knew divulging the grave state of his waning health would only worsen his sense of loss. As well as that of those around him.

With a silent prayer, Salome blessed Ezra, gently tracing a cross on his forehead with her thumb. “Jesus is with you all the way, Ezra. Keep your faith like the flame of an eternal candle,” she said, tinkering with the pendant that hung around her neck. “He'll guide you everywhere.”

“Thank you so much,” he muttered, his lips spreading into a wider smile.

With a final reassuring nod, Salome moved on to the next patient. She realized that each of them, in their weakest state of mind, needed just a bit of faith to keep them prudent. 

As she made her way down the corridor, Salome noticed two nurses huddled outside what used to be Raelle’s room. She had already heard of her doleful demise, offering her silent prayers for her soul.

“What seems to be bothering the two of you?” 

The nurses turned to face her, their faces pasty and their faces etched with distress.

“I don't know, Sister Salome,” replied the nurse with hair up in a high bun. The dark circles around her eyes spoke of sleepless nights, but she had still been chary. “Look, something seems to have happened to Jude.”

It was then that Salome realized she had not seen Jude that day. She had expected him soon after hearing of Raelle's passing, but he hadn't come in then, either. She was aware of the deep bond between Jude and Raelle, and although she knew he would be devastated, she hadn’t thought much of his absence until now.

“Ah,” Salome said, as she looked into the room. “Is he not cop-”

Her words faltered as her eyes fell upon Jude. His face was a mess of red and puffy eyes, and deliberate scratches all across his skin. His disheveled hair had been pulled at, a stark contrast to his usually tidy appearance.

“How long has he been like this?” She asked with a trembling voice, and concern that mirrored the nurses’.

The nurses exchanged worried glances before one of them answered. “We didn’t know until this morning. The door was locked all night, and we thought we'd give him space until morning. But today too, the door was locked. When we finally managed to force it open, we found him like this.”

“So, we're not sure how long he's been like this,” added the other nurse.

Salome’s heart quickened, as she took a tentative step towards Jude. The visible signs of torment twisted a sorry knife that had been impaled into her heart. The room itself seemed to reflect his turmoil, splatters of blood still uncleaned and shreds of paper scattered throughout the room.

“Jude?” She called for him, knowing fully well she couldn't possibly get a sane reply from him.

His head twisted around to face her, the bones in his neck cracking. “What!?” Jude growled, momentarily focusing his vacant gaze on her; but soon turned away.

Salome didn't dare to pester him, asking more of him. She picked up a few pieces of the paper lying close to her and inspected the text scribbled on.

Her mind wandered as she scanned the words: ‘trace your name’, ‘your worship is’ and ‘so I confess'. Each phrase was disturbingly familiar, echoing from a text she'd read not too long ago.

Micah. Micah Connor. He had been in Jude's place, as according to that text. She remembered how each phrase had been a part of a poem and with each verse that he read aloud, he lost all his sense of reason.

The experience had been chilling - how the boy's innocent demeanor had masked a profound darkness. The unsettling recollection had made her wonder if the fragments were part of a darker ritual, or if they were merely echoes of a haunting past.

And now, she'd been sure… That it wasn't merely a happenstance that both Micah and Jude had been driven to insanity by the same poem. 

With trembling hands, she gripped on the door knob, taking hasty steps backward. “I'll call Father George,” she whispered, more to herself than to the nurses standing outside. “Please lock the door and wait for us.”

As she walked down the hallway, Salome clutched the pendant of the Holy Cross on her neck, her fingers moving towards it for reassurance. Her lips moved in a silent prayer, wanting to protect herself from all the darkness of it all.

The dimly lit corridor seemed to close in around her as she hurried toward the phone, her mind racing with dread. The haunting familiarity of the poem and the sight of Jude’s torment made it clear that whatever had ensnared Micah was far from over. It was only a matter of time before the shadows would demand their next victim.

As the phone rang in the quiet, tense waiting room, Salome couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

Katopark | September 2024