Having worshipped at God's feet for the best part of twenty-five years, Father Hendrie should know better - nightmares are only a fabrication of an over-active imagination. But the dreams which haunt him are terrifyingly vivid and all are somehow li...
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"Father! For goodness sake!"
Janet's shrill accusatory tone wakened Bill with a start. He found himself slumped in his armchair, with a blanket draped loosely over his legs. Confused and sporting a slight headache, he looked to the silhouette of his housekeeper as she stood with her hands on hips in front of the bay window.
"Good...good morning, Janet," Bill managed weakly. "What time is it?"
"Good morning?" came her retort. "Nothing good about it, I can tell ye!" She busied herself plumping cushions and neatening ornaments that didn't need tidying. All the while, her beady eyes kept flitting over to Bill. She huffed and tutted, lifting the previous day's newspapers and tucking them tightly under her arm. "Don't understand why you won't just bin these once you've finished readin' them, Father."
"I don't think I did finish them..."
"Well, yesterday's news is today's fish 'n' chips wrappers, so ye'll have to get today's papers."
Pushing himself up, Bill sat straight. He put his head in his hands. Was last night real? He thought.
"So...what happened in here?" Janet asked, eyeing the dregs of whisky in the glass beside Bill's chair.
Peering through his fingers at her, he realised where Janet's line of sight lay. Inwardly, he groaned. "I just couldn't sleep; the storm woke me, and I came down for a nightcap." Although not the entire story, Bill felt satisfied that, at least, it was truthful.
"Hmph! Well, ye best get yourself washed and dressed; it's choir practice today - that's if the church is still standing."
"What?"
Janet made a sound that Bill thought was possibly a laugh, although he couldn't be entirely sure.
"I'm just pulling your leg, Father. But last night's storm has caused a lot of damage. See for yourself." She lifted the remote and switched on the TV.
The local news was about flooded roads and water-logged houses, trees and telephone poles blown down, burst riverbanks, landslides. It seemed the previous night's storm had indeed ravaged the county.
A knock at the door drew Janet away from the living room. In the distance, Bill heard his housekeeper hotly protesting and another voice insisting on a visit with the priest. Lisa!
A flurry at the living room door pulled Bill's attention from the news, and he saw his concerned neighbour come in with an agitated Janet following closely behind.
"How are you this morning, Father?" Lisa asked, flapping her arm behind her to shoosh the indignant housekeeper.
Astonished, Bill stood, pulling his housecoat tight and tying its belt. "I...I'm fine, thank you, Lisa."
The widow walked right up to him and grabbed his hands, concern written in her pretty green eyes. "I mean after last night...You know?"
Janet clucked her tongue, and Bill caught a look of shock twisting her mouth. Her interpretation of last night's events was so far from the truth it was almost laughable.
