When the Devil Came Down to Texas

Chapter Eleven

Chapter 11 //

Alex made sure she prayed a little extra at church that day, even if she didn't really think anybody was listening. She found the act relaxing: meditative. And she woke up fear-ridden. She couldn't remember her dream. The air was wrong this morning. It felt heavier, but she was the only one who seems to notice the change in atmosphere. It made her hair stand on end and gooseflesh break out over her skin like hives.

A little boy was sniffling in one of the church pews. His mother handed him a tissue. Another child was sprawled out on the pew in front of Alex, a parent on wither side of her, coloring. Her coloring pack of twenty-four didn't seem to be enough.

Her breath caught in her throat when she looked at the windows at the top of the church and she the face of a woman staring back at her. Her eyes bottomless, and the dark brown of her lips cracked. Her neck was broken. Her expression was not unkind.

She let out a shuddering breath.

I am not crazy. I am not seeing things.

More than any desire she had felt before, she wanted to know what the woman wanted.

Everyone began to kneel, so Alex sank to her knees. Mae turned around from a pew closer to the front, and seeing Alex, momentarily lost her sense of mannerism, enthusiastically waved. She hadn't been able to convince Alex to come with her for a few weeks. The nightmare she can't remember convinced her she needed Jesus. Or at least to be around people who thought there was something waiting for them after they're physical body was dead.

Another ten minuets and everyone began to file out of the church. Alex looked at the crucifixion hanging above the alter. Red paint depicted blood falling from his nail wounds. His ribs protruded sharply. The cloth hung loosely across his boney hips.

Even if there was no savior, Alex still felt for this man who died in hopes of giving sinners immortal souls. Even if there was a savior, Alex still felt like this man wasn't hers. She shoved her fingers through her knotted hair, tugging and pulling at the stands and hurriedly pulling it back into a high bun. She pulled a headband from her purse and slid the soft pink plastic into her hair. She fingers where His nail wounds would be on her palms.

The hazy eight AM sunshine fell over her as she walked down the steps and over to the bookshop. It was her sanctuary. Organizing and cleaning the shelves, carefully typing in dollar amounts on the cash register, sweeping the floor. It all made Alex feel in control. And if that didn't fell like safety, then she really didn't know what safe felt like.

She still hadn't worked up the courage to call her mother. She didn't think she ever would. When Tommy didn't allow her to answer the phone, she would crave the smooth honey sound of her mom's voice. Now that she had the power to choose whether or not to pick up the phone, it didn't feel necessary. Having gone long bouts without her voice felt normal, and here in this town it felt like the past was but a dream.

Besides the nightmares. But, Alex was willing to overlook that small disturbance in her small, Southern town living. She would not, however, overlook the face in the church. Her own breath bounces in her rib cage like a ball in a machine game.

She thinks the woman was warning her.

When Alex walked into the shop, bells ringing loudly and a heavy creak of lumber beneath her white tennis shoes, she walked into a half-finished conversation.

"Yes, Frannie. I know, I completely agree."

"That poor boy just doesn't pick the good girls does her. Been that way since he was little."

"Ever since his crazy-bat Mama walked out on him." Daisy-Alice makes a sound of agreement as she picks up a book from the women's fiction shelf. Row H. Alex thinks that it's probably about a divorced single mother. Those are usually the one's Daisy-Alice ends up buying.