MARIEL

32~ Dear Mariel ~

Chicago, IL

Monday, February 17th, 2020

Harlow meowed very softly and placed her paw on Fr. Jerome's foot. Her soft purr grew louder and she tapped his big toe.

Fr. Jerome prepared a cup of peppermint tea. His throat hurt a little. He presumed the fluctuating weather was not helping, as he'd noticed symptoms of hay fever emerging much earlier than normal.

It was noon, and the house was empty save for him and Harlow. He'd urged Nathan to go back to his normal routine and his own household, especially since Fr. Jerome could now function on his own. Plus, it'd been a moment since he'd had time alone to reflect. Despite Nathan's worries, he assured him he would be just fine.

Fr. Jerome, however, was concerned about Nathan. The man hadn't slept since the events of the rally, and he hadn't opened up much about the incident. Many theories had been discussed, yes, but Nathan naturally was concerned for the well being of his son, Kaemon Spears. Allegedly, there'd been an assassination attempt on him, but he'd been pulled from the stage so quickly it'd failed. This, of course, was according to the media.

The incident was horrific, and Fr. Jerome was terrified that he'd agreed to aid a terrorist: Haleef Kaseem.

Fr. Jerome had no answers, no ease of mind. Haleef hadn't reached out. He didn't imagine the man would. Right now, guilty or innocent, Kaseem was America's most wanted. It'd be completely foolish to trust anyone at this point. He was in hiding.

Fr. Jerome sipped his tea and brought it to the living room.

Still, Fr. Jerome thought of the boy, Ahdam. His heart hurt thinking of him. What human being would use a little child for science, especially for an agenda to cause more harm?

'Evil,' he thought, grimly, and settled into the recliner he'd grown accustomed to Nathan stealing. Immediately, Harlow hopped onto his lap and settled. Slowly, she blinked up at him, as if wondering why he'd taken so long to allow her a nap on his legs.

Fr. Jerome ran his fingers over her head, enjoying the sound of her purr. He closed his eyes.

There was so much to process. He wasn't quite sure how to do it, and how to cope. He wasn't even certain how involved he was supposed to be in the chaotic events. He'd been given visions, yes, but for what purpose? He did not feel as though he'd offered aid to anyone. He'd warned Mariel to stay away from Esther. He hadn't. He'd warned Esther of Mariel. She hadn't listened. He'd continued to write, as he'd been instructed. Yet, his writings still remained in his household, seemingly lost in an increasingly darkening world.

What was his involvement? What was the point?

Sleepily, Harlow yawned and dug her claws into his leg. Wincing, Fr. Jerome adjusted her. Eyes still closed, he remembered the image of the green-eyed officer, Tira, standing before him at Lake Michigan yesterday morning.

She, too, seemed lost. Frightened. Her face had bruised and, despite her proud stance, there'd been a look of defeat in her eyes. Helplessness. But... she'd thanked him. Somehow, Fr. Jerome had saved her life due to a vision, and he wanted to know how. Why? Had he saved her life for his demise? If his visions were correct, she would take his life. She'd apologize first, but she'd take it.

So why on earth did he not feel the urge to warn Esther? Presumably, Tira would murder him. Didn't that make her a dangerous human being? In reality, it should, and yet he felt Esther was far safer with her than she'd ever been with his own son, Mariel.