Sanctuary Steps

Chapter One

Regan
Eight years old.

It was cold.

I had my worn jacket zipped to my chin and my hands stuffed into my pockets, fingering at a tear in the lining. I couldn't remember how it had gotten there, but I couldn't remember a time that it hadn't been there, either. My eyes were on the windows of every house I walked by, watching the families laughing around their tables full of food and warmth. I wondered what it would be like to be loved or to taste a cranberry.

Dead leaves dusted and scrapped the sidewalk as a wind blew, and I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes. I would never have a real family or a real Thanksgiving dinner. I didn't even know what a pumpkin pie tasted like. I wiped my nose on my dirty sleeve and walked a while longer until the night fell, feeling beyond sorry for myself. No one would miss me anyways, my dad would be passed out in his rugged recliner with an empty bottle of Jack on the floor, the Charlie Brown special falling on deaf ears. He never cared too much for me, his whiskey and bourbon were always far more important than a kid.

My dad, when he would talk to me- well, when he would slur his drunken baritone in my direction- about my mom, he would say that she was probably getting a fix in an alley somewhere. I didn't know what a fix was, and I didn't know who my mom was, either, but he always called her unsavoury things.

I came up on a small church, and I stared up at the crosses on the front doors. I wondered what God was, and what it would be like to go into the place. I'd never been in a church, only seen them on tv when I was allowed to watch it. Maybe someone in there would love me.

Street lamps flicked on and I sat on the bottom step next to some hedgerows, so no one would see me sulking in the shadows.

In the midst of my bitterness, I had nodded off, my head in my hand. I was dreaming of Turkey and stuffing, and what I imagined they would taste like when I was woken up. I didn't know anything about angels, but when the church doors cracked and I opened my eyes, I swear I saw one.

She was illuminated in the light from the interior of the church, and I could see every fly away hair on her golden head. She looked behind her shoulder, then skipped down the cement steps, until she was nearly on the same stair as me. She was standing in the middle and I sitting to the farthest side, and I watched her exited smile, a dimple sporting on her left cheek. She was wearing a white dress and a matching ribbon in her hair, and I swore she could fly. She didn't know I was here.

"Daddy, come on!" She called, her voice sounding so sweet and innocent and bright. It reminded me of a dandelion.

She took another step, then her little red shoes paused. Her head turned, and our eyes caught. I froze, rooted to the spot like a deer in headlights, heart beating sporadically beneath my coat. Her smile faltered and she stopped.

I stared. She stared back.

The light was flicked off, leaving us in the much dimmer glow of street lamps. A man came through the doors, his back to us as keys jingled in his hands, locking up the church entrance.
"Alright, sweet heart, lets go get some-" He turned to see the girl staring into the shadows of the hedge, and I wished I could shrink into it and disappear. "What is it?"

The girl broke our eye contact to glance at the man, and she lifted a small finger in my direction. "Daddy, look!"

The man was wearing a dark colored jacket, and was holding a smaller pink one in the crook of his arm. He had on one of those black shirts beneath his coat with one of those white collars near the throat. I thought he looked like a preacher, or what I thought one would look like. Only I imagined one to be old, and he wasn't old. He didn't have a round belly or white hair.

He stuffed the keys into his pocket and jogged down the seven steps between us. He crouched down next to his daughter to follow her finger with his eyes. Once he spotted me, he turned to the girl. "Baby, don't point, that's rude." He said, laying a hand on her smaller outstretched one to lower it. "Here, put your coat on." He instructed, handing it to her.

The girl was broken from her trance with me and did as her father said, stuffing her arms into the bubblegum colored sleeves.

The man kneeled down on the cement to talk to me. "Hey there, what are you doing out here alone in the cold?" He asked. His voice was gentle and welcoming. I scooted forward into the light a little.

"Thinking." Came my response. My fingers wiggled inside of the hole in my pocket and I wiped my runny nose on my sleeve.

The man smiled, but had concern on his face. "Don't you have a family to be getting to? Surely they're worried about you."

I shook my head. "No. My dad is drunk and my mom is gone." I figured that he must have thought that my mom was dead when I said that, because his tone of voice got even more gentle.

"I'm sorry to hear that. He left you alone?" He asked. The girl had come up to sit on the steps next to her dad, doing the buttons on her coat up as she looked at me again.

I shrugged and nodded. "He doesn't care about me. I stay out all night sometimes. He's always sleeping or yelling at me when I do see him." My voice was quiet and I kept my eyes on the girl. I felt better that way.

His face was soft when I glanced back up at him again. "I would like to talk to your dad," He looked to the little girl and put a hand on her golden head. "But we've got a dinner to go to at my brother's house."

Without a word I got up to walk away, not wanting to be a burden to make them any more late than they probably already were.

"Hey!" Came the dandelion sweet voice. I turned.

Her dad spoke again, standing up and taking her hand. "Would you like to join us? We could drive you home after, that way I can meet your father, too. We would love the extra company."

Would I have liked to go to a real Thanksgiving dinner? My stomach growled, answering for me. Yes. "I don't think my dad would care." I answered, masking my excitement by scuffing my worn shoe on the church step.

The little blond girl grinned and looked up at her dad, then back to me. "I'm Cassia, my mommy is gone too." Her dandelion voice was momentarily clouded with sadness.

"I'm Regan." I answered. She reached her free hand to me from the step above.

"Well, come on!" Her cheery voice was back, bright yellow flooding into every word of her excitement. "My Auntie makes the bestest pie, and all my cousins are gonna be there! You can sit next to me at the tabel and everything." She had begun to ramble on while her dad just smiled at me.

I swallowed and put my hand in hers and that was it. That was all it took. I was gone, and she was the angel that took me and taught me to fly.