The Witness

Chapter 1 - Sanctuary

And so she sat in the front pew, her eyes a silent glare fixed upon the crucifix. Her hands were folded on her lap, but it was clear to anyone who saw her that she was not praying. She wore a thick black jacket over her school uniform. Beside her was what looked like a school bag. Curious glances flitted to her direction once in a while, but most parishioners focused on their own prayers. Still, it was odd. It was half past eight; school was let out more than three hours ago. She should be home. Yet she was not going anywhere.

She was the only parishioner left when he emerged from behind the altar, a sacristan's uniform hanging on his arm. He folded the robe and placed it neatly on one of the chairs beside the priest's. Then he went about on the rest of his post-mass duties, cleaning the statues with a soft white cloth, turning off the extra lights, checking if the sacred objects used in the Eucharist were safely kept in place. That was when he saw her.

She had been watching him intently without even realizing it. Despite everything that had happened to her, there came a tug of curiosity in her heart. He appeared to be around her age, tall and skinny, dark and strong. Despite the slenderness of his frame, his arms were wonderfully toned and were able to lift a toddler-sized Virgin Mary statue which he polished with great care. She noticed the look on his face, filled with equal parts of loving reverence and immense longing. He looked like the type who had a lot to pray for, she thought. Then, sighing, he returned the statue to its glass case, wiped his hands on his jeans, and walked towards her.

"You okay?"

She looked at him but said nothing.

"You don't look okay," he answered his own question.

Looking past him and at the crucifix again, she finally spoke. "No."

He thought for a while, then sat on the space beside her. She instinctively moved a centimeter farther. "Tell me," he whispered. "And then maybe we can pray about it together."

"Prayers never work."

"Not if we don't. What happened?" His voice was soft, but reassuring. "What can we do to make it better?"

Then, and only then, did Rosa turn to him.

"Where can I stay tonight?" she asked, and he flinched at the fear in her voice. "It's just for tonight, just one night," she went on, her voice trembling with tears. "Then I promise to return home."

He looked behind them, then to his left and right. "Here," he said.

"Here?"

He nodded.

"Isn't it...forbidden?"

"Well...it technically is. But I can explain everything to Father Gerard. He lets homeless people in once in awhile, even though it's against the mayor's orders."

She paused for a bit before asking, "Is it safe here?"

"Generally. That's why we always lock the double-doors at night, to protect the relics. People can pray in the Eucharistic chapel outdoors though. That's always open. But I think you'd be safer here." He smiled, and she smiled. "What's your name?" he asked.

A short pause. Then, in a soft voice, she replied, "Rosa."

He held out his hand, and she shook it. "Joaquin," he replied. "Joaquin de la Cruz. I sleep in the back room, which means I'm technically a security guard AND a sacristan."

"Don't you get scared?" Rosa asked. "This part of the city...it's infamous for gang fights, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "That's why I find it strange that you're taking refuge here, of all places. Why here?"

"My father used to take mass here, daily mass." Rosa looked down. "Before he died, I mean."

"Oh." Joaquin frowned. "Condolences."

Rosa looked at him. "No, it's alright. It's been almost ten years."

"I see." He leaned back. "Then you must be here for another reason."

"Yes."

"And that is...?"

"I can't tell."

"Maybe not to me, but God always listens."

Rosa smiled politely. It was no use telling him that she didn't believe in a loving God. "Thanks for listening, anyway."

"No problem." Joaquin stood up. "Tell me if you need anything. A taxi home, or food, or something. I'll just be behind the altar."

"Thanks."

"Or," Joaquin added one last thing before leaving, "if you want to talk about it, or if you need someone to pray with--"

"I'll be fine, Joaquin. Thanks. I just need to sleep."

He nodded.

As soon as he was out of sight, Rosa let herself yawn. Using her backpack as a pillow, she stretched to a lying position on the pew and gazed emptily at the chandeliers hanging from the arched church ceiling. Then her eyelids fell heavy enough for her to sleep.