XXI. The Girl Who Prayed Too Hard
- Mar 13
- 2 min read
Updated: Apr 2
Carson City had never been much of a holy town. The church sat at the far edge, a single white spire against the gray. The paint had peeled, the choir was half a dozen voices, and the sermon echoed through more empty pews than filled ones.
Except for her.
Every Wednesday and Sunday she was there: same pew, third from the front, head bowed so low her hair touched the prayer book before her. She prayed like someone running out of time. When she sang, her voice trembled with exhaustion and need, and when the rest of the congregation mumbled through hymns, she sounded like she was bargaining with heaven itself.
At school she was polite, quiet, forgettable. At home she was scolded for living. But in the church she shone with purpose. She polished the brass railings, scrubbed the altar, washed the priest’s vestments until her knuckles split. Her hands were always bandaged; she said scalding hot water helped her feel clean.
The others whispered about her intensity, about how she took the sermons too literally. They didn’t know the half of it.
When she confessed one evening that she’d been punishing herself, the priest told her he could guide her toward “proper penance.” After that, they met privately once a week. The door stayed locked. When she emerged, her face was pale, her body stiff, but there was a light in her eyes. She believed she was closer to heaven.
Faith can be a kind of gravity. It keeps the lost from floating away, but it drags them under just the same. She’d given everything she was to the idea of salvation, and in return it had devoured her.
One night, as she left the church, I turned to follow and felt the hair on my neck rise. The air shifted and it felt wrong, metallic, humming with an energy I immediately recognized.
The Okkari.
Their scouts had found my trail again. I could feel their resonance moving through the streets like sonar, searching for her. They must have figured out how I’ve been marking her through the worlds.
I lingered one last time at the edge of the churchyard, watching her kneel beneath the crucifix, whispering prayers into the night air.
She’d emptied herself so completely there was nothing left here to save. With any luck, the Okkari would linger here for a couple of weeks before they realized the same.
The search continues.
M.
