chapter four  ࿇  DOOMED GIRL

❝ Like you was somethin' sacred... or damned ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

♱

Jacqueline awoke to the soft murmurs of morning. The first light crept across her bed like a thief, and she pulled herself from the sheets with a groan. The house was already alive with the quiet bustle of her mother's routines—pots clinking in the kitchen, the gentle creak of floorboards. Monday had a rhythm of their own. She could almost hear Mississippi's voice, smooth and calm like always, but with that hint of pride over yesterday's service.

Jacqueline slipped into her dress, a faded yellow one that had seen too many summers, and pulled her hair back with a ribbon, keeping it simple. There wasn't much use dressing up if she was just going to town. She wandered down the hall, past the portrait of her late grandmother, whose eyes seemed to follow her with their usual judgment. The screen door creaked as she slipped outside, her bare feet grazing the coolness of the porch wood. She'd left word with Mississippi that she was meeting Mantis in town, and even though Mantis wasn't there, hadn't been at service yesterday either, Jacqueline figured she'd catch up with her eventually. It wasn't like her friend to stay out of sight for long.

The walk to town was peaceful enough, with Spring Falls dressed in its usual early-morning calm. The cicadas hadn't yet begun their shrill hymns, and the air was thick with the scent of magnolias and damp earth. Her footsteps crunched along the gravel road, her breath light in the mist that still lingered in the hollows and folds of the land. She couldn't help but feel that same faint thrill stirring in her chest, the kind that always came after Sunday services—like she'd been let loose from some unspoken restraint. But there was a new restlessness too, something unnamable that prickled under her skin, leftover from the way Father Rein had looked at her, like he was searching for something she didn't know she possessed.

When she reached town, she found Mantis perched on the old bench outside Swain's Drugstore, looking as if she'd been waiting there for hours. She wore a wide-brimmed hat that drooped at the sides, casting her face in shadow. Her legs were crossed, one foot bobbing absently in the dust, and a half-smoked cigarette hung from her lips.

"Thought you'd done slept the day away," Mantis drawled, exhaling smoke in a lazy curl. "Figured I'd give you 'til noon before I came knockin'."

Jacqueline gave her a look as she sat down beside her. "I woke up just fine. Where you run off to, anyhow? You ain't stay for the sermon and come over for dinner"

Mantis grinned, her eyes catching a glint of mischief. "Ain't nowhere worth mentionin'. Just out seein' what there is to see, same as you. Besides, I wasn't about to sit through that sermon yesterday. Lord, but I'd rather watch paint dry than listen to folks prattle on about what's holy and what's not." She took another drag, then tapped the ashes to the ground. "So what's got you comin' out this early? Somethin' on your mind?"

Jacqueline shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "Nothin' in particular. Thought I'd see if you was around." She looked down the street, her gaze drifting past the storefronts, the little crowds of townsfolk beginning to emerge. "Might get somethin' cold from Swain's. Been warm lately."

"Warm?" Mantis scoffed, flicking her cigarette into the gutter. "Girl, you're sweatin' like a hog in July." She gave Jacqueline a sidelong glance, a spark of knowing in her eyes. "Or maybe that's just your conscience talkin'. You been lookin' a little rattled. Got somethin' to do with that new preacher boy?"

Jacqueline felt her cheeks heat, and she quickly turned away. "Ain't nothin' to do with him," she muttered. "You know I don't think like that."

"Don't you now?" Mantis leaned back, her tone dripping with amusement. "Well, bless your heart. You got a funny way of showin' it. I saw the way he looked at you, like you was somethin' to be studied and taken apart." She lowered her voice to a near whisper. "Like you was somethin' sacred... or damned."

The words sent a chill down Jacqueline's spine, and she rubbed at her arms as if warding off a sudden cold. "You don't know what you're talkin' about," she said, her voice unsteady. "He's just tryin' to get to know the folks 'round here. Ain't nothin' strange about that."

Mantis grinned, though her eyes were sharp. "Well, you better watch yourself, sugar. Men like that got a way of gettin' under your skin without you even knowin' it. I'd hate to see you all twisted up over some preacher's pretty words." She stood, brushing the dust from her skirt. "Come on then, let's get us a cold drink. Maybe it'll help wash away whatever's got you so troubled."

Jacqueline followed her friend into the store, though her thoughts were far from cold drinks and idle talk. There was an unease that lingered in the back of her mind, a prickling sense that Father Rein's arrival in Spring Falls had set something in motion—something that reached far beyond sermons and small-town gossip. She tried to shake off the feeling, but it clung to her like the heat, heavy and stubborn.

As they wandered the aisles, Jacqueline found herself glancing toward the window, there was nothing there, just the quiet Monday morning and the murmur of voices in the store. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the present, on the warmth of Mantis's familiar presence and the comfort of a day spent with her best friend. But in the back of her mind, there was a part of her that couldn't forget the way Vincent's gaze. Ugh that gaze.

Jacqueline tried to let the coolness of the soda fountain's air wash over her, hoping it'd calm that feeling bubbling inside her. She leaned against the counter as Mantis chatted with Mr. Swain, whose rheumy eyes wandered as he polished glasses. Jacqueline ordered a cherry cola, the fizz rising to her nose when she took the first sip. The sweetness coated her tongue, but it did little to settle the unease. It was like trying to drink in the midst of a fever—nothing could quench the heat that burned just under the skin.

"Let's go sit by the river," Mantis said once she'd sweet-talked a free drink from Mr. Swain, who gave a gap-toothed smile. "Ain't got nothin' better to do on a day like this." She took Jacqueline's arm and tugged her toward the door, her grip firm and impatient.

They ambled down the dirt path that curved along the edge of town, where the smell of honeysuckle grew thick and the sky stretched wide and empty. Jacqueline kept her eyes on the gravel crunching underfoot, but she couldn't help glancing up every now and then, as if she expected to see Father Rein again, lurking in some shadow. It was foolish, she knew—Vincent wouldn't be wasting time haunting the outskirts like some ghost. He'd probably gone back to whatever it was priests did when they weren't up in the pulpit or blessing sick folk.

"Would you stop fussin' already?" Mantis said as they reached the riverbank. "You're actin' like you seen the Devil himself." She plopped down on a flat rock near the water's edge, letting her hat tip back so the sun fell across her face. "Sit a spell, Jackie. Ain't no preacher here, just you, me, and the crawdads."

Jacqueline sat beside her, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. "It's nothin'," she said, but even she didn't believe it. She could still feel a shiver at the back of her neck, a sensation like cold fingers tracing the edge of her thoughts. She stared out at the river, its murky waters slipping by as sluggish as her heartbeat. "You ever get the feelin'," she said quietly, "like there's somethin' just beneath the surface, just waitin' to come up and grab you?"

Mantis let out a low chuckle, reaching over to flick a pebble into the water. It skipped once before sinking. "Honey, that's just this place. Spring Falls has always been full of secrets and strange folks. You ain't the first to feel a chill now and then." She took a long sip of her drink, her eyes narrowing. "But if I didn't know better, I'd say you're actin' like you want somethin' to be hidin' in those shadows."

Jacqueline flinched, as if Mantis had read her mind. There was a part of her, deep down where the light couldn't reach, that did want it—whatever "it" was. She wanted the mystery, the danger, the feeling of standing at the edge of something vast and unknown. It scared her, but it thrilled her too, like the thought of running away into the night and never looking back. Her whole life had been so measured, so ordinary, and now there was this man with his scarlet eyes and the way he seemed to speak right to her soul, as if he could see what lay buried there.

"Maybe," Jacqueline whispered, barely more than a breath. "Maybe I do."

For a moment, the two girls sat in silence, listening to the cicadas that had finally started their shrill song. The air was heavy with the smell of the river, ripe and sweet, as if the earth itself was sweating. The sun hung lazily in the sky, indifferent to whatever secrets were being shared along its light.

"Well," Mantis said at last, leaning back on her elbows, "I'd watch my step if I were you. Some things are better off left where they are, no matter how much they call out to you." She tilted her head, her expression softened. "You remember what happened to that Evans girl a few years back? Folk said she just wandered off, but my daddy always swore she went lookin' for trouble where she shouldn't've been."

Jacqueline shuddered, her mind flashing to old stories whispered late at night, stories about folks who'd gone missing or found themselves touched by things that had no business in the daylight. She'd never been the type to pay much attention to such talk, but now, with Mantis's words hanging in the air like a warning, she wasn't so sure.

The girls' conversation dwindled into a quiet hum, the kind of companionable silence that stretches between old friends who don't need to speak to feel understood. But even as Jacqueline watched the lazy drift of the river and the sunlight play off its surface, she couldn't help but feel that Mantis was right—something was waiting, just out of reach. And whether it was good or ill, she had a feeling she was going to find out sooner or later.

As they started back toward town, Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder once more, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of crimson eyes lurking in the shadows of the trees. But there was nothing there. Only the lazy sway of the willow branches. She needs to get it together she needs to get her head straightened out before it's too late.

Jacqueline shook off the chill that lingered, quickening her steps to keep up with Mantis, whose laughter echoed like a bell in the quiet air. She tried to fix her thoughts on ordinary things—school, Sunday supper, the comfort of her mama's voice—but they kept slipping away, drawn back toward that feeling she couldn't quite name, a feeling that seemed to bloom and wither all at once, just beneath her skin.

It wasn't the first time she'd felt like this, untethered, as if the ground itself might open up beneath her feet at any moment and swallow her whole. She'd always dismissed it as nerves or fanciful thinking, the kind of foolishness girls her age were prone to. But now, as they neared the edge of town and the familiar clapboard houses came into view, Jacqueline couldn't shake the sense that she was drifting further and further from the safety of the world she knew. Like she was moving toward something inevitable, even as she tried to cling to the simple comforts of Spring Falls.

She forced a smile as Mantis chattered on beside her, tried to keep her voice light when she answered. But there was a tightness in her chest, a pull that felt like yearning and dread all tangled together, tightening the closer they got to town. She thought again of Vincent Rein that man was something.

It was foolishness, she told herself again. A girl like her had no business playing at dark thoughts or giving in to whispers that beckoned from the shadows. But even as she walked on, the weight of the sun pressing down on her, she felt that pull again—faint but insistent, like the murmur of a river just out of sight, calling her toward a place she'd only glimpsed in the darkest corners of her dreams.

She thought of all the things that lay buried just beneath the surface, just out of reach, and she couldn't help but wonder if some part of her was already too far gone. A quiet knowing settled at the base of her spine, a deep and distant ache, like she was a girl who'd already started to disappear, inch by inch, long before she'd ever heard the first call.

Spring Falls stretched out before her, all sunshine and stillness, but Jacqueline felt like she was walking toward the edge of something far deeper and darker, as if the path beneath her feet might crumble away at any moment, leaving her to tumble into some endless, shadowed place. And as she glanced one last time at the sway of the willows, she almost thought she could hear it—a voice, or maybe just the wind—whispering that some girls were born with a kind of fate they couldn't escape, no matter how hard they tried to pretend otherwise.

Some girls weren't made to be saved. And maybe, just maybe, she was one of them.