Thursday, October 2nd, at 9:09 in the A.M. I've been inside the chapel! Sister Zoe gave me a special tour. It's awful! Not the chapel. What they did to Jesus. There were pictures all along the walls showing it. We went by them one by one with Sister telling the story. His eyes were the saddest eyes I've ever seen. They made me cry and Sister was going to take me away but I said no. We kept walking and Sister kept talking but I didn't have to listen. I knew the second I saw his face how the story ended. Then we were standing under him. I almost couldn't look but I did. I had to.

He was dying. Sister tried to explain why and what it all meant. I didn't hear though. I heard something else, like pounding. I think it was his heart. I heard it beating.

Then another sound came. It got louder and louder until I couldn't hear the heartbeat anymore. It was the insect sound, shrill and terrible, and then I screamed.

I guess Sister didn't know what to do because she just let me, until I stopped. Then he was dead. He still had his eyes open and the blood trickling down all over and his hands and feet all crippled from the pain, but he didn't feel it anymore.

And I was glad. They'd hurt him so bad, I was glad it was over. I stopped crying then.

Sister led me away. She was saying how he'd gone to be with his father and wasn't really dead and in three days was alive again, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better. I was all right though. Him up there on the cross, and the pictures, didn't bother me anymore.

We walked back here and Sister made me lie down to rest. I didn't think I was tired but I was wrong, I guess, because I slept until this morning. I think I dreamed.

As soon as I woke up I was supposed to go see Sister. But I remembered everything and wanted to write it down first. I forgot the dream.



During the incident in the chapel, Sister Zoe again confronted what she believed to be the specter of Marcy's past. For though the girl's response could not be attributed unequivocally to her memory of the rape, it was a logical (and an intuitive) assumption. The fact that Marcy appeared unacquainted with the crucifixion and the story of Christ suggested that religion had something to do with her identity. But was it identity-related prior to Marcy's coming, or had it been a recent adjustment corresponding to the young girl's interest in the Sisterhood? The puzzle was complex. Waiting now for Marcy to arrive, the nun suspected it would grow no simpler.

Where was the girl? As usual Sister Zoe, up at 6:00, had showered, dressed, and prayed, then gone outdoors to take her morning constitutional. By 8:00 she had eaten breakfast. At 8:15 she had presided over the meeting called to inform her staff about a new admission: reviewing the patient's background, assessing his present needs, selecting the ward to which he would be assigned. At 9:00 she had checked the note left pinned to her door in case Marcy had come during her absence—and found she had not. At 9:45 she had welcomed the new patient. At 10:15 she had returned to read and answer the daily mail. And here it was 11:30 and there was still no sign of Marcy.



I saw him! I was on my way to see Sister when I saw this car pull up and he got out. I recognized him instantly. He was exactly like the carving that the Miniature Man had made. And white! He was all white, too. Not just his clothes. Everything! His hair, his skin. I couldn't believe it. I hid. I don't know why. I didn't want him to see me. But he did anyway. Or at least I think he did because he turned and looked right at the tree where I was hiding. He had on dark glasses so I couldn't see his eyes. I ducked out of sight. Then I ran. I don't know if he was still watching. I didn't turn. I ran straight back here.

I wish I'd told Sister about the carving before. She probably won't believe me if I tell her now. I wish he hadn't seen me. I wish I knew the reason why

There was a knock on the door. Marcy jumped.

"Marcy… Marcy?"

The door slowly opened.


Marcy saw feet—they were Sister Dana's. She was so relieved she almost came out from her hiding place. Embarrassment prevented her. How could she explain why she was acting like a little kid? She waited, a hot blush throbbing in her ears. It seemed to take forever for the door to close.

When it did she crawled back out from under her bed. Her journal still lay open on the desk, its last line waiting—I wish I knew the reason why… She finished it… he's come.


"According to this...

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