A Most Peculiar Child

Goodbyes had been made, Genevive taking time to find each person who'd gone into the dark and returned alive if not always well. Just before she left the nun wrote a phone number on a piece of paper along with River, if you ever need me don't think twice about using this. Yours in Christ, Genevive. Without folding it or hiding the message she handed it to the bartender - Devin was busy somewhere else - and asked them to keep it for the child.

A dark trash bag, practical if not classy, held her soiled clothing as she left the Wayward and emerged into her own city. Gigi felt there should have been something more dramatic about the transition; a dizzy feeling, an odd sound, some visual effect but whatever miracle or magic or technology masquerading as either simply passed her out of the door and onto the street in a completely mundane manner.

Walking in Hannah's borrowed clothes made the young nun feel like she was a completely different person, a sensation that she would wish on no one. Plain dress and the ability to wrap herself up inside the mantle of unremarkability meant Genevive went generally unnoticed on the streets. At least as much as any young woman went unnoticed; the eyes of men were ever filled with the lust that was a base instinct of their gender. Every woman walked aware of it, some choosing to stoke it and others, like Genevive, trying to let it pass over them. The fitted t-shirt was not helping at all and the sooner she could change out of it the better.

It was an unkind thought, a judgment of Hannah and a slap in the face of her generosity. As she walked Genevive reflected on that, trying to not let the feeling take hold and poison her heart. Hannah had been exceptionally brave, putting herself second and wasn't that a core belief of Gigi's? It wasn't her fault for how Genevive chose to allow her own pride, yes it was pride, get the better of her feelings. Pride was an extremely dangerous sin, one that kept pushing you to make the wrong choice again and again out of selfish desire to not be toppled from the heights which it had lured you.

It still occupied her mind as she found her bed for the night; Mercy House.

A sign of those it ministered to, Gigi had to wait outside of a tall chain link fence, ugly coils of razor wire atop it like a prison. After a few minutes, minutes in which she knew the old, tired cameras on the building gazed myopically at her, a plump woman dressed plain but with a scarf over her hair and a ring like Genevive's came to the gate. "Have you been hurt? Do you need the police or an ambulance?" she asked as she opened the gate to let Genevive in.

"Peace be with you, Sister," she said, a small movement of her hand showing a ring identical to the one the older woman wore. "I need to wash these," the trash bag rustled as she lifted it, "and a place to lay my head. What needs doing?" she asked, not asking if she could help but how she could help. The other nun would have done the same if calling on her.

"Everything," she replied with a tired smile, relieved not to have another abused woman added to their shelter for the night and glad of the hands Genevive would contribute. "She'll want to meet you," only one person that could be "but let's get the laundry going. How's your Spanish?"

"Better than my gardening," Genevive joked as the two of them walked in to the shelter. There wouldn't be much rest tonight but the work and the comfort of being among other Sisters would be better for her than any amount of sleep.

"Precious little of that here," the older nun answered, turning her head to look at Genevive. "Your Order?"

"Let's wait for Mother," she answered. "No need to tell it twice. I could use your advice on a child I'm working with. A most peculiar child..."

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