Read John Jordan05 - Blood Sacrifice for Free Online

to guess if she was medicated or merely bipolar.
    I was seated near the center of the table, Kathryn next to me, Steve next to her.
    “Sister Abigail, where’s Father Thomas?” Steve asked.
    Shrugging, she said, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
    “He’s fasting and praying,” Tammy said without looking up, her voice flat and so soft it was barely audible.
    “Of course he is,” Sister Abigail said. “Limiting himself to only water and whiskey.”
    Several people laughed, and didn’t hear Tammy say, “Getting ready.”
    For what? I wondered, but didn’t pursue it.
    Everyone grew quiet again, and only the sounds of silverware clinking, ice chinking, and the loud mechanical hum of the ice machine in the back corner by the kitchen remained.
    In the absence of conversation, every sound was exaggerated as it bounced from the tile floor and ricocheted off the wooden walls. The large room was plain, but not rustic. A simple cypress table surrounded by uncomfortable cypress chairs sat at its center beneath a tilting old chandelier covered with dust. Oppressively heavy and gaudy drapes covered the many windows, their appearance altered by the sun on one side and dust on the other.
    Leaning over to me, Kathryn whispered, “When’s the last time you had this much fun?”
    “Last time I did step five.”
    “Which is?”
    “‘Admit to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.’”
    “That had to be better than this.”
    “What’s going on? Hasn’t been this bad before.”
    “Well, on one end you’ve got a lovers’ spat and on the other, a big bad corporation wanting to close us down.”
    I glanced over at Tammy and her admirers.
    Slumping in the uncomfortable seat made Brad Harrison’s thick body seem to gather around him and made him look dumpier than he was—which along with his dark skin and eyes accentuated his difference from the light-skinned, reddish-haired Keith Richie, whose tall body and erect posture caused him to tower over his competition for Tammy’s attention.
    I said, “Did Tammy tell the other boys if she couldn’t have me, she didn’t want anyone?”
    She smiled. “I think her exact words were if she couldn’t have you she didn’t want to live.”
    “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that.”
    I then panned to the opposite side to see the nervous Ralph Reid trying to talk to the stiff, pinched Sister.
    “The Gulf Coast Company wants this land?”
    “They want it back,” Kathryn said.
    “Why?”
    “Since the mill closed, they’re converting this area into resorts, golf courses, and retirement communities.”
    I wondered why, with so much land, Gulf Coast wanted the abbey. It didn’t make sense. St. Ann’s was minuscule compared to Gulf Coast’s other holdings and it wasn’t close enough to the Gulf to be very valuable.
    “Including the abbey?”
    “Everything.”
    “I need to say something,” Tammy said, pushing her chair back from the table and standing.
    Everyone stopped eating and looked at her.
    “I want to apologize for how I’ve behaved. I’ve done some pretty stupid and self-destructive things, and I’m sure I’ve hurt some of you. I’m very sorry. I take full responsibility for what I’ve done, but I want you to know that some things are out of my control. That’s not an excuse. It’s just the truth. Anyway, I’m gonna get help and I wanted y’all to know.”
    She then sat down as abruptly as she had stood and began to fork through her food again.
    “Well,” Sister Abigail said, “thank you, Tammy. We accept your apology and offer you our forgiveness and support on your efforts to have the life you want.”
    “Yes,” Sister Chris said, and patted Tammy on the back affectionately.
    “Hear hear,” Steve said.
    “It wasn’t a toast,” I said.
    Kathryn laughed. Steve glared. Everyone grew silent again.
    After a few minutes, Keith Richie rose and went into the kitchen, coming out a minute later with a large