Chapter 12 - The Scent of Incense
The rain had finally stopped when Julian’s battered secondary car pulled up across the street from St. Mary’s Cathedral. The afternoon sun broke through the coastal clouds in long, golden beams, illuminating the stained-glass windows of the old stone church.
Julian stepped out. His side was soaked with blood from the grazing gunshot wound on his shoulder, and his black suit was torn and coated in soot. He walked into a public restroom near the square, stripped off his ruined tactical vest, and washed the black grime from his face and hands.
He bought a clean, dark wool sweater from a nearby thrift shop to cover his wound, pressing a makeshift bandage against his ribs until the bleeding slowed. He would deal with the pain later. For now, he had an appointment.
Julian walked up the wide stone steps of St. Mary’s. The massive oak doors creaked open as he stepped inside. The air was cool, smelling of beeswax, frankincense, and centuries of quiet prayers.
Sitting in the third pew from the front were Evelyn and Lily.
Evelyn was holding a rosary, her head bowed in desperate prayer. But Lily was looking around, marveling at the towering stained-glass depiction of St. Michael slaying the dragon.
When Julian’s boots clicked against the marble aisle, Evelyn gasped and snapped her head around. Seeing him standing there—bruised, pale, but alive—she let out a ragged sob and covered her mouth.
Lily turned. Her eyes lit up with an unburdened, pure joy that melted every ounce of frost in Julian’s soul.
May you like
“Dad!” she cried, her small voice echoing cheerfully against the high vaulted ceiling.
She broke away from the pew, her white tights pattering across the stone floor, running toward him with open arms.
