Nun-ra 2 – God Speed

Sister Mary Joseph pulled the club out of Father O Malley’s neck. Blood was everywhere. His body slumped on top of his old acquaintance, they often “worked” together, now there were dead together. Still she felt nothing, no joy no relief, nothing.

She stood still, surveying the gentle carnage. The red stained the brilliant white of the alter cloths and the cold grey of the granite steps as it poured endlessly down. There were 10 pints of blood in a human and it covered an incredible surface area. These two were barely human though, undeserving of the word, monsters was more suitable, and they deserved death.

Pulling a cigarette from her sleeve she lit it up and drew a long slow pull of the sweet smoke. Her eyes moving as she did, her mind calculating her next move. It had to be fast. She didn’t have long. She exhaled through her nose and dropped the cigarette casually to the floor, half-finished after one puff, she crushed it out under her black hobnailed boot.

Her club was still dripping with globs of blood. She dipped it into the pool that was growing at the bottom of the altar steps. Swung it around and started writing on the large white pillar that was by the side of the aisle. Drips and drops of blood went everywhere; it was a blood spatter experts dream, she thought, or nightmare, depends how close to the edge they are. Maybe that was what the difference was, between the bad people that do bad things and the bad people that just think about it. The ones that do the bad things, they are concerned about how they see the world. The ones that just think about it, they are more concerned about how the world sees them. That fear of being judged or caught or punished is what keeps them in line, stops them doing the things that lurk in the darkness of their minds.

Some people, she thought, as she looked again at the piles of flesh that were once men, some people couldn’t hold it down though, couldn’t suppress that darkness. These were the people that made nightmares for the rest of us. She suppressed the urge to spit on the vile bodies of the pair as she dipped the end of her club again into the puddle of blood. It was already starting to congeal around the edges and was stickier now. She dragged the club across the pillar again. She felt like a Japanese calligraphy artist, using all the strength in her wrist to steady the club as she wrote with a flourish.

In the still and quiet of the lifeless church she always felt her peace. When she was alone in the house of God she could truly believe. It was a rare feeling and a welcome one. She knew a higher power was controlling her. Her actions and her thoughts were her own but she was doing God’s work.

She finished writing and stood leaning on her club for a moment while she surveyed her work. It should have been satisfying, like a labourer after a hard day looking back and feeling proud of what was achieved while simultaneously glad it was over. Instead she felt nothing. She removed another cigarette from the recesses of her sleeve and lit it up. Calmly cleaning her club with a perfect white handkerchief that she found somewhere about her person. She seemed to have an endless supply of them. Quietly polishing the nails and barbs that protruded from her club she again looked over what she had done today. Still no joy or guilt, no feelings at all, feelings had been taken away from her a long time ago.

Suddenly sirens.

In the distance, but certainly heading this way, Sister Mary Joseph didn’t doubt that at all, she had called them. She finished polishing the club, took a final drag of the cigarette and pinged it behind the altar towards the anteroom, where the cans of petrol she had brought and poured around for the very purpose quickly caught. The majority of the old stone building would be unharmed. But the small wooden anteroom would definitely go up. She glanced at it again. Watching the handle as it shook violently. He would start screaming any second.

“Sister Mary! Please! Have Mercy!” The voice shouted.

“Only God can give you mercy now.” She said quietly, maybe to herself.

The screaming started. The flames climbed higher and harder. The door shook as boots on the other side kicked. There was no point. That was the first thing she had checked. The door would hold.

The sirens grew louder.

She dropped the white handkerchief into the coagulated puddle by her feet as she swung the club over her shoulder and strode out the side door.

One word was painted red on the pillar.


The End.



As she plucked it out of Remo’s skull her concern was more for getting the blood off her club before it dries than the mess she had made all over the alter. She wouldn’t be cleaning it up this time.

Sister Mary Joseph pulled a pristine white handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped the sticky blood from the nails and barbed wire that surrounded the business end of her favourite weapon; she had made these modifications herself and was proud of them. She didn’t smile or show any sign of gratification though, she didn’t show any emotion at all. Maybe she had no emotions left.

Her big knuckled hands worked the handkerchief round and round each nail and between each barb, she had always been a stickler for doing things right. Cleanliness was after all, next to godliness, isn’t that what Father O’Malley had always said.

As she stood there the pool of blood widened around Remo’s body, but it didn’t seem to come towards Sister Mary, maybe it knew better, even if its owner hadn’t. It flowed around the feet of the alter, slowly surrounding it until it looked like the giant oak table was floating on a deep red sea.

The club, now clean enough for her satisfaction was rested against her leg as she fished into her sleeve again and removed a pack of cigarettes. She lit one and inhaled deeply. Filling her lungs with the sweet smoke and then exhaling slowly through her nose. The smoke curled upwards and outwards from her filling the air and she watched it as it loitered around her. She took a moment to adjust her wimple and veil.

Remo stared up at her from his dead eyes. They were still full of shock if devoid of life. He shouldn’t have been shocked though, he knew what went on in this place. Of course he did. He could have stopped it, gone to the Bishop or straight to the police.  Hell the press would have done the work for him if he had just made an anonymous phone call. It would have taken in 2 minutes to do. Instead he and the rest of them had allowed this to go on for years unchecked.

There would be no remorse today.

She took another big pull of her cigarette, the smoke billowing out of her, floating away from her like a spirit rising, a spirit leaving her. These were some old ghosts being put to rest. She pulled a small piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. She took her pen and neatly put a line through the name Remo. The second last on a long list. There was only one name left.

Suddenly a noise at the far end of the chapel made her look up. He was here. She picked up her club and dropped the cigarette on the floor. Crushing it out with her polished black boots, then turned and walked towards the big pillar to the side of the alter.

She heard him crossing the chapel and through the side door which led to the chancel. She heard him gasp and move forward towards Remo’s body. She believed she could hear the words stuck in his throat and the disbelief at what he was seeing. His mind would be racing now. His instincts would be screaming at him now to flee. She trusted that he would make one more mistake though. That his training and his twisted sense of what was right would give her the chance she wanted. Then she heard the mumbled words.

She made the sign of the cross, strode out from behind the pillar. He was there, kneeling with his back to her, giving the last rights to Remo. It would take more than that to get him into heaven now.

“Father  O’Malley.”

He turned around.

She swung.

The End.