Lucas ran his hands through his unordered hair, right then left, he crossed and uncrossed his legs, he tapped his fingers on the wooden side-table in groups of quick crochets.
He’d, in a storm of anger, knocked over a pile of birch green Religious Studies exercise books and then he’d set about reshuffling them back into position, alphabetically by surname.
Even a cold shower had not calmed Lucas down. He was frustrated.
Inside, he’d always had an inkling of the obsessive natures that grew amongst his mind; but he’d brushed it off, of course. He just had a great interest in machines, he liked everything to be neat and have a sense of order. That had to be the explanation.
The initial shock, he’d got over it, although the doctor’s statement played over and over in his mind of so many images, as did his confession to Andrea.
That reminds me, I must go to confession soon, then mass, and then out with Ryan. His lifestyle of deep theology and pleasure intermingled and moulded together the plan for the remainder of the day.
Of course, he knew, there was no way to change the things in his mind, and he would not want to change that which he’d grown up with. A lifelong infliction tends to stick around.
And it wasn’t that Lucas was willing it away; in fact, he rather liked this explanation to why he had always felt ‘special’.
Andrea stood in shook, still standing at the base of the flat building. Her phone buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans, and she quickly flicked out the small mobile.
Have you fetched the last of the boxes yet, Andrea?
Suddenly, the coldness of the winter day hit Andrea and the realisation of guilt swarmed in on her. She broke down, crying her salt tears of anguish onto the hard stone pavement below. She felt as though she was crying an eternity of her lies all away.
That was where Keith found her half an hour later.