Father Nicholas stood at the entrance of the cellar like something out of magazine titled; "Holy & Hot." He wore his fitted tabcollar shirt tucked into his black pants. This man should be pushing late-forties, but honestly, You wouldn't know it. Not with the sculpted jawline, those piercing black eyes, and a face that somehow look both angelic and seductive. There was an elegance in the way he moved, measured and intentionally gentle, like he had no need to ever rush. A supportive friend, the go-to rock for everyone in Willow Creek.
Simon, though his eyes were fixed downwards, had recognized him from that shoes—those signature Clarks. Simon lifted his head slowly, offering and smile. Father Nicholas returned it as he walked past to Steve lost in thought and placed a steady hand on Steve.
"Thank you. Steady yourself, now. You've done well," his voice strong and calm. Steve heaved a deep sigh and nodded just slightly. The sight of Father Nicholas eased something in his chest.
"How's it going?" Father Nicholas asked, stepping back for a full-view. His eyes flicked hastily from Simon's injury to Steve.
"All cleaned up," Steve responded already unrolling the last gauze.
"I'll take it from here," Father Nicholas offered. Stretching his hand for the gauze, "Let me finish it."
"Thank you. I'll go check on Jeanette," Steve handed it over with a nod. "Thank you, Father," he stood pulling off his brown monkey-jacket. Before he stepped out, he looked back and gave Simon a reassuring nod, then stepped out of the door.
With tenderness and a warm smile, Father Nicholas began wrapping Simon's arm. Simon searched for what to say to break the oddly quiet room, throwing his head left, right, but he didn't know what to talk about.
"Pain," Father Nicholas said suddenly, "is a proof you're still tethered to this world, Simon. Without it, what keeps you human?"
Simon froze. His voice was calm and reserved, but the words landed heavy, like he wasn't just talking about the injury, but something deeper.
"The ones who don't feel pain," he went on, tightening the just a little, "usually forget what it means like to care. Some say pain is punishment. But sometimes, it's the only thing anchoring you to the light." He paused his eyes flicking from Simon's face to his arm.
"When you stop hurting... be careful. That's when the darkness creeps in." Then intentionally, pressure—his grip firmed on the injury.
"Still feel nothing?" He asked.
"No," Simon answered immediately, baffled by the weight of the speech.
A small smile ghosted Father Nicholas's lips, "Very well." He rode, dropping the first aid kit with a soft clatter.
"Thanks," He muttered, pushing to his feet. His eyes went to the bandaged arm, then trailed Father Nicholas's as he moved round the cellar. The soft shuffle, all too quiet.
"Happen to know what a truck would be doing in town?" Simon finally asked..
Father Nicholas didn't bother turning. "No, I don't. Not a clue." He kept at what he was doing, still arranging the kit on the shelf. "Did you catch what the driver might look like? Or maybe his number plate?"
"I—" Simon hesitated, "I know this might sound crazy, but hear me out..." He stuttered and that made Father Nicholas turn.
"The truck had no driver." The word hung. Simon's chest tightened as the memory slammed back; Jessica, the insane speed, the truck that nearly hit her. His throat ran dry.
Father Nicholas froze. Just a flicker, his eyes gave him away. Now that got him. He definitely knew something and Simon squinted his eyes at him, a glint of hope lit in them.
"Wait— before you say I'm crazy. I know how that sounds," He blurted, "but I know what I saw. It was fast, but I was able to see it. No one was behind the wheels. And I didn't think to check the number plate."
Of all people, he thought Father Nicholas would get it. He wanted him to get it so badly. The tiny spark of maybe-this-isn't-crazy was slowly flickering out.
Father Nicholas rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, his brows low. Father Nicholas stood there with a calculating look, because Simon wasn't one to make things up.
"Hmm, I see."
Father Nicholas's cold response rang in Simon's ear. It snuffed his flame out. His shoulder dropped a little and with it, his hope.
Simon knew things weren't right. Father Nicholas never thought for too long, at least not in front of anyone. He always had something to say like his brain worked at the speed of light.
"I'll look into it," his tone calm. He reached for the monkey jacket Steve had left and held it out. Simon took it silently.
"About your transfer—"
"I still have the whole week to that. I'm still here." Father Nicholas cuts in, with a soft chuckle under his breath.
Simon chuckled too, weakly, but it wasn't quite the response he was expecting.
"I'll love to visit you in the city," he said, trying again, a warm smile tugging through his lips.
And just like that, Father Nicholas's cheerful face disappeared. A sudden black look swept across his face like a dark cloud blotting out the sun. His smile was instantly replaced by a cold grin. The air in he room thickened.
The look startled Simon. Simon blinked. It was unlike Father Nicholas. A rare crack in the glass. Simon mentally replayed his words. Nothing seemed wrong. The last he remembered asking to join his mum to the city, he got this exact reaction from his mum, dad and Father Nicholas, he had been a child—maybe nine or ten. They had shut him down, told him the outside world was not safe for him, warned him never to leave this town. He obviously listened. He had no other choice. But now he's nineteen, soon to be 20. His dreams were bigger than the fence lines of Willow Creek.
"Did I say something offensive, Father?" He asked politely.
"No. You didn't," he responded softly. "Your mum must be worried about you. Go join her."
Father Nicholas turned and left quietly, his steps fading. Simon stood there a beat longer, something about Father Nicholas's reaction gnawed at him.
Before he got up to the church, Mr. and Mrs. Lyon were already there and waiting. They wrapped him in a tight hug before he could say a word. The church had thinned out, only a few lingering faces now. But still the gawking started again.
Father Nicholas had signalled Steve to join him outside as soon as he stepped out of the cellar with Simon. No words, just a nod and that 'come with me look' Steve understood. Simon watched them leave through the east door noting their body language; the tight shoulders, steps too deliberate. He wanted to follow, but he wasn't invited and this crowd wasn't helping either.
Outside, the two men walked silently, slipping out of the church curious eyes, heading for the car park beyond the trees. Now surrounded by cars.
"This is bad, Steve," Father Nicholas finally started with a low voice. "Be glad they weren't intercepted."
"Intercepted?" Steve said, frowning . "What do you mean, Nick?"
"A driverless truck." Father Nicholas said. Steve's face changed instantly, and his shoulder tensed even more.
"You're saying... a ghost driver?" His voice barely above a whisper.
Father Nicholas nodded. "It's sooner or later, Steve. And your family isn't ready." He shot his gaze at Steve.
Steve swallowed hard. "You think it's them?"
Father Nicholas's State was enough answer, but Steve froze, gaze confused like he didn't want to believe it. Father Nicholas placed his hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Steve looked away and exhaled.
"That, I don't know." Father Nicholas said with a calm tone. "We always knew this wouldn't stay buried forever," he added gently. "It was only a matter of time. There's no running from it. It's time we told them. Tonight."
Father Nicholas gave his shoulder a gentle pat and moved to his car. He popped open his trunk, checked inside and gave a small nod.
"Are we calling help?" Steve asked quickly.
"Maybe, I'm not sure yet," Father Nicholas shut the trunk with a thud that echoes amongst the trees.
"What if we involved OLVI?" Steve pressed, his voice laced with panick.
Father Nicholas shot him a stern gaze at him. "No."
"What now?" Steve asked again.
Father Nicholas opened the driver's door and with voice barely above a murmur, "I'm going to find her."
Steve blinked, "Her?"
Before Nicholas could answer—
"Find who?"
The voice sliced through the air. Both men turned.
Simon stood a few steps away, his face unreadable. His squinted eyes shifted between them, sharp and searching.