Novella: Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin, Chapter: 5 Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
Title: Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin
Chapter: Five, Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
Author: halfsquat (aka Half Squire)
Fandom: Doubt
Pairing: Sister Aloysius/ Sister James
Rating: R, soft
Genre: Romance/Drama/Suspense
Spoilers: Doubt
Disclaimer: All characters from Doubt belong to their creators. I claim no ownership and intend no copyright infringement. Everything unrelated to Doubt and all divergence from their script is my doing. Much of the dialogue comes directly from the script.
***
“Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin”
a fan fiction novella
by Half Squire
inspired by the film Doubt,
and, respectfully, drawn heavily from it
***
Chapters:
I. The Dragon Is Hungry
II. My Concerns Are My Own
III. Candy, By Another Name
IV. Farther From God
V. Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
VI. Cat, Kitten, Rat
VII. The Cat And The Kitten
VIII. A Serpent In The Garden
XI. Caged
X. Questions Of Taxonomy
XI. Madonnas
***
V. Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
***
Sister Aloysius hustles Sister James through a school door. They both remove their shawls, and hang them on coat hangers, jutting from the wall. Sister James stands with her back to the wall. With a tinge of fear, she looks expectantly at Sister Aloysius. Her delicate hands grip and ungrip themselves. The older nun edges in close to the young one. Her height exceeds James’s, which forces her to look up, uncomfortably, in their close proximity.
“What have you seen?” she hisses.
“It is unsettling to look at people with suspicion. I feel less close to God.” As Aloysius nears her even more, James’s hands unlace and press against her own hips. Nervously, her head ducks to the side.
“When you take a step to address wrongdoing, you are taking a step away from God, but in His service. What have you seen?” Her brow furrowed, James looks up. They are almost nose-to-nose, now. The intensity in Aloysius’s eyes bores into her. The door they entered through slams open. Startled, Aloysius takes too large, abrupt strides back. The housekeeper appears with a cat in her arms.
“Good afternoon, Sisters!” Mrs. Carson says with cheer.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Carson. Why the cat?” Aloysius asks calmly.
“Because there’s a mouse,” the housekeeper answers, stroking the feline’s head.
***
In a plush, Victorian-looking loveseat, Sister James is seated. Sister Aloysius closes the door, so that they are alone.
“What have you seen?”
“He called Donald Miller to the Rectory.”
“What for?”
“A talk.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A week ago, during class.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.” A silence presses out.
“Of all the children… Donald Miller. I suppose it makes sense.” Aloysius paces the room, while James remains seated. The young nun’s face turns quizzical.
“How does it make sense?”
“He’s isolated,” the older nun says matter-of-factly. James shakes her head as though trying to shoo a nat.
“I don’t know that anything is wrong!” Sister Aloysius ignores the outburst.
“Our first Negro student,” she says thoughtfully, but then her tone grows bitter. “I thought there would be fighting. A parent or two to deal with. I should have foreseen this possibility.” James’s mouth falls gently agape.
“How could you imagine it?”
“Well, it’s my job to outshine the fox in cleverness.” She slams her fist on a nearby desk. “That is my job!” she says forcefully and bitterly.
“But maybe it’s nothing!” she ventures. Sister Aloysius turns from the desk and sits next to her. James stiffens. The young woman glares down at her own upturned palms.
“Then why do you look like you’ve seen the Devil?”
“It’s just the way the boy acted when he came back to class.”
“He said something?”
“No. It was his expression. He looked frightened and... he put his head on the desk in the most peculiar way. And...” She struggles for words, as though bile is haltingly stepping up her throat. “And one other thing. I think there was alcohol on his breath.” A pause. “There was alcohol on his breath.” Sister Aloysius puts a consoling hand on Sister James’s hand, but soon the once still hand is rubbing circles. Aloysius looks off in thought.
“Years ago at St. Boniface there was a priest... but I had Father Scully then. Here there’s no man I can go to, men run everything. We are going to have to stop him ourselves.” Her grip tightens around James’s hand. Mrs. Carson barges in with a dead mouse in a napkin. Their hands quickly pull away.
“There we go! She got him! It takes a cat.” A triumphant grin tickles her lips. Aloysius fingers the tip of her own nose and looks pensive.
“Yes it does. Yes, it does.”
***
Outside the convent, a storm tantrums. Its rain-dripped fists pound the window of Sister James’s room. Marble-sized raindrops patter through the slightly ajar window, and ricochet into the room. The storm rouses a tree, and soon the storm is raging, and the tree is tantruming. Its long, wooden fingers scratch and tap the glass. The curtains whip in their frustration.
Sister James tosses and turns in her bed. A raindrop plops on her forehead. In confusion, she blinks rapidly, and then rises to close the window. With difficultly, she manages it. Lightning flashes and illuminates the still-angry curtains into a ghostly menace. Startled, Sister James falls back onto her bed. Thunder lets out a short bellowing crack. Then there is a softer thud. James only reclines, looking out her window. Next, a succession of thuds. No, raps. Someone is knocking at her bedroom door.
Timidly, she rises, unlocks the latch, and opens the door a finger’s width. She peers through the slot. Sister Aloysius stands there, in a nightgown that matches her own. But, the perfunctory head cloth is gone. Her platinum blonde hair rests thickly about her neck. Waves roll themselves down the strands. In surprise, the shorter nun opens the door wider.
“Sister Aloysius?” The older nun pushes through the door and James is forced to back up.
“We need to talk,” she says. “About Flynn.” she clarifies. Sister James sits on the end of her bed. Sister Aloysius closes the door and locks the latch. Thunder growls off in the night.
“I told you everything I saw.”
“I know you did. You’re a good woman. But, I need more from you. I need you to trust me.” Her eyes look around the room, take in the rumpled sheets, the water puddled at the windowsill. “I need you to help me.” Aloysius sits next to her. “You doubted it. You doubt my certainty. I could not sleep. In that state, I decided I’m going to confront Father Flynn, tomorrow. I need to know I have your support.”
“I don’t doubt you!” she sputters. “I just don’t want to believe it.” Her thin fingers pull at the fabric of her own nightgown. She pulls her head cloth off, as if in frustration. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. The thought unsettles me so.” Her short brown hair darts haphazardly around her face. Sister Aloysius covers James’s hand with her own and grips it.
“It unsettles me, too. But, we must do something. We must stop it.” Lightning flashes, stabs through the whipping curtains. The light streaks over Sister Aloysius’s face and illuminates her hair to white. Her hair’s waves look like a blurred halo, like some desert mirage. Deep shadows carve along her face until she looks like a portrait of herself.
“I don’t want it to be true.” The young nun’s pale face crumples inward like paper. Moisture gathers, until it breaks the dams at the corners of her eyes. Tears slowly snake down her face like sidewinders. “How can it be true, Sister? How?” Her hands frantically grip the other nun’s arms, and force the sleeves up in the process. “He is a man of God!” She trembles.
“He is no man of God,” Aloysius interjects. Sister James crumples forward, burying her face into the older nun’s shoulder. Her sobs pepper the rolling thunder, outside the window; they accompany them in some strange, unorganized rhythm.
“Sister, sister,” she pleas through sobs. The older woman holds her tight, but stiffly. Rigid, Aloysius’s spine juts up, while James’s curves into her. The stern nun’s arms wrap uselessly around the woman. Wet seeps onto her neck. Balefully, the windows rattle with the force of the winds. A reluctant hand finds its way to the young woman’s back and strokes it. Silence extends between the women, but ends at the window. The weather bellows like a chorus with percussion.
“There, there.” she ventures. Teary-eyed, the young woman pulls away slightly, so that she can peer into the other woman’s eyes.
“Sister…do you ever question it?”
“His guilt? Never.”
“No.” A long pause. Young eyes go downcast, then up. “The faith?” Sister Aloysius fidgets within the young girl’s arms.
“I suppose everyone does sometimes,” she finally says. Tears spill over the smaller nun’s eyes.
“I do.” Her body shakes. “Especially, now… I always have. Now, with Flynn… and all of this.” A sob chokes out. She buries her face back into the crook of her companion’s neck. Wails rattle through the tiny woman’s frame, with such violence that the older woman thinks she may deconstruct. “You should have seen the young boy’s face. Why would God let this happen? Why?”
“Shh,” Aloysius strokes the younger’s hair. Her voice breaks. “I’ll make it right. We’ll make it right.” A ragged sigh exits and attempts to help her compose. “Don’t worry.” James only clings more tightly and gazes up. Her pink-rimmed face is wet all along the cheeks. The bloodshot eyes are adorned with pensive eyebrows.
“How do you know that?” she asks; her face is already beginning to crumple. Sharp edges slice at her mouth, as it downturns. Tears gather in the creases there, and slip into her mouth. Tears threaten at the edges of the older nun’s eyes.
“I just know. Don’t doubt me, Sister. I can’t let him get away with this.” As she turns her head to the window, her upper lip quivers. “I-I won’t. It’s my job. I protect the children.” She turns back, with a forced, trembling smile. “I’m supposed to be clever. Like a fox.” Tears trickle down her cheeks. Pain crosses her expression, as she feels the wet on her face. Her eyes close in shame. She feels her strength whittling away. Something soft and wet presses her chin. Her eyes flutter open. Sister James’s wide eyes look up at her. The young woman shifts to compensate for her shorter stature. Lightly, she places a kiss on the tip of the older woman’s nose. Sister Aloysius sits stock-still; her eyelids flicker. With a trembling hand, James removes the other woman’s glasses and sets them on the night stand. Sister James’s hand caresses the side of her face, and she wipes away the tears.
“I admire you so much,” James says; her fingers still leisurely dance along the line of Aloysius's face. A small sob exits the older nun’s mouth. Delicate fingers weave into platinum hair and ease the older woman’s face closer. Sister James kisses her forehead. “H-he called you a dragon.” A wry laugh exits Aloysius.
“Of course. They all call me the dragon.”
“You’re no dragon.” She kisses her forehead again; her wet lips pan softly out over it, again and again. “I’ve seen you,” she says. “I trust you. I don’t doubt you. I don't call you a dragon.” The young woman lowers her mouth to another mouth. Her young eyes search pale, blue ones, which only stare out. Closing her searching eyes, she presses her mouth to her fellow Sister’s. Still as two cemetery statues, they remain pressed. James’s mouth opens slightly for breath. Mixed tears leak in. Her mouth closes again at the taste of salt, but she opens her eyes. Sister Aloysius’s pale eyes stare back. Thick streams of tears pour from them. The older nun blinks, then kisses back. Her lips move tenderly against James’s.
“I believe in you. I never doubted you,” Sister James murmurs into the kiss. Their arms wrap in a loose hug, which tightens. The white nightgowns compress between their pressing bodies. The fabric is thin. Thunder cracks. Suddenly, Sister Aloysius pulls away. Silence crashes in between them. It does not belong here. James can feel it pricking her spine. With her nightgown’s sleeve, Aloysius quickly wipes the tears from her face. She cannot meet the young woman’s eyes. Disentangling herself, she rises, grabs her glasses, returns them to her face, and walks to the door.
“Meet me at my office at noon,” she says quietly, as she leaves, closing the door silently behind her. Stunned, Sister James listens to the woman’s hastening steps that forever grow fainter.
Doubt creeps into James’s eyes and spills onto her cheeks. Another bolt of lightning illuminates the room and zigzags through her tears. Thunder thumps, and a door thumps farther down the hall, in response. James curls inward like an infant and weeps. Doubt presses her to the bed. She cannot rise from it; she cannot sleep in it.
***
Chapter: Five, Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
Author: halfsquat (aka Half Squire)
Fandom: Doubt
Pairing: Sister Aloysius/ Sister James
Rating: R, soft
Genre: Romance/Drama/Suspense
Spoilers: Doubt
Disclaimer: All characters from Doubt belong to their creators. I claim no ownership and intend no copyright infringement. Everything unrelated to Doubt and all divergence from their script is my doing. Much of the dialogue comes directly from the script.
***
“Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s Mortal Sin”
a fan fiction novella
by Half Squire
inspired by the film Doubt,
and, respectfully, drawn heavily from it
***
Chapters:
I. The Dragon Is Hungry
II. My Concerns Are My Own
III. Candy, By Another Name
IV. Farther From God
V. Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
VI. Cat, Kitten, Rat
VII. The Cat And The Kitten
VIII. A Serpent In The Garden
XI. Caged
X. Questions Of Taxonomy
XI. Madonnas
***
V. Doubt Presses Her To The Bed
***
Sister Aloysius hustles Sister James through a school door. They both remove their shawls, and hang them on coat hangers, jutting from the wall. Sister James stands with her back to the wall. With a tinge of fear, she looks expectantly at Sister Aloysius. Her delicate hands grip and ungrip themselves. The older nun edges in close to the young one. Her height exceeds James’s, which forces her to look up, uncomfortably, in their close proximity.
“What have you seen?” she hisses.
“It is unsettling to look at people with suspicion. I feel less close to God.” As Aloysius nears her even more, James’s hands unlace and press against her own hips. Nervously, her head ducks to the side.
“When you take a step to address wrongdoing, you are taking a step away from God, but in His service. What have you seen?” Her brow furrowed, James looks up. They are almost nose-to-nose, now. The intensity in Aloysius’s eyes bores into her. The door they entered through slams open. Startled, Aloysius takes too large, abrupt strides back. The housekeeper appears with a cat in her arms.
“Good afternoon, Sisters!” Mrs. Carson says with cheer.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Carson. Why the cat?” Aloysius asks calmly.
“Because there’s a mouse,” the housekeeper answers, stroking the feline’s head.
***
In a plush, Victorian-looking loveseat, Sister James is seated. Sister Aloysius closes the door, so that they are alone.
“What have you seen?”
“He called Donald Miller to the Rectory.”
“What for?”
“A talk.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A week ago, during class.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.” A silence presses out.
“Of all the children… Donald Miller. I suppose it makes sense.” Aloysius paces the room, while James remains seated. The young nun’s face turns quizzical.
“How does it make sense?”
“He’s isolated,” the older nun says matter-of-factly. James shakes her head as though trying to shoo a nat.
“I don’t know that anything is wrong!” Sister Aloysius ignores the outburst.
“Our first Negro student,” she says thoughtfully, but then her tone grows bitter. “I thought there would be fighting. A parent or two to deal with. I should have foreseen this possibility.” James’s mouth falls gently agape.
“How could you imagine it?”
“Well, it’s my job to outshine the fox in cleverness.” She slams her fist on a nearby desk. “That is my job!” she says forcefully and bitterly.
“But maybe it’s nothing!” she ventures. Sister Aloysius turns from the desk and sits next to her. James stiffens. The young woman glares down at her own upturned palms.
“Then why do you look like you’ve seen the Devil?”
“It’s just the way the boy acted when he came back to class.”
“He said something?”
“No. It was his expression. He looked frightened and... he put his head on the desk in the most peculiar way. And...” She struggles for words, as though bile is haltingly stepping up her throat. “And one other thing. I think there was alcohol on his breath.” A pause. “There was alcohol on his breath.” Sister Aloysius puts a consoling hand on Sister James’s hand, but soon the once still hand is rubbing circles. Aloysius looks off in thought.
“Years ago at St. Boniface there was a priest... but I had Father Scully then. Here there’s no man I can go to, men run everything. We are going to have to stop him ourselves.” Her grip tightens around James’s hand. Mrs. Carson barges in with a dead mouse in a napkin. Their hands quickly pull away.
“There we go! She got him! It takes a cat.” A triumphant grin tickles her lips. Aloysius fingers the tip of her own nose and looks pensive.
“Yes it does. Yes, it does.”
***
Outside the convent, a storm tantrums. Its rain-dripped fists pound the window of Sister James’s room. Marble-sized raindrops patter through the slightly ajar window, and ricochet into the room. The storm rouses a tree, and soon the storm is raging, and the tree is tantruming. Its long, wooden fingers scratch and tap the glass. The curtains whip in their frustration.
Sister James tosses and turns in her bed. A raindrop plops on her forehead. In confusion, she blinks rapidly, and then rises to close the window. With difficultly, she manages it. Lightning flashes and illuminates the still-angry curtains into a ghostly menace. Startled, Sister James falls back onto her bed. Thunder lets out a short bellowing crack. Then there is a softer thud. James only reclines, looking out her window. Next, a succession of thuds. No, raps. Someone is knocking at her bedroom door.
Timidly, she rises, unlocks the latch, and opens the door a finger’s width. She peers through the slot. Sister Aloysius stands there, in a nightgown that matches her own. But, the perfunctory head cloth is gone. Her platinum blonde hair rests thickly about her neck. Waves roll themselves down the strands. In surprise, the shorter nun opens the door wider.
“Sister Aloysius?” The older nun pushes through the door and James is forced to back up.
“We need to talk,” she says. “About Flynn.” she clarifies. Sister James sits on the end of her bed. Sister Aloysius closes the door and locks the latch. Thunder growls off in the night.
“I told you everything I saw.”
“I know you did. You’re a good woman. But, I need more from you. I need you to trust me.” Her eyes look around the room, take in the rumpled sheets, the water puddled at the windowsill. “I need you to help me.” Aloysius sits next to her. “You doubted it. You doubt my certainty. I could not sleep. In that state, I decided I’m going to confront Father Flynn, tomorrow. I need to know I have your support.”
“I don’t doubt you!” she sputters. “I just don’t want to believe it.” Her thin fingers pull at the fabric of her own nightgown. She pulls her head cloth off, as if in frustration. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. The thought unsettles me so.” Her short brown hair darts haphazardly around her face. Sister Aloysius covers James’s hand with her own and grips it.
“It unsettles me, too. But, we must do something. We must stop it.” Lightning flashes, stabs through the whipping curtains. The light streaks over Sister Aloysius’s face and illuminates her hair to white. Her hair’s waves look like a blurred halo, like some desert mirage. Deep shadows carve along her face until she looks like a portrait of herself.
“I don’t want it to be true.” The young nun’s pale face crumples inward like paper. Moisture gathers, until it breaks the dams at the corners of her eyes. Tears slowly snake down her face like sidewinders. “How can it be true, Sister? How?” Her hands frantically grip the other nun’s arms, and force the sleeves up in the process. “He is a man of God!” She trembles.
“He is no man of God,” Aloysius interjects. Sister James crumples forward, burying her face into the older nun’s shoulder. Her sobs pepper the rolling thunder, outside the window; they accompany them in some strange, unorganized rhythm.
“Sister, sister,” she pleas through sobs. The older woman holds her tight, but stiffly. Rigid, Aloysius’s spine juts up, while James’s curves into her. The stern nun’s arms wrap uselessly around the woman. Wet seeps onto her neck. Balefully, the windows rattle with the force of the winds. A reluctant hand finds its way to the young woman’s back and strokes it. Silence extends between the women, but ends at the window. The weather bellows like a chorus with percussion.
“There, there.” she ventures. Teary-eyed, the young woman pulls away slightly, so that she can peer into the other woman’s eyes.
“Sister…do you ever question it?”
“His guilt? Never.”
“No.” A long pause. Young eyes go downcast, then up. “The faith?” Sister Aloysius fidgets within the young girl’s arms.
“I suppose everyone does sometimes,” she finally says. Tears spill over the smaller nun’s eyes.
“I do.” Her body shakes. “Especially, now… I always have. Now, with Flynn… and all of this.” A sob chokes out. She buries her face back into the crook of her companion’s neck. Wails rattle through the tiny woman’s frame, with such violence that the older woman thinks she may deconstruct. “You should have seen the young boy’s face. Why would God let this happen? Why?”
“Shh,” Aloysius strokes the younger’s hair. Her voice breaks. “I’ll make it right. We’ll make it right.” A ragged sigh exits and attempts to help her compose. “Don’t worry.” James only clings more tightly and gazes up. Her pink-rimmed face is wet all along the cheeks. The bloodshot eyes are adorned with pensive eyebrows.
“How do you know that?” she asks; her face is already beginning to crumple. Sharp edges slice at her mouth, as it downturns. Tears gather in the creases there, and slip into her mouth. Tears threaten at the edges of the older nun’s eyes.
“I just know. Don’t doubt me, Sister. I can’t let him get away with this.” As she turns her head to the window, her upper lip quivers. “I-I won’t. It’s my job. I protect the children.” She turns back, with a forced, trembling smile. “I’m supposed to be clever. Like a fox.” Tears trickle down her cheeks. Pain crosses her expression, as she feels the wet on her face. Her eyes close in shame. She feels her strength whittling away. Something soft and wet presses her chin. Her eyes flutter open. Sister James’s wide eyes look up at her. The young woman shifts to compensate for her shorter stature. Lightly, she places a kiss on the tip of the older woman’s nose. Sister Aloysius sits stock-still; her eyelids flicker. With a trembling hand, James removes the other woman’s glasses and sets them on the night stand. Sister James’s hand caresses the side of her face, and she wipes away the tears.
“I admire you so much,” James says; her fingers still leisurely dance along the line of Aloysius's face. A small sob exits the older nun’s mouth. Delicate fingers weave into platinum hair and ease the older woman’s face closer. Sister James kisses her forehead. “H-he called you a dragon.” A wry laugh exits Aloysius.
“Of course. They all call me the dragon.”
“You’re no dragon.” She kisses her forehead again; her wet lips pan softly out over it, again and again. “I’ve seen you,” she says. “I trust you. I don’t doubt you. I don't call you a dragon.” The young woman lowers her mouth to another mouth. Her young eyes search pale, blue ones, which only stare out. Closing her searching eyes, she presses her mouth to her fellow Sister’s. Still as two cemetery statues, they remain pressed. James’s mouth opens slightly for breath. Mixed tears leak in. Her mouth closes again at the taste of salt, but she opens her eyes. Sister Aloysius’s pale eyes stare back. Thick streams of tears pour from them. The older nun blinks, then kisses back. Her lips move tenderly against James’s.
“I believe in you. I never doubted you,” Sister James murmurs into the kiss. Their arms wrap in a loose hug, which tightens. The white nightgowns compress between their pressing bodies. The fabric is thin. Thunder cracks. Suddenly, Sister Aloysius pulls away. Silence crashes in between them. It does not belong here. James can feel it pricking her spine. With her nightgown’s sleeve, Aloysius quickly wipes the tears from her face. She cannot meet the young woman’s eyes. Disentangling herself, she rises, grabs her glasses, returns them to her face, and walks to the door.
“Meet me at my office at noon,” she says quietly, as she leaves, closing the door silently behind her. Stunned, Sister James listens to the woman’s hastening steps that forever grow fainter.
Doubt creeps into James’s eyes and spills onto her cheeks. Another bolt of lightning illuminates the room and zigzags through her tears. Thunder thumps, and a door thumps farther down the hall, in response. James curls inward like an infant and weeps. Doubt presses her to the bed. She cannot rise from it; she cannot sleep in it.
***