The Empty Seat

The first light of Sunday shines through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the pews and frescoes that decorate the church. Despite the early hour and the crowded pews, there’s a smile on every face, save for two: in the very back, where the sun’s light doesn’t reach. A boy and girl sit with a person-sized space between them. The boy wears clerical-inspired robes, befitting a choir member. In contrast, the girl wears a sandy dress made of annoyingly comfortable fabric in a style that’s elegantly simple. Frowns spoil their dress, creating a black hole of joy that repels all others.

“I guess it wasn’t just a nightmare,” the boy says, flipping through a newspaper.

“Freak Lightning Storm Burns Down Shrine!” reads the headline as the article details the police report.

“You really did a number on the place,” the boy continues, tone grim. “The kind you have to see to believe.” The girl remains silent, her lips sealed tight lest her crying resume. “To think you could’ve done that the whole time. Sure would’ve been useful earlier. Might’ve even prevented—”

“Ichigo,” calls an armored samurai, his voice and form only perceived by the boy as he floats overhead. “You’ve already made your thoughts on the matter clear. Can’t you pause them for one hour?”

“Sorry, old man,” he says, ruffling the papers to cover his muted voice. “There’s still a lot I don’t understand, even after you tried explaining everything. If only there were someone else I know who could try telling me what happened.” He gives the girl a glaring side eye, but she remains motionless, save for her trembling lips. “Too bad—Agh!” The boy keels over, gripping his chest as pain shoots through his body.

“Too bad your sin is deteriorating our bond,” the samurai says, kneeling down to look his charge in the eye. “It’s making it impossible for me to suppress the pain your body’s still experiencing after battle. If only you could make amends and reverse the damage.” The boy looks at the samurai and then at the girl seated next to him. His jaw clenches as he struggles to speak through sharp gasps.

“I will… never forget what you did to my sister.”

“Ichigo!” the samurai shouts, following the boy as he staggers to the choir booth. The girl remains quiet, as silent tears fall from her cheeks to her hand, tightly bound around a small golden crucifix.

“Where’s the lie?” she thinks, her sobs drowned out by the ringing of bells and the rattling of an incense burner.

“Christ is risen,” Shinpu-sama calls from the altar.

“He is risen indeed,” the congregation answers.

“Christ is risen!” he repeats, volume increasing.

“He is risen indeed!” the congregation answers, matching his volume.

“CHRIST IS RISEN!” he shouts with all his strength.

“HE IS RISEN INDEED!” The congregation answers, their shouts rattling the chandeliers.

*GONG!*

A bell is rung, and the choir springs into action, beginning the Paschal troparion. The people stand and lift high their voices as the church is filled with happy songs and joyful responses throughout the liturgy. Throughout it all, Kasumi remains motionless and silent, watching while the church moves without her.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she thinks, watching the songs go on. “I don’t belong here.” She watches as the pews line up for communion. Shinpu-sama feeds each member spoonfuls of the bread and wine as they walk like an assembly line of righteousness. “I’m not like them… I’ve never been like them. I’ve only ever—”

*FWMP*

Kasumi’s thoughts are cut short as a teen in a white-and-gold kimono sits beside her.

“Ahh, Chi-chan!” Kasumi squeals, feeling her body squeezed against the pew.

“I just can’t stand to watch you sit here alone any longer,” Chi-chan says, tone light but mildly annoyed. “What’s got you so glum on a day like this?”

“Do you have to ask?” Kasumi says, unable to look Chi-chan in the eye.

“Not really, and trust me, I understand,” Chi-chan says, taking Kasumi’s hand, but she pulls it away instead.

“No, you don’t,” Kasumi wants to say, but can’t. “You think Momo wasn’t there in the morning because she had to go home early. You think she isn’t here now because she got grounded. You think it’s only a matter of time before she comes back because—” She can’t bear to continue the thought. Her lips tremble, recalling the look of despair on Momo’s face as the rust-colored cloud envelops her.

“Because of me…” she murmurs, in a voice she thinks is inaudible.

“It’s not your fault,” Chi-chan says, placing a hand on Kasumi’s shoulder. “Sure, Ichigo-kun seems to blame you, and you might’ve played a part, but she’s able to take responsibility for her own actions and—”

“But she’s not responsible!” Kasumi snaps, unable to suppress her tears or cries. “You don’t understand. I can’t take back what I—” Her cries are muffled by Chi-chan pulling her into a hug. Kasumi struggles, but Chi-chan only tightens her grip.

“I’m not going to pretend to know what happened,” she says, voice going deathly serious, in a way Kasumi’s never heard. “But I know what it’s like to do something that can’t be undone, hurt someone you should’ve protected.” The conviction in her voice stops Kasumi’s resistance, and she settles. “I know it feels like the end of the world, like you can’t make up for what you did.” Chi-chan takes hold of Kasumi’s hand, gripping it hard like she’d never let go. “Even if it’s the end of someone’s world, and you can’t make it up to that person, even if you’ve given up on yourself, God hasn’t given up on you.” She lifts Kasumi’s chin, their watery eyes barely suppressing sobs. “But that’s what’s so special about today. God proved His own love for us. By the fact that Christ died for us, while we were still sinners, and rose again to give us new life.”

“But…” Kasumi begins, doubt still rooted in the corners of her mind. “But how could He, after what I’ve done?”

“Because he came to call sinners to repentance. To change their way of thinking, and turn from sin to seek God.” Kasumi follows Chi-chan’s gaze as she looks to the dwindling Eucharist line. “That’s who you’ll find in that line and in these pews.”

“But what if I’m too late?” Kasumi asks. “What if I can’t make it up to her? Or repay her for all she’s done for me?”

“Sometimes you can’t,” Chi-chan says, eyes remaining fixed on the final family in the line. “Sometimes you have to pay it forward instead,” she says, waving to a little girl carried in her father’s arms. “But I say to you, love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you, and pray for those who hate you. For what you do to them, you do for Christ, and for those who’ve helped you on your way.”

The words strike Kasumi, welling up memories within her. Memories of Momo deep in prayer when she thinks she’s alone. Praying for and giving gifts to Queen Bee, despite everything she’d done.

“Did she do the same for me?” Kasumi wonders, recalling her behavior when they first met. She feels emotions welling up inside her, but the dam holds. She leaps up from the pew, sprinting to the altar, reaching it just as Shinpu-sama prepares to put away the elements. Chi-chan watches with a smile, placing a hand on her abdomen as she watches Kasumi run to the altar.

“If only I could’ve done that for you,” she whispers, taking a slow, deliberate breath.

At the front, Shinpu-sama places the cup to Kasumi’s chin, filling the spoon with the last piece of bread as he speaks. “The servant of God, Deborah, receives the precious and all-holy Body and Blood.” Kasumi takes the bread in her mouth, almost shuddering at the mention of her baptismal name. Momo had suggested it, saying it spoke to her during a Bible study. Kasumi had agreed, not understanding the significance at the time. Now, as the wine and bread dance on her tongue, countless memories flood into her mind, threatening to overwhelm her. She closes her eyes to swallow, opening them to see Shinpu-sama with a smile bolder than he’d ever had.

Kasumi returns to the pews, but not the back. She sits with Chi-chan in the front and joins the congregation in the songs. A single voice doubles the passion and joy as the liturgy continues. All the while, Kasumi’s eyes glance up at the icon of Christ seated in the dome. Unlike her first time at the church, when His eyes were filled with judgment, and the bread sat like a stone in her stomach, she now feels uplifted. His eyes felt like a reassuring defender, ready to lift her. She feels prepared to accept it, to go anywhere He should call, but already knows where she’s needed, and what she has to do.