Missing

it? Am I supposed to be punished for something? And if so, when will my punishment be over and done with?
    She sighed, rose and heaved the rucksack onto her back. There was no peace to be found here. She left the church without looking at the man in the cubby-hole.

    The sun was setting when she came out of the church. She stepped back to see the church clock. Quarter past five.
    She would really have liked to sleep in a bed tonight, but hotels were too risky and she didn’t even dare try the Klara doss house. They were always short of room, so if she got a bed, then someone who hadn’t and was in the police’s bad books, might well do a little informing to make up for past sins.
    She felt for the purse round her neck. She was tempted to draw on her treasure, for the first time since she made up her mind about saving. A real drinking session, so she could forget for just one night.
    Shit. What rotten stinking luck.
    She turned into the lane leading to Skåne Street. About twenty metres along was a charming small piece of cultural history, a green door set in a wooden fence painted a nice shade of red. To the right of the door the fence joined the gable-end of a humble wooden house. She stopped and examined the wall of the house. The hatch of what might have been the coal-chute was almost level with the ground and had been nailed into place. A second opening about a metre up had a door with only a peg through a hook to hold it shut.
    She looked around. The park was empty.
    In a moment she had taken off her rucksack, opened the little door and climbed inside.

T hursdays were our days, the days when he came to me. If I close my eyes, I can see him open the garden gate down by the road and start walking along the gravel path towards me. I remember how I felt warmth from my heart spreading through my whole body. He always took such care wiping his shoes on the doormat. There he was, wrapping me in his strong arms . Dear Lord, this was love and not sin. Love, such as You have taught us it should be. I thank You for letting me experience it .
    Every time he came I had prepared the house as nicely as anyone could wish. I wanted him to realise how much I had been looking forward to seeing him. Every time I hoped he would not leave. But staying was impossible and he always left at four o’clock in the afternoon. When that hour struck I knew I had another seven days of waiting ahead and seven endless nights, full of longing to see him again. Now my whole life is such a night .
    Yet I thank You, God. I am grateful for your guidance. You have shown me what I can do to help him enter Your realm, so that I can rest assured that he will be there for me when my time comes. Thank You God for letting me be your ally in the sacred work of correcting the errors of the unjust on Earth .

    Lo! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable nature must put on the imperishable and this mortal nature must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
    ‘Death is swallowed up in victory.’
    ‘Oh Death, where is thy victory?’
    ‘Oh Death, where is thy sting?’
    The sting of death is sin and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us victory through our Lord Jesus Christ .

    God, I too wish to thank You for Your protection. You have not left me alone in my task but sent that woman to shelter me. You are allowing her to atone for her sins by giving her a sacred purpose. For this I thank You, Lord God .
    Amen .

S he had no idea where she was when she woke. She recognised the sensation, but this morning it seemed especially hard to make sense of her whereabouts. The light was seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls, falling on the rubbish that surrounded her. She remembered where she was only when the bells of Sofia Church rang out seven times.
    She sat up to eat her last banana.
    The floor was broken and covered in sawdust. Last night she had put planks across the joists to arrange somewhere to roll out her mat. She ate slowly, watching the dust whirl in the beams of sunlight.
    Her sore throat wasn’t troubling her any more. She definitely needed a shower after tonight. Central Station was no good,