Chapter 5 5

The priest, Father Donahue, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He dabbed sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, glancing nervously from the bride's blood-stained shirt to the groom's smirk.

"We are gathered here today..." he began, his voice shaking.

The whispers in the pews were getting louder. "She's insane." "Look at her." "Is that real blood?" "Gold digger has no shame."

Authur swayed on his feet. He stumbled slightly, bumping into his best man. He let out a loud, exaggerated belch that echoed in the vaulted ceiling.

"Excuse me!" Authur announced, waving a hand. He pulled a silver flask from his jacket pocket. "Just need a little... courage."

Grandfather Alexander, sitting in the front row, turned a shade of purple that looked dangerous. He gripped his cane so hard the wood creaked.

Authur took a swig, letting the amber liquid dribble down his chin. He wiped it with his sleeve. He reeked of whiskey.

"Look at her!" Authur shouted, pointing a wavering finger at Helena. "My beautiful bride! She looks like she just murdered someone! Maybe she did! Who knows with these Lawrences?"

Laughter rippled through the groom's side of the aisle-his frat brothers and drinking buddies.

Helena stood perfectly still. Her father, Mr. Lawrence, had his head in his hands.

Authur leaned into Helena's personal space. The smell of alcohol was overpowering. "You disgust me," he slurred. "Go on. Run away. Everyone is laughing at you."

Helena looked at him. She really looked at him. She studied his eyes.

They were clear. His pupils were normal size, reacting perfectly to the light. He wasn't swaying when he wasn't talking. His core muscles were engaged, keeping him balanced.

She stepped forward, closing the gap. She grabbed the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and yanked him down to her level.

Authur froze, surprised by her strength.

"Your pupils aren't dilated," Helena whispered into his ear. "You have no nystagmus. Your coordination is fine."

She pulled back slightly, looking him dead in the eye.

"You're faking it, Authur. That's apple juice in the flask, isn't it?"

Authur's mask slipped. For a fraction of a second, the drunken haze vanished, replaced by a sharp, intelligent glare.

"Get off me!" he shouted, shoving her back. He stumbled again, overacting the part. "She attacked me! Did you see that?"

Grandfather Alexander stood up. "Enough! Proceed with the vows! Now!"

Authur rolled his eyes, straightening his jacket. "Fine. Whatever."

The priest rushed through the ceremony. "Do you, Authur..."

"I do," Authur interrupted. "As long as she doesn't dissect me in my sleep."

More laughter.

"Do you, Helena..."

Helena reached for the microphone on the lectern. She pulled it off the stand. The feedback screeched, silencing the room.

Authur watched her, wary. "What are you doing?"

Helena turned to the crowd. She looked at the hundreds of judgmental faces.