Chapter 5 An old soul

Ava arrived at the diner well before her usual morning rush, a faint smile playing across her lips. Despite the ratty uniform and the impending grind awaiting her, there was a buoyant lightness to her step today.

"Well, well...if it ain't Miss Sunshine herself, gracing us mere mortals with her presence," Len, the diner's permanently sour-faced manager, grumbled upon spotting her uncharacteristic cheeriness. Though his words carried the usual dry sarcasm, the grizzled old man's rheumy eyes betrayed a hint of warmth seeing Ava's face aglow.

"Can't a girl just be in a good mood without getting the third degree, your eminence?" Ava shot back with a good-natured giggle, giving Len a teasing curtsy.

He shook his head in mock exasperation, but couldn't quite suppress the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his deeply-lined mouth. "Yeah, yeah...just don't let all those rays of sunshine go blinding my paying customers, you hear?"

With a wink and a whispered "Sure thing, boss," Ava twirled away to the time clock, eagerly punching in to begin her shift. The jarring clamour of the busy diner rushed over her - the clatter of plates, the sizzle of the griddle, the indistinct chatter all blending into a comfortingly familiar symphony.

For the next few hours, Ava was in her element. She flitted between booths and countertops with a serene grace, solicitously topping off mugs of diner brew and firing off meal tickets to the harried kitchen staff in a steady cadence. Her pert smile and sparkling emerald eyes even seemed to disarm the usual unfurling of crude overtures from the breakfast rush degenerates.

When the clock finally hit noon, Ava glided over to the time clock and gleefully punched out. She paused for a moment, fishing her tattered planner from the pocket of her apron. Her eyes scanned over a series of hastily scrawled notes and doodles, her grin widening as she landed on today's date circled emphatically.

"Catch you on the flip, Len!" Ava sang out gleefully, already shrugging off her apron and balling it up to jam in her ratty tote. She paused only to add in a conspiratorial murmur, "Got business to take care of..."

The grizzled manager's gruff demeanour softened ever-so-slightly at the young woman's vitality as he simply nodded, never one for sentimentality. With a jaunty flip of her chestnut locks, Ava was out the diner's doors in a whirl of skipping steps.

Her mood remained buoyed as she practically danced down the bustling city sidewalks, bobbing and weaving between rushing pedestrians despite the heavy tote slung over her shoulder. With each block that passed, Ava's familiar path bent from the main arteries onto quiet side streets that grew progressively quieter and more serene.

Finally, she stopped before an imposing edifice of carved stone and stained glass - the towering Mission Chapel. For most, this sacred sanctuary inspired hushed reverence. For Ava, it was a place of solace, refuge and, as her gaze travelled up to the ornate rose window...painful memory.

With a fortifying intake of breath, she ascended the cracked front steps and pulled open the dense oak doors, letting the cavernous quiet envelope her. A few parishioners sat scattered across the worn pews, heads bowed in murmured prayer as the desultory sounds of activity filtered in from some back hallway.

Ava sidled up to the front desk, where a grandmotherly woman in a cardigan smiled a warm greeting. There was a flicker of recognition, then outright delight as she registered just who had arrived.

"Ava, darling! So wonderful to see you, love," the elderly receptionist gushed in a thick Irish brogue, reaching across to enfold the young woman's hands in a soft caress. "And on your scheduled day too - how is my favourite little artist keeping these days?"

Despite the seemingly innocuous nature of the conversation, Ava felt her stomach twist into an anxious knot beneath the woman's tender concern. Keeping up the facade of chipper composed required monumental effort.

"Oh, just same as always Mrs. O'Reilly," Ava replied with a tinkling laugh that sounded slightly too bright to her own ears. "Hustling away at those dead-end diner gigs while dreaming about making the next big masterpiece. I'm sure you've got my usual room prepped...?"

The older woman's brow furrowed ever-so-slightly at the cursory mention of Ava's secretive "masterpieces", then seemed to shelve her reservations with visible effort. "But of course, love. You just head on back through the chapel and down the corridor. Everything will be waiting for you as always."

Ava's shoulders relaxed, a tension she hadn't realized she was carrying until now eased out. Mrs. O'Reilly's age-spotted hand pushed a brass key across the countertop. She snatched it up with a murmured "Thanks," before swivelling on her heel to stride purposefully through the empty nave.

As the young woman's petite frame vanished down the side hallway, the receptionist stared after her with inexplicable sadness flickering in her watery eyes. After a lengthy pause, the old woman heaved a weary sigh...and bent her head in silent prayer.

Ava's feet moved automatically, taking her down the chapel's hushed corridors almost instinctively. Despite the cloistered silence and flickering ordination candles lining the walls, this route was as familiar to her as the streets outside. More familiar, even.

At last she reached a nondescript supply closet, flanked by two vacant Sunday school classrooms. Her key turned in the lock with a muted snick as Ava shoved the door open...and recoiled slightly at the assault of scents wafting out.

Turpentine. Oils and acrylics in a riot of hues. And something else...something earthier, mustier that her mind shied away from contemplating for too long.

With a steeling inhalation, Ava stepped across the cramped threshold, crouching down to blindly gather up the art supplies stacked within. Canvases, brushes, jars of murky water and rags spilled out into her tote haphazardly as she loaded up an armful.

Finally, one last addition to her art-supply stockpile: a simple door key resting on a solitary hook at the rear of the closet. Ava plucked it free with trembling fingers, surreptitiously pocketing the key as she wrestled the tote's bulging mass higher onto her shoulder.

The young artist's beaming smile had faded now, replaced by a sombre, almost penitent look as she proceeded further down the forsaken hallway. Each scuffed stride landed with profound weight, booted footfalls echoing in the claustrophobic space.

Until at last Ava reached the final door. Its pockmarked surface was bereft of markings or designation - only a simple steel deadbolt securing it. She fumbled for the key, only to pause as her attention snagged on something to the left of the doorframe.

A metal plaque had been affixed to the wall, the embossed text gleaming in the low light:

"OUR LADY OF SORROWS PRAYER ROOM -

ADMITTANCE TO AUTHORIZED MEMBERS ONLY"

A shudder ran down Ava's spine as she traced the words on the plaque, her fingers trembling. Her eyes welled up, the letters started blurring, but she blinked back her tears and clenched her jaw.

For several suspended heartbeats, the whole world appeared to hold its breath. Then, with a visible steeling of her resolve, Ava turned back to the nondescript door. The key slid into the lock and twisted inexorably until the tumblers released with a muted thunk.

Taking one final bracing breath, Ava pushed forward into the dim-lit interior and gently eased the door closed behind her. She was now immersed in utter, haunted silence as the soft thump echoed against padded walls before fading away entirely.

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