Murder 8 – St. Regis
I drove by St. Regis today. The Cathedral. Or rather, what is left of the cathedral.
Stupid writing assignment. We were instructed to visit a place that has “unresolved emotional value.” Whatever that means.
Well, I guess I know what it means.
So, Larry picked me up this morning at 10:00 which was too early for both of us. “Are you stoned or just tired?” I asked him, not really knowing the answer, as I climbed into his truck and saw his droopy eyelids. He grunted, “Baby was up last night. That means everyone was up with him.”
15 minutes later, after a quiet & sleepy ride, we arrived at St. Regis. “What’s the assignment again?” Larry asked.
“I have to write a story that ‘resolves’ any issues I have with a particular physical location.” I jumped out of his truck into a puddle of mud. New Hampshire doesn’t have spring…we have 6 months of winter, followed by “Mud Season,” before summer begins the marathon of sweat.
“You sure this is a good idea?” he asked me, slamming his squeaky door.
“No.” I pulled my hood over my head. New Hampshire also gives the Bible a run for it’s money with the ’40 days, 40 nights of rain’ thing. “But it sure is an interesting way to spend Easter!”
“At a scorched cathedral?” He joked.
We walked toward St. Regis Cathedral in the light rain. It was only 50 degrees, mild by NH’s standards, so Larry just had his flannel with jeans. Both of us, as usual, had our boots on as we trudged through the mud and grass.
St. Regis Prep “Academy” still exists. Normally full of lively teens, grades 9-12, during the regular school week, the academy is a force to be reckoned with. But its neighboring “cathedral” burned dow last fall. A homeless man seeking shelter in the basement set it on fire.
Larry whistled and shook his head. “Well I’ll be damned, this is sad.”
We looked at the charred remnants of what appeared to be the black wasteland of the foundation. “It’s awful,” I agreed. I was grateful Larry agreed to come with me after overhearing me talk about this assignment at the Crown & Rose last night. “By the way, thanks for coming,” I added.
He smiled and adjusted his baseball cap. “At least they’re rebuilding it.”
And slowly we walked toward the brick structure of the academy, where, on the other side, we could see the very beginnings of a brand new cathedral.
“The ground is thawing, so they’re starting to build. Rain should be done in a few weeks. They’ll have the whole summer to work construction,” Larry explained.
“The opening ceremony is set for fall.” I continued his thought about the new cathedral.
St. Regis has acres of land surrounding it, so the church decided to build the new cathedral on the side of the academy opposite of the old cathedral, presumably to disassociate it from the bad energy of the fire. They’d have to rebuild in Alaska to succeed. Who knows what will become of the old cathedral spot – a parking lot? A monument? A new memorial?
Larry interrupted my thoughts. “Paige, you sure you want to torture yourself like this?”
We began to stroll on the campus grounds near the front entrance of the academy where my best friend had plunged to her death many years ago. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Larry.”
In my next post, I will tell you about the deaths at St. Regis.
Any why I am the way I am.
