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ABIGAIL MANGIN 31
terrorists, funded by Margaux, kidnapped Annabelle for military training in the Middle East. But the most popular theory of all was that young Cecil LeClaire brutally murdered his girlfriend, so Visage and LeClaire covered it up.
The case was adapted into a Lifetime made-for-television movie, which further established Cecil LeClaire as a bad boy, teenaged sex symbol.
Brother George held a photo of Cecil and Annabelle as pre- schoolers, riding a kiddie Batmobile. Annabelle with her Shirley Temple curls dressed up in a Catwoman suit with whiskers, a tail, and a giant smile on her face.
He kissed the photo and placed the contents back into the box. He watched as the flame from his lighter scarred the stars in the pond’s perfect black mirror, and he chucked the cigar humi- dor into the reflections of the flame.
“I see you haven’t exactly given up your worldly possessions,” Abbot Joseph said. He looked down to Brother George’s hand, which clutched a red leather dog. It was in tatters with both ears torn midway. The scruffy, franken-dog was adorable to him, but to others it looked like a lab experiment gone wrong.
“I can’t throw away the stuffed animal,” Brother George said, clutching the dog. “It belongs to someone else.”
“I didn’t mean the dog. I meant the person. Throwing away some paper doesn’t mean you’ve moved on.”
Brother George took the cigar from his mouth and snuffed it out, the smoke floating before his face.
“How can you be married to God if you haven’t even gotten over a dead teenaged girl?” the abbot asked.
“I spent my whole childhood with that dead teenaged girl,” Brother George barked. Unlike the reporters, the abbot didn’t flinch at his show of violence. “I spent my whole adult life as her murderer.”
“You’re angry,” the abbot whispered.
“Of course I’m angry,” Brother George said, clasping his hands to stop the shaking. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet.”
The abbot chuckled. “I meant you’re angry in general. You’re holding in a lot of hurt.”