CHAPTER FOUR

THE REMAINDER OF MY WEEK has been uneventful. Scarlet didn’t return, and Bracken was away, giving me nothing further to ponder about. And the good Sisters had prepared a large dinner for our youth group meeting that went off without a hitch.

Now that it’s Sunday, I’m truly looking forward to the act of following in the scriptures. The night after seeing Scarlet, I pushed on my cock so hard I tore it. The pain of my penance was justified. For allowing myself the satisfaction of the skin with another, I had betrayed my vow. I’ve never taken the vow of celibacy, but I’d always promised that love would be unattainable for one such as me. I was offended that I’d allowed such a movement, and had therefore allowed the devil purchase within my soul further. My right arm and legs have taken a beating with the punishments necessary to get over the dangers of the flesh. By Friday, feeling refreshed, appeased that my conscience was clean, I fell into the position of helping others with a fervor.

The parish has been filling up quickly this morning. The average Sunday finds us half-filled on one side, and maybe only two or three rows on the other. This week is different. It gives me joy to know that my personal atonement may be part of the reason for such an act of attendance. I could be wrong, but it feels good to know they’re filling the pews for whatever reason.

Standing at the front, greeting each parishioner as they enter, gives me a moment to connect with them before the mass. Yes, I will say goodbye to them as well, but this gives me a better gauge of those that require the confessional. So far, I’ve singled out three that couldn’t even look me in the eyes, so I’ll watch them throughout the full reading and sacraments.

“Hello, Father. We’re very glad to join you today.”

I grin, glad that they’ve attended. “Welcome, Bracken.” Shaking his hand as I take in his malicious smile, I turn to the woman beside him. Her sallow cheeks and dark eyes, with thick makeup covering her bruises show the abuse she’s recently taken. Being on the receiving end of someone such as Bracken can’t be easy. “And who is this lovely woman on your arm?”

Turning to her, Bracken replies, “This is my wife, Christy. Say hello to the good Father.”

Keeping her gaze trained on the ground, she slowly raises her eyes to me. “It’s nice to meet you, Father. I’ve heard many lovely things about you.”

“I’m sorry that we’ve never had a chance to meet before. How long have you been married?” Looking to Bracken for approval, she smiles, but it’s weak.

“Just over a month, Father.”

“Newly wedded it seems.” Giving her a slight smile, I look to Bracken. His evil glare hasn’t left hers the whole time we’ve stood here talking. He watches her like hawk watches its meal.

“We are. Very happily, too.” Smiling up at Bracken, I can see the strain in her demeanor. Showcasing rotted teeth, I know the woman has had a hard life, which hasn’t been made any easier by marrying the likes of him.

He nods his approval at her answer. “Good girl. How about you take a seat beside Fletch. I’ll be over after I have a conversation with Father Kyden.”

Accepting her dismissal, walking off relieved, Christy wanders to the holy water font before sitting in the pew as directed.

He speaks to me in a low tone. “We need to have a conversation later today, brother.” Tucking in close, as if he’s about to give me a hug, he says, “Don’t avoid me. It’s been a week and I’ve been patient.” Stepping back, the same sinister glower as before is there. The devil works its way into those that allow him entrance, and Bracken is a tool of his. With a wink, Bracken moves into my space. “I know she visited you. She won’t be absolved again, Father. Her next infraction will be her last.” Taking in his face, I see the man I once knew almost as well as myself. Dark scars run the length of his jaw, travelling the length of the right side of his face, reminding me of life in that society. The reinforcement of their rules are absolute.

Smiling as sweetly as possible—as there are more eyes than his watching—I appreciate the connotation of harm that he speaks of. “Thank you, son. I will keep that in mind for future endeavors. Blessed be those who follow the path of righteousness.”

“Blessed is the arrow that strikes true.” Speaking his club motto, he steps away, leaving me with a need to atone again, now more than ever.

Greeting more of the congregation as they enter the hallowed halls, I push his warnings to the back of my mind. Allowing the last of them to say their good mornings to me, I finally traverse to the front for the Mass.