he lingers in a side-aisle as the congregation makes their way from the inner sanctum, the large, wooden doors to the chapel’s interior creaking wearily as they went ( the wind blew, and so they went: back and forth, back and forth ). the sound of footsteps recede into utter silence, and the number of heartbeats occupying the room beings to thin out – six, five, four, three, then just two. matt, standing off to the side, heat emanating from the votive table sitting beside him, all ablaze. his mother, just across the way, the familiar clack-clack-clack of her heels as she walks across the altar, cleaning up after the service, and perhaps giving thanks. he hadn’t expected himself to stay – hell, he hadn’t expected himself to come into early-morning mass at all. but he’d made a promise to her, one he’d not soon forget; he thought it high-time to make good on it. an inhale, then, and matt approaches the altar himself, – stopping only to genuflect and cross himself accordingly – lips parting in an attempt at conversation. ❛ that was, ah, some sermon, huh, sister? ❜
@escapemethods / random starter, maggie murdock .
the sunday morning sermon seems heavy without paul, but sister maggie holds this morning’s crowd’s attention enough. some of the children from the orphanage, sitting in the front few rows likely wanting to be anywhere else -- some homeless, some veterans who meet downstairs. it’s over before it begins, with the other sisters filing out last with the children, and she’s left to gather her bearings before filing suit to her own quarters. she knows she’s not alone -- she thinks she can feel matthew’s presence as she always had, when the boy was growing up under her nose. he may make a living out of stealth, but he could never blend seamlessly into a crowd with her.
she looks up when he speaks, from behind the altar. she tries not to smile, or give any hint at her own pleasant surprise. she’d noticed him as soon as he filed in with the other usual sunday patrons -- and she half-expected him to file out among them.
“good morning, matthew,” sister maggie says, pleasantly, clutching her bible to her chest. “thank you. if you’d like to talk more -- i’m going to make a late breakfast.”
“the latte machine is out of order, for the time being.”
andulkaphoto
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